by Nevil Shute
Presently he got to his feet. “We will need stretchers,” he said. “Two bed-frames, each with a mattress. I will not wait for the ambulance. Mr. Dorman, please. Will you fetch bed-frames and mattresses for us, in the utility?”
“Sure. One of you chaps come along with me ’n show me where to go.”
The utility went off up the cleared glade, and Jennifer was left with the lumbermen and the casualties. The dark foreigner went back to the first man with the trapped foot and dropped on one knee beside him; gently he lifted one eyelid, and felt the wrist. He bent to an examination of the leg beneath the bulldozer.
“Is it possible to lift this thing?” he asked.
“Aw, look,” said one, “it’s a crook job. We got to take the top stick out backwards first, ’n when we get the weight from off the butt of this one it’ll roll off on the top of him. We got to shore up this one first, ’n then take the top one off backwards, ’n rig a sheer-legs ’n a tackle, ’n try and get this one off backwards too. After that we might roll the dozer over, or jack it up maybe. But it’s a long job, Splinter, ’n the stick’ll roll off on him if we don’t watch out.”
“How long will it take?”
The man said, “It’ll be dark by eight. If we can get the stuff up here, ’n lamps and that, we might get the dozer shifted about midnight.”
“Can you safely move these sticks, working in the dark, so that there can be no further accident for him?”
The man said uneasily, “We got to get the poor mugger out of it, Splinter. But it’s a crook job, working in the dark. I’d a sight rather do it in the day.”
The dark man stood in silence for a minute. The men stood round him waiting for a lead, and Jennifer could sense the trust they had in him. “I do not think that we can save the foot, in any case,” he said. “It is practically severed now. If we should lift the dozer by midnight and get him out of it, the leg must then come off in hospital. I think the risk now is too great to move these sticks, for nothing to be gained, but to risk injuring him more. I think it will be better if I take the leg off now and get him to the hospital. We will wait for a message first, to find out if the doctor comes.”
Somebody said softly, “Poor old sod.” Another spat, and said, “I wouldn’t guarantee to shift them mucking sticks without one slipping.” There was a long silence after that.
Presently Carl Zlinter crossed to the other man and knelt down by him again, and very gently began to run his fingers over the skull, exploring the unnatural depressions of the scars. He lifted his head after a time, and said, “Is there water, water in a clean billy? There is an enamel bowl in one of the cartons—use that. And a clean piece of cloth, of lint from the blue square package in the big carton. Somebody with very clean hands open it, and give me a piece of the lint.”
Water was brought in a billy and a man found the package of lint. He glanced at his hands, and then at Jennifer. “You do it,” he said. “You got cleaner hands than any of us here.”
She tore open the wrappings and bared the lint. She said to the dark man, “Do you want disinfectant in the water?”
“Please. The big blue bottle, just a little. About one tablespoonful.” He glanced at her. “Not that—the other bottle. That is good. Now give it to me here, and a small piece of the lint.”
She took the bowl and the lint to him; he dipped his hands in the solution and wiped them with the lint, and threw the lot away. She got him more lint and disinfectant while the men stood round them in a circle watching, and he began very carefully to wipe the dirt from the wounds on the man’s head.
“Scissors,” he said. “In the leather case, the middle one of the three pairs, And the forceps, also. Put them in the water, in the bowl.”
She brought them to him, and stood with the men watching as he worked. The glade was very still; the sun was sinking towards the mountain and it was not now so hot as it had been. The air was fragrant with the odour of the gum trees, and from far away a faint whiff of the forest fire scented the air. In the distance a white cockatoo was screeching in some tree.
The dark foreigner worked on upon his knees, oblivious of the audience. Jennifer stood with the lumbermen looking down upon him as he worked. It was impossible for her not to share their confidence; with every movement the man showed that he knew exactly what he was doing, what the result of every tiny movement of his hand upon the scalp would be. She could feel the confidence that the men standing with her had in Splinter, and watching him at work she shared their trust. This man was good.
Presently there was a faint noise on the road above them. A man by Jennifer raised his head. “Truck coming down,” he said. “That’ll be Mr. Forrest, come to say about the ambulance.”
They listened to the approaching truck till it emerged into the glade and stopped near the wrecked bulldozer. The manager got out and came to them, and Zlinter got to his feet and went to meet him. The men crowded round, Jennifer with them.
“There’s no ambulance, Zlinter,” he said. “It’s gone to Woods Point with the doctor for an appendicitis case. They don’t know if it’s coming back tonight or not.”
One of the men said disgustedly, “No mucking doctor, either?” One of his mates nudged him, indicating Jennifer.
“No doctor,” said Jim Forrest. “I’m sorry, cobber, but that’s the way it is.”
“Aw look,” said one, “we’ve got a doctor. Old Splinter, he’s a doctor, isn’t he?”
“What about it, Zlinter?” asked the manager. “What’s the damage?”
“It is not good,” the dark man said. “This man, I think we should take off the foot and take him into hospital, not to leave him here for hours while we lift the dozer.” The manager pulled him to one side. “It is all right, he cannot hear. He is now well doped. We cannot save the foot in any case, and we must try now to control the shock, or he will die. If he is left here for many hours, I think he will die.”
“Take the foot off now, and get him out of it?”
“That is the right thing to do. He must be in a warm bed, soon, with many blankets and hot bottles; he is already very cold. I think that he is very bad, that one. I do not think that he has been a healthy man; perhaps he drinks too much.”
“What about the other one?”
They crossed to the man with the fractured skull. “This one,” the dark man said, “he seems more badly, but I do not think so. His skull is broken in three places, but he is a healthy man and there is yet no damage that is not repairable. I have seen men as bad as this recover, and be very good—quite well men. With him, it will be necessary to move him very carefully to where he can be operated on, to lift the pressure of the bones upon the brain. If we can so arrange that he is dealt with quickly, then I think he will have a good chance to recover and be well.”
Jim Forrest bit his lip. “Have you done operations of that sort, Zlinter?”
“I have done such operations many times,” the man said. “But not since the war ended.”
“Where did you do them?”
“In the war with Russia,” the man said. “I was surgeon in the army. In France also, at the battle of Falaise. Many times I have done emergency trephine. It is not difficult, if you are very careful, and very, very clean. The danger will lie in moving him to where an operation can be done. I could not do that here.”
The manager stood in silence for a minute. “Jack Dorman will be back in a few minutes,” he said at last. “He’s bringing bed-frames and mattresses. They’ll ride softer in that utility than in the truck.”
He walked a little way away from the men, deep in thought. He knew that he was in a delicate position here, and he wanted a few moments to think it over. Zlinter had no qualifications as a doctor in the State of Victoria, but he was probably competent to do a trephine operation and it seemed logical that he should be allowed to do it. Indeed, he was the only man within reach who could attempt it; without his ministrations the man might well die. The obvious place to do the operation was in Ba
nbury hospital, but would the matron agree to a lumberman who claimed to be an unregistered practitioner doing such an operation in her hospital? Almost certainly she would not. It might well be that while everyone was arguing the man would die. He might die anyway, upon the road to Banbury.
He went back to Carl Zlinter, “What will you do, Zlinter?” he asked. “Will you take them into Banbury? What’s the best thing to do?”
“Will the doctor come to Banbury tonight?”
“He’s operating at Woods Point on the appendicitis case this evening. If he comes back, it will be very late. We can get him on the telephone at the hotel at about six o’clock.”
“He will not be back at Banbury before ten or eleven?”
“I don’t think so.”
Carl Zlinter stood in silence for a minute. He was very well aware of his position; if he operated on this fractured skull and the man died, there would be trouble and he might end up in prison, a bad start to his new life in Australia. He said at last, “I will take off the foot of the man at the dozer now—we cannot save that foot. For the other one, we must take him very carefully down to Lamirra as he is, and you must telephone again from there. I will decide then what is best to do.”
“Okay, Zlinter. What help do you want?”
“Somebody who knows, to hand me things from the case, and to keep clean and sterile as possible. The young lady was good just now.” He looked round, and saw Jennifer standing a little aside. “Please,” he said. “Come here.” She came towards him. “I am going to take off that man’s foot,” he said. “Have you ever seen an operation?”
She shook her head. “Never.”
He looked her in the eyes. “Would you be afraid to help me? If you cannot do it, you must say so now. Can you help this man, and not faint or do any foolish thing?”
“I shouldn’t faint,” she replied. “I might do something stupid, because I’ve never done anything like this before. But I’ll do my best.”
He smiled at her, and she was suddenly confident. “It will be nothing difficult,” he said. “Just to keep giving me the things I shall want. I will show you the things before we begin. Just to do what I shall tell you quietly, and to keep a calm head.”
He took her to the utility, and began rummaging through his cartons for the dishes and appliances that he would need. He picked up a white rubber sheet and carried it over to the bulldozer, and laid it on the ground beside the trapped man, immediately beneath the menace of the hanging log. She helped him to arrange it neatly on the fragrant, leaf-covered ground beside the man. “Now, come with me,” he said.
She became oblivious of the men who stood around and watched them. Her whole attention became concentrated on the job she had to do, and on this foreigner in dirty clothes who wielded so much power. He made her swab her hands and arms in disinfectant at the tailboard of the utility, and then she helped him put the instruments into the bowl and to arrange the ligatures, the dressings and the bandages neatly on the white rubber sheet. Then she went with him and knelt down beside the man, and for a time she listened while he instructed her, naming each article after him. Both became utterly immersed in the work that lay ahead.
The professional detachment of the doctor communicated itself to her, as he intended that it should, and robbed the business of all horror. She saw no sympathy and no emotion in his work upon the injured man, only a great technical care and skill, that noted impersonally every sign of feeling, every change in respiration and pulse as the work went on, and made adjustment for it. He took the leg off about eight inches below the knee with a local anaesthetic injected in several places around the leg, waited ten minutes for this to take effect, and then did the job. From the time they knelt down together by the rubber blanket till the bandaging was complete, about twenty-five minutes elapsed, and in that time Jennifer was completely oblivious of what was going on around her, concentrated only on the work in hand.
Carl Zlinter sat back on his heels. “So,” he said. “Now we must get him to the utility.” He raised his head. “The mattress, please. Bring it and lay it down here.”
He got to his feet and Jennifer got up stiffly with him from her knees; she felt exhausted, drained of all energy. She was surprised to see Jack Dorman there among the men, and to see the utility parked immediately behind the bulldozer; she had not seen or heard it arrive. Carl Zlinter spoke to her. “It was very well done, the help that you gave me,” he said. “You have been a nurse at some time?”
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”
He raised his eyebrows. “So?” he exclaimed softly. “It was well done, very well. You have a gift for this.” He glanced at her kindly. “And now you are very tired.”
She forced a smile. “I don’t know why one should be.”
“It is the close attending,” he said. “I also, I get tired, every time. It would be wrong if one did not grow tired, I think, for that would mean I had not done the best I could.”
She smiled at him. “I suppose that’s right. I suppose that’s what it is.” And then somebody said, “Where will they put the mattress, Splinter?”
He moved aside. “Here. Lay it down here, like this.”
She turned towards the utility, and Jack Dorman was there. “Good show, Jenny,” he said with genuine respect. “How’re you feeling? Get into the car and sit a bit.”
“I’m all right,” she said. “It takes it out of you, though.” She got into the car and sat with the door open, talking to him.
“I brought up a bottle of whisky from the store, ’case it was needed,” he said. He produced it. “Let me pour you out a nip.”
“I don’t want that,” she said. “I’m all right.”
“Sure?”
“Honestly.” He slipped the bottle back into the door pocket of the car. “I couldn’t have done what you did,” he said. “I’d have turned sick.” That wasn’t true, because when it comes to the point men and women are far stronger than they think, but he thought that it was true. He had seen death and wounds in plenty thirty years before, but time had wiped the details from his mind, and this had come as a fresh shock to him. He was genuinely surprised at the strength of this girl from London.
Under the direction of the Czech the men lifted the unconscious man carefully on to the mattress and carried it to the utility, and laid it in the back, assisted by Jack Dorman and the manager. Jennifer got out while this was going on and stood and watched, but there was nothing she could do to help. The evening sun was now sinking to the tops of the gum trees, flooding the glade with golden light; in the midst of her fatigue and these strange happenings she could wonder at the beauty and the fragrance of the place.
Carl Zlinter came to her by the car. “We have now to put the other man on the mattress,” he said. “Do you feel able to help me? It is more delicate, because of the head injuries.”
“Of course,” she said. “What do you want me to do?”
She crossed with him to the other man while the mattress was brought and laid adjacent to him. They knelt down while Zlinter carefully examined the head again, and felt the pulse, and tested the degree of unconsciousness. He made her fetch a triangular bandage and he raised the injured head while she slipped the bandage beneath it. Then very carefully they manœuvred the rubber sheet beneath the body and head, Zlinter and Forrest lifting each part an inch or so from the ground while the girl slipped the sheet under, straightening the folds as she progressed; in ten minutes the man was lying on the sheet. With three men lifting the sheet on each side of the body and Zlinter tending the head at the same time, they slipped the mattress under and carried it to the utility, and laid it in the back beside the other. Then they were ready to go.
Jack Dorman got into the utility with Zlinter and Jennifer; Forrest followed on behind them with the truck full of men, leaving the bulldozer to be sorted out and put upon its feet in the morning. Dorman drove the utility over the rough ground of the glade at no m
ore than a walking pace, with Zlinter continually observing the effect of the motion on the wounded men through the back window; once or twice he stopped the car and got out to examine them more closely. Presently the truck drew up beside them, and it was arranged that Forrest should go on ahead and telephone the doctor at Woods Point.
The utility moved very slowly up the track towards the road. Jennifer sat silent between the men, Dorman giving the whole of his attention to getting the car over the rough road with as little motion as possible, Zlinter silent and preoccupied with the condition of the head injury. But presently he roused himself, and said, “Please, Mr. Dorman. This young lady that has been of so great help—I do not know her name. Will you make an introduction please?”
The Australian said, “Why—sure, Jennifer Morton, my wife’s niece or something.”
The girl laughed. “Jennifer’s the name,” she said. “Jenny, if you like.” She hesitated. “You might as well complete it,” she observed. “Your name isn’t really Splinter, is it?”
“Zlinter,” he said. “Carl Zlinter, Miss Jennifer.” He achieved as near to a bow as he could manage in the cab of the utility, pressed up against the girl. “They call me Splinter when it is not something ruder. I am from Czechoslovakia. You are Australian, of course?”
“I’m nothing of the sort,” the girl said. “I’m a Pommie, from London. I’ve only been in the country a few days.”
“So? A few days only? I have been here for fifteen months.”
“Do you like it?”
He nodded. “It is ver’ beautiful, almost like my own country, in Bohemia, in the mountains. I would rather live there, in my own country, but I do not like Communists. If I may not live there, then I would rather live here, I think, than any other place in the world.”
“You like it so much as that?”
He smiled. “I have been happy since coming here from Germany. I like the country, and the working in the trees.”
