Battle Cry - Leon Uris [150]
“I hope it won’t be rhubarb season when you come next time.”
“I’ll send some tea up, Grace, and for you too, Gale. We’ve got barrels of it in the galley. We never touch the stuff.”
“Take care of yourself, L.Q.,” Grace said, embracing him as the train neared. He shook Tom’s hand.
“I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”
“Tut tut, lad, tut tut…well, thumbs up, L.Q.”
He kissed Gale Bond, and then kissed her again. Then he knelt before the sobbing boy. “Hey, Ronnie, I thought you wanted to be a Marine. Marines don’t cry.”
“I’ll…I’ll practice hard, just like you told me…. I’ll chuck for the Dodgers some day.”
L.Q. took the boy in his arms and squeezed him hard as the train pulled in. He boarded quickly and ran to a seat, and waved as they came to the window.
The train pulled out of Palmerston North. Grace Busby took her husband’s handkerchief and dried her eyes, then Ronnie’s, then passed it on to Gale, who passed it on to Tom Busby, who blew his nose stiffly and placed it back in his pocket.
Andy stretched in the armchair and put out his cigarette. “Pat.”
“Yes?”
“Do you mind if we just sit and talk tonight? I don’t feel much like going out.”
“As you wish.”
She entered from the kitchen, drying her hands on a tea towel. She took off her apron and laid it aside, then turned to Andy. She frowned. “Goodness, Andy, you look ill.”
“I…I don’t feel so hot…I’m a little sick in the stomach.” He rolled his head and opened his eyes. They were bleary. Perspiration began to form on his forehead.
“You are sick.”
He cringed as a chill shot through him. Pat felt his forehead.
“You have a fever. I’ll ring for a cab. You’d better report to the hospital.”
“Nuts, I ain’t going to no hospital.”
“Don’t be difficult.
“It’s just malaria coming on, I seen a lot of guys get it. I’ll shake it in a day, soon as the fever breaks.” He drew himself close as another cold sensation flashed through his body. Then the sweat poured over his face.
“You’ve been ill since you’ve been back. I’m taking you in.”
“Pat, I got six days left of furlough, and I’ll be go to hell if I’m going to spend it in any hospital.”
“You’re acting like a hardheaded Swede.”
Andy reeled to his feet, catching himself against the wall. “In my blouse,” he rasped, “I got some quinine pills. I hoisted them from sick bay…get me three of them…”
“Andy, you can’t.”
“Chrisake, woman, stop arguing. I ain’t going to no hospital. Get a cab, I’m going back to my hotel. I’ll sweat it out…be O.K. I’ll phone you in a couple days.”
“Andy!” He pitched forward into her arms.
“I must’ve got the bug good…I’m dizzier than hell, Pat. Get me to my hotel.”
She placed his hulking arm about her shoulder and braced him as best she could. “Come on, I’m putting you to bed.”
“Just…take me…to my hotel….”
“I’ll not let you stay there alone in your condition. Won’t you please turn in to a hospital?”
“Nuts. I got…six days…and I’ll be damned…”
“Very well then.”
He flopped to the bed, shaking violently. “Cover me…cover me. I’m freezing…cover me…three quinine every four hours—lots of water…” His breath was jerky, his eyes rolled shut. Pat struggled to get him undressed and under the covers.
“Ski, run for it, Ski! Ain’t no woman worth it.” He clutched his knee and thrashed into the blankets. “Don’t worry, Ski…Andy will come back and get you out of there. Ski! They’re coming through the grass!”
The lamp on the bed stand lit the room dimly. Pat shifted her position on the arrangement of chairs and pillows she had set up near the bed. She stretched and looked down at him. He was sleeping peacefully now. She placed her wrist against his forehead…the fever was gone. She sat at the bedside and put alcohol on a cloth and gently wiped his face and neck and shoulders. Andy slowly opened his eyes. A sharp ringing buzzed in his head from the quinine.
He propped himself on an elbow, shook his head and slumped weakly back. His face was pale and drained of blood. He reached out his hand and touched the soft down pillow under his head. His eyes turned and surveyed the room. He closed them a second