Читать книгу Yes, Mama - Helen Forrester - Страница 30

James Tyson did not take much notice of his wife, Bridie’s, complaints of fatigue and of pain in her legs; women always complained of their feet and that they were tired. He himself suffered chronic pain in his back, a relic of his work as a docker; it made it impossible, now, for him to find work, except occasionally as a nightwatchman. It was Bridie selling her rags and old buttons in the market who kept them from starvation. When one morning she failed to get up in time for the opening of the market, it was suddenly brought home to him that her complaints were not the usual ones.

‘Me head,’ she nearly screamed to him. ‘It’s me head!’

She was hot with fever, so a worried James suggested that she should go to the public Dispensary to ask for medicine.

‘I couldn’t walk it,’ she gasped. ‘I’ll be better later on.’

James woke Billy and sent him off to work; he had a job cleaning up after the horses in a stable belonging to a warehouse. On the way, James said, he was to call in on his sister, Mary, and ask her to come to her mother. Mary arrived at Bridie’s bedside half an hour later, her newest baby tucked inside her shawl. She was followed by her daughter, Theresa, a fourteen-year-old who plied the streets at night. They both stared down at Bridie tossing on her truckle bed; neither knew what to do.

Finally, Mary sent James upstairs to the tap in the court, to get some water to bathe Bridie’s face with. ‘Looks as if she’s got the flu,’ she suggested, as she handed her baby to Theresa to hold.

Nobody else attempted to put a name to the fever; there were all kinds of fevers, and people either got better from them or they died. And pain such as Bridie’s was something you put up with.

The news went round the court that Billy Tyson’s Mam had the flu. Nobody wanted to catch it, so they stayed away. James went to peddle Bridie’s fents in the market.

Word that Bridie had the flu very badly reached her Great-aunt Kitty, who lived in the next court. She hobbled down the stairs from the attic in which she lived and, slowly and painfully, dragged her arthritic limbs into the Tysons’ cellar room. She was panting with the effort as James, returned from the market, made her welcome; few people knew as much about sickness as Great-aunt Kitty did. She pushed her black shawl back from her bald head and bent over to talk to the patient.

‘’Ow you feelin’, Bridie?’ she croaked.

Her eyes wide and unblinking, Bridie tossed and muttered unceasingly.

‘Lemme closer,’ the old lady commanded Mary. ‘And give me the candle so I can see proper.’

As was the custom, Bridie still had her clothes on; clothes kept you warm at night as well as in the daytime. Only her boots had been removed, to show black woollen stockings with holes in the heels and toes.

As she shuffled closer to the bed, the old lady muttered, ‘Well, it int cholera, praise be, or she’d be dead by now. Is ’er stummick running?’

‘No. She ain’t even pissed.’

Aunt Kitty paused and looked up at Mary. ‘She truly ’asn’t?’

‘No. Not a drop. I bin ’ere all day.’

‘That’s bad.’ Aunt Kitty bent still lower, the candle dripping wax on Bridie’s blouse, while she lifted the sufferer’s chin and held it firmly in order to take a good look at her face. ‘Lord presairve us!’ she exclaimed. She touched a dark encrustation at the corners of Bridie’s mouth, and then drew back thoughtfully.

She turned to Billy and James and ordered, ‘You turn your backs. I’m goin’ to take a real look at ’er all over.’

Filled with apprehension, Billy followed his father’s example.

Great-aunt Kitty gestured towards Mary with the candle. ‘Lift up her skirts. I want to see her stummick.’

Mary hesitated, her brown eyes wide with fear of what her great-aunt might deduce.

‘Come on, girl.’

Kitty was said to be a witch, so rather than be cursed, Mary did as she was bidden, though she felt it wicked to expose her mother so.

Underneath the black woollen skirt were the ragged remains of a black and white striped petticoat. Mary lifted this and her mother’s stomach was exposed; she wore nothing else, other than her stockings.

Holding the candle so that it did not drip on Bridie’s bare flesh, Kitty ran her fingers over the sick woman’s stomach. She bent down to peer very carefully at it. Beneath the grime, she was able to see dark red blotches. Her lips tightened over her toothless mouth.

She felt down the rigid legs and her sly old face, for once, showed only a terrible sadness. Very gently she took the petticoat and skirt hems from Mary’s fingers and laid them back over Bridie. ‘You can look now,’ she told the male members of the family.

While she made her examination, James had retreated to the back of the tiny room. Now she turned to him.

‘’Ad any rats ’ere lately?’

‘There’s always rats, you know that,’ growled James.

‘Hm.’

Billy interjected, ‘Mam found a near-dead one in the court a while back. Proper huge it were – like a cat. She threw it in the midden with the rubbish.’

‘I knew it,’ muttered Great-aunt Kitty. ‘I seen it before. She’s got gaol fever, God help us all.’

A hissing sigh of fear went through the other members of the family.

‘Typhus?’ James whispered.

‘Aye. Haven’t seen it for a while. But I seen lots of it in me time.’

‘What’ll we do?’

‘Doctor from Dispensary might come.’

‘They’ll be shut by now.’

‘Well, first light tomorrer, you go after ’em. Aye, this’ll cause a pile of trouble.’

‘What?’

‘They’ll burn everythin’ you got, to stop it spreadin’.’ She pointed to Bridie, still staring at the blackened rafters above her head and chattering incoherently. ‘They’ll take ’er to the Infirmary no doubt – keep ’er away by herself.’

‘To die by herself?’ James was aghast.

That’s wot ’ospitals is for, int it? To die in.’ She gave a dry, sardonic laugh. ‘They daren’t leave ’er here, ’cos everybody in the court could get it from her.’

‘Christ!’ He rubbed his face with his hands. ‘Are you certain sure?’

‘Aye, I’m sure.’ She hesitated, and then said, ‘Well – almost.’ She looked round the little room, lit only by the candle in her hand, at its dirty brick walls, its earthen floor, its empty firegrate. ‘And you take care o’ yourself and our Bill,’ she warned. ‘Take all your clothes off and wash ’em, and kill every bloody louse and flea you can find. The cleaner you are, the better you’ll be.’ She turned to Mary, and asked, ‘Anybody else bin in here?’

‘Our Theresa and the baby was here. I sent ’em home just now.’ Mary began to cry.

‘Well, you got a copper in your house. You go home and put all your clothes in it – and Theresa’s and the baby’s and our Billy’s and your Dad’s stuff. And boil the lot real hard.’ She looked disparagingly at the fat, rather stupid girl in front of her. ‘And if it’s wool and it can’t be boiled, borrow an iron and iron it well. Go over all the seams – with a good, hot iron, mind you.’

She turned back to Bridie, who periodically was letting out short shrieks. She put her hand on her niece’s forehead again, and then turned to James. ‘See if you can get a bit of milk from somewhere and feed it to her.’ She swung back to Mary and snarled at her, ‘Stop wingeing.’

Mary sniffed and wiped her face with the end of her shawl. She cast a glance of pure hatred at the humped back bent once more over Bridie; witches ought to be burned, in her opinion. Aloud she said, ‘I’ll go and get the fire lit under the copper. Tell our Billy to come straight over to our ’ouse – I’ll do ’im first. While the water’s gettin’ hot, I’ll run back with a bit of conny-onny for Mam.’

Kitty straightened up and sighed. She felt around in her skirt pocket and brought out a penny. ‘Get a pennorth o’ fresh milk, as you go by Mike’s dairy. Conny-onny int goin’ to do her much good.’

With a pout, Mary took the proffered coin, said goodbye to her father and clumped up the steps to the court.

‘I’ll stay for a while,’ the old woman told James, who had moved closer to look anxiously at his tossing wife. ‘Gi’ me a chair, Jamie boy.’

James hastily moved a small stool closer to the bed and she slowly lowered herself on to it. ‘’Ave you got any firing? I could use a cup o’ tea.’

‘Aye, I got some driftwood.’ He took the water bucket up to the court to draw water for tea from the common tap.

Crouched against a wall, Billy had listened dumbly to Great-aunt Kitty’s diagnosis. His mother was his world. Sharp-tongued and quick to slap, nevertheless, she kept the family together. Without her, there was only darkness. Now he crept forward, to ask, ’is she goin’ to die, Aunty?’

His great-aunt looked up at him from her stool, her bloodshot eyes glittering in their black hollows. ‘Coom ’ere, duck.’

The lad moved closer to her, and she put a long bony arm round him. ‘She might,’ she said. ‘She ’asn’t got no strength.’

Billy began to blubber like a small boy, while his mother raved on her bed. ‘Na, then, luv.’ Great-aunt Kitty’s arm tightened round him. ‘There’s a time when all of us has to go. You must pray nobody else gets it.’ She sighed. ‘Your Pa should’ve asked the Dispensary for ’elp before.’

‘Mam didn’t want ’im to. She’s afraid of us all endin’ up in the Workie.’

The very word ‘Workhouse’ was enough to make anybody panic, thought Great-aunt Kitty, so she nodded understandingly.

‘Well she is real ill now, lad, and the Dispensary is the only one what might save her.’