The Plague Tales

by Ann Benson

“I used to be,” she said softly.

  “Do you have any kids?”

  There was a significant pause before she spoke, and then her words were so soft, he could barely hear them. “I used to.”

  “Oh, dear God …” he said, stiffening slightly as the true meaning of what she’d said bored into him. She lost everyone at the same time, he thought, stunned by the crushing weight of that idea. “Janie, I—I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I wouldn’t have brought it up if I had. It wasn’t as bad here, and we’re just not accustomed to assuming that everyone’s lost someone.”

  She hitched in a small breathy sob, and a tear slipped out of the corner of one eye. It trickled to the end of her nose, dangled there for a few seconds, then fell into her lap. She turned her head and looked back at him, with perhaps the saddest expression he’d ever seen on the face of a human being. She tried to smile. “It’s all right,” she said. “You had no way of knowing.”

  She straightened up and sniffed, then wiped her nose inelegantly with the cuff of one sleeve. “I never seem to have a tissue,” she said. “Do you think the Ministry of Etiquette will try to have me arrested?”

  Bruce laughed. “I won’t tell,” he said. “But you’re more likely to get arrested by the Ministry of Health for Public Effusion of Body Fluids. I won’t tell them either.”

  He was joking, she knew, but something in the tone of his voice as he spoke about the Ministry of Health led her to the conclusion that dripping snot and tears in public was a serious no-no. She sniffed lightly and, she hoped, daintily. None of the people around them were looking at her with any particular interest, so her discomfort passed after a few moments. “Thanks,” she finally said with a thin smile. “I want you to know that I appreciate your discretion. So how about you?” she asked, her voice firmer. “Are you married?”

  “No,” he said. “I never did take the plunge.”

  “Shame on you,” she said, teasing him. She surprised herself with the realization that her moment of grief had passed cleanly, with no bitter aftertaste. Maybe it’s getting a little easier, she thought to herself. “You have shirked your moral responsibility to reduce the population of single women.”

  He laughed. “You say that with such feminine authority. If the right single woman had come along, I would’ve been more than happy to fulfill my social obligation. But like I said, I’m really married to my work. When we’ve got an interesting project going on, my life gets pretty hectic. I don’t know that anyone would want to put up with that.”

  “It sounds like you really like what you do.”

  “I love it. I’m the happiest camper in the world.”

  “I’m jealous. I’ve been away from surgery for almost two years.”

  He gave her a very sympathetic look. “Ouch. That’s gotta be tough on you. Have you been able to manage?”

  “You mean financially?”

  He nodded.

  “Everyone in my family was well insured. And they all went in the first round, when the insurance companies were still paying. Then my grandmother left me her entire estate, and it was pretty substantial. Money is the very least of my worries. And it’s a good thing, because I’ve spent plenty of it on travel to do this project. You can’t believe how complicated it is to get a visa these days. They charge you coming in and going out.”

  “I guess all the restrictions they put in place over here were a good idea after all.”

  “I think they were. You didn’t get hit anywhere near as badly as we did. And the British government didn’t waste any time. We didn’t close our borders for almost a year after the Outbreaks started, and that was a big mistake, in my opinion. Stupid, considering that it came in over the border from Mexico in the first place. I mean, God forbid that we should take away the right of people who aren’t even citizens to bring in fatal and highly infectious diseases. We wouldn’t want to miss the opportunity to pay for their treatment.”

  “Do I detect a bit of the redneck emerging, Ms. Crowe? What ever happened to the Hippocratic Oath?”

  She gave him a hard look and said, “When people are dying by the hundreds all around you, and you can’t do a blessed thing about it, the Hippocratic Oath seems like just another bunch of ancient mumbo-jumbo. You do what you have to do, regardless of the Oath.”

  He felt chastised. “I’ve never been in a situation like that. I guess I have a hard time understanding it.”

  “I never thought I would be. I thought I’d spend my entire career safely and unemotionally snipping pieces out and stitching pieces in. But some of the stuff I saw, Bruce, you simply wouldn’t have believed. Piles of dead babies with oozing sores, all from one hospital nursery. People with visible signs of infection being held at gunpoint, being shot if they tried to run. Children, even. It was just out of control. I could go on forever with horror stories.”

  There wasn’t much Bruce could say in response, and Janie was tired of Outbreak talk; she’d had far too much of it already. So they sat in silence, each of them staring at some point of interest. The sound of a woman’s voice came over a loudspeaker with a notice that the museum would close in ten minutes.

  “Well,” Bruce said as he stood up, “shall we go grab a bite to eat?”

  “You know, I don’t think I’m very hungry now,” Janie said. “Maybe I should just go back to my hotel.”

  “But the night is young,” Bruce protested.

  “Unfortunately, I’m not feeling all that young tonight. I don’t think I realized how tired all these complications have made me. I don’t think I’m completely adjusted to the time difference yet, anyway. I think I should try to get a good night’s sleep. Can I take a rain check?”

  Bruce was disappointed, and made no attempt to hide it from her, but he was quite gracious in accepting her refusal of his offer. “Absolutely,” he said. “Anytime at all.”

  And with promises to call her the next day as soon as he heard from either of the storage facilities, he took her back to the hotel by cab. Janie went upstairs immediately, took a stinging hot shower, and went to bed. She dreamed, fitfully, of her husband and daughter.

  When the phone awakened her the next morning, Janie didn’t feel as if she’d slept for ten hours. She answered it groggily.

  “Good morning,” Bruce said.

  Her eyes still shut, Janie said, “Are you always this cheerful in the morning?”

  “Did I wake you?” he asked.

  She opened her eyes and looked at the bedside clock. It was already ten-fifteen. “I hate to admit it, but you did. I must’ve needed the sleep. I usually get up with the gods.”

  “Do you want to call me back after you’re more awake?”

  “No. From the chirpy sound of your voice I think I’d rather hear what you have to say.”

  “Ah,” he said with amusement, “you noticed my enthusiasm. Good. I hoped you would. I did find them, and they’re in the closer of the two possibilities.”

  Janie had fifty questions, but she was still too sleepy to organize them in her mind. She sat up and shook her head to clear away the effects of the sandman, then asked, “How quickly can I get them back here?”

  “That depends on how jammed they are up there. Your work is not going to be a priority for them. The quickest way to retrieve them would be to drive up there and bring them here by car.”

  “Not by plane? It’s a long drive, isn’t it?”

  “It is, but I think you might run into a few bureaucratic walls if you try to ship them by air. I don’t know what it’s like back in the States, but here anything transported in the baggage hold of an airplane has to meet certain criteria. It might actually take longer to fly than to drive because of the red tape. From what I saw in the lab, your samples look a little too much like bombs.”

  “Okay, I’ll rent a car—”

  He stopped her. “There’s another slight problem. You need certain types of clearances to get into that facility. I have most of what I need. Ted has the whole shebang. But if you went by your
self you’d have to sit there for a couple of weeks while some subminister decided if you were an upright citizen in your own country and scientifically qualified to handle potentially biohazardous materials. As you can imagine, you can run into all kinds of snags.”

  “Does your director, what’s his name—”

  “Ted.”

  “Does Ted have any influence?”

  “He does. He can get things moved in and out quickly. Unfortunately, Frank was the guy with all the high cards. He knew all the people who run these places on a first-name basis. Needless to say, you wouldn’t be in this mess if he hadn’t died.”

  “Don’t remind me. But, okay, so I’ll have to depend on Ted to help me get in there.”

  “Hold your horses. You still might not be allowed inside, and you’d have to wait for them to get around to paying attention to you. Back to square one.”

  Every suggestion she made had some problem. “It’s not nuclear waste!” she fumed. “It’s plain old dirt! The kind most of our food used to grow in!” She took on the whiny tone of someone who was feeling sorry for herself. “Oh, the hell with it,” she finally said. “It would be a lot easier just to forget the whole thing and go home. This has just been one big waste of time and money.”

  “Look, let me tell you what I’ve been thinking,” Bruce said. “I’ll ask Ted to call ahead so we can speed up the process. Then I’ll drive up with you and we’ll bring them back in my car. I can get in pretty easily. All you’d have to do is look in through the window and identify the tubes to make sure they’re the right ones.”

  Janie was floored by his offer. “That’s a lot of time and effort for someone who is only a casual acquaintance from twenty years ago. This is awfully nice of you. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say, ‘Thanks, Bruce, I’d love it if you went with me.’ ”

  She laughed. “Okay. Thanks, Bruce, I’d love it if you went with me.”

  “That’s better.”

  She was silent for a moment then asked, “Why are you doing this?”

  “Best reason in all the world,” he answered. “Because I want to. It’s nice to be able to be helpful once in a while. Makes me feel good.”

  Janie smiled into the phone. “It’s making me feel very good. I needed a shot in the arm right about now.”

  “Glad I could give you one. But get ready to feel even better. I think I can arrange it for you to do your own work in the lab. I’ve got some free time until we get this project going, and I know most of the equipment. Ted already said he could get you the necessary clearances, provided neither of you has bombed a federal building in the last few years.”

  “God, Bruce, I’m speechless. I don’t know what to say again.”

  “Say, ‘Yes, Bruce, I’ll let you work on this with me.’ ”

  “This is the proverbial offer I can’t refuse. I accept.”

  “Good. Now, if you can manage to drag yourself out of bed and get over here this afternoon, I can get started in showing you the ropes. If your assistant does well enough, she can work by herself, with a security person present. It won’t be too much difficulty to get one assigned. That way, when you and I go to Leeds, she can be working.”

  “This is too much.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s just proper British hospitality.”

  “Then maybe I’ll move here too. I’m not used to getting this kind of treatment back home. I get the feeling that they think nice treatment will actually make people happy, or something sinister like that.”

  “Now, now,” he said, trying to restore her good humor. “The Etiquette Police do not appreciate sarcasm.”

  “I’ll try to remember that,” she said, a bitter edge in her voice. “I guess we’ll see you in a little while.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  They met Bruce in his private office. Janie looked around as they waited in the anteroom. The furniture was very masculine, dark and sleek, much like Bruce himself. The secretary sitting behind a black-and-chrome desk was an older woman, quite grandmotherly, with frills and pearls and very bouffant hair, a smidge on the blue side. He probably didn’t pick her out, and she certainly didn’t pick out this furniture, Janie thought, and then assumed further that Bruce himself had seen to the decoration. She liked the notion that he probably hadn’t asked his subordinate to do it for him.

  He came out of the inner office looking fresh faced and well scrubbed, and Janie observed to herself, as everyone exchanged greetings, that he seemed very comfortable, both with himself and the place over which he held professional dominion. Everything around him seemed to fit neatly into its place. It was obvious that he’d managed to influence his work environment to the point where it suited him perfectly. She didn’t even consider that perhaps it was the other way around, and he had adapted to fit the environment; even after many years of no contact, she remembered that his personality was too strong, in a positive way, to allow himself to be shaped by his circumstances. She felt a momentary twinge of envy for the apparent ease with which he seemed to move through his life and for the shaping touch he seemed to have on the things around him.

  “Very nice,” she said to him.

  “Thanks,” he said, then confirmed her suspicion by adding, “I did it over a couple of years ago. It was a little stuffy before.”

  Out of the corner of her eye Janie noticed that the grandmotherly secretary stiffened slightly, as if she was highly offended by his comment but would swallow a toad before allowing it to show. Maybe she’d picked Bruce, Janie speculated, at a time when this office looked more as if she belonged in it, and was now suffering through his choice of furnishings with stoic British dignity. She made a mental note to add that question to the list of those she would ask him during the long drive to Leeds.

  As they walked through the corridors of the Institute, Janie felt very small; the walls and ceilings were all the same matte white, and the floor was a glossy, light-colored linoleum. Overhead pipes, which she guessed had once been part of the old building’s original heating system, were painted in a rainbow of soft pastel colors and were remarkably dust free, leading her to think that the ventilation system must be superb.

  “What a great building this is,” she said to Bruce. “It looks like it’s been really well cared for. It doesn’t have that slap-a-Band-Aid-on-it look that some older buildings have.”

  “I know,” Bruce said. “They do a good job. It’s been in continuous use since the late nineteenth century. It was originally built as a hospital. This place was filled to bursting during the flu epidemic in 1918. Then during World War I a lot of these corridors were filled with recovering soldiers. They literally overflowed the wards. There were surgeries all along here set up to deal with the huge numbers of soldiers who came home wounded. A lot of victims of mustard gas were also treated here.”

  She thought about the horror of those times and she could feel it ooze right out of the walls as she walked along. In her mind’s eye Janie envisioned rows of bunks lining the corridor, each narrow bed occupied by some suffering young boy barely out of his teens, or some old woman in the hot grip of influenza. She saw the dull hospital green favored at the time with the misguided hope that the cool color would evoke a serene feeling of antisepsis, a state that would not occur until almost fifty years later with the development of antibiotics. What a heady time the antibiotic era was, she thought to herself. We could cure almost anything. Gone now. She could almost hear the pipes overhead clanking and see the coating of greasy soot, and as she proceeded forward, she imagined moaning doughboys reaching out to tug at her, pleading for something to alleviate their pain; the old women, reeking of death, simply moaning, knowing they were beyond help. The images came through so clearly that they unnerved her and she paled and shivered slightly.

  Bruce was still talking about the history of the building as Janie moved out of the green-paint fantasy and back into the white-paint reality around her. After another turn they came to the lab’s metal d
oor with its small window of thick wire-reinforced glass. He pressed his right hand flat against the surface of a grayish-green panel at the right side of the door, and after a few seconds Janie heard the electronic lock click. The door clicked open and he motioned them inside. As they passed through the door Janie heard the soft hum of an electric current; she looked back and noticed that the grayish screen had taken on a bluish hue, which faded after a few seconds.

  “It’s cleaning itself,” he explained. “After we installed those locks we noticed that lab personnel were sharing colds at a higher rate than in other departments, so we planted a harmless noninfective virus on one of the techs. We never did find it in the lab—everyone was apparently following the proper procedures. But it was all over the palm-print readers, so we had them retooled to be self-sterilizing. An electric current flashes through the surface of the screen, not strong enough to hurt anyone, but strong enough to kill any bugs lurking on the surface. It’s set up so it will zap itself until it detects no more microbes on the screen.”

  “Very clever,” Janie said. “Very efficient.”

  “We try,” Bruce said. “Now let me show you the equipment.” He led Janie and Caroline on a general tour of the facility, pointing out the restricted areas that were completely off limits to anyone but those employees with specific access to them, checking as he did to make sure that each of those areas was properly secured. He walked them through the operation of each piece of equipment they would be using in the course of doing their soil analyses, and showed them where the manuals were stashed, in case a problem arose. He explained the disposal systems, and how to alert security in case of an emergency. He showed them the communications system and explained how to reach both him and Ted.

  “Most of this stuff I’ve used before,” Caroline said, “but it’s all upgraded. I don’t think it will take me too long to get used to the improvements, though. Problem is, when we get back to the lab at the university, I may feel deprived working on our older stuff again.”

  “Can’t help you there,” Bruce said.