Free Staff Nurse in the Tyrol by Elizabeth Houghton Page A

boy.”
    Greta stared at her unbelievingly. “When he was a boy? You did not know Michael before, or so it is you tell me. Was it a lie you tell?”
    “No! No, of course not. His parents didn’t want him to be a doctor. They didn’t help him or encourage him, and it was so difficult for him. Can’t you understand?”
    “How can I understand? He is a doctor now, and what does it concern you that which went before?” Greta said unwillingly.
    Sonia pleaded with her. “It’s because I’m English that it reminds him. Al so it’s because I made a stupid remark...”
    Unexpectedly Greta smiled. “So he scolds you too? I think I believe you now. I am sorry that I did not before. Come along. We eat lunch now, and then we feed the children when we come back. Okay?”
    Sonia sighed with relief. “I’m starved! I miss my bacon and eggs for breakfast.”
    Greta put a friendly arm through hers. “Michael tells me I have hot temper. You must not take me so seriously.”
    Sonia looked up from the stack of charts. What was that sound? She glanced down the long ward. Most of the children were lying on top of their covers in an attempt to keep cool, and they seemed to be dozing. A couple of the older children were reading, keeping a watchful eye on the English nurse to see whether she would stop them. Sonia stood up and walked toward the side wards and stooped to pick up a toy that had fallen from a sleepy hand. There weren’t any seriously ill children, so there wasn’t really any need for her to fuss. If anything did go wrong she could at least pick up the phone and say very urgently Hilfe. Surely someone would send help or at least investigate. Her watch said half-past two. Sister Therese would be back at three o’clock. The children in the side wards were fast asleep. It was cooler on that side of the building, and a small breeze stirred the curtains. Gently she pulled a sheet over a little girl who was lying curled up in a ball.
    Back at the table at the end of the ward, she picked up the Ward Routine book and fished her dictionary out of her pocket. The sooner she knew the important words the better. She had laughed at Greta earlier in the summer for doing the same with her English dictionary, but now she knew how helpless one could feel. The telephone rang, startling her into momentary paralysis. Her hand was shaking as she picked up the receiver. Who would it be? Would she be able to understand them?
    “Hello.” Her voice seemed to quaver.
    “Sonia! Is that you? I’m bringing a child up to the ward right away. I may have to do a tracheotomy, so have everything ready.”
    How far away he sounded and how impatient. Her hand reached out for that precious dictionary and began to flick the pages.
    “Sonia! Do you hear me?”
    “Yes, of course, Michael. I’ll get the dressing ward ready right away. How old is the child?” She must know so that she could put out the right size tracheotomy tube.
    “How old? About three, I think. Be as quick as you can.”
    The receiver at the other end was slammed down abruptly. Sonia replaced hers and went along to the dressing ward. What had Greta said about emergency drums? She had seen some this morning in the cupboard when she had put away the instruments, but she hadn’t taken the time to translate the labels. Sister Therese had come too soon to take her to the nursery. If only ... She pulled herself together. All she had to do was to put on a mask and investigate each drum. It wouldn’t take long...
    The sterilizer was boiling by the time Sonia lifted down the last of the drums. Dear God ... it had to be this one. She was peering into its depths when the door was flung open and Michael came in. He was almost running; the child in his arms seemed so very still except for the agonized heaving of its chest.
    “Give it to me, quickly!” He snatched the drum from her as soon as he had laid the child on the table. “Hold his head. Where’s your sandbag? Never mind ... that towel