| Subject: Chapter 3 |
Author:
Kate
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Date Posted: 20:05:19 03/29/01 Thu
In reply to:
by Kate
's message, "Things My Mother Taught Me" on 19:49:51 03/29/01 Thu
*********************
The place seems good where we are not.
The medical team was located on the way to Cairo. It wasn't far away from the camp, but Hassan sensibly helped Milla into the Jeep, then proceeded to rattle most of her fillings out of her teeth with his cavalier driving.
"I'm not bleeding to death, Hassan," Milla shouted over the roar of the engine. "You don't have to drive so fast."
His answer was lost in a grind of gears and a quick acceleration that nearly popped Milla out of her seat.
She closed her eyes and hung on with her good hand, and when the Jeep finally screeched to a halt, she tumbled out the door, heading straight for the main tent.
The medical post was rudimentary. It was set up for minor accidents such as Milla's and basic health care. Since it was a mission, it was free to the poor and was always crowded with sick infants, pregnant women, children with twisted ankles or broken arms and grownups with a variety of ailments. There was always a line and today was no different. But when the group gathered in front of the open-sided tent saw Milla, she got a lot of attention. Impressed with her blood-stained shirt and mysterious bandage, she was ushered to the front of the line, behind the blind grandfather and in front of the little boy with the running sores on his leg.
The medical mission was staffed with three Britains, a French woman and three Egyptians who spoke all the local dialects. Milla knew them all well, and when she realized her favorite doctor and friend, Sara, wasn't in sight, she focused on Sara's husband. When he saw her, his dark eyebrows raised.
"What is it this time, Milla?"
"Hey, Sammy." She and Sam had a lot in common: both dark, both often mistaken for Egyptians, both good at languages. The non-Egyptian community was a close one, and she had become fast friends with Sara and Sam Sanderson. She gave him a somewhat grim smile and sat down in the wobbly chair, positioning herself so the line of locals could see what was happening. To some of them, medical care was somewhat magical, even though none of them would have ever admitted they believed in such things. In any case, since the area was open, none of the treatment was private.
"So, what happened?" he asked.
"Just a little accident. Where's Sara?"
Absently, he replied, "She had to go help a woman deliver twins. It's the woman's first birth and so Sara may have to sleep over. She'll be back by tomorrow if all goes well. She'll be sorry she missed you."
"It'll be good practice for when Baby Sanderson comes into the world, I guess," Milla said, trying to be brave about her injury. "How much longer?"
"Till our baby comes? A few months." Gently, Sam began unwrapping Milla's hand. When he saw the cuts, he let out a low whistle. "Did you wash this yet?"
"I didn't have any pure water."
Sam washed and disinfected her hand. It had begun to hurt in the Jeep, but now every time he touched her she had to grit her teeth. At least it stopped bleeding ... mostly. Milla looked away, concentrating instead on the line of people watching her with interest.
"You're going to need some stitches, Milla. I'm going to have to deaden the area and it's going to hurt."
"You're such a comfort, Sammy," Milla said, pain making her sarcastic. She watched Sam fill a syringe with some medicine he'd taken from the ice chest. "Can you at least count to three for me?" Milla asked, and Sammy looked confused.
"You want a lolly, too?"
"If you have one, that would be nice," Milla admitted. "I already fainted once and I don't really want to do it again today."
Sammy shook his head, took a sucker out of his pocket, undid the wrapper for her and popped it in her mouth. "One, two, three," he said, and on three Milla took a sharp breath in so she wouldn't feel the stick of the needle.
It didn't help.
"Hey, that hurts!" she protested, nearly choking on her candy.
"I told you --"
"When you get finished I'm going to --"
"Hold on, I need to do another on the other side --"
"Sammy! Ouch! You're killing me!"
"Milla, sit still -- you'll inhale the lolly if you're not careful -- "
She screeched again, nearly yanking her injured hand from his. "I'm telling Sara on you! You're hurting me --"
"Just one more --"
"Sammy --!"
"There. That's all." Sam was sweating almost as much as Milla, and the locals were watching them both avidly. "Jesus. I'd rather work on four infants and any number of camels, donkeys or dogs than you."
Sullenly, Milla said, "Are you telling me you're a vet, too? Because I know a cat that needs some attention. If I can only catch it."
He snorted. "You're not going to be catching anything, especially cats, for a while." Sam sat back, waiting for the medicine to deaden Milla's nerves. "Yesterday, an old chap brought in a goat. He said it was feeling bad and he wanted us to fix it up."
"Did you?"
"I don't know. We gave it some ipecac and sent them on their way. Haven't seen him today, so hopefully it did the trick."
"At least no one's brought you a snake."
"Not yet," Sam grinned, "But it's only a matter of time." He bent forward, touched her hand, and asked, "Can you feel that?"
"No."
"Good." He hesitated, then said, "You probably shouldn't watch me sew you up."
"Okay," Milla said, concentrating on her audience. She gave them what she hoped was a cheerful smile and waited while Sam threaded his needle.
"You shouldn't feel any pain, so if something hurts, let me know."
"Trust me, you'll be the first to know." Milla crunched the rest of her lollypop and tucked the stick in her shirt pocket, avoiding looking at Sam or her hand.
After a minute, he said, "It's a good thing Hassan brought you in. This could be nasty if it gets infected. Promise me you'll take good care of it. No chasing cats or anything else."
Dreading what he might mean, Milla asked, "Does that mean I can't sort pottery anymore?"
"I wouldn't advise it. Keep it clean, and that means no grubbing about in tombs. Not even to look at the art."
"Not that I could copy any of it anyway with a bum hand," Milla said, depressed. "This is just another example of my rotten luck this year."
"Ah, it wasn't so bad six months ago. Remember? You got to muck about in all those lovely tombs, copying the artwork, breathing in so much bat dung that I thought you'd be ill."
"It's guano. Bat guano," Milla corrected him.
"Yes, of course. I remember you were quite excited. And the pictures you drew were very good. Even that magazine thought so."
"Yeah, but that was before I got put on White's team. What a waste of time."
"So, how are things going otherwise?"
Milla hesitated. "All right, I guess." Her odd feeling returned, and she asked suddenly, "Sammy, do you have a telephone I could use?"
"Nope. It's recharging. What happened to yours?"
"Sand." Sand got in everything and gummed up the works; so far, Milla had gone through three phones.
"We've got the short-range one for emergencies if you need it. Want to call the camp and tell them what happened?"
"No, I sent Hassan back already. His English is good enough to explain what happened. I wanted to call home."
"What for?" Sam glanced at her face. "Something wrong?"
"No. I don't know. I just ... want to hear my mother's voice."
He smiled. "You sound like Sara. Actually, she usually prefers to hear my mother's voice, rather than hers. But I'm afraid our short wave won't reach Italy. I'm supposed to go into Cairo tomorrow for supplies, though. Want to come? You might as well; you won't be able to do anything with that hand for awhile anyway. Sara was going to come, but I don't know that she'll be back in time. First babies are notoriously late."
Milla was silent for a moment. The line at the tent had gone down somewhat; now only four people were waiting. "Do you think we could go today?"
"Milla, you're not going to be feeling like rambling across the desert in a Jeep in a few hours, trust me."
"You could give me some medicine."
"Now, that's a first: Milla asking for drugs. I'd better write this one down in my journal," Sam laughed.
"Sammy, I'm serious. I want to go today. Please."
Sam finished her hand and cut the thread. Milla felt him doing something to her, but she didn't chance a look in case it was something nasty and she fainted again. Then she felt him bandaging her hand. "All done," he announced. "You can look now."
She looked at her hand. It was nicely wrapped in pristine white. "It looks lovely. Thanks, Sammy."
"Nearly 40 stitches. Not shabby, Milla."
Milla made a face. "It sounds worse when you put it that way."
"It'll feel worse tonight, too," Sam said seriously. "I really think we should wait till tomorrow to go into town."
"Tomorrow I'll be cranky and mad that I can't work. Now I'm just numb and anxious," Milla pointed out.
Sam sighed. "All right, Miss Stubborn. Let me take care of the last of these patients. See if you can borrow a clean shirt from one of the girls. Then we'll go."
****************
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