The doctor looked hesitantly at him. “Please calm down. I need to examine you properly.”
“I need a test,” stated Josef, shouting, probably for the first time in his life. “And I need it now! I believe I have murine typhus and I need a test to prove it.”
With the outburst, Ingrid rapped on the door. “Are you okay, Uncle?” she shouted through the wood panel.
The doctor called in his nurse. “Please prepare a test for this patient,” he said sternly.
The blonde nurse nodded and dashed out.
Ingrid wandered into the room and stood at a distance away from the bed. “Is my uncle okay?” she asked warily.
The doctor stepped from behind the curtain. “He’s a little hysterical. I think it’s probably his temperature. We’re going to give him something.”
Josef lay down on the bed and looked at the ceiling. He felt the weight of the last few days starting to lift from his shoulders. They would find out he had murine typhus. Then he would get medicine, and he could treat Michael with it. For the first time in a long time, he felt he had hope.
The pretty blonde nurse arrived behind the curtain with a kidney-shaped enamel dish. Josef’s euphoria was short-lived as she picked up the syringe, and before she’d even injected him, he passed out.
The next thing he remembered was being awoken by the same nurse, and something cold being administered to his forehead. “Can you hear me, Mr. Held?” she asked him.
He nodded. “Sorry,” he croaked. “I have a terrible fear of needles.”
The doctor’s face swam into view. “We will test you, and the results will be ready in a couple of days.”
Josef felt distraught. “A couple of days?” he repeated desperately, rising to his elbows, which made his head swim again. “What do you mean a couple of days? He might not have… I mean I might not have a couple of days.”
The doctor shook his head. “You’re in the early stages of whatever this is. We have to make sure we give you the right treatment. You do not want to be misdiagnosed.”
Ingrid was back by his side, a handkerchief still covering her mouth and nose. “The doctor said you might need to stay here for a day or two. I can go back to your house later today and pack you some things if you wish.”
Josef became alarmed. “I cannot stay. I have things to do.” He raised himself up and his head swam with the fever.
The nurse spoke rapidly to Ingrid, ushering her out the room. Josef could still hear their murmured conversation out in the hall. “We will take care of him, have no fear. I will prepare him a bed, and you can visit him later.”
The doctor departed, and the nurse came over and smiled at Josef.
“You need to lie here. I will come back when your bed is ready. Do you need some water?”
“No, I’m fine,” said Josef, mopping at his brow.
The minute the nurse was out of the room, he swung his legs off the bed. He felt hot, and his whole body trembled. He needed to get back to Michael. He pulled on his shirt, doing up his buttons roughly, put on his coat, and pushed on his shoes. Opening the door of the hospital room, he looked about the corridor. It was clear. Slowly, he shuffled out into the hallway. His lungs felt tight and his legs felt as if they might collapse under him at any moment. He made his way cautiously past the reception desk, but just as he turned a corner, his head swam again, and he steadied himself against a wall. He stumbled and a hand reached out to catch him. He looked up gratefully and was surprised to see Hannah Pender holding his arm.
“Professor Held, are you okay?” Her concern was evident on her face.
“Mrs. Pender. Hannah.” He tried to pull himself up to his full height but found himself wobbling. “What are you doing here?”
“My mother had a turn. She has been allowed home, but I needed to pick up some medication to help her sleep.”
He didn’t want her to see him so unwell and tried to move past her, but Hannah took hold of Josef’s arm and started to walk with him. “I will help you. Where are you going?”
Josef was grateful for her reassuring presence and once again, even with a fever, he felt the attraction that was always there between them.
“I need to get home,” he rasped. “It’s important that I get home.”
She eyed him nervously, shaking her head. “Are you sure? You look very sick. Maybe you should stay.”
“No, no. I need to go home,” he demanded, thinking he had to beat Ingrid there, and started to shuffle toward the door.
Hannah didn’t let go of her grip and continued to hold his arm as she ushered him out into the cold morning air. She supported his slow walk through the town. He was too exhausted to protest her help and found himself leaning on her arm more than he wanted to. Every step became arduous as he tried to fight for breath. “Are you sure you shouldn’t be in the hospital?” she asked again quietly as they approached his house.
He shook his head. “There’s nothing they can do until they know what is wrong. I just need to go to bed.”
She nodded as they crossed the street.
“I have to take care of Mich… my cat,” Josef corrected himself. In his delirium, he was not thinking clearly.
“I could always feed your cat for you,” Hannah offered.
They reached his front door. Hannah helped him put the key in the lock, and he sighed with relief as they entered. “Thank you for getting me home.”
Hannah shook her head. “Well, I’m still not certain it was the right decision, but I’d like to make you a cup of tea if that’s okay.”
Before Josef could respond, she had already bustled past him into the hallway and had taken off her coat.
Josef tried to protest, but all the fight had left him. He sank into a chair and closed his eyes. Faint coughing drifted down from above. He projected his own cough to cover the sound as Hannah came back into the room.
She handed him a cup of tea and tried to make him more comfortable. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to stay with you?” she asked.
His head spun. Under different circumstances there was nothing he would have wanted more but he found himself saying, “No, no. Thank you, Mrs. Pender. You’ve been very kind. I will just go straight to bed once I’ve drunk my tea.”
She nodded but didn’t look convinced. “I could check in on you tomorrow.”
He shook his head. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Are you sure there is nothing else I can do?” She looked around the room, as if searching for something.
“No, truly, I am fine, thank you.”
Hannah smiled. Taking his hand, she gently stroked it. Her touch startled him, and his heart started to pound again, but he didn’t withdraw. He allowed her warm touch to envelop him. Once again he reminded himself that as much as he was attracted to her, he still wasn’t sure she could be trusted. Wasn’t sure he could trust anyone these days. Michael’s life was too precious to gamble with.
After Hannah left, he locked the door behind her and struggled upstairs toward his bedroom. He decided to visit Michael first. Michael’s eyes opened briefly as Josef entered.
“You are sick,” croaked Michael.
“Yes.” Josef smiled and patted Michael’s arm.
“I wouldn’t be that happy,” he responded dryly. “Trust me, you’re not going to like it.”
“But now I can help you,” Josef whispered. “All we have to do is wait. Soon I’ll have medicine, just a couple of days.”
“A couple of days?” Josef heard the desperation in Michael’s tone. “I’m not sure I have a couple of days.” Michael reached a feverish hand out to grab his friend’s arm. “I can’t believe you did it. But thank you, Josef.”
Josef suddenly became giddy. “I’m so tired, maybe I’ll rest a bit here.” He slumped into the chair. Michael covered him with a blanket. Josef drifted off to sleep, listening to his patient struggle to breathe next to him.
Chapter 37
Josef’s walk back to the hospital, two days late
r, was long and labored. He had to stop a few times to lean against fences and walls to retrieve the breath that no longer seemed to want to fill his lungs. As he coughed uncontrollably, passersby kept a careful distance, needing to navigate their own survival through a long brutal war.
Arriving at the hospital, he went to the front desk and asked to see the doctor. The same dry, inhospitable nurse was in the midst of telling him he would have to wait when a rather dramatic fit of rolling coughs convinced her to rush him in. In a stark consulting room, no bigger than a closet, the same doctor he’d seen two days before arrived and knotted his eyebrows as he examined the rash, now an angry purple.
“Where did you go?” he enquired with obvious annoyance. “I thought you were still in the hospital.”
“I had something I needed to do.”
“More important than your health?” the doctor enquired. “What you have is very dangerous.”
“I am not infectious, though, am I right?”
The doctor shook his head. “Still, you need to have the right medicine, and at your age, there can be…” He paused to find a word he was comfortable with. “Complications.” Looking carefully at the results, he shook his head in mild disbelief. “I wouldn’t have believed it, but you were right. You have murine typhus.”
A huge weight lifted from Josef’s shoulders. As he laid his head down on the pillow, tears sprang to his eyes, a mixture of joy, sadness, and relief.
Mistaking it for fear, the doctor’s manner continued in a more amicable fashion. “Don’t worry, Mr. Held. We will take good care of you here. How did you know it was typhus?”
“Research,” Josef responded before another set of rolling coughs.
“Have you been anywhere near rats?”
“Rats?” Josef repeated. His head was starting to swim. He couldn’t stand all these questions.
“This illness is regularly spread by vermin.”
“Vermin.” Josef smiled to himself, seeing the irony in that statement. “At the university.”
“We’ll need to make a report. This could be very serious. It could be an outbreak.” The doctor turned to the nurse next to him who had a clipboard in hand. “Nurse, please prepare a bed for our patient, and then some medicine. Let’s give him a double dose to start with. We have a new type of treatment called penicillin, Mr. Held. We do not have a lot of it and have to use it very sparingly, but in your case I feel it is warranted.”
Josef decided he would come back and steal more, later. “You will need to take all the medication, but I have to warn you, this is not an easy illness to fight.”
When the nurse returned, she gave Josef two of the tablets to swallow as he waited anxiously on the end of the examination bed.
“I could do with some more water to take them.” Josef pointed at the jug he had just emptied into a potted plant. He was getting better at lying.
Once she’d gone, he struggled to his feet, grabbed the bottle she had left, and after placing the two tablets in his pocket, walked out of the room.
The journey home was more arduous than before, but at least this time he was spurred on by the fact he had Michael’s medicine. By the time he reached his house, he was wheezing badly and had to pause for a second in the hall before he caught his breath. Then, slowly, he made his way up the stairs, one labored step at a time.
The attic was silent. Deadly silent. In the last twelve hours, he had become more fearful of the lengthy silences than the coughing fits.
He found Michael lying on the pillow, so still, looking so young, like a child. Black wavy hair, matted with sweat, clung in wet curls to his forehead.
“Michael,” he rasped. “Michael!” Fear rose in his throat.
Michael stirred a little but didn’t wake up.
Josef shook him, vigorously. “Michael, wake up. I’ve got the medicine.”
He finally opened his eyes. “There you are,” he muttered. “I was having a wonderful dream.”
Josef took the medication from his pocket.
“Here, I have your medicine.” Looking inside the bottle, he was disappointed to find barely enough medicine for three days for one person. He decided Michael would have it all.
“I think it is probably too late for me, Professor. You should take the medication. I fear I am slipping from this world.”
“No,” Josef said forcefully. “We have not come this far for it to end here in this attic. You must stay alive. You have your whole life ahead of you.”
“Some life.”
“It will be.” He placed two tablets in Michael’s mouth and gave him water, then tentatively waited until he saw him swallow before asking, softly, “Tell me about your dream.”
“I was with my family,” Michael croaked.
“Yes?” Josef coughed, listening intently.
“My mother was so beautiful.”
“When did you see her last?”
“Just a few minutes ago.”
“No, I mean…”
Michael nodded. “I know what you mean. I was barely a man when she became ill. And my father, the renegade, died during the Great War. Even though we were neutral, he wanted to fight. After my mother’s death, my grandmother raised me, and I lost her, too, just before the occupation.” He sighed, adding wistfully, “Her one dream was that I would graduate university. It was for her I was completing your mathematics course.”
“I’m so sorry,” responded Josef.
Michael shook his head. “I’m not. I’m glad they’re all gone. That they never had to witness this atrocity.” He looked exhausted from talking and closed his eyes. His anguish was palpable and, wracked with pain, he turned his face to Josef. “Please, Professor, talk to me, about anything else other than illness.”
Josef nodded. He went to the other side of the attic and unlocked the chest, which was now tucked neatly away. He came back to the bedside with the picture of him and his wife. He began talking as though it was the beginning of a fairytale.
“My wife Sarah and I,” he said tenderly, “we were very much in love. And years ago, in a whole other lifetime, she and I played music together.”
Michael stared down at the photograph, eyes unfocused. “You did play piano then.” Josef nodded, but Michael must have caught a glimpse of pain on his face because he went on to ask, “You don’t want to play anymore?”
Josef shook his head and tried to find the right words. “It’s a long story.”
Michael began to cough and took a little sip of water. “I have nothing but time, Professor,” he said sarcastically.
Josef stared out across the room, lost in his memories. Finally, he continued his story.
“My father thought I was going to be some incredible classical pianist.” He laughed to himself. “From a very young age, I showed such promise they were calling me a prodigy. My mother was a pianist, and every day they would school me and drill me in the art of playing the piano. But even though playing came naturally to me, I found myself becoming resentful. Every evening after school, my brother Marcus—Ingrid’s father—and all our friends were playing outside while I was sweating over the finer points of Mozart’s most difficult symphonies. So, when I got older, I just stopped playing. Then I met Sarah. And she encouraged me to play again. This time it was different. She had so much joy, and it was something we did together.”
“You look so happy,” Michael said, studying the photograph.
Josef swallowed hard before he spoke in a whisper. “We were. I was. But after she left me…”
He couldn’t manage any more words and just shook his head to signify his ongoing pain. Then, feeling the intrusion into his private world was too much for him to bear, he stood.
Michael stared up at him, an expression of sadness and compassion on his face, and Josef wasn’t sure if he was comfortable with this new feeling of exposure. It was too close to the pain he was always trying to avoid—the true reason his wife had died. So once again, he quickly changed the subject, pushing away his thought
s from long ago.
“Rest now. Let the medicine do its work so you can fulfill your grandmother’s wishes.”
“Professor, don’t forget to take some medicine for yourself.”
“Yes, of course,” Josef lied.
Josef sat and watched Michael as he fell into another deep sleep.
For three days, Josef nursed his patient, battling his own feverish symptoms. But instead of getting better, Michael seemed to grow worse. On the morning of the fourth day, the bottle was empty.
“I need to get more medicine. I’ll be back soon,” he whispered, more to himself than to his slumbering patient.
Another wracking cough took hold of him as he descended the stairs and went out into the street. His delirium was intense. The whole world swam in front of his eyes as he attempted to put one foot in front of the other. His legs felt like lead.
“I have got to get Michael his medicine,” he reminded himself over and over again, weaving back and forth but willing himself to keep moving, one excruciating footstep at a time. “Just a bit farther.”
As he turned a corner, it started to snow again, and he became disoriented as a vagueness consumed him. Where was he? What was he doing? He couldn’t even remember who he was. Just one burning compulsion drove him. If only he could remember what it was…
He stared up into the darkening sky, but the leaden clouds only echoed back their own unknowing. He paused, gazing up as the urgent snowflakes rained down upon him, coating his face in an icy veil. He was tired, bone-wearily tired. He closed his eyes to rest them for just a moment. A smothering darkness hovered on the precipice of his awareness for a second before creeping across the divide to devour him.
Then a feeling of weightlessness, the carefree release of falling through the air, followed by searing pain and ice, stone, coldness as the harsh ground rose up to meet him. Alarmed, he tried urgently to rouse himself. He needed to open his eyes, but it was impossible. The weight, the heaviness spreading through his body, held him captive.
As he fought to keep breathing, feathery snowflakes continued to float down onto his face, coating his eyelashes. All at once, the jarring screech of an air-raid siren shrilled out into the air all around him, persistent and compelling. He tried to anchor himself by focusing on the shrieking sound. But the siren started to fade. Soon it was far away, then it disappeared as he slipped off quietly and his world turned dark.
A View Across the Rooftops: An epic, heart-wrenching and gripping World War Two historical novel Page 23