Nurse Jess (5 page)

“
Then why not Brian, Sister Helen?
”

“
Because he wasn
’
t even the stir of a little breeze when we got him, only barely a rustle.
”
Sister and Jessa smiled.

“
Come in here and look at this pair,
”
invited Sister Helen.
“
They practically came in together. Both three months prem and both bo
rn
on the same day of the same week.
”

Jessa looked. One was a little chocolate brown aboriginal girl, the other, a wan little boy, looked very pale in comparison.

“
Tar Baby and Brer Rabbit,
”
the sister said.
“
In spite of Brer Rabbit
’
s pallor it
’
s Tar Baby we
’
re most worried over. She isn
’
t responding at all well.
”

Jessa gazed at the little dark girl, finding, as most people find, that a brown baby is infinitely more attractive than a white one.

She saw the purity of the small features, the proud brow. What noble lineage stood behind this dark atom, much nobler, she knew, than hers. From what far warrior tribe had she descended—the brave Aruntas? the Bindaboos?

Would she have had more chance among her own native people, more opportunity of survival than in a modern foreign hospital like this?

She touched a little finger. It was like brown boronia. Land of the woomera, the warrigal, the didgeridoo, even this young was there an instinct in her, was she heartsick in this hygienic white world?

Sister-in-charge must have sensed her thought, for she said briskly,
“
Make no error, Nurse Jess, a premature child me-ins simply a child who has so many degrees less chance of
l
iving. There
’
s no magic of survival, no witchery, unless it is
a
ccompanied by science, good nursing, good sense.
”
She paused and added,
“
And God.
”

Margaret caught up with her at the self-serve at dinner. They were pleased to see that their table was left vacant now as a matter of course.

Jessa told her about Tar Baby and Margaret recounted a new inmate to Three who had received a blood transfusion w
ithin
minutes of reaching Belinda.

“
Did you know we were the only hospital to admit prems from other hospitals, Jessa? Doctor Elizabeth told me that
she
has given transfusions to one hundred and twenty Rh-factor babies in two years, and only lost one.
”

“
I suppose there must always be a loss,
”
nodded Jessa, re
membering
Sister-in-charge
’
s words, that a premature chi
ld
had so many degrees less chance of living. For some reason she thought of her brown
boronia
girl.

She fed all the afternoon. Feeding, like diapering, was always with them. The Bouncer—more affable being fed than bathed—cam
e
first, then the Bruiser, the Ace, Madeleine, the
femme fatale,
Russell, Bing, Eric or Little by Little.

Before she went down to afternoon tea she had another peep at Tar Baby. The wee girl lay very quiet, but then so did Brer Rabbit. Jessa tiptoed away feeling a little cheered.

When she returned she was given drop feeding, and that took a long time. It was only five minutes from the end of her day when she finished giving her last issue of drops.

She stole along to the cubicle for a final peep, but Tar Baby was gone. Brer Rabbit was still there, still wan and pale. Perhaps her little scrap of brown boronia had been placed in an isolet. She went to enquire.

Sister Helen said,
“
Tar Baby, Nurse Jess? No, she didn
’
t make it, the poor tiny sweet. Of course we didn
’
t expect her to. She was very prem and in very poor condition. We have only faint hopes for Brer Rabbit, too, he is also frail.
”

Jessa said,
“
Yes,
”
and went out into the corridor. She felt that old tight ball she always knew with finality stiffening in her heart. She had never got over it, not in her four years at Great Southern, that sudden blankness, that listening, seeking, feeling sensation... that knowledge of a falling star.

She stood there irresolute, wanting to comfort—or was it wanting comfort?

She had often comforted at G.S. Someone—it had been Matron—had said she possessed that touch.

But there was no one to comfort here. Perhaps not anywhere. Perhaps the mother of the little tar baby, too, had gone ahead. Or she might be too sick to care. Or she might have known before her baby came to Belinda that it was all quite hopeless.

Still it was strange not to go and put your arms around someone, touch their hand with yours.

That was the comfort she was missing, her comfort in their comfort.

On a sudden impulse Jessa went along to Ward Six.

In the small off-cubicle she could hear a nurse moving around busily. She was the only one on duty. It was the quiet hour. Silently she tiptoed to the Perfesser
’
s crib.

He was awake. He looked at her in that old wise way babies do even though one knows they must be unaware of everything. He still had that same lost little look.
“
Hallo,
Perfesser,
”
she said.

Then all at once she knew that someone else was visiting. He had come the other side and was bending over Master X, and, as usual, his hair fell forward as he did so and his glasses sat askew. A piece of cotton still dangled absurdly from one wing.

“
Late shift?
”
he asked.

“
No, sir.
”

The eyebrows, as shaggy as the hair, raised in silent question.

“
Visiting,
”
Jess said.

“
Every baby
?
”

“
No.
”

“
But
this
baby?
”

“
Yes.
”

“
Why?
”
asked Professor Gink.

Why. Why
had
she visited the Perfesser? Jessa only knew one reason, and it had no connection, no connection at all, but stumblingly she stammered it.
“
The Tar Baby died,
”
she said.

She knew at once she could make no sense, that this show of emotion, even to a man who advocated emotion, must border on famous sentimentality, that she was being maudlin in fact.

Then quietly, gently, he was saying,
“
So that little brown leaf has left the tree,
”
and Jessa was seeing a leaf falling... falling... then lying at last on the warm wide-bosomed earth. In some odd way she felt that arms had been put around her, she knew, without any movement from him, a touch of a hand in hers.

Presently he said softly,
“
It is always difficult, always unpredictable. Nature made certain rules of time, of physical condition. Sometimes a leeway can be made up, sometimes not. When we fail they go on to the really skilled Hands.
”

“
Yes,
”
Jessa said, and she felt the tight ball disappear.

“
And how are you, Perfesser?
”
Professor Gink was now saying.

Jessa knew he must have heard her greeting, and she flushed.

She looked across at him in apology and explained,
“
It was only because he had a faraway look that I named him that
.
”

“
Not,
”
suggested Professor Gink mildly,
“
because he had
my ears?
”

He listened to his breathing, took up a little wris
t
, replaced it, drew up the rugs.

“
I
’
ll pass him tonight,
”
he decided.
“
Shall we go, Nurse Jess?
”

He remembered her name.
Shutting the door soundlessly behind them—by this Jessa had really conquered the art of appearance and disappearance—Jessa felt at first gratified, and then disconcerted. Of course he would remember her name. Everyone always remembered a thorn.

Falteringly she said,
“
I
’
m terribly sorry about your spectacles. It was really my fault. If you have others to substitute I could have them mended.
”

“
I do have others. These are my old ones. I always carry several pairs, but put on the first one I lay my hands on. It just happens I
’
ve laid my hands each time on this pair.
”

“
Then could I have them, please?
”

“
What for?
”

“
To mend them. I just told you.
”

“
Look here, they
’
re my old pair. The frames are positively battered. They
’
re not worth it, but I tell you what you could do, Nurse Jess
—”

“
Yes?
”

“
Your fingers are more supple than mine
—”

Jessa glanced down and doubted it. He might be big and clumsy, but his hands were thin and sensitive, they were surgeon
’
s hands. Her look said as much.

“
Yours are a woman
’
s hands,
”
he differed,
“
and as such, more versed in intricate knotting. I have no doubt, too, you have finer cotton than this.
”
He took off the glasses and handed them over. Without them he looked defenceless somehow, more like a small boy than a learned man.

She touched the clumsy repair job.
“
It feels like fishing gut.
”
she told him.

He grinned suddenly and mischievously.
“
Quite right, Nurse Jess, it was.
”

“
You want me to put fine cotton round this break, finish it without a dangle?
”

“
Is that what you prescribe?
”

“
Yes,
”
said Jess.

He was rummaging for his second pair of glasses, his best pair. Out they came, a little less battered than the first.

Jessa was putting the repair job into one of her capacious pockets.
“
You really should get some decent glasses,
”
she advised,
“
why don
’
t you slip into the Eye Clin
—”

She stopped short, agonizingly aware of what she had been going to say, of his instant hidden laughter.

Clinics
... She was always recommending him to clinics. What must he think!

“
I must go to tea,
”
she stammered, retreated a step, said,
“
Goodbye, sir,
”
then hurried along the corridor.

Her cheeks were burning, her heart was pounding furiously at her own stupidity, she felt .disgusted with herself—but in her pocket, oddly comforting, oddly lovable, she carried carefully and proudly the broken spectacles of the Great Professor Gink.

CHAPTER V

SHE sat up late that night making a neat job of them. She even ran down to the corner store for a reel of brown silk. Her own sewing box, a farewell gift from Mother, had a selection of spools like an artist
’
s palette, but you couldn
’
t mend a professor
’
s spectacles in pink or blue thread.

When she had finished, it looked almost professional. It was very strong, very unobtrusive, most of all it had no dangle. She put the glasses beside her on the bedside table and they were the last thing she looked at before she went to sleep and the first thing she looked at when she woke up.

She slipped them in the pocket of her lilac uniform
—
Margaret was dove-grey today—and now and then as they went downstairs to breakfast she gave them a reassuring touch.

Margaret brought the subject back to the Professor again, tactfully bypassing Jessa
’
s regrettable
faux pas
in not only thinking the Professor was a parent, but directing him to medical aid. She spoke admiringly of what he had said in

London, how he had lectured in America, the countries in which he had travelled by special invitation to give his scholarly advice—Yes, thought Jessa, and I have his very own spectacles right here.

She looked out for him as they climbed the stairs for work, peered along the long corridor, glanced up for a daddy-long-legs shadow on the opposite wall, peered quickly through the glass of every ward. There was no Professor Gink.

Once inside the nurseries she had little time to think of him. The Bruiser was not only to be bathed and fed, he had to be dressed.

“
Dressed, Sister Helen You mean, of course, his
nightie—
”

“
Pilchers, petticoat, dress, jacket, bonnet, what-have-you,
”
said Sister.
“
He
’
s going home, my dear.
”

“
Home?
”

“
Where else? He
’
s not advanced yet for college, and I do believe home is the usual place.
”

“
But is he big enough?
”

“
Five and a quarter pounds, and that
’
s more than lots of normal term babies. Do you expect us to keep him till he
’
s ready to vote?
”

“
I only hope we
’
re doing the right thing,
”
said Jessa, looking down on what she considered in her newness here was a very small babe indeed.

“
Since when has a trainee of two days
’
experience known more than Professor Gink?
”
returned the Sister not unkindly.

“
Did the Professor say he was to go?
”

“
It
’
s one of his net theories. The best equipped hospital in the world is not as good as the poorest home, in his belief. As soon as they reach five pounds, so long as there are no complications, he likes a child under his own roof tree. Nurse Jess.

“
The child needs it, too. Don
’
t think for one minute that these babies are being hoodwinked. They know we
’
re only playing a part, that we are only poor substitutes at the best.

“
Then there
’
s the mother. Try to feel with her the frustration she
’
s been suffering. A mother in word only. Now at last comes her big chance.
”

Jessa finished Bruiser
’
s bath accompanied by Bruiser
’
s usual howls and started Bruiser
’
s bottle accompanied by Bruiser
’
s usual purrs.

“
Has Professor Gink done his rounds yet?
”

“
Bless you, he doesn
’
t work to a schedule, he just flies in and flies out. At the moment he has flown to another state.
”

“
Another state?
”

“
South Australia cabled for his opinio
n.
Next week it might be Queensland, over to New Zealand, anywhere. He is not actually attached to Belinda, he
’
s just very interested in it. In a way it
’
s his baby.
”
At that pun Sister Helen laughed.

Jessa felt the spectacles in her pocket.
“
Is he usually long away?
”
she asked.

Sister Helen, diapering Madeleine, sighed,
“
Those lashes of hers ought to be cut, they
’
re absurdly fabulous—no, not long, not long anywhere, he
’
s too much in demand.
”

“
It—it must be hard for his wife.
”
Jessa was aware that her heart was thumping oddly.

“
No wife; never even looked like marriage—bur I suppose it will come in time. A doctor should be a family man, I think. But the girl would have to be somebody special, wouldn
’
t she? Something like him—dedicated.
”

“
Yes
... dedicated...
”
agreed Jessa, and all at once she was remembering that that was how she had always thought of Margaret...
dedicated.

And as suddenly she was remembering last night and Margaret
’
s shining eyes.

They would be a good pair, a marvellous pair, she thought excitedly. Between them they could achieve so much of what is really worthwhile.

Jessa took away the empty bottle, put Bruiser down in his crib and went to the nursery locker for his suitcase of clothes.

I must do my best, she was thinking earnestly, to bring them together; I have no
“
dedication
”
like Margaret, only a
“
thing
”
about nursing, but I can still dedicate myself to that special purpose, the purpose of merging two dedicated people for the betterment of a cause.

She took out a case from the T. shelf. Bruiser
’
s name was David Talbot. If somewhere deep within her there was a queer feeling of inexplicable regret it was vague and very small.

The case was placed on the nursery table. Because a baby
’
s trousseau is always irresistible, everyone flocked around to see.

Miracles of soft garments were withdrawn from tissue paper. Even the little under-vests were rose-embroidered. Sister Judith gave a snort.

“
When I was at Brennan Maternity,
”
she said,
“
we
’
d give a list to prospective mothers. Four singlets, six nightgowns, one shawl—but do you think they would?
”

“
No, dozens of everything, most of them absurdly superfluous, and every garment cluttered with rosebuds or forget
-
me-nots. Rosebuds on our Bruiser, the very idea!
”

“
He mightn
’
t be a Bruiser to his mother,
”
suggested someone.

“
I expect so,
”
agreed Sister Judith with a smile.
“
I expect too, she
’
ll be like all prem mums and say,
‘
Oh dear, isn
’
t he terribly small!
’
”

“
The trouble is,
”
put in Sister Helen wisely,
“
they will compare them to the baby at the back, or the baby next door. A prem baby should only, in growth, be compared to itself.
”

The Bruiser yawned widely as though bored with their talk, and Sister Helen went on.

“
One thing I
do
know, and that is that his bonnet won
’
t fit. They never do. Try it, Nurse Jess.
”

Jessa put it on, an absurd little frilly be-ribboned halo, and it fell at once round his ears.

As they all laughed Sister Helen produced a plain helmet with workmanlike ribbons.
“
For all his five pounds, four ounces, he
’
s still small. The rest of him can be bundled up to fit, but you can
’
t bundle up a bonnet. I wish mothers would realize that all babies
’
heads and particularly prems
’
heads are very tiny.
”

“
Do you always keep bonnets in stock?
”
asked Jessa curiously, putting the Bruiser into bootees.

Sister Helen looked a little embarrassed.
“
I
’
m a poor donothinger,
”
she admitted.
“
When I
’
m off duty or resting or visiting, I work at these sort of things.
”

The Bruiser was finished at last, and Jessa was permitted
to take him round for his farewells.

“
I suppose the next time I
’
ll see you, young man, will be in the boxing stadium,
”
said Sister Helen.

Jessa had a vision of Sister sitting ringside and still fashioning bonnets.

“
Do you go to prize-fights, Sister Helen?
”

“
It
’
s not a habit of mine, but I
’
ll remember to attend Mr. David Talbot
’
s in another twenty years.
”

Mrs. Talbot did just as she was expected. She took one look at her son and gasped nervously,
“
He
’
s terribly small.
”

“
Five and a quarter pounds, Mrs. Talbot, that
’
s more than lots of normal term babies. You
’
ve been thinking of the baby at the back of you or the baby next door.
”

“
Two doors up,
”
admitted Mrs. Talbot glumly,
“
born a month after but twice the size of him.
”

“
That
’
s how you mustn
’
t compare,
”
advised Jessa with borrowed wisdom.
“
You must only compare him to himself.
”

“
Is—is he hard to handle?
”

Jessa could answer that one unaided. She had had a lot to do with the Bruiser, and with each handling she had become more adept.
“
A piece of cake,
”
she said.

She added.
“
Don
’
t let him bully you. He
’
s tough, Mrs. Talbot. Here we call him the Bruiser. He
’
s going to be a prize-fighter.
”

“
The Bruiser! My David! My delicate little Davey! Of all the names!
”
Mrs. Talbot added determinedly,
“
And he
’
s going to be a bank manager, Nurse.
”

Jessa tried to see the tiny boy with Mrs. Talbot
’
s eyes, remembering, when first she had arrived here, how she had misjudged the size of the Bouncer, the size of all the babes. It was odd how the longer you attended them the less wee they appeared.

“
Well, good luck, anyway, David,
”
she wished. She pressed a kiss on the small forehead.

“
I shall return the bonnet,
”
Mrs. Talbot looked disapprovingly on Sister Helen
’
s serviceable contribution.