Under a Red Sky (10 page)

Read Under a Red Sky Online

Authors: Haya Leah Molnar

BOOK: Under a Red Sky
4Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“That's better,” my mother says. “Now turn your head to the audience and smile.” Mama taps the back of the seat with her stick. “Don't grimace! The audience doesn't care if it hurts. Your job is to look as beautiful as a floating dandelion seed.” Carla soars through the air gracefully on the silent stage.
“Good,” Mama says. “Again. Places, people!” The ballet dancers scurry to their spots. “A one, a two, a three.” The music begins again.
IT'S SNOWING OUTSIDE.
I cannot bear even to look at the silent snowflakes as they hit the ground because I have an earache. My head is throbbing and my cheeks feel hot. There are gurgling sounds in my head like water running through pipes. I can make my ear pop by opening and closing my mouth rapidly several times.
They're so worried about me, they've kept me home from school. Grandpa Yosef went to the market in search of lemons. He says I need vitamin C. Grandma Iulia brought me a cup of tea on a tray and then left our room as quickly as she came in. Mama says she will take me to the doctor as soon as she gets home from work. Tata's not home, and Uncle Max is at work as well. Aunt Puica is probably reading in bed and smoking, as usual. The house is so quiet, I wouldn't mind talking to her. I tiptoe to her room and scratch on her door. She opens it without a sound. She is still in her underwear with a cigarette hanging between her lips. She slides back into bed under her pink satin quilted down comforter and continues to read while I curl up in Uncle Max's chair. The
room is thick with cigarette smoke. I start to choke and cough. Aunt Puica looks up from her book.
“You look like you have a fever,” she says. “Come over here and let me feel your forehead.” I stagger from the armchair to her bed. She places her fingers on my forehead.
“You're burning.” She grabs a skirt from her armoire, zips it up, and runs to the bathroom. She comes back with a wet, cold towel that she wraps around my head, turban style.
“Lie down,” she commands. “I'm going to get you some aspirin,” she says, leaving the room.
I gaze up at the ceiling through the cigarette smoke that moves slowly toward the bare bulb dangling on a string. A knifelike pain starts in the back of my head and radiates beyond my right ear to my cheek. Tears well up in my eyes, but I'm not really crying. I try to muffle the pain by placing Aunt Puica's pillow on top of my head.
I wish Mama were home from work. My head throbs so much, I'm not even afraid to go see the doctor. Aunt Puica returns with a glass of cool water and an aspirin cut in two.
“Swallow both halves,” she says, handing me the aspirin. I gulp the water and taste the bitterness of the pill pieces as they slide down. “Open your mouth and let me see if you've got a sore throat,” she tells me. “Wider. Stick your tongue out and say Aaaah,” she says, peering deep into my throat. “Good. You can close your mouth now.”
“Is it red, Aunt Puica?”
“No. Your throat's fine. But the roof of your mouth is black like a nasty dog's, just as I suspected,” she says, laughing.
I've heard this one before. I know it isn't true because the first time she cracked that joke, I checked it out for myself in the
bathroom mirror. When I told Aunt Puica that the roof of my mouth was pink and not black, she laughed so hard the whole room shook. But now she looks really worried, and she's just repeating the joke out of habit.
 
I MUST HAVE FALLEN ASLEEP, because the next thing I know, my mother and Aunt Puica are pulling my pants on and putting a sweater over my T-shirt. Each of them is rolling socks on my sweaty feet, two layers. Then Mama gets me to sit up on the bed, and everything begins to swirl.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Aunt Puica asks.
“That would be good.” Mama's voice sounds far away.
They bundle me in my overcoat. I'm wearing boots and a dark blue wool hat with a huge pom-pom that my mother knit for me. Aunt Puica wraps an orange muffler around my face, allowing only my eyes to show. Mama puts mittens on my sweaty hands, and I curl my fingers into little fists inside them.
Out in the courtyard, Mama and Aunt Puica each grab of one of my hands. “It's a real blizzard.” I can barely hear Mama's voice. The three of us walk in silence through the white. The wind is howling almost as loudly as the throb in my head.
At the doctor's office everything is white as well. Mama and Aunt Puica peel off my layers of clothes until I'm standing in my undershirt and underpants, feeling the cold floor tiles through my socks. I'm shivering even though I'm very hot. I can't stop my teeth from chattering as a nurse drapes a white sheet around my shoulders and pushes me gently into a metal chair. We wait for the doctor.
The door squeaks open, and a man wearing a white coat appears. He has a band wrapped around his head with a silvery
headlight in the middle of his forehead, right between his eyebrows.
“Hello, Eva,” he greets me. I wonder how he knows my name.
“I'm going to examine your ears,” the doctor says, sitting down on his swivel stool. He pulls on my right earlobe, and I wince as he sticks a cold steel instrument into my ear canal. It hurts so much, everything that was white suddenly turns red.
“It's almost over,” I barely hear him say. “I'm not going to hurt you any more,” he murmurs as he takes out the cold steel instrument and then turns to my mother. I feel my breath seeping back into my chest.
“She's got severe otitis, and it has spread to her mastoid bone, right here.” He touches a spot behind my ear, and I pull away. “We have to do surgery immediately to keep the infection from going to her brain. She will need antibiotics, but we barely have any for our hospital patients. There's a waiting list for drugs imported from the Soviet Union, but this is urgent.” The doctor says this in a calm, thin voice while looking at Mother's feet. “Do you have any connections abroad? Anyone who could send you penicillin?”
Neither Mama nor Aunt Puica answers him immediately. Instead they exchange glances. Finally Mama murmurs, “We have a cousin in Paris, but it will take weeks before her package arrives.”
“I'm afraid we don't have that long,” the doctor says. “Your daughter needs surgery immediately.”
“What does it entail?” Mama asks.
“We will drill the bone here at the back of her head.” I can feel the doctor's smooth fingers running through my hair. “Then we'll open up her skull and drain the infection. It's not pleasant, but it's
necessary. We will have to rely on whatever antibiotics we can get our hands on. There's no time to waste because there's already an infection, and it could quickly spread further to her brain. It's very dangerous.”
“So she needs brain surgery?” Mama swallows hard.
“No. We will open up her cranium by the mastoid bone and close it as soon as we drain the infection. We're not operating on her brain, just exposing it briefly.”
“Doctor, my daughter doesn't have a zipper located behind her ear!”
Aunt Puica smirks at Mama's comment, but the doctor is silent.
“I understand you're upset,” he tells Mama. “But believe me, you don't have a choice.”
“Puica, what do you think?” Mama asks.
“I think I would avoid major surgery at all costs,” Aunt Puica tells my mother and then addresses the doctor. “I was a surgical nurse during the war, and I'm concerned about doing this without antibiotics. I hope you don't mind, but I think we need a second opinion.”
“Suit yourselves,” the doctor snaps. “But you haven't got much time. I wouldn't want this child's life on my conscience.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Aunt Puica says while getting my clothes on. “We'll let you know just as soon as we make a decision.” Then we're back on the street, trudging through drifts of deep snow. Everything is white again.
 
HOURS LATER, Mama is shaking me out of a dreamless sleep. I am very groggy. “Dr. Meyers is here to see you. Sit up, darling.” Mama helps me up and puts a glass of water to my lips. Aunt Puica appears with Dr. Meyers, who is wearing a gray overcoat. There are melting
snowflakes on his shoulders. Mama takes his coat and goes out to hang it in the foyer.
“Hello, Eva.” Dr. Meyers takes my hand in his and pats it.
“Hello,” I answer. I hear my bad ear crackling as I swallow, but I'm relieved to see Dr. Meyers, whom I've known since I was born.
“Your mother tells me that your right ear hurts. May I look inside?” Dr. Meyers asks.
I nod, trying not to wince.
“I won't hurt you,” he assures me. “I know it's very painful.”
I nod again as he brushes my hair away to look into my ear. “I'm going to place this instrument into your ear so that I can see what your eardrum looks like. You will feel a slight pinch, okay?”
It's not okay but I tell him, “Okay,” and brace myself for the pain; surprisingly, though, there is none, just a cold sensation from the metal instrument.
“Thank you. That's all for now,” Dr. Meyers says.
Aunt Puica talks first. “Does she have to have a mastoidectomy?”
“That would be my last resort,” Dr. Meyers tells her. “It's major surgery, and we have no antibiotics. The risk's too high.”
“That's what I thought,” Aunt Puica says while Mama listens. “So what do you suggest?”
“I think we should drain her eardrum. That will relieve the pressure in her head and also a lot of the pain. If we're lucky, we can treat the infection and avoid surgery. I have a few vials of penicillin, but we will need more.”
“Will we have to take her to the hospital?” Mama asks.
“In this weather that's very risky,” Dr. Meyers answers. “There are no cars on the roads, and the trams are not running. You'll be waiting until spring for an ambulance.”
“We can do it right here,” Aunt Puica suggests. “I don't think we should take the child out into the cold again just to get her to your office. I can assist you. We can use our dining room table. It's large enough.”
“That's good, thank you. I heard you were a very skilled surgical nurse during the war,” Dr. Meyers tells Aunt Puica.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Aunt Puica says. “Now tell me, what do you need from me?”
 
DR. MEYERS HAS GONE back to his office to bring ether. Aunt Puica's in the dining room giving instructions to Sabina in a hushed tone. Grandpa Yosef and Grandma Iulia are in the kitchen cooking, and I can smell the aroma of chicken soup. How did they ever manage to buy another chicken without me? Maybe Grandpa told Ion that I'm sick. I don't know where Tata, Uncle Max, and Uncle Natan have gone, but it doesn't matter. They can't help me now. I'm scared.
“Mama?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“What's Dr. Meyers going to do?” My voice is weak.
“He's going to drain your ear so that your pain will go away.” Mama tries to reassure me, but her voice is full of dread. “Don't worry, I'm going to be right here, holding your hand, and you'll be fast asleep. You won't feel a thing.” Mama sounds better now.
 
DR. MEYERS IS BACK, and Mama brings me to the dining room in my pajamas. It doesn't look like our dining room at all. The table is covered with a white sheet, all the lights are on, and they've put Aunt Puica's floor lamp at the head of the table. There's a pillow placed right under the light.
Grandma and Grandpa have shut themselves in their bedroom, and Sabina has disappeared upstairs to her room.
“Okay, sweetie,” Mama says, “climb up on this chair and lie on the table with your head on the pillow.”
I can feel the thick wool of Grandma's needlepoint tablecloth beneath the white sheet they've laid on the table. Aunt Puica covers me with a white top sheet and then wraps me in a blanket, tucking me in so tightly I can't move my arms. She is standing directly behind my head next to the floor lamp, the palms of her hands cradling my cheeks.
“Did you boil the instruments?” Dr. Meyers asks.
“Yes, of course, Doctor.” Aunt Puica's voice is different now, as if it doesn't belong to her. She sounds as official as a news announcer on the radio.
“I want you to place the ether over her nose and hold it down firmly,” Dr. Meyers tells Aunt Puica.
“This is going to smell very strong,” Aunt Puica tells me, “but before you know it, you'll be asleep and you won't feel a thing. I promise. Now count backward with me.” She places the washcloth with ether on my face. I'm engulfed by a sweet, dizzying smell that makes my eyelids feel heavy.
“Ten, nine, eight, seven …” The last thing I feel is Mama's hand sliding under the sheet looking for mine. My hand is clammy, but Mama's is warm and dry.
 
SNOW. The tiny flakes are coming down lightly and melt as they hit my face. I'm gliding through white on a red sleigh that Grandpa Yosef is pulling. We're on our way to the market to pick out our Christmas tree. Grandpa's wearing his Santa Claus outfit, the one
with the big black belt under his tummy and a fake beard made of cotton balls that look just like clouds. Grandpa pretends that he's Santa and that he's come all the way from the North Pole, but I know who he really is, because his eyes give him away as he winks at me.

Other books

Puppet by Pauline C. Harris
Betrayed by D. B. Reynolds
Game of Fear by Robin Perini
Flight From Blithmore by Gowans, Jacob
The Queen's Play by Aashish Kaul
So Irresistible by Lisa Plumley