Weekend

by Tania Grossinger

  “Fascinating.”

  “Yeah,” he went on with an enthusiasm characteristic of one who enjoys his work. “Not long afterward it was scientifically proved that the water, which had been contaminated by sewage, was indeed the culprit. What they learned from this was twofold; there was something that everyone with cholera had in common, and that once proper sanitary conditions are instituted, the disease becomes practically nonexistent. That’s what gets me here. The sanitary conditions at the Congress are exemplary. This means it had to be carried through the food.”

  “But I understand Wong had nothing to do with the kitchen.”

  “That’s what’s driving me up the wall. It’s almost as if someone literally took the damn bacteria out of his room and released it in the kitchen.”

  “You don’t really believe that, do you?” Her eyes widened in surprise.

  “No, no,” Bruce said. “Of course not.” Actually it was the first time he had thought of it but…, “That would presuppose that someone knew his condition in the first place. Besides, what kind of an idiot would do something like that?” He saw that the other nurses were looking at him strangely. “I’m sorry girls, I’m not serious. I just got carried away. It’s been that kind of day.”

  “So where does that leave you?” Lillian asked.

  “I don’t know. What I figured I’d do,” he said, “is use old John Snow’s tried and true method of backtracking. Somehow, somewhere, the victims did something in common. Now it’s a question of zeroing in and finding out what.”

  The sound of the phone interrupted the conversation. He leaned over and picked it up.

  “Hello?”

  “Bruce.” Sid was practically whispering.

  “Yeah. What’s up?”

  “Listen, I’ve got a serious case up here.”

  “Cholera?” He looked at Lillian who sat forward in her seat. “I thought someone hit her head in the shower.”

  “No, you were right the first time.” He didn’t want to say cholera in front of Charlotte. “Apparently you know the girl. Fern something or other. Her roommate’s been babbling and she said something about an appointment. She mentioned your name. I …”

  “Rosen? Fern Rosen? Is that the girl you’re seeing?”

  “Yeah, Rosen. That’s it.”

  “I’ll be right there.” He jumped up and slammed down his clipboard. “Tell her I’m on my way.” He left the receiver dangling on the desk.

  “What … ?”

  He was out of the door before Lillian could finish.

  fourteen

  By the time Bruce reached Fern’s floor, Sid was standing outside the room waiting. It was obvious he was upset and concerned. Bruce felt the blood rush to his face.

  “How is she?”

  Sid shook his head.

  “She’s in shock. Gone into a coma. I’ve sent for a stretcher. We can’t afford to wait for an ambulance. Having her taken to the hospital in the hotel wagon.” His staccato comments were driven in like nails. “Where do you know her from?”

  “I just met her here. Last night. But I like her a lot.”

  “Her roommate’s pretty upset. I gave her a sedative.”

  “You didn’t mention Oberman, did you?”

  “No. Why?”

  “The roommate was … well, sort of interested in him. I want to go in.” He reached for the door. Sid followed.

  Charlotte was seated on her bed, staring at Fern who was flat on her back, her eyes closed. The white linen pillow and matching cover sheet framed her face in a shroudlike background. Her face looked drawn, so much so that her features seemed distorted to Bruce. Her hair, the permanent pounded out of it by the driving shower, fell listlessly around and under her head in clipped uneven strands. Her lips were slightly parted.

  Bruce turned to Charlotte. She stared back at him with tired, empty eyes. Her lips quivered, her shoulders slumped. He saw her fingers opening and closing against the palms of her hands, moving with a crab’s slow, constant rhythm. She started to shake her head.

  “I don’t know what’s … wr … wrong … with her, Bruce.”

  “Just take it easy.”

  “I thought she hit her head but. …” She turned back and looked at Fern again. Bruce moved to her side and squeezed her hand. She didn’t look up.

  “She’s being rushed to the hospital. She’ll be all right.”

  Charlotte didn’t reply. Bruce turned back to Sid and they walked out of the room. They stood by the doorway in the hall.

  “I’d better ride over to the hospital with her,” Bruce said. “Her roommate’s in no condition …”

  “Don’t be surprised when you get there,” Sid said. “It’s total bedlam. You can’t imagine … we don’t have anywhere near the capacity we should for a major resort area. In the summertime this county swells to a population of hundreds of thousands and what do we have to service it? A two-hundred-and-eighty bed facility. Not even enough for the off-season. And now that they have to isolate anyone we send over, they’ll have to set aside an entire wing and …”

  “You’ll have to start shipping some patients down to the city, won’t you?”

  “Those we can, sure. But who knows how hard or fast we’re going to get hit?”

  “That’s an aspect that’s going to require some coordination. Dr. Kaplow …”

  “That asshole.”

  “Where did he disappear to after Ellen’s meeting?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea. Probably ran to the newspaper stand to get a copy of Forbes.”

  Bruce looked at his watch impatiently. “Where the hell’s the stretcher?”

  “I’m sure it’ll be here any moment,” Sid said, looking back into the room. “Listen, I won’t be able to leave the hotel now. I called a colleague of mine, Julie Elias. He’s a good man and he’ll be at the hospital waiting for you. You can’t get much better up here.”

  Just at that moment, Gary Becker, the hotel chauffeur, and a bellhop stepped out of the elevator. They were carrying a folding stretcher. When Dr. Bronstein waved, they walked quickly down the corridor.

  “This way,” Bruce called. He wanted them to run.

  “What’s going on?” the bellhop asked. “What’s that announcement all about?”

  “I’ll explain later,” Bronstein said. “Let’s take care of this first. The girl inside is pretty sick.”

  “I’ve got the wagon pulled up to the side entrance,” Gary said.

  Charlotte stood up when they entered. Bruce and Sid lifted Fern, top sheet and all, on the stretcher. Then Bruce tucked a pillow under her head. Her eyes quivered slightly.

  “What the hell’s wrong with her?” Gary asked. Sid looked up sharply. “Hey, she doesn’t have whatever Tony Wong had, does she?” The driver got so scared he almost dropped the end he was carrying.

  “Hey, take it easy. We’ve got a sick lady here,” Sid admonished. They moved toward the door. Bruce turned to Charlotte. She had her hand to her mouth.

  “You try to take a nap. As soon as I get back from the hospital, I’ll come up and let you know what’s happening.” He was glad Sid had given her a sedative. Better to knock her out than to chance her getting hysterical at the meeting.

  “Is she going to die?” she asked tentatively.

  “No,” Bruce said quickly. He wanted to push the thought out of his own head as well. Then he rushed out to follow Bronstein.

  “What the hell’s going on here?” Gary asked as they left the elevator.

  “I’ll tell you all about it in the wagon,” Bruce said.

  They carried the stretcher, out of view of the guests, to the side entrance. The back door of the wagon was opened and the back seat folded down, making it into a makeshift ambulance. Bruce got into the passenger side after the back door was closed.

  “Listen, doc,” Gary said, pulling Sid to the side of the car. “I don’t know whether this is important or not but Jonathan Lawrence made me take Tony Wong’s roommates and a chambermaid i
nto New York yesterday.”

  “We know all about that, Gary, and we’ll be talking to you about it later.”

  “Yeah, but this chambermaid, Margret Thomas, she got pretty sick on the way down.”

  “Hey,” Bruce yelled, leaning over and honking the horn. “Let’s get a move on!”

  “Look, Gary, tell Bruce everything. He’s … he’s sort of in charge of that now.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Just go ahead. Tell him on the way to the hospital.”

  “I don’t like the sound of this,” Gary said. “Am I in any danger driving that wagon? I mean … I took Wong to your office in it and …”

  “No. you’re safe, Gary. Honest.”

  The driver moved to the car and got in with obvious reluctance. Slowly he shifted into gear and started away. Bronstein and the bellhop watched them go.

  “So what the hell’s wrong with her, doc?”

  “Huh? Oh, I’m not completely sure yet. Gotta take some tests.” He started back into the building.

  “I forgot to tell you, doc. Rosie said your wife called and she wants you to call her back right away.”

  “Thanks.” Better I don’t call her back, he thought. That’s just what I need. More tsures.

  Ellen knocked gently on the Teitelbaums’ door. It was a long moment before Sam opened it and when he did, she saw the terror and tragedy of what was happening in the hotel written all over his face.

  The wrinkles and lines had sunk deep in his skin. His once sparkling, teasing eyes were now glassy and dull. Nevertheless he was still dressed immaculately. Men his own age often looked lost in their clothes—buttons misfastened, belts too small for their pants, faces dotted here and there with stubble missed by an uncertain razor, nudged and badgered continually by their wives to zip their flies, tie their laces, and tuck in their shirts. But not Sam.

  He still dressed like a man with a strong grip on life. His posture was erect, his gait certain and definite. He was very much in control, except, perhaps, today. Because he was a contemporary of Papa Golden, whom she loved, Ellen had always looked up to him as one of the last survivors of an era populated by men who were rugged, sturdy and strong. They had been the true pioneers, the ones who didn’t know from comfort and easy living, from inheritances and going by the book. The only thing they knew was work, hard work, and Ellen had a great deal of respect for them.

  Sam took one look at her and hugged her tight and close.

  “Blanche is lying down,” he said, stepping back and starting for the bedroom.

  “No, let her sleep.”

  “She’s not sleeping, just resting. And I know she wants to talk to you.”

  Ellen sat down in the arm chair but stood up again as Sam brought his wife in. Her eyes were streaked with tiny red lines and she looked as though it took all her strength to walk. Ellen gave her a kiss and the three of them sat down.

  “I came up as soon as I could.”

  “We appreciate it,” Sam said. “We know how busy you are. Blanche is upset because the Bluestone family blames us for what’s happened. I keep trying to tell her they’re in shock and don’t really know what they’re saying.”

  “I know what they’re going through,” Ellen said. “It’s only natural. When there’s trouble people always look for someone or something to blame. Right now, for example, in the eyes of most people, the hotel is responsible for what’s happening. It’s so ironic. You know how we’ve always prided ourselves on a clean kitchen. Why, we spend twice for staff in that department what any other hotel in the mountains does.”

  “You could eat off the floor in that kitchen,” Blanche said. There was a silence. “So, Ellen, what are you going to do?”

  “It’s mostly out of my hands now. I’ll be meeting with the guests right after I leave you to explain what’s going on. The health authorities have taken control. The hotel’s in quarantine.”

  “Doesn’t that keep people in as well as out?” Sam asked.

  Ellen nodded.

  “But we have to leave tomorrow,” Blanche said. “There’ll be the funeral, and …” She looked at Sam but he said nothing in support.

  “I’ll see what can be done,” Ellen said, “but I can’t make any promises. Like I said, the situation’s out of my hands. But you know I’ll do everything I can.”

  “Don’t worry about us,” Sam said. “You’ve got more important things than us old folks to think about. You know, it’s curious how the past has a way of coming back at us,” he said, leaning back on the couch. “I remember the panic up here in 1916. That was the bad summer of infantile paralysis. Papa Golden and I sat up many nights sweating out tests and examinations of children who got sick when this was nothing more than a small tourist area. You can imagine what would have happened if one of those kids contracted polio while at the Congress.”

  “No one would have stayed and no one would have come back,” Blanche said.

  “But as luck would have it, thanks be to God, no one got sick.”

  “And what about the Spanish flu?” Blanche asked, getting caught up in his reminiscences.

  “That was two years later. I remember it was in August. Barber shops, stores in town and hotels had to close at six P.M. each day. People were afraid to mix with each other and everybody walked around in a perpetual state of terror. But once again we were lucky and no one at the Congress got sick.”

  “Nevertheless, can you imagine what’s going to go on here after Ellen meets with the guests?” Blanche said.

  “Come, dear, don’t make her any more frightened than she is.”

  “It’s all right,” Ellen said quietly. “I’m resigned to the fact that this is probably the end of the Congress.”

  “How can you say such a thing, young lady?” Sam Teitelbaum’s face took on some of his old energy. “Do you know what went in to building this place? Why I worked on my hands and knees side by side with Papa Golden long before you were even born. How can you be so quick to give up?”

  Ellen remained mute.

  “No one thought the hotel industry would survive the polio epidemics. And no one thought they’d survive the flu. But the important thing is that they did. And you’re going to survive this, too. Just wait and see.”

  Ellen reached for his wrinkled hand, brought it up to her lips, and kissed it. “Thank you for that.” She looked first to him and then to Blanche. “I love you both. You said something earlier, Sam, about the past having a way of coming back. If it could just happen one more time … if we could just see this tragedy through …” She blinked a tear away as she checked her watch and realized it was time for her to leave. “Incidentally,” she said, standing up and getting her pocketbook, “I also came here to tell you that if you wanted, you could stay over with us at the old farmhouse. I thought it might make you feel safer and …”

  “No, no,” Sam said. He stood up too. “Why take a chance of spreading things? We don’t know, maybe this thing’s in us too.”

  Ellen knew there was no reassurance she could give. “It’s an open invitation. Think about it. If you change your mind, just let my secretary know and she’ll make the arrangements.” She kissed them both again and hurried out of the suite.

  The moment the door closed behind her, she wanted to cry. It wasn’t rational, she knew, but still somewhere deep inside she did feel responsible for what was happening. After all, it was at her hotel that all these people had been exposed to cholera. A few had already died, others had gotten sick, and they probably still hadn’t seen the last of it.

  If old Mrs. Bluestone hadn’t come through the main gate of the Congress, she might have lived to see her grandchildren grow up. And what about that young man Oberman? And the kids at the day camp? She suddenly found it hard to swallow. We’ve got to beat this thing back, she thought. We’ve got to. She straightened and moved to the elevator, determined to speak with confidence when she faced the guests.

  When it was over, she would go somewhere and mourn.
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  There was no way to deaden the impact of that announcement over the public address system. Those who were able to hear it were thrown into a frenzy. Some imagined it some sort of hotel prank. Was it a mysterious new July Fourth activity? Their confusion and anxiety was compounded by the fact that many of the lower echelon staff members seemed to know nothing and looked just as confused. The front desk was mobbed. The girls were polite and patient, but some guests resented their “we really don’t know” reply and responded with nasty looks and remarks.

  Mimeographed messages on slips of paper were run off in the print shop and the bellhops were given stacks, assigned floors, and told to knock on doors. If there was no response, their orders were to slip the messages under the doors and go on to the next room.

  Other bellhops were sent outdoors to pipe the announcements on the golf course, tennis courts, at the pool, down by the lake, on the baseball fields and wherever guests might be. The worst reactions came on the golf course and at the pool. Some guests were abusive and refused to leave. When the bellhops couldn’t give them any details about the meeting in the nightclub, they disregarded it altogether. However, most guests were surprised by the unusual request and dutifully obeyed.

  The noise in the lobby was intense as the people milled around. Some were angry they hadn’t been permitted to finish their lunch. Children, pulled along reluctantly by their parents, cried and whined. Guests shouted questions to each other to discover what they could. For some the general ignorance created a carnival atmosphere. Over near the card room practical-jokers tried to outdo one another by screaming ridiculous reasons for the gathering.

  “They’ve run out of borscht!”

  “Someone’s been caught stealing towels!”

  “There’s a virgin loose in the hotel!”

  Magda stationed herself in the center of the crowd, reassuring people, calming children, smiling, squeezing hands, kissing cheeks. Old-timers pulled at her, first-timers flocked around. She gave no one any specific information but her presence, her smile and her warmth helped lower the level of insecurity, especially for the elderly.