Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Shadow Soldiers12: A Fine Christian Lady
This is the second day of the final week of episodes for this story. Please browse the bookstore.
By the time Carrie returned, the thermal pack wrapped up in towels, Anne had stretched out under the covers. But she had been conscientious about sipping the water. The glass was more than half empty. She needed more, but drinking a lot of water might aggravate the cramping. Carrie applied the wrapped hot pack to her abdomen and covered her.
At last accepting that tonight was not usual, Constable Magpie trilled and leaped lightly onto the bed. Now that he had been fed, he was ready to extend his solemn courtesy to this stranger.
Anne had been ready to sleep, but she opened her eyes at her new visitor. He picked his way over the covers and walked across her legs, his large eyes fixed on her face as he waited for her to greet him.
"What a regal cat!" she whispered. "You must be king in this castle."
The word choice startled Carrie and yet pleased her. As plain and coarse as the life Anne had chosen for herself, there was something about her that was uniquely intelligent and perceptive.
"His name is Constable Magpie," Carrie told her. "And he keeps order in this neighborhood and maintains the public peace."
"Hello Constable." Anne extended her long, thin fingers to him, and he quickly rubbed his face along them on one side and then on the other. He walked up the bed between her arm and body, and then with a sudden, graceful collapse, he dropped against Anne's side and began to purr.
She smiled. "He's friendly."
"He's on watch," Carrie told her. "He'll look after you for a bit and then move on, but he'll be back."
Anne stroked him under his chin, and he closed his eyes and extended a paw, toes spread in happiness.
"Unless he should fall asleep on the job," Carrie added. He seemed inclined to do just that.
"Why did I get sick?" Anne asked.
"I suppose you have a touch of stomach flu, but you may have ingested something spoilt or tainted. Or maybe I just gave you too much to eat. Are you able to wash your hands before you eat?"
"Yes. I use the hose. I don't eat spoiled food. And the cinnamon rolls you gave me were good."
"Let's do a quick check for any dysentery. You're not feverish now."
She wasn't sure that Anne would allow an examination, so she kept it very brief. "Tell me if you feel any tenderness." She set the hot pack aside for a moment and did a quick palpation of the abdomen, but it felt pliable: no blockage or serious inflammation, though Anne winced quickly to show a certain tenderness near the liver. It wasn't painful enough to warrant alarm.
"Now it all hurts again, just a little, now that you've stopped," Anne said as Carrie replaced the compress and covered her.
"You have slight inflammation of the intestines. I assume right now that it's temporary, but it will require 24 hours for me to know. Will you stay here for 24 hours? If you leave and get sick again, I may not find you in time to help you."
"Yes," Anne said meekly. "I'll stay. Thank you." And then she nodded as the residual cramping from the brief palpation diminished. "It's all right."
"The paregoric will make things relax, and we'll hope that a little proper care will get you back on your feet."
"You know, you're the nicest Christian lady I've ever met," Anne said with great solemnity. "You're very kind."
Carrie caught herself back from open shock. "Why Anne, thank you. But what makes you think I'm a Christian?"
"Because you take care of poor people. That's what Christians are supposed to do, isn't it?"
In an instant, Carrie saw the gulf between herself and this artless master widen further. Carrie had never even thought about the poor except to regard them as unfortunates and possibly mentally incompetent. "I'm not of the Christian faith, Anne," she said gently. "I don't have any beliefs in the supernatural. Anyway, I never did." She paused. "Are you a Christian?"
Anne let out a startled laugh. "No! I stay away from Jesus! But a lot of Christian churches have been good to me."
"Perhaps," Carrie said. "I could learn something from those churches."
But Anne looked puzzled. A faint light of the martial arts master came into her eyes. "Why did you come to me?"
"I don't want to trespass on your privacy," Carrie said quickly. "Please forgive me if I have. But Dr. Rolande says he can arrange a meeting with the man who's been let out on bail. I wanted to know if you would come."
"You didn't trespass," Anne said. "I'll have to think about the rest. This matter belongs to you, not the dead."
"All right." And Carrie rested her hand on Anne's forehead. The skin was less hot and dry, but still not cool and elastic as it would have been for a well person. "The first thing to do is get you better."
Constable Magpie was dozing. As Carrie said nothing else and waited for a moment, the large dose of paregoric finally had full effect, and Anne's eyes closed.
Carrie switched off the lamp, gathered up the medicine and the teaspoon, noted the time, and left. She gave her own hands and face a good scrubbing with antibacterial soap. In all likelihood, she had already been exposed to any bacteria in the air that Anne had been exposed to. If this were merely stomach flu, Anne had probably yielded to it from a low immunity. But Carrie was taking no chances. She scrubbed her hands and forearms up to the elbows and then pinned back her reddish hair and scrubbed her face back to the ears. She changed into her own night clothes, dropped everything she had worn when in contact with Anne into the washing machine, and then saw to her own supper. She had no concerns about Anne becoming restless during the night; the camphorated opium of the paregoric would keep her out for hours. While canned soup simmered on the stove top, she checked her own personal medicine cabinet and found a couple tablets of Ciprofloxacine, obtained in a free sample package from a drug rep.
She debated for a moment about giving Anne a dose of it, then decided against it, at least until she saw the progress of the symptoms. Cipro was often used as a quick remedy against unspecified causes of "traveler's troubles," where the likely suspects numbered in the dozens from polluted water supplies or untreated fruits and vegetables. But it was a powerful antibiotic, and there was always the danger that it would not assimilate well into Anne's metabolism.
The apartment was quiet with an odd peace, as though the sense of the comforted, quieted person asleep in the guest room had somehow permeated the place. Carrie tried to dismiss this sense as something her own mind had manufactured, yet for the first time in several days the case no longer troubled her. She realized that the suppressed pangs of her own grief and guilt about the life she had thrown away so long ago were entirely still. She stopped worrying about Rusty Makevitch, and she forgave Rolande for being such a bumbler at times. Indeed, as she settled down onto the sofa with a bowl filled with chicken soup, she didn't even bother to turn on the television. The silence was rich, peaceful, and yet full. Surely, she thought, it was just her imagination.
* * * *
In the morning, Anne remained soundly asleep, Constable Magpie now snugly curled against her neck and face. He was usually up and about by dawn, but Carrie supposed that Anne's quietness and warmth had been as calming to him as he had been to her.
As he heard Carrie enter, he sleepily looked up and stretched out a paw towards her. Anne didn't stir. Her face on the pillow was white, but her breathing was even and calm. The cat stood in leisurely fashion and sharply arched his back, getting the kinks out. He dropped to the floor and wound himself around Carrie's legs as she looked at Anne.
The water level in the glass on the nightstand remained unchanged. Anne had simply slept, very deeply, for ten hours. But her skin was warm, though not hot, and her pulse slow and regular.
Carrie at last assured herself that the young woman was merely exhausted. She went to find breakfast for herself and the Constable.
Thirty minutes later, when she returned, Anne did open her eyes. She was clearly feeling better, but groggy.
"Hello you," Carrie said kindly. She had her coffee with her, and with her free hand she brushed back Anne's bangs. "How do you feel today?"
Anne, drowsy and relaxed, took in her breath in an experimental sort of way. "I'm not sure."
"Do you want some nice dry toast?"
"No thank you." She paused and her eyes flicked to the nightstand. "Maybe the water." She struggled to a sitting position and took up the glass. Following the directions from the night before, she sipped it, but her sips were more enthusiastic. She was feeling her thirst.
"I'm going to make some toast just the same," Carrie said. "You don't have to eat it, but you can if you like."
"May I have tea?" Anne asked. "Should I help you?"
"Of course you may have tea, and I think you should stay in bed for a few hours. There's really no need for you to stir. After being so ill, you should rest as much as you can."
"For proper balance," Anne added, and even though Carrie didn't know what that meant, she agreed, "Yes, for proper balance." She went out to make the tea.
|
By the time Carrie returned, the thermal pack wrapped up in towels, Anne had stretched out under the covers. But she had been conscientious about sipping the water. The glass was more than half empty. She needed more, but drinking a lot of water might aggravate the cramping. Carrie applied the wrapped hot pack to her abdomen and covered her.
At last accepting that tonight was not usual, Constable Magpie trilled and leaped lightly onto the bed. Now that he had been fed, he was ready to extend his solemn courtesy to this stranger.
Anne had been ready to sleep, but she opened her eyes at her new visitor. He picked his way over the covers and walked across her legs, his large eyes fixed on her face as he waited for her to greet him.
"What a regal cat!" she whispered. "You must be king in this castle."
The word choice startled Carrie and yet pleased her. As plain and coarse as the life Anne had chosen for herself, there was something about her that was uniquely intelligent and perceptive.
"His name is Constable Magpie," Carrie told her. "And he keeps order in this neighborhood and maintains the public peace."
"Hello Constable." Anne extended her long, thin fingers to him, and he quickly rubbed his face along them on one side and then on the other. He walked up the bed between her arm and body, and then with a sudden, graceful collapse, he dropped against Anne's side and began to purr.
She smiled. "He's friendly."
"He's on watch," Carrie told her. "He'll look after you for a bit and then move on, but he'll be back."
Anne stroked him under his chin, and he closed his eyes and extended a paw, toes spread in happiness.
"Unless he should fall asleep on the job," Carrie added. He seemed inclined to do just that.
"Why did I get sick?" Anne asked.
"I suppose you have a touch of stomach flu, but you may have ingested something spoilt or tainted. Or maybe I just gave you too much to eat. Are you able to wash your hands before you eat?"
"Yes. I use the hose. I don't eat spoiled food. And the cinnamon rolls you gave me were good."
"Let's do a quick check for any dysentery. You're not feverish now."
She wasn't sure that Anne would allow an examination, so she kept it very brief. "Tell me if you feel any tenderness." She set the hot pack aside for a moment and did a quick palpation of the abdomen, but it felt pliable: no blockage or serious inflammation, though Anne winced quickly to show a certain tenderness near the liver. It wasn't painful enough to warrant alarm.
"Now it all hurts again, just a little, now that you've stopped," Anne said as Carrie replaced the compress and covered her.
"You have slight inflammation of the intestines. I assume right now that it's temporary, but it will require 24 hours for me to know. Will you stay here for 24 hours? If you leave and get sick again, I may not find you in time to help you."
"Yes," Anne said meekly. "I'll stay. Thank you." And then she nodded as the residual cramping from the brief palpation diminished. "It's all right."
"The paregoric will make things relax, and we'll hope that a little proper care will get you back on your feet."
"You know, you're the nicest Christian lady I've ever met," Anne said with great solemnity. "You're very kind."
Carrie caught herself back from open shock. "Why Anne, thank you. But what makes you think I'm a Christian?"
"Because you take care of poor people. That's what Christians are supposed to do, isn't it?"
In an instant, Carrie saw the gulf between herself and this artless master widen further. Carrie had never even thought about the poor except to regard them as unfortunates and possibly mentally incompetent. "I'm not of the Christian faith, Anne," she said gently. "I don't have any beliefs in the supernatural. Anyway, I never did." She paused. "Are you a Christian?"
Anne let out a startled laugh. "No! I stay away from Jesus! But a lot of Christian churches have been good to me."
"Perhaps," Carrie said. "I could learn something from those churches."
But Anne looked puzzled. A faint light of the martial arts master came into her eyes. "Why did you come to me?"
"I don't want to trespass on your privacy," Carrie said quickly. "Please forgive me if I have. But Dr. Rolande says he can arrange a meeting with the man who's been let out on bail. I wanted to know if you would come."
"You didn't trespass," Anne said. "I'll have to think about the rest. This matter belongs to you, not the dead."
"All right." And Carrie rested her hand on Anne's forehead. The skin was less hot and dry, but still not cool and elastic as it would have been for a well person. "The first thing to do is get you better."
Constable Magpie was dozing. As Carrie said nothing else and waited for a moment, the large dose of paregoric finally had full effect, and Anne's eyes closed.
Carrie switched off the lamp, gathered up the medicine and the teaspoon, noted the time, and left. She gave her own hands and face a good scrubbing with antibacterial soap. In all likelihood, she had already been exposed to any bacteria in the air that Anne had been exposed to. If this were merely stomach flu, Anne had probably yielded to it from a low immunity. But Carrie was taking no chances. She scrubbed her hands and forearms up to the elbows and then pinned back her reddish hair and scrubbed her face back to the ears. She changed into her own night clothes, dropped everything she had worn when in contact with Anne into the washing machine, and then saw to her own supper. She had no concerns about Anne becoming restless during the night; the camphorated opium of the paregoric would keep her out for hours. While canned soup simmered on the stove top, she checked her own personal medicine cabinet and found a couple tablets of Ciprofloxacine, obtained in a free sample package from a drug rep.
She debated for a moment about giving Anne a dose of it, then decided against it, at least until she saw the progress of the symptoms. Cipro was often used as a quick remedy against unspecified causes of "traveler's troubles," where the likely suspects numbered in the dozens from polluted water supplies or untreated fruits and vegetables. But it was a powerful antibiotic, and there was always the danger that it would not assimilate well into Anne's metabolism.
The apartment was quiet with an odd peace, as though the sense of the comforted, quieted person asleep in the guest room had somehow permeated the place. Carrie tried to dismiss this sense as something her own mind had manufactured, yet for the first time in several days the case no longer troubled her. She realized that the suppressed pangs of her own grief and guilt about the life she had thrown away so long ago were entirely still. She stopped worrying about Rusty Makevitch, and she forgave Rolande for being such a bumbler at times. Indeed, as she settled down onto the sofa with a bowl filled with chicken soup, she didn't even bother to turn on the television. The silence was rich, peaceful, and yet full. Surely, she thought, it was just her imagination.
* * * *
In the morning, Anne remained soundly asleep, Constable Magpie now snugly curled against her neck and face. He was usually up and about by dawn, but Carrie supposed that Anne's quietness and warmth had been as calming to him as he had been to her.
As he heard Carrie enter, he sleepily looked up and stretched out a paw towards her. Anne didn't stir. Her face on the pillow was white, but her breathing was even and calm. The cat stood in leisurely fashion and sharply arched his back, getting the kinks out. He dropped to the floor and wound himself around Carrie's legs as she looked at Anne.
The water level in the glass on the nightstand remained unchanged. Anne had simply slept, very deeply, for ten hours. But her skin was warm, though not hot, and her pulse slow and regular.
Carrie at last assured herself that the young woman was merely exhausted. She went to find breakfast for herself and the Constable.
Thirty minutes later, when she returned, Anne did open her eyes. She was clearly feeling better, but groggy.
"Hello you," Carrie said kindly. She had her coffee with her, and with her free hand she brushed back Anne's bangs. "How do you feel today?"
Anne, drowsy and relaxed, took in her breath in an experimental sort of way. "I'm not sure."
"Do you want some nice dry toast?"
"No thank you." She paused and her eyes flicked to the nightstand. "Maybe the water." She struggled to a sitting position and took up the glass. Following the directions from the night before, she sipped it, but her sips were more enthusiastic. She was feeling her thirst.
"I'm going to make some toast just the same," Carrie said. "You don't have to eat it, but you can if you like."
"May I have tea?" Anne asked. "Should I help you?"
"Of course you may have tea, and I think you should stay in bed for a few hours. There's really no need for you to stir. After being so ill, you should rest as much as you can."
"For proper balance," Anne added, and even though Carrie didn't know what that meant, she agreed, "Yes, for proper balance." She went out to make the tea.
