Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [61]
Emerson’s jaw set. “And you, Emerson, ought to change your clothing,” I went on. “You are even more unkempt than usual.”
“I am not modeling proper archaeological attire for the admiration of the cursed tourists,” Emerson declared.
David left, and Nefret very kindly offered to give me a hand with my sifting, for the rubbish heap had piled up. She seemed somewhat pensive. After a long silence she spoke.
“That fellow François does not seem a suitable attendant for a boy like Justin. Should we speak to his grandmother?”
“Emerson would call both of us interfering busybodies.”
“That has never deterred you from interfering.”
“Certainly not. I am the judge of my own conscience and my own behavior. That idea had occurred to me,” I admitted, picking a small piece of broken pottery out of the sieve and setting it aside. “But interference might do more harm than good. Old people are set in their ways and dislike criticism. And, to be fair, we don’t know what is wrong with the boy. He is a strange mixture of innocence and savoir faire, of reasoned discourse followed by unexpected non sequiturs.”
Nefret sat back on her heels and wiped her perspiring forehead with her sleeve. “Some of his symptoms are characteristic of grand mal seizures. Most epileptics are of normal, even superior, intelligence, however. He seems childish for his age. Of course I am no authority on mental disorders. I’ve always wanted to study the subject.”
“In addition to surgery and gynecology? My dear girl, you have enough to do—your husband and children, the hospital—to say nothing of Emerson dragging you out to the dig every day.”
I had meant it as sympathetic commendation, but she did not return my smile. “I’ve done almost nothing at the hospital for two years, Mother. It’s in good hands, but sometimes I miss it. As for the clinic I meant to open here in Luxor . . . Well, you know what’s happened to that.”
“You have your instruments and ample space for consulting and operating rooms,” I said. “Now that the children are older, there is no reason why you cannot proceed with your plan for a clinic.”
“I’ve become very rusty, Mother. Like some of my instruments! All I’ve done is assist at a few difficult births and set a bone or two.”
“All the more reason to hone your skills again. I had no idea you felt that way, Nefret. You ought to have confided in me. I will take steps immediately to have the rooms made ready.”
Her brow cleared and she let out one of her musical chuckles. “Mother, you are incomparable. I didn’t mean to complain. Please don’t trouble yourself. You have enough to do managing the rest of the family!”
“Compared with managing Emerson, it will be a pleasure,” I assured her.
I CANNOT IMAGINE HOW I missed the signs. Excuses do not become me, so I will not mention that I had been extremely busy making the arrangements for Nefret’s clinic. I had had such a scheme in mind when I had the house built, so the space had been provided—three smallish but adequate rooms, set off from the rest of the house, with a separate entrance. They had lain dusty and unoccupied for two years, so every surface had to be scrubbed, whitewashed, and disinfected before the necessary furnishings could be installed. We were able to obtain basic supplies from the chemists in Luxor, and I suggested the names of several girls whom I considered possible candidates for the position of nursing assistant.
Nefret had already settled on someone. “Kadija’s granddaughter Nisrin came round as soon as she heard about the clinic. She has always been interested in nursing and Kadija has taught her a great deal.”
“Ah, yes, I remember her. A pleasant but rather—er—plain young woman.”
“She’s only fourteen, and already betrothed,” Nefret said, with the bite in her voice that marked her disapproval of the Egyptian custom of early marriages.
“You mean to ‘rescue’ another one, do you?”
“If she does as well as I expect and wants to continue—yes. It’s her father who is set on the marriage,