“Albert,” I say, “we stick together; you see.”
On the sister’s next round I hold my breath and press it up into my head. My face swells and turns red. She stops. “Are you in pain?” “Yes,” I groan, “all of a sudden.”
She gives me a thermometer and goes on. I would not have been under Kat’s tuition if I did not know what to do now. These army thermometers are not made for old soldiers. All one has to do is to drive the quicksilver up and then it stays there without falling again.
I stick the thermometer under my arm at a slant, and flip it steadily with my forefinger. Then I give it a shake. I send it up to 100.2°. But that is not enough. A match held cautiously near to it brings it up to 101.6°.
As the sister comes back, I blow myself out, breathe in short gasps, goggle at her with vacant eyes, toss about restlessly, and mutter in a whisper: “I can’t bear it any longer———”
She notes me down on a slip of paper. I know perfectly well my plaster bandage will not be re-opened if it can be avoided.
Albert and I are put off together.
★★
We are in the same room in a Catholic Hospital.
252
