by Dianne Drake
“Save the kiss for Paul.” He turned and trotted back to the hacky sack action, as Solange donned her mask, gown and gloves and headed out to Paul and Tsombé.
“Are you feeling better this afternoon?” she asked Tsombé, as she knelt down next to Paul. She’d seen him before, but only as she’d passed through his village. And he’d always seemed the picture of health. But this little boy…she was shocked. He’d grown very thin. And even without her stethoscope she could hear the gurgle of sounds from his chest. Even without the proper tests, she knew. So did Paul. It was obvious in the grim look he cast over the boy.
“Feeling OK,” Tsombé said. His voice didn’t sound OK, though. He sounded tired. Weak. Not the voice she remembered. “And I want to play hacky sack, too.”
“What do you know about this hacky sack?” she asked, sitting down next to him.
“It’s fun,” he admitted, the eyes above his mask smiling. “And I want to play it with the others.”
“Maybe in a few weeks,” she promised, “after you’ve had a bit more rest. So, did you get a piece of candy?” she asked, pulling her stethoscope out of her pocket.
He opened his hand to show her the peppermint Paul had given him.
“He wants to play soccer,” Paul said, pulling up Tsombé’s shirt for Solange to have a listen. “I told him that I’m rather good at it, and that after he’s well I might find a minute or two to give him a lesson.” He winked at Solange. “He’s got the legs of a soccer player, you know.”
“And I expect the hacky sack will get him started in his responses,” she said as she placed the bell of the stethoscope to the boy’s chest. Moist. She could hear the fluid rattling around in there. Both lungs. Medically, the right lung was easier to treat than the left, but both Tsombé’s lungs sounded bad. Pneumonia probably, or some other invasive infection. “Why don’t you two plan some hacky sack strategy? I’ll be right back, after I get some medicine.” She looked at Paul. “Streptomycin for starters,” she said. “And ethambutol.” Streptomycin—an antibiotic, and ethambutol—a drug used help prevent those who already had TB from spreading it any further. “And I’m going to hold off on the INH until I get the proper diagnosis. No sense in overloading him at the start.”
“I think maybe I’ll take Tsombé back to my hospital tomorrow to show him some of my soccer trophies.”
“Trophies?” Tsombé squealed.
“Little ones.” He winked at Solange. “The kind a junior varsity benchwarmer would win.”
Of course, Tsombé didn’t understand all that, but he didn’t have to. The bond growing between Tsombé Patchou and Paul didn’t need much language.
By the time Solange returned with the inoculations drawn up, Tsombé was squealing with such strength she went running to make sure he wasn’t in distress of some sort. But it wasn’t distress she heard, much to her relief. It was delight. Paul was kneeling next to Tsombé, tossing the bean bag back and forth to him.
“He’s got a pretty good pitching arm,” Paul said, reaching into his pocket to pull out another piece of candy for the boy. “He might be a double threat.”
“That means baseball and soccer,” Tsombé explained in all earnestness.
“And are you going to show him your baseball trophies, too?” Solange asked, bending down next to the boy, getting ready to give him a shot.
“Little league. Pitcher. We went all the way to the international championships…” He drew in a long, dramatic breath. “Only to be beaten by the team from Japan. But we got…”
“I know. A tiny trophy.”
“Actually, a pretty good-sized one. But I didn’t get to keep it, so Tsombé will have to content himself with my personal trophies.”
“Sixteen trophies,” Tsombé interjected.
“Anything else?” Solange asked, as she gave the shots.
“Pinewood Derby trophies…”
“Little cars carved out of pine blocks,” Tsombé explained. “You race them down a track.”
“It looks like Tsombé’s becoming quite the expert on your life, Paul.”
Paul grinned.
It was a pity Paul didn’t have children. That dozen he wanted would have suited him so nicely. “So you are going to take Tsombé back with you?”
He nodded. “First thing in the morning. Frère Léon is making the arrangements to help us get back to Ambrose, then he’ll drive us the rest of the way in the truck. He’ll talk to Tsombé’s parents, too, and tell them how we’re going to proceed with this.”
Paul looked up at Solange, and she could see his lips curl into a smile even through the mask. “Doktè Candy would show you his trophies, too, if you’d like to come see them some time.”
Without a word, Solange spun around and rushed back to the infirmary. “Maman,” she whispered, as she opened the door. “Please, help me!” Once inside, she shut herself in the supply closet, turned off the light, slid to the floor, and wept.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SOLANGE slung her backpack down on her bed, then toppled down next to it. “Any word?” she asked Ayida. Tsombé had been on her mind all week. She knew Paul would take care of him, but that didn’t stop her from worrying.
“The only thing was from Frère Léon, about Louise Babin, and he said to tell you the diagnosis was confirmed by the blood tests. Her X-rays show some orthopedic changes in her hands, but not much.” She handed a sheet of paper to Solange. “This is what the people at that hospital gave Frère Léon to bring back to you.”
Solange took a quick glance. Sed rate elevated, but not terribly. Same with the X-rays. Some damage, but not significant. A mild NSAID and exercise would do Louise just fine, and maybe keep the arthritis from advancing. Solange smiled, as she laid the paper aside. She always loved a good result, and this was a good result for Louise. “Nothing about Tsombé?”
Ayida shook her head. “Only that he’s doing fine.”
“In Miami,” Frère Léon said from the doorway. “Paul took him over there a couple of days ago. He said the facility there for juveniles with TB will be able to manage Tsombé’s case much better than he could because Tsombé’s gone drug resistant.”
“Mon Dieu,” Solange whispered. That was a prognosis she certainly hadn’t expected, and the little bit of joy she’d just taken from Louise Babin’s diagnosis was wiped away. Tsombé had a difficult road ahead of him now. Apparently, he had become resistant to the normal drugs that were used to treat tuberculosis, which made him more prone to invasive infections.
“Paul said to tell you that he’s cautiously optimistic about Tsombé’s outcome.” That meant he had hope, but he wasn’t investing everything he had in that hope. Not yet, anyway. “Tsombé’s responding favorably to initial treatment, and don’t ask me what medicines he’s being given because I couldn’t tell you if you twisted my arm. And whose idea was it, anyway, to make the medical language so difficult?”
“But Paul said he’s doing well?”
“Well enough that he’s come back home. I don’t think he would have left the boy there alone otherwise.”
That was such a relief. In medicine, so many things were not under control, even with the most diligent of people working on them. Perhaps, for Tsombé, this would be brought under control quickly. She prayed that would be the case. “Has somebody talked to Tsombé’s parents yet?”
Frère Léon shook his head. “Not yet. I just returned from Abbeville about an hour ago, and I thought I’d put my feet up and rest a little while before I hike over to tell them.”
Solange let out a weary sigh. “It doesn’t get any easier. I’ve got three more over on the east range with what I think is TB. I did the PPD test, and I’ll go back over when it’s time to read the results. I also gave everyone the BCG, and instructed the three people I think might have TB to wear masks and wash their hands frequently…a change of lifestyle they’re going to hate. Paul has good luck in his instruction, though, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed I do, too.” The PPD Solange referred to,
purified protein derivative, was injected under the skin as a means of diagnosing TB. And the BCG, Bacille Calmette-Guerin, was a vaccine used as a TB preventative. “And I’ve got to get over to Tsombé’s village and do the same as he’s possibly exposed everyone there, so when you leave, let me know and I’ll hike along with you.”
Solange shoved her backpack to the floor and stretched out. “We don’t have any patients in the infirmary, do we?” she asked Ayida.
“Just that no good Bobo Laventure. He’s here to sleep it off again before he goes home to his wife. Just mixing with a devil of a hangover right now before he goes to face Mamirez.” Ayida chuckled. “A devil of a wife.”
Solange nodded. “Give him a couple of aspirin and wish him good luck with Mamirez.”
“Can’t blame her none for being angry like she gets,” Ayida said. “She needs a good man.”
“Don’t we all,” Solange said wistfully, as she closed her eyes.
“You could have one if you wanted him,” Frère Léon called from the corridor outside Solange’s room. His own room was just across from hers.
“Which I don’t,” Solange called back, then gestured for Ayida to shut her door. Only a week since she’d seen Paul and she missed him so badly it was turning into a physical ache. Absence made the heart grown fonder…she certainly knew what that meant. It did, in more ways than she’d counted on. The harder she’d tried not to think about Paul, the more she did.
“I’ve had a professional association with Solange just over a week now, and I’ll admit that. But it has not affected my ability to run this hospital or to search out the means necessary to keep it going. In fact, I returned from Miami just this morning with some very promising leads to help me build a laboratory for all that equipment you’ve donated.”
Bertrand Léandre gave Paul a tolerant smile, one that obviously had some other meaning to it. “She doesn’t settle down, mon ami, and I’m worried that you might find yourself too caught up in her lifestyle. It’s compelling, and a good cause, and I’m happy to support her. But I worry she will become a drain to you, and perhaps distract you in ways you shouldn’t be distracted.”
Paul nodded. Now he understood. Papa Léandre didn’t want the two of them together. “So what’s the bottom line here, Bertrand? Why don’t you want me associating with your daughter?”
“Because you will not settle her. You will go one way, she will go another. And that doesn’t work out.”
“But it did with you, didn’t it?”
“Absence, mon ami, is a very difficult thing to live with when you love someone desperately, as I did my Gabriella, and rarely have them at your side. It causes a man to do unspeakable things, things he despises himself for later. And I want better than that for my daughter. She deserves better than that, as my wife did.”
Paul blinked back his surprise. The devoted Bertrand had been unfaithful to Gabriella, and he blamed their absences. He wasn’t surprised, given Bertrand’s larger-than-life lifestyle, but in a way he was taken aback just a little, because he’d truly believed Bertrand had adored Gabriella to the point of obsession. To adore, and yet to cheat? “I think you’re reading much too much into my relationship with Solange,” he said, already regretting what he’d just learned. Solange believed her parents had had a perfect marriage, and this would break her heart. Or frighten her about lasting relationships more than she already was. “We’re well aware of the difficulties getting involved could cause, so we’re not.”
“It’s never quite so simple, mon ami, and you’re either naïve or foolish to think that it is, and I do not believe you to be a foolish man at all.”
“You’re forgetting that I was married once. That tends to take away the naïvety you seem to think I possess.”
“Not so much as you might think. In a relationship, one often sees only what he, or she, wishes to see. My daughter and I have a strained relationship. She considers me domineering and I consider her willful, and I expect we both are all that, and more. But she wasted three years because she couldn’t see, or she was seeing what she wished to see, and it took a great toll on her emotionally. She had to go away for a while to get over it. Another year gone by because of that and I’m not getting any younger.”
“As in, you want to see her settled down into married life?”
“Married, settled and with an heir,” he said quite frankly.
“You want a grandson,” Paul stated.
“Gabriella gave me beautiful daughters, but not the son I needed. So now I have to wait for a grandson, and not one from you, to be perfectly blunt about it.”
“Why?” Paul sputtered.
“I resisted Solaina’s husband at first, because he didn’t seem the type for Solaina. He has so many things to do in his life that I doubted he would ever settle down, which was what she needed. But I’ve found that he is the right man for her because he has settled her, and she’s happy now. Not in the life I would have chosen, mind you, but she’s made her choice and I’ve embraced her husband as my son because he has settled Solaina, and the prospects of my legacy are promising. But not you, mon ami. Solange needs someone to settle her, and that is not you, because you are not settled yourself. You are like me, always running off to pursue your business. Always leaving behind someone who cares for you. Was that not the case with the lovely Joanna?”
“I never cheated on Joanna. Not even in my heart. And if I were involved with Solange in anything other than a professional way, which I’m not, this is where the fight would start between us,” Paul said, trying to keep his voice steady. How did Bertrand think he had the right to interfere in this, even if there really was nothing in which to interfere?
“But I am correct, and you recognize that. The temptations abound and you are a normal man. You may have resisted yesterday and you may resist today, but you cannot say what you will do tomorrow. I am the truest testament to that. And it would be a pity to dissolve our friendship because you cheated on my daughter. So the wiser course is to stay away from her so you don’t find yourself in that position.”
“Is that a threat?” Paul snapped.
“A wish. For my daughter. And even for you, although I’m sure you don’t see it that way. I’ve lived the life you do, Paul. Always traveling, never with my wife, and it takes a toll. A horrible toll. More than anyone knows. I won’t allow that for my daughter, even if it does mean threatening you. And, yes, even withdrawing my funds from your hôpital as a last resort.”
This was incredible! Bertrand had just blindsided him because of Solange, or what he perceived to be some kind of relationship with Solange. “I’m not like you,” Paul said. “If I were involved with Solange, or married to her, as you seem to think could become the case, I wouldn’t cheat on her as you did on Gabriella. Is that what this is about? Your thinking I would do as you did?”
“Wouldn’t you?” Bertrand asked, his composure suddenly so rigid, the chill of it was almost palpable.
“No, I would not!”
“I thought that once myself. Naïvety, I suppose. I was married to the perfect woman. And beautiful…If you think Solange is beautiful, and I’m sure you do, you should have seen her mother…” Bertrand shut his eyes and drew in a long, wistful breath, then let it out slowly. As he did, the icy feel in the room started to melt. “Naïvety, mon ami. A dreadful enemy, I’m afraid.” He stood to leave. “I don’t intend to cut off your donations, Paul. I thought we should talk this over first, see if we can come to some kind of an understanding on how to proceed from here, before your situation with my daughter escalates to a point where we cannot call it back.”
“That sounds like a threat to me.”
“I’d prefer to call it the over-protectiveness of a concerned father, and leave it at that. And someday, when you’re a father yourself, you’ll understand just what it is that I’m doing.” He cast a knowing smile at Paul. “I’m sure you’ll be seeing Solange before I will, so give her my best. Tell her there’s a position opening up in
a Stateside hôpital that might be of some interest to her. And I’d prefer that you keep this little chat between us. My daughters do not know the awful truth of my proclivities and it would torment them if they did.” He laid his hand on the doorknob, then turned back. “She’s a beautiful woman, Paul. I’ve known many beautiful women in my life and I understand these things. But in the interests of your hôpital, I would suggest that you stay focused on your work, and not on my daughter.”
Behind his desk, Paul slumped down in his chair then rummaged through his desk drawer for an aspirin to take care of the pounding headache that was setting in. “Could have been worse,” he muttered, shutting his eyes and rubbing at his temples after he took the pill. “Could have been a lot worse.” He said the words, but he sure wasn’t convinced by them.
Solange sat cross-legged in the grass under a giant banana tree, watching Frère Léon playing hacky sack with a few of the children from a neighboring village. It was a pleasant way to pass a few minutes, and she could almost envision Paul playing there, too. “I think you would like Paul very much, maman. He’s a nice man. Kind. He takes good care of me, and doesn’t let me get too stubborn, and you know how I can be stubborn. Unfortunately, that’s the one quality I’ve inherited from papa.” And one she didn’t necessarily hate all the time, because quite often stubbornness suited her purposes. “Paul’s so good with the children who come here, too, maman. Like their own papas would be, I think.”
There were so many obstacles between them, but that was the insurmountable one. Children. He wanted them and she couldn’t have them. Everything else could be worked out in a fashion, except that. And being barren was the great divide—the one that prevented the kiss, or the terms of endearment.
She missed Paul, though. Missed him desperately. “I fell in love so easily, maman. And so quickly.” She’d been hoping for Paul’s return almost from the moment he’d left, and had even made small adjustments to her schedule to allow her to be at The Mission more than she normally was just in case Paul did return, as he’d said he might. “Which is foolish, I know. But you cannot control what your heart does, can you? After all, you fell in love with papa and that was certainly never an easy life for you. So what should I do, maman?” The answer in her heart was Paul, and she smiled. “You aren’t making this easy on me.” Paul was not a practical answer to anything she needed, but such a nice one on which to dwell for a little while.