by Irma Joubert
“Yes, Marco, she’s in pain,” she answered slowly. “We give her medication, but it’s only partly effective.”
His groan sounded as raw as her heart felt.
“I miss you terribly.” The words came from deep inside her, finding their way over her lips.
“Do you want me to come to Johannesburg?”
She wanted it more than anything in the world. “No, no, it’s really not necessary. I just want to talk to you.”
“Oh, Aletta.” He missed her too, she could hear it. “Tell me more.”
Lettie took a deep breath. “When I look at the other children, I know we’re actually blessed. Leonora is out of danger, and she won’t have to lie trapped in that terrible iron lung. She has full use of her arms, and one day she should be able to walk again. More than half the mothers here can’t tell their husbands the same thing tonight.”
“I’m grateful too, Lettie. When will you be home?”
“It’s impossible to say. They’re moving Leonora to the children’s ward tomorrow. She’ll be put on a course of penicillin to prevent infection in the weakened muscles. At some stage they’ll start her long-term treatment. I don’t know what lies ahead. It all depends on the progress she makes.”
She listened to the news from home, to the good wishes from people who were praying for them. He recounted the stories Isabella told when he fetched her at her grandparents’.
She just listened to his voice. His voice, the man he was, was what she would take back to their gravely ill daughter in the hospital bed.
When Leonora was admitted to the children’s ward, which she shared with nine other young polio patients, their daily routine changed drastically. Leonora soon realized there were other children whose legs were also paralyzed. Some couldn’t even use their arms. She realized they felt the same pain she was feeling. A few hours after being admitted, she was sitting up against the pillows, talking to the little girl in the opposite bed.
Young as she was, she understood. “That little girl is very sad. Her mommy isn’t here,” she whispered to Lettie.
The other moms in the ward soon discovered Lettie was a doctor. She became the one who had to explain in detail what was happening to their children and what they could expect.
Every other morning Klara came all the way from Pretoria to see how they were doing. The first day she came, she brought a soft teddy bear with a bandaged leg. “His leg hurts too,” she told Leonora.
“Does he have polio?” Leonora asked.
“I think he just has a sore leg,” Klara replied.
“No, he’s paralyzed,” the child decided. From that moment the bear got exactly the same treatments she did. The sisters even had to give him injections. At night the bear slept in Leonora’s arms.
But when the pain got too bad, she forgot about the bear.
Klara brought a coloring book and crayons to pass the long hours, but at times it was too painful for Leonora to sit up. Klara also brought some of her own children’s storybooks for Lettie to read aloud. “I’m a hopeless storyteller,” Lettie admitted.
Antonio often came in the evenings. When he entered, Leonora clapped her hands, overjoyed. Antonio always had to tell a story. “I’m not as good as your papa,” he said, laughing, but he tried his best.
“What language does the man speak?” one of the other moms asked one night after he had left.
“Italian,” Lettie replied. “My husband is Italian. Antonio is his brother.”
“And this little girl speaks Italian and Afrikaans?” she asked, astounded.
“That’s how she’s growing up,” Lettie said.
“Papa tells better stories than Oom Tonio,” Leonora said. “I wish Papa could tell me a bedtime story.”
About a week after Leonora had been moved to the children’s ward, Dr. Erasmus called Lettie to her bedside. “Look,” he said and tickled the sole of her right foot with a feather.
Lettie clearly saw a slight reflex movement in the leg. She felt as if she were witnessing a biblical miracle of old. The greatness of the tiny movement shocked right through her.
“There’s definitely some activity,” he said, “but we’ll only know in a week or two whether we can hope for a full recovery.”
Leonora’s left leg remained inert.
That evening Lettie could hardly wait to share the news with Marco. “What exactly does it mean?” he asked.
“It’s a start,” she admitted. “There’s still a long, hard road ahead.”
“Even a crooked path has a starting point,” he said philosophically.
“You won’t believe how she’s grown in the past ten days. There’s a little girl of about seven here, a headstrong child who had to start with physical therapy today. The doctor came to speak to her and her mother while I was having lunch. When I returned, Leonora gave me a lecture on the importance of exercises,” Lettie said, laughing. “I doubt she even knows what the word means.”
“When does Leonora start with exercises?”
“I’m not sure, but I don’t think we’re going to stay that long. I miss you too much. I can’t be alone much longer.”
“I’d love you to come back,” he said immediately, “but we must do what’s best for Leonora.”
“I can treat her at home. We can hire Sister Greyling full-time for the next month or two. I’ll ask Dr. Erasmus about the treatment tomorrow, what massage techniques and exercises he recommends. Then I think we’re coming home.”
“I’ll fetch you,” said Marco. “The house is empty without you, Lettie.”
“I think it will be better if we come by ambulance,” said Lettie. “Leonora should be kept still and preferably flat on her back. Let me get all the details and we can discuss it tomorrow night.”
“I miss you, Aletta.”
She was silent for a moment. Then she said, “You know, Marco, when I’m having a really hard time during the day, I just have to remember that I’m going to talk to you again in the evening and things immediately seem more bearable.”
The next night she reported, “We must keep her on a special diet to build muscle and boost her immunity, with enough calcium to strengthen her bones. She’ll have to start with physical therapy soon, initially two short sessions per day.”
“Is there a physical therapist in our town?” Marco asked.
“I know Sandra Havemann worked as one years ago. I’ll find out if she’s willing. What’s wrong with your voice, Marco?”
“I’m fine. Must be the line.”
“Oh.” She was getting to the most difficult part. “Leonora’s right leg should recover completely. Dr. Erasmus is quite confident about that. But her left leg has suffered serious damage, Marco. She’ll have to wear braces to prevent the leg from breaking or bending.”
“Ah, no.” She could hear his pain. Her heart went out to him, but she had to persevere.
“It looks as if the damage might be permanent, Marco.” It was hard to break the news to him, but at the same time it was a relief to share her grief.
There was silence on the other end of the line. Then he asked, “But she’ll walk again?”
“Our little girl should walk again. She might need surgery on the leg and foot, but only in about ten years’ time.”
“Oh, Lettie, I feel so sorry for her.”
“Marco, you’re hoarse.”
“I’m fine, really, Lettie. Don’t worry.”
But long after he had ended the call, a vague anxiety gnawed at her.
The next night, a Friday, there was no reply when she phoned home. She asked the operator to call her parents’ home. Twenty minutes later she heard her mother’s voice on the line.
“Mommy, is Marco there?”
“Yes, they’re having supper here and spending the night.” Her mother had a tendency to bellow to make sure she’d be heard over the great distance. “Marco is a bit out of sorts. Daddy thinks the strain of the past few weeks is getting to him. He has an appointment with Fanus Coetzer t
omorrow morning just to be on the safe side. He’s bathing Isabella at the moment. Would you like to speak to him? Oh, here he is now.”
“Hello, queen of my heart, how are you doing?” The beloved voice sounded almost cheerful.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Why are you so jolly?”
“We’ve been having fun, Isabella and I.” He laughed. “Your mom bought some bubble bath and I’m sporting a Father Christmas beard.”
“And the bathroom is sopping wet, I suppose,” she said, laughing as well. It was so normal there—so far removed from here. She pulled herself together. “Marco, Leonora had her first massage session on her left leg today.”
“And how did it go?”
Lettie hesitated before she said, “She’s a brave little girl.”
He understood at once. “Was it very painful?”
“Yes, Marco, it was, but it has to be done. How are you feeling? You still sound hoarse.”
“I’m fine, just a little tired. I have a bit of a sore throat. Your mom is spoiling us with supper tonight, and then I’m going straight to bed.”
“What time is your appointment tomorrow?”
He laughed softly. “Nine o’clock, with your colleague, Miss Know-It-All.”
“I’ll phone around noon to hear what he said.”
“Aletta, I’m just tired and worried, that’s all.”
“You’re seeing the doctor anyway and I’m calling tomorrow,” she said firmly.
When she finally got through the next afternoon after waiting almost half an hour, there was no reply at their home. It took her another half hour to get through to her parents. “Marco has just left,” her dad said.
“What did Fanus say?”
“Just a sore throat and exhaustion. He gave him a shot of penicillin just to be on the safe side. Marco has gone to pick up some clothes for himself and Isabella. They’re spending the rest of the weekend here.”
Lettie nodded. She was glad Fanus gave Marco a shot, even if there wasn’t much wrong with him. “So Ouma is spoiling them some more?”
“You’d better believe it! There’s roast lamb in the oven.”
“How I wish I could be there!” Lettie sighed.
“Marco says you and Leonora might be coming home at the end of next week,” her dad said.
“It all depends, Daddy. If everything goes according to plan, yes. We’re terribly homesick. How’s Isabella?”
“She also has a bit of a sore throat and the sniffles. She and Marco probably picked up the same bug.”
“You’d better get them well before I come home with Leonora next week,” said Lettie.
“I’ll do my best, don’t worry.”
“And give them my love. I’m not going to call again tonight. It’s almost impossible to get hold of the operator on weekends. I’ll talk to them both tomorrow night.”
Sunday morning broke clear and cloudless, with doves cooing in the lush green trees and church bells pealing across the city as Lettie walked the few blocks from the hotel to the hospital. It was good exercise, and it cleared her head.
She planned to get a wheelchair and take Leonora out to the garden. The weather was perfect, with not even the slightest breeze. Klara and Antonio were coming in the afternoon. They had promised to bring their daughters to spend some time with their cousin.
Lettie went up the steps and made her way to the ward where Leonora lay. There was the usual bustle just before breakfast.
The child lay watching the door with anxious eyes, her bear clasped tightly in her arms. She was waiting for her mommy. “The hurt didn’t come last night,” she said the moment Lettie reached her bedside.
Lettie leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I’m so glad. How’s your little bear?”
“He’s a bit scared, so I’m holding him tightly. I don’t want to eat the porridge.”
“I know, but you must,” Lettie said, sitting down on the chair beside the bed, her back to the door. “I think—”
“Dr. Louw?” someone said behind her.
“Yes?”
“There’s a phone call for you at reception.”
“Thank you,” Lettie said and got to her feet. “Mommy will be right back, Leonora.”
She hurried down the hospital corridor. Who on earth could be phoning so early? She picked up the receiver. “Lettie speaking,” she said.
“Lettie?” Her father’s voice was gray.
Fear took her breath away, nearly choked her. Isabella? Her mother?
“It’s Marco,” her father said.
“What about Marco?”
“The ambulance has just left for Pretoria. Yusuf Ismail is with him. Lettie, he has polio.”
She sank down next to the telephone.
The receiver fell out of her hand.
Her mouth broke open.
Soundlessly.
Antonio was there, his face a strange gray color. Klara was there, looking appalled. “I’ll go to Leonora,” she said.
Leonora?
. . . diminished immunity increases the severity of the disease . . .
“Drink this, Dr. Louw,” someone said.
“Come with me, Lettie,” she heard Antonio say. “I’ll take you to the General Hospital in Pretoria. That’s where they’re taking Marco. Klara will stay here with Leonora.”
They drove through the streets.
. . . the older the patient, the more severe the paralysis . . .
She heard her own voice speak. “Marco’s lungs are too weak.”
She heard snatches of the words Antonio was saying: “. . . be strong . . . have faith . . . specialist . . .”
She knew the hospital.
“Lettie, this is the specialist who will look after Marco when he arrives,” Antonio said.
“My husband has diminished lung capacity,” she heard herself say. “He gets pneumonia every year.”
“We’ll see what we can do, Dr. Louw.”
. . . the chances that the respiratory muscles will be paralyzed increase tenfold in adult patients . . .
“He won’t be able to go into an iron lung, it won’t work.”
“Let’s be optimistic, Dr. Louw. Here, I want you to drink this.”
Antonio was beside her through it all.
The paralysis ran its inexorable course.
The specialist shook his head. “It’s affecting the entire body,” he said.
“The heart muscle?” she heard Antonio’s strange voice ask.
The specialist nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”
Antonio walked beside her back to the white room.
A whisper: “Tonio?”
“I’m here, Marco.” Antonio spoke Italian. His voice was strong. Hastily he wiped his eyes and moved into Marco’s line of sight. “Mama and Papa sent a letter. They’re both well. The mountains are white under their blanket of snow. Mama is baking focaccia and biscotti and making minestrone. Papa got an order from America for a hundred statuettes.”
A peaceful expression spread over Marco’s face.
“Aletta?” he mouthed soundlessly.
“I’m here with you, Marco,” she said, gently stroking his face. “I’ll stay, I won’t leave you.”
“Leonora?” His eyes were wide open. Not afraid, but intensely focused.
“Leonora is doing very well, she’s recovering rapidly. Soon she’ll be a healthy little girl again, running and playing outside in the sun with Isabella. And Isabella is fine, just missing her papa.”
Marco closed his eyes. “Lettie, I love you,” he whispered almost breathlessly.
Tears were streaming down Lettie’s face. “And I love you, Marco Romanelli,” she said.
Marco fell into a deep, peaceful sleep from which he did not wake.
part four
Wandering
chapter
FIFTEEN
Day after day Lettie followed the path laid out for her. Where it was leading, she did not know.
She walked the path back to her empty h
ome.
She followed it through the funeral in town and the burial at the farm. The school choir sang and sounded hollow without Marco’s voice to accompany them.
She let the path direct her to the normal Sunday dinners at the farm, where she tried not to notice Marco’s missing chair, the missing place setting. Tried not to let her anger show. Anger at how normal everything was, when it could no longer be normal. Anger toward God. Fury at His mistake.
She let it carry her into the comforting arms of her family, who grieved with her but did not seem to rage.
Sister Greyling—Tannie Bes, the children called her—came early in the mornings to stay with Leonora. Isabella spent those hours with her grandparents. At noon her oupa took her home to Tannie Bes. Lettie tried to be home from the surgery by two, but sometimes it just wasn’t possible.
Sandra Havemann came every afternoon for Leonora’s physical therapy. Her right leg was growing stronger. Leonora could move her toes and her reflexes were good.
But every movement, every touch, was painful. The little girl burst into tears every time she laid eyes on Sandra. “Mommy!” she cried and held out her skinny arms to Lettie.
The physical therapy was necessary to prevent further muscle atrophy and to strengthen muscles that had not worked for months. Lettie tried to explain it to Leonora in the simplest way. But while she was trying to encourage her, to explain, or to distract her with stories and games, her heart was crying with her child. And all the time she knew: Marco would have done it so much better.
The gaping pit of his absence remained. At times she was drawn right down to the bottom. At times the climb to get out again was just too steep.