Affection, p.8
Affection, page 8
On a log were about a dozen tin mugs. I heard Turner say, ‘I didn’t realise the conditions were this primitive.’
‘Conditions have improved,’ Dawson said. ‘You’ll have to take it black.’ He poured the tea and handed a mug to Turner.
‘Don’t we have enough doctors today?’ said Dunsford, looking from Turner to Humphry to me with our black medical bags.
Dawson said, ‘I can tell you, you won’t find plague here.’
Turner blew on his steaming cup. ‘I very much hope that’s true, Mr Dawson.’
Dawson had taken the heavy kettle and poured tea into several other mugs on the log. I picked one up. Humphry stayed back, but Dawson collected two and took them to Humphry. He put one under Humphry’s nose and I thought Humphry might knock it away, but without taking his eyes from the politician’s, he reached into his jacket, produced his flask and poured a good nip into both mugs. He took the one Dawson offered. Dawson took his, walking back to the fire without saying a word.
‘And how are you going to help us?’ Dawson said to Turner.
‘By making sure you don’t actually have plague when you leave this place.’
Dawson snorted. ‘There’s still a week of quarantine left. There are women here without their children, husbands without wives, children without fathers…’
‘Politicians without soapboxes,’ offered Humphry.
‘Doctors without manners. One thing that would improve conditions markedly is if you could leave Dr Humphry with us so we can string him up.’
Humphry sipped his tea.
Dawson took a couple of steps and pointed his unlit cigar at Humphry.
‘It’s this cur’s misdiagnosis and the compliance of his, his lapdog here,’ he waved it at me, ‘that’s put us all unnecessarily and at great inconvenience on this blasted desert island.’
He picked up a twig from the fire and lit his cigar.
Turner said, ‘However much you feel you’ve been treated unfairly, Mr Dawson, Dr Humphry and Dr Row have been following the law.’
‘Pah,’ said Dawson.
Turner turned to Routh. ‘Perhaps we should see the sick steward now?’
‘Certainly. He’s right here.’
There was a moment’s confusion. ‘Here?’
And the man who was tending the fire when we arrived stood to attention. It took a few seconds to understand what had happened. I think we’d overlooked him because we were expecting to see a man pale, ill and supine in a tent. But here he was, looking a little uncomfortable in front of so many gawping doctors.
‘Dr Humphry,’ said Turner. ‘Is this the man you treated on the ship?’
Humphry looked the man up and down. ‘I believe it is, yes.’
‘How long has he been out of the quarantine tent?’
‘Just yesterday,’ said Routh.
‘Well, dash it, who gave permission to release him?’
‘Permission? He left the tent of his own accord.’
Storm raised his hand, a little embarrassed acknowledgment. He looked weak but otherwise healthy.
Dawson was standing back and had folded his arms. Turner spun around and Dawson shrugged.
‘Nothing to do with me.’ He took the cigar from his mouth. ‘I just found him chopping wood for the nurses. Can’t say I’m surprised the man’s better.’ And he stared at Humphry. ‘Seeing it was just a re-bout of typhoid.’
‘And how would you be able to tell typhoid from tremens?’ said Humphry.
‘I don’t have to. It’s the opinion of Dr Routh. He says it’s typhoid.’
We turned to Routh. ‘Well, I’ve said that before.’
‘Dr Turner,’ said Dawson, ‘what do you think of this evidence?’
‘It’s evidence of the man being well and apparently recovering from whatever had afflicted him. What that was is still to be determined.’
Dawson went over to Storm and slung an arm around his shoulders.
‘If it was plague, Mr Storm here would be dead, wouldn’t he?’ Storm kicked at the sandy dirt. ‘And we’d all be sick by now.’ He left Storm to his embarrassment and walked over to Turner. ‘This is a farce.’
Turner spoke softly. ‘I have to examine the patient and complete some tests.’
Dawson nodded. ‘Well, do that. I’ll be interested to hear what you find,’ and he walked back to the fire.
Turner asked Routh to lead the way to the plague tent where he could examine Storm. Storm seemed terrified by the suggestion. ‘But I’m feeling orright.’
‘I just want to make sure you don’t get sick again,’ said Turner.
So Humphry and I followed Routh and Turner to the tent where Storm had apparently spent the past two weeks, less a few days. Dawson and the others stayed at their fire.
When we were out of sight, Gard appeared at my side and leaned very close. I could smell smoke and sweat.
‘Storm just said he felt better and got up,’ he whispered. ‘Said he’d chop some firewood, and we said, no, you’re in the plague tent, mate. You can’t leave. We was talking to him over the fence, and he said, well bring me the wood and I’ll chop it in here.’
Gard pointed to the tent we were approaching, its wire fence, and a chopping block inside with wood chips all around.
‘And we did bring him the wood, but then Mr Dawson saw him and asked him if he felt better and would he like some breakfast. He said bloody oath and just stepped over the wire and off he went.’ Gard was rubbing the palms of his hands against his forehead.
‘Are you all right?’ I said.
‘I hafta get home, doctor. Hafta get back. I gotta see my wife.’
The tent was set apart – a new military-style tent, square, peaked and white like a fancy iced cake. We stepped over the wire and entered through the flap. It was bare but for a stretcher, a chair and a small table. It appeared clean enough, and the stretcher had a fresh starched white sheet. The nurses obviously kept it ready should Storm decide to return.
‘Where are the nurses?’ said Turner.
‘I sent one back. Didn’t need her,’ said Routh. ‘I use the other one at the dispensary. Matter of fact she’s making breakfast.’
Turner sat Storm on the stretcher and made his observations. There was a yellow bruise at the groin. It remained fixed and firm when pressed, but there was no visible swelling. The sight of the needle proved to Storm that he hadn’t been wrong about doctors, but we held him and Turner got his serum.
‘Well,’ said Turner, holding the syringe of dark blood to the light, ‘we’ll see what lovelies are in here.’
But most of Storm’s symptoms had vanished. What remained was lethargy, a backache and sulkiness. Turner gave Storm a wide glass jar.
‘What for?’
Turner said would he mind using the lavatory. He tapped the glass.
‘What?’
‘Have you been to the lavatory this morning?’ said Turner.
The man’s eyes darted to each of us. ‘Whatcha want that for?’
Routh handed Storm a bedpan, pointed to soap and a basin of water, and gave him instructions. We left the tent to stand outside where Gard was smoking one of Humphry’s cigarettes.
‘Should we keep him here until quarantine’s over?’ I said.
‘If it was plague, he’s past infecting anyone,’ said Turner.
‘Wasn’t plague, you know,’ said Routh. ‘Wasting your time.’
‘Let me be the judge of that,’ snapped Turner. Routh reddened and, mumbling about breakfast, excused himself. We watched him walk back through the campsite. The call of black magpies echoed around the hills.
Humphry struck a match and lit a cigarette. ‘Anyway, what do you think?’
‘Oh, I don’t doubt your original diagnosis, if that’s what you mean,’ said Turner. ‘The swelling’s gone, but I’ll make a bacteriological study.’
‘But it is plague?’
‘I can’t say that Storm still has plague until I’ve seen plague bacilli. It doesn’t mean he didn’t have plague before, though.’
Gard smoked anxiously, glancing furtively at each of us and looking away quickly. We contemplated the pastoral scene around us, while Storm could be heard trying his best to fulfil Turner’s request.
‘Anyway,’ said Humphry, ‘What’s wrong with typhoid? Perfectly good disease. Why does typhoid get a good wrap, but everyone runs screaming from plague?’
‘You know, you’re right. We’ve become familiar with typhoid and we treat it with contempt,’ said Turner. ‘Plague on the other hand produces a superstitious terror.’
‘Not in Townsville.’
‘It’s not in Townsville yet. And it’s easier to deny it than deal with it. In Sydney, it’s another story.’
‘Surely to God we don’t want that,’ I said.
‘What we do need is some sort of balance. I think there’s something to be said for having a healthy fear of disease.’
Storm let out a curse from the privy. Gard came over and asked Humphry for another cigarette.
Humphry lowered his voice as Gard walked away and said, ‘It’s a pity in some ways then that Mr Storm recovered.’
Humphry was right, but even then would they have believed that it was plague?
‘We have to convince people that plague is near, that it’s a real threat,’ said Turner, ‘and to reinstate fear proportionally, not by causing them to panic, but to make people take the proper precautions.’
‘God help us all,’ said Humphry.
Storm came over to us with his jar and held it out to Turner.
But Turner had Storm place the jar on the ground, slosh germicide over it and make sure it was well sealed. Then he wrapped it in a cloth and handed it to me to carry. We made our way back to Routh’s office, skirting the tents.
Gard was back in my ear like a sticky fly.
‘You said before I could only catch this plague through fleas and not to worry, but then here we are all in quarantine.’
‘In case someone else has the germ. You can have a germ and not get sick for a few days; perhaps longer.’
‘Well, why are we stuck here for three bloomin’ weeks?’
‘It’s the law.’
‘Damned stupid law, you ask me.’ He smoked in quick puffs. ‘We’re not going home, are we.’
‘Not today.’
He turned and strode away through the trees.
About twenty of the passengers, mostly sullen men, had gathered outside Routh’s cottage. Word had spread quickly that we were there, and I suppose they were hoping for reprieve. I felt sorry for them. None spoke to us as we walked by, but I could feel their frustration. Dawson wasn’t amongst them.
Inside, Routh and his nurse had organised breakfast. We washed. The station doctor appeared to be sulking and wouldn’t look at Turner. I’d lost my appetite somewhere between tea with Dawson and collecting the steward’s stool, which now stood wrapped and tied near our bags by the door.
‘It’s not such a bad place for a holiday,’ said Humphry, holding up a thick slice of salted bacon on the end of a fork. ‘I don’t know what they’re all complaining about.’
‘That’s what I keep telling them,’ said Routh, gloomily.
There was a single knock and we turned. Dawson filled the doorway.
‘This is cosy.’ He’d found his jacket and his cigar was lit and in place.
‘I’d ask you to join us,’ said Humphry, ‘but we’ve just done a faecal examination.’ He popped some bacon into his mouth. ‘Come to think of it, why don’t you join us?’
Dawson ignored him and pulled a chair over to sit next to Turner.
‘There are a number of people outside who’d like to know when they can get off this blasted island.’
‘I know,’ said Turner.
‘Well?’
‘Another week, Mr Dawson. I’m sorry. The quarantine period can’t be broken.’
‘So, as a man of science, can you say that the steward has plague?’ Dawson was trying his best to intimidate.
‘Had plague,’ said Turner. ‘He certainly appears to be recovered and his illness is consistent with Pestis minor.’
‘Minor? Well, then. I have a meeting on Thursday; it’s an issue of the utmost importance to my constituents.’
‘Give me two bob,’ said Humphry, ‘and I’ll put it on that nag of yours, if you like.’
‘The railway hearing,’ said Dawson, ignoring him, ‘is about the future. The future, Dr Turner. A new Australian nation. This line will employ hundreds of white men. Thousands will benefit from it. You don’t want to be responsible for scuttling that, surely.’
‘The future of the colony and its railway lines isn’t my responsibility. I’m not a politician, I’m a doctor. We all have to work within the law and twenty-one days’ quarantine has to be endured. I’m sure you can get the hearing rescheduled.’
‘Rescheduled!’ Dawson suddenly banged his hand on the table and the glowing end of his cigar rolled across the surface throwing sparks and leaving a trail of ash. It was such a violent punctuation that even Humphry stopped eating and stared at the politician.
‘Don’t you understand? The Tories won’t let it be rescheduled. This is what they want, for me to miss this hearing. That’s what I fear this is all about. This is some blasted conspiracy, isn’t it? Isn’t it? I’m beginning to think it must be.’
Turner said, quietly, ‘I assure you it’s not. It’s the law. There’s nothing I can do. Do you expect me to break the law?’
‘The law! It all smells like one of Foxton’s plots to me. I know their tricks. The law!’ Dawson stood, pushing his chair back. ‘You agree this is no place to hold people in quarantine and you say the steward is no longer sick and not a danger and yet you insist we stay. This is more than just incompetence.’
Turner stood and assured him it was in fact a very serious matter and it was being handled in the correct way, but Dawson turned and stormed out of the office.
‘Perhaps,’ said Routh, looking sad beneath his watery eyes and walrus moustache, ‘you’d better leave.’
We could hear Dawson outside telling the mob that they’d be here for another week. There was a general hubbub about this and I could hear a woman crying. Someone yelled that the doctors then should stay as well and this was greeted with applause.
Routh looked out the door and said, ‘I’m not sure I can guarantee your safety. Maybe you’d better stay here after all, until they quieten down.’
‘They may try to blockade the office,’ said Humphry, ‘if they get it into their heads. I think we should go now before Dawson puts it to a vote.’
Turner agreed. He gave me the jar and took my bag up with his and we moved out on to the verandah. We were greeted with booing.
Humphry cleared his throat and looked as if he might be about to address the crowd, but it was Turner who grabbed his arm and said, ‘Don’t,’ and pulled him down the steps. Two men stood in front of us with their arms folded and seemed determined not to budge. I looked back over my shoulder to see Dawson chomping his damaged cigar on the verandah. He smiled tightly and the circle closed around us. Humphry and I both took a step back and I looked over the heads of the crowd. I couldn’t see Turner, but I saw the captain.
‘Mr Thompson?’ I said. The crowd cheered. He pushed forward to the front of the crush, looking worried.
‘Let us through,’ I said.
‘It’s nothing I can help with.’
‘But you’ll be held responsible.’
‘Where’s Turner?’ said Humphry. ‘If we come to any harm there’ll be hell to pay.’ A few people laughed.
‘All three of us are employed by the Government,’ Humphry continued. ‘Does that make this treason, I wonder?’
Thompson turned and said, ‘Let them through,’ but it appeared he’d lost control over the crowd. He looked up angrily to Dawson, who shrugged. Turner was suddenly pushed into my side. He said quietly to me, ‘Where’s that jar?’
‘Here.’ I had the cloth bundle in both hands.
‘Why don’t you hold it up in front of you so everyone can get a good look at it.’
I managed to unwrap the jar as the jostling continued. And that was how we made our way through the crowd.
Humphry shouted, ‘We have to get this shit back for scientific examination. Get out of the way.’
Humphry was in front and Turner behind. Someone yelped as Humphry stood on his foot, but those closest could see the jar’s contents.
‘Plague or typhoid, Dr Row? What do you think is in this jar? I hope to God we don’t spill any,’ and we kept moving forward.
A few people insisted on jostling us with their shoulders and so I took the added precaution of unscrewing the jar’s lid. Humphry needed to say no more after that.
The crowd thinned out behind us, but a hard core of men continued to shadow us through the grounds.
Captain Thompson strode after them and said, ‘Gentlemen, please. Let them go.’
We went Indian file and I still held the jar up like a talisman.
‘Could you put the lid on that blasted thing now? I’m going to be sick,’ said Humphry.
Some men had got ahead of us along the track and may have had it in their minds to somehow stop us when we got to the wharf. We finally got to the bank above the beach and I saw the Teal still belching smoke, rubbing against the stricken wharf.
Humphry and Turner went down the embankment in an undignified rush and I followed. My heel hit some soft dirt and skidded from under me, and I landed on my backside. Mercifully, the lid was secure and I kept a grip on the jar.
A hand reached down towards me.
‘You right there, Dr Row?’ Gard was standing over me.
‘Yes, yes.’ As I sat there, half a dozen men surrounded me.
Gard took my elbow and pulled me to my feet and walked me through the group of passengers. There seemed to be no logic in what they were doing, which made it even more disturbing.
