The Dark Arena - Mario Puzo [98]
Mosca said, “Can you give her the shots?”
The German dentist shrugged. “I cannot do it. The penicillin is locked up and only the American doctors have the authority to use it. Shall I call Captain Adlock?” Mosca nodded. The German left the room.
Hella raised her head to smile at Mosca, as if to apologize for the trouble she was causing. Only one side of her face twisted. Mosca smiled back and said, “It's okay.” He put the hat and veil on a chair.
They waited a long time. Finally Captain Adlock came in. He was a stout, young, kind-looking man who wore his uniform with a recruit's sloppiness, the tie loosely knotted and pulled down from the unbuttoned collar, Ids blouse open.
“Ah, let's see now,” he said cheerfully and stuck his fingers impersonally into Hella's mouth to separate her teeth. “Yes, I'm afraid my boy is right.” He nodded toward the elderly German dentist who had re-entered the room. “She has to get penicillin shots and compresses. When the swelling goes down we can fix her up with no trouble at all.’
Mosca knew what the answer would be but he had to ask. “Can you give her the penicillin?” He realized that his voice sounded angry, surly, that he had worded the question the wrong way. He felt Hella's hand pressing on his arm.
“I'm sorry,” Captain Adlock shook his head. “You know how it is. I don't mind breaking the regulations but if I did it for you every GI would bring his girl here. And the penicillin has to be strictly accounted for.”
“I've got my marriage papers in,” Mosca said. ‘Does that make any difference?”
“I'm sorry,” Captain Adlock said. Mosca saw the genuine regret. The captain was thoughtful. “Look, as soon as your papers come back from Frankfort approved let me know and I'll give her full treatment. We don't have to wait for you to actually get married. I wouldn't want to wait and fool around with an infection like that.”
Hella put on her hat and veil. She murmured her thanks to the captain, who patted her shoulder and said, “Now keep putting compresses on her cheek. Possibly the swelling will go down with just that. If it gets worse take her to the German hospital.” As they went out the door, Mosca saw a look of doubt on the face of the elderly German dentist, as if it were all being taken too lightly.
Back in the Personnel Office, he told Eddie what had happened. Hella sat in the chair at Mosca's desk, seemingly calm, undistressed.
Eddie clucked with sympathy. He said, “Why don't yon go up to the adjutant's office and see if he can make Frankfort rush those papers through.”
Mosca said to Hella, “Can you wait here” a little while, or do you want to go home now?”
“HI wait,” she said, “but don't take so long.” She squeezed his hand and her palm was wet with perspiration.
“You sure you're all right?” he asked.
She nodded. Mosca left
The adjutant was speaking over the phone, his voice polite, the bland, ingenuous face courteous with attention to the dead instrument. He raised his eyebrow to show Mosca he would be through in a moment. When he hung up he said briskly, “What can I do for you?”
Mosca stumbled over the words, feeling defensive and overawed. Then said, “I wonder if anything came through on my marriage papers?”
“No, nothing yet,” the adjutant said politely and began leafing through a bound volume of Army regulations.
Mosca hesitated again and then said, “Is there any way of rushing them through?”
TTie adjutant didn't look up. “No,” he said.
Mosca resisted the impulse to turn away and leave. “Do you think if I went down to Frankfort it would help? Maybe you could tell me who to see?”
The adjutant closed the thick, heavily bound book and looked up at Mosca for the first time. His voice was impersonal but curt. “Look, Mosca,” he said, “you lived with this girl for a year, you didn't file an application for marriage until six months after the ban was lifted. Now all of a sudden there's a big rush. I can't stop you from going to Frankfort, but