The Hospital in Buwambo

by Anne Vinton

  She relaxed under his understanding gaze.

  “What happened to that monkey?” he asked casually. “I haven’t seen him around.”

  “Kadiri said a big monkey stole him away. I think perhaps it was the creature’s mother—but he went off howling the place down. He must have liked me best.”

  “Shows taste,” smiled David, and crossed his legs. “So we’ll have this baby in tomorrow, eh?”

  “No! I said no, David!”

  “But you can’t say no to your tutor. I’ll bet MacAlpine never asked if you were ready to do anything. He simply said do this, or—do that. I say prepare yourself for theater tomorrow—one blind baby with cataract. There’s sight behind, Sylvia.”

  Just after five o’clock the next day Sylvia almost reeled out of the hospital. Where David was she didn’t know. He had stuck a glass of whiskey in her hand to cure her of postoperative jitters more than an hour ago, and left her to it. She hadn’t realized the whiskey was neat and had just found her legs again, but still she was haunted by the fear that the operation on the baby had not been a success.

  They had only tackled one eye today, as was usual with such cases, but if the baby could not see within a day or two, she knew that operating on the other eye would be something of a last resort, and too nerve-racking to contemplate.

  If this is ophthalmics and their effect on the surgeon, I’m getting out of it while there’s time, Sylvia decided, feeling the beginnings of a nagging headache. She went toward the bungalow thinking of Kadiri and tea, and sighed with relief as she entered the shaded room, then bumped into Harold Wilstrop.

  “Dr. Wilstrop! You’ve arrived?”

  “Dr. Phillips, how glad I am to see you again!”

  He had insisted on seizing both her hands and stood holding them, despite her gentle tugging in an effort to release herself.

  “I told you I’d reconsider my decision to come to Buwambo,” he told her, suggestively. “Dr. Carroll never hesitated in accepting my offer. You had something to do with that, eh?”

  “Nothing at all,” she said, with a little shiver. “Dr. Carroll makes the appointments here. If you will excuse me, Dr. Wilstrop, I’m rather tired. I’ve had a long spell in theater.”

  She reeled slightly and he caught her firmly in his arms. “Dr. Phillips”—he sniffed—“have you been drinking?” His impertinence only matched his arrogance. While, she was still gasping he gave her a little squeeze and observed, “I understand. It’s escapism. It must be pretty grim her without sympathetic companionship. But you won’t be facing things alone from now on. I mean to brighten your life considerably.”

  “I am tired, Dr. Wilstrop,” Sylvia emphasized, “and my head is bad. If you would excuse me this evening I would be most grateful.”

  “Before I go, Dr. Phillips, this headache—”

  “Yes, Dr. Wilstrop?” She had not lied to him. Her temples were thudding.

  “Is the trouble here?—here?” he touched her brow in a couple of places.

  “Yes. But I’ll take some aspirin and go to bed. It’s not a migraine, thank goodness!”

  “I can help your headache, Dr. Phillips, if you will permit me to. It won’t take a minute.”

  “But how? I don’t want to take anything stronger than aspirin, you know.”

  “My treatment won’t even necessitate aspirin. Just a little light massage in the right place. There, how’s that...?”

  She felt strangely soothed as the sensual fingers swept her brow. She smiled up into the dark eyes, and was loath to move. “Better?” he asked in a whisper.

  “Yes, thank you. Much better now.”

  She was lapsing into a kind of stupor as she concentrated on those compelling eyes. The whiskey and those eyes were a combination to induce hypnosis, and suddenly Sylvia realized she was enjoying the feeling too much. Snapping out of the spell she let out a sharp cry.

  “Do go, Dr. Wilstrop, please!”

  Outraged, apparently surprised, the fellow stood straight. “Dr. Phillips, you certainly are not yourself this evening. If this is the effect Buwambo has on people—well...!”

  “Good night, Dr. Phillips.”

  “Good night.”

  All the next day she didn’t set eyes on the new pathologist, and she concluded she had offended him and that he was keeping his distance. Shame again overcame her.

  At five o’clock she sought him out. She knew he had been busy in the laboratory all day, even to the point of sending out for sandwiches at lunch. She knocked on the door and admitted herself with a ready, “Excuse me, Dr. Wilstrop...”

  “Yes, Dr. Phillips?” He smiled encouragingly from behind a marble-topped bench. He looked quite imposing in his white coat, the University tie neatly knotted and spilling over. “You see Harold Wilstrop at his happiest. I do enjoy my work!”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” It was not easy harking back to a difficult situation in the midst of all this amicability. Maybe he hadn’t given her a thought—even forgotten her in his absorption.

  “Dr. Wilstrop,” she persisted. “I wasn’t myself last evening. You must have thought me rude and ungrateful.”

  “What...? Oh!” He laughed and made an expansive gesture with his large, soft hands. “Say no more, Dr. Phillips, please. I quite understand how you were feeling. Dr. Carroll told me about the operation—your nervousness. You didn’t know whether you were on your head or your heels.”

  “But that is no excuse for rudeness.”

  “The overtaxed brain makes us all do inexplicable things on occasions. Your snapping at me was your safety valve. I can overlook it—even forget it. After all, we are here to work, primarily.”

  Something about the whole situation was too good to be true, Sylvia decided, as she let herself out of the lab.

  A native boy ran to open the gates at the bottom of the compound. The truck roared in and discharged its sole passenger while still on the move. It was as though a fresh breeze wafted cheerfulness around in the shouting of a familiar voice.

  “Hiya! Hiya all!”

  On the porch steps Sister Kineton did a little dance of sheer excitement.

  “It’s Dr. Hogan back .again! Well, isn’t that nice!”

  Michael Hogan approached at a lope, like a great St. Bernard dog, and swept Sister off her feet.

  It was the first time Sylvia had seen linen petticoats. “Hiya, Flip!” greeted Mike, seizing Sylvia’s hand. “Did you make out? How’d it go?”

  “Not at all badly,” Sylvia smiled

  “But she’s leaving us after the six months,” Sister said tartly. “These young ones won’t have real work.”

  Trying to read Sylvia’s mounting flush and Sister’s words at the same time, Mike shrugged.

  “I couldn’t keep her from Buwambo, Winnie,” he said sharply. “It’s you who are driving her away with your nagging. I know you led me a life!” He chewed gum, his eyes rolling heavenward. “Dr. Hogan! May you be forgiven!”

  Sylvia smiled at both Sister and Hogan.

  “I assure you Sister has had nothing to do with my deciding to leave. She has been very kind.”

  Sister snorted. Sylvia had lately gathered that her leaving Buwambo was annoying Sister Kineton as much as her arrival had done, initially.

  “Where’s the boss?” Mike demanded.

  “Remember yourself, Hogan!” The voice came from behind him. “You’re back. I don’t want to become over aware of the fact on the first day.”

  “Sorry, Sir. Me and my big mouth! How are you, sir?” He held out his hand and David took it quickly. There was the understanding smiling of eyes between them. The smile of men.

  The first staff meeting that had ever been necessary in Buwambo was held on the east-facing porch of the hospital. It was called to discuss accommodation after a bombshell dropped by Dr. Hogan.

  “By the way, sir,” Sylvia had heard him say after the morning’s rounds, “it’s a pity your hotel isn’t ready, because I passed Velda on the road.”


  “You did? Why didn’t you bring her along with you?”

  “Because she already had an escort—a tall, dark, military-mustached, medical type. They were obviously quite happy to be alone. They were necking.”

  Observing that Sylvia had heard so much, David advanced toward her, saying, “In case you wonder whom we are discussing, Velda is—”

  “Yes, I know,” Sylvia interrupted, rather shortly. “Sister mentioned Mrs. Carroll, and young David.”

  “Oh!” He looked as though he wondered at her crossness. “Did Sister happen to know whom Velda is favoring at the moment? There seems to be a gentleman in tow.”

  “That is surely her affair, if not yours,” said Sylvia, and moved on.

  David looked at her, became aware of Mike’s probing gaze and told him, sharply, to call a staff meeting.

  “Now what have we...” the superintendent pondered. “A large bungalow, a small ditto and two store rooms in the hospital itself.”

  “Without proper ventilation,” Sister said crisply. “No one can sleep there. We must all keep fit.”

  “You mean do exercises with balloons and hoops?” groaned Mike.

  David quelled him. “Suggestions, please,” he begged.

  “Obviously I must move out of the big bungalow,” Sylvia said. “Four men could easily be accommodated there.”

  “Myself, Hogan, Wilstrop and Velda’s friend,” said Carroll, making notes on his pad. “Now the ladies. Would you mind sharing the small bungalow with Mrs. Carroll, Dr. Phillips?”

  Sylvia felt a quick surge of distaste.

  “I’m sure Mrs. Carroll would rather be alone. I wonder if I could take Sister up on her offer to have me? It’s for such a short while now...”

  Sister sniffed. “I retire early,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to be disturbed at all hours.”

  “I retire pretty early, too,” Sylvia observed. “I merely thought that we on staff are more likely to be called out of our sleep.”

  “Very well, then Dr. Phillips,” Sister said primly. “I’ll have a second bed put up in my room. I think Dr. Wilstrop could share rooms with Dr. Kalengo, also, and make the bungalow less crowded.”

  “We’re about an hour out of Buwambo, Martin darling,” cooed Velda Carroll, “if the car will make it. It never took me four days to reach the place before, even though it does seem like the back of beyond when you get there. Do you realize, Martin, we have spent three nights alone together?”

  “Very properly, though,” Martin told her. “I had to roll myself in a rug and sleep outside the car on two occasions. You’re a wicked woman, Velda.”

  She laughed delightedly.

  “But I can’t help being attractive, can I, Martin? And I didn’t make the car break down so many times. But I wouldn’t have wished the journey over any quicker, as it turned out.” She snuggled up to him, and he exclaimed, “Careful, Velda! I’m doing seventy! Do you want us killed?”

  “Of course not. Suddenly life’s too wonderful.”

  I think I have her, Martin pondered gloatingly, his tongue in his cheek. But she mustn’t become too sure of me. After all, she’s not a twenty-year-old girl and I am at my physical best. Sylvia may help my cause. Another woman’s interest will send my stock up no end with Velda. She’ll be livid.

  Buwambo was thus drawing nearer for the travelers as Sylvia took a walk about the compound with Dr. Kalengo.

  “It’s good to have someone to talk to like this, Dr. Phillips,” the man said, wistfully. “I must decide whether I shall go to Ebe Mula with Dr. Carroll. And I question whether I am as brave as the superintendent—brave enough to risk dying of leprosy.”

  “This is the first I knew of all this,” Sylvia said, rather dazed. “You mean that Dr. Carroll will be taking over the colony? How long has this been in the air?”

  “Almost a year. We have been reading very hard. He has plans to build a school for the children and workshops for the men. I think it was decided just before you joined us. The government needs someone who has the confidence of the people. And I question my own confidence.”

  “He asked you to go with him?” Sylvia prompted.

  “Yes. Now tell me, Dr. Phillips, would you go?”

  Sylvia was startled.

  “I don’t know, Dr. Kalengo. Perhaps...” She was relieved to see Mike Hogan approaching. “I would at least like to do some reading on the subject.”

  Kalengo bowed formally, saluted Hogan, and then went silently off.

  “You’ve been avoiding me, Flip,” accused Mike sternly.

  “Not at all. It’s just that I don’t always recognize myself by that nickname you have decided fits me. I am invariably glad to see you. You’re so easy to know.”

  “Got no mystery for you, huh? That rules me right out in the romance stakes, then?”

  “Right out,” Sylvia agreed, rather too vehemently.

  “You look like a girl who has just bumped her heart, Flip. All bruised inside. Who was it? Dave?”

  “Mike—” pleaded Sylvia, twisting her hands. “You have no right to pry like this. Even if you were right in your assumptions— and I’m not saying you are—you must admit there are not inconsiderable obstacles.”

  “And you’re no hurdler,’ eh?” Mike demanded. “Flip, you disappoint me.”

  “It has nothing to do with you, Dr. Hogan,” she flashed over her shoulder, needing to escape, but now having no resort but Sister’s grudgingly shared room. As she entered she saw the two beds, as far apart as possible. The pointedly empty wardrobe stood in a corner.

  “I had better put some of my things away,” she decided. “The next time I pack it will be for home. I don’t think I’ll be sorry.” So it was Mike, left alone outside, who smilingly admitted the dusty car into the compound.

  “So you made it, honey,” he greeted Velda Carroll cheerfully. “I have already announced your imminent arrival and dumped your surplus baggage yonder. Or should I say the baggage has just arrived, huh?”

  “As amusing as ever, Mike, I see,” said Velda, with a toss of her somewhat brassy curls. “Now lead me to a bath before I meet Dave. I feel filthy after four days. It rained one evening, so Martin turned away while I stood out in the nude, then he did the same thing.”

  Mike put his hands to his eyes and peeped through his fingers.

  Velda, the sea nymph, is driving my imagination too far, he decided, then addressed Martin who was looking as unruffled as ever. “Your quarters are that-a-way, sir, with us. You’ll spot the unused bunk, and sorry we can’t do more for you, but obviously this isn’t Claridge’s. You, Velda, come with me.”

  They were taking opposite tracks across the compound when Sylvia once more aimlessly wandered out of the hospital. She stared amazed, seeing the newcomers, the dainty-figured, gilded-topped female and, of all people, Martin Shale.

  “Martin!” she gasped, with an uncontrollable little sob.

  “Sylvia, old girl!” Making sure that Velda was a witness, Martin put both arms around Sylvia, tipped up her chin to say something obviously personal and intimate, and kissed her unhurriedly and with patent satisfaction.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Buwambo could never, in its wildest history, have laid claim to being a nest of intrigue. Now all at once it seethed with the currents and cross-currents of cascading human relationships.

  Velda’s chief worry was in wondering where exactly Sylvia stood in the regard of the menfolk. You cannot tell, in the interception of a glance, whether or not people have been lovers—and this was all Mrs. Carroll was concerned about. Martin had gathered Sylvia to his bosom like a homing pigeon, which could mean the worst. Hadn’t Dr. Phillips almost wept at seeing him again? Then there was Dave, who had with gentle finality told her, Velda, that there could be no question of their ever settling down together. She had tried her usual tears followed by anger and innuendo.

  Velda invited Sylvia to evening coffee in her quarters. At first Sylvia declined owing to sudden pressure of work, and whi
le Velda was still grimacing in disbelief, a further message arrived to the effect that as Mr. Hogan had stepped in as relief, Dr. Phillips was happy to accept Mrs. Carroll’s kind invitation for nine o’clock.

  “Do sit down, my dear Dr. Phillips,” Velda invited. “I don’t seem to have had time to get to know you. I certainly didn’t expect to find another white woman in the camp.”

  “What about Sister?” smiled Sylvia, as Kadiri entered with the coffee. He sought her eyes for reassurance that things might soon be back on the old footing again, but she turned away, and as silently he left the room.

  Velda dismissed Sister Kineton with a light laugh.

  “Surely that creature isn’t really a woman? I wasn’t counting her.”

  “Buwambo certainly counts on her,” observed Sylvia.

  “Yes, yes, I suppose so, if you must challenge me. I can sense you would rather fight me than befriend me, Dr. Phillips, so I’ll come out into the open. There isn’t room for the two of us here, is there?”

  “Are you a surgeon, too, Mrs. Carroll? If not, how else do we clash one with the other?”

  “You might say because of our mutual interest in a certain gentleman.” Velda suddenly whipped herself into a fury. “Oh, I know what’s been going on, don’t worry! He told me himself. But now I say keep off the grass. Dr. Phillips!”

  Sylvia had risen slowly. She was shaking with disgust at such a scene. Velda made everything that had appeared wonderful at the time seem cheap and nasty.

  “I don’t know what David has seen fit to tell you, Mrs. Carroll, but you need not worry. There’s nothing going on at the moment. It’s all quite over. Now—good night!”

  In her agitation she fumbled with the latch of the door, then felt the fresh air on her face with a sense of relief, despite its clammy heat.

  Left behind, Velda pondered and began to laugh maliciously as Sylvia’s words sank in.

  She thought I was warning her off Dave! she chuckled to herself. How amusing! It was Martin I meant to make safe for myself But it seems I’ve inadvertently killed two birds with one stone and done her out of any romantic interludes while she’s at Buwambo. And as for Dave —serve him right!