State of Wonder - Ann Patchett [143]
“Nearly seven months.”
“I’m not qualified to do the section,” Marina said to her. “I’ve told you that. You need to go to a hospital.”
“I would feel more comfortable with Dr. Singh,” Dr. Swenson said. “We can’t afford any breaches in security at this point. I can’t go to the city to have a child. I’ve seen her operate several times now. She does a brilliant job. I have no questions as to her complete competence.”
While Marina had come far enough to contradict Dr. Swenson when they were alone, she still lacked the skills to do so publicly. There was no way to point out that these compliments were her road to perdition.
“We could bring in an obstetrician from Rio,” Mr. Fox said. “We could bring one in from Johns Hopkins if you’d like.” He had already forgotten about the trip from Manaus, about Mrs. Bovender, about the Hummocca. The drug worked, that was all he had ever needed to know. He didn’t care about the paperwork, the trees, he didn’t need to see Marina. He could get back on the boat tonight.
“What I would like is what I have already said. I trained Dr. Singh myself. You can spare her for a little while longer.”
“I can,” Mr. Fox said.
Marina started to say something but Dr. Swenson cut her off. “Dr. Budi is right, I am tired. Walk with me back to the hut now, Dr. Singh. I’ve done enough for tonight.” She held up her hand and Marina took it. The skin between Dr. Swenson’s fingers was cracked and bleeding. Mr. Fox touched Dr. Swenson’s shoulder before they left the room and she nodded at him in return.
Once they were safely under the cover of darkness, the stars spreading their foam over the night sky, Marina started in. “I told you I wasn’t going to stay,” she whispered sharply over the grind of insects’ wings, over the endless repetition of frogs croaking. “Did you think you could just lease me out from my employer?”
“Hold on to yourself for two more minutes,” Dr. Swenson said.
Dr. Swenson’s hut was the one closest to the lab. It was a small room with a single bed and a dresser, a folding table with two chairs. Dr. Swenson struggled up the four stairs, leaning her weight against Marina, and when she came inside she sat down heavily on the bed. “I’m going to have to lie down,” she said, and with that she stretched over the bed, her stomach pointing up. She sent forth a low moan, though whether it was pain or the relief from pain Marina could not be sure. “Be a friend and pull off my sandals, Dr. Singh.”
Marina struggled with the Birkenstocks but managed to get them loose. Dr. Swenson’s toes were sunk halfway into her swollen feet which had an unnatural purple cast. “Don’t make me feel sorry for you,” Marina said. “The more I worry about you the more certain I am that you need to go to a hospital with doctors who know what they’re doing.”
“You know what you’re doing,” Dr. Swenson said, “and you will feel sorry for me because that is your nature. There’s nothing I could do to prevent that.”
Marina sat down on the edge of the single mattress. “Who’s the man in the picture?” She took Dr. Swenson’s wrist between her fingers. Her pulse was almost too rapid to count.
Dr. Swenson turned and looked at the frame on her bedside table. It was a black-and-white photograph of a tall, thin man with a very fine nose standing in the jungle. He was wearing a white shirt and seemed to be looking over the shoulder of whoever was holding the camera. “Never ask a question if you already know the answer. I find that the most irritating habit.”
“He’s very handsome,” Marina said.
“He was,” she said, closing her eyes.
“Where’s the blood-pressure cuff?”
She pointed down to the red bag on the floor and Marina got the cuff and a stethoscope. “The baby is dead, Dr. Singh. It died yesterday, maybe the day before. I was going to tell you tonight but then the company arrived. You can go on and try to listen but nothing has moved. I’m not certain when it moved last. I haven’t been able to find a heartbeat.”
Marina put her hand on her teacher’s arm but Dr. Swenson shook her off. “Go on,” Dr. Swenson