God's Children

by Mabli Roberts

  ‘Of course, and rightly so. But we will have our time too. Oh it is a splendid idea, if only you will let me. Say you will.’

  She had both of my hands in hers now and her face was aglow with excitement.

  ‘Very well, darling Nell, how can I refuse you?’ I said, and we sat in happy silence, watching the sun begin to drop towards the silvery horizon. It was as we were about to return to our cabins, a little while later, that I spotted a young woman on the aft deck. She was slender, with tawny hair, wisps of which escaped their pins at the tugging of the sea breeze. Just for an instant I thought it was Rose. I knew, of course, that it could not be, but in that moment when my eyes saw what they wished so very much to see and before reason made sense of my wayward vision, I fancied it was my dear girl, come to find me, and my heart danced. And then the young woman turned, and I saw that she was a stranger, and a heavy sadness settled upon me that I struggled to disguise for the remainder of the day.

  And Jessy never got her money, did she? Nor her jewellery.

  I had always intended giving it to her. She trusted me to sell her furniture, to get the best price I could for her things, but it was not an easy task.

  The selling, or the giving her the money? Because you did find buyers, didn’t you?

  Eventually, yes, though not for as much as I’d hoped. Our passage was booked, you see, upon the Ruapehu. There was no time left.

  So you sold the furniture, Jessy’s furniture, for next to nothing, and what money you got you took with you.

  There were expenses, aboard the ship. And then, when we reached home, it was difficult. I had to set mother up somewhere, making sure she was cared for.

  So that you and Nell could be on your merry way.

  You make it sound so simple.

  Was it not?

  You know better than that, I think.

  So you used Jessy’s money for your mother?

  I was going to pay her back. She had always been so helpful, so understanding, I knew she would not begrudge Mama her security. My intention was that Jessy should have her money back as soon as I was able to give it to her.

  But first you had to go to Paris with Nell. How inconvenient.

  It is not always easy to put the right person first. Nell had been so very supportive, it would have been wrong of me to leave her. I needed to go to Paris to raise funds for the mission, and if I could see Monsieur Pasteur… well, think how much gravitas his name would have lent – did lend – to my cause? I had to go. I had to try. Jessy would understand.

  You would explain everything to her when you got to India.

  Yes, that’s right.

  Except that you never got there, did you?

  I… I can’t remember.

  You never went to India.

  Jessy and I were going to go there together.

  But you didn’t because you stayed behind to be with Nell. Jessy went to India alone.

  Yes, Jessy went to India.

  You promised you would follow. You promised you would join her out there, didn’t you? But you never went.

  Never? I thought…

  What happened to Jessy? Do you remember that? What happened to her?

  But, I did go to India. I remember, I’m sure of it, I remember because of the flower, do you see? I remember because of the flower…

  The air was sultry as only the time of the monsoon in India can make it. My uniform stuck to my body as I went about my duties, and I worked accompanied by a thirst that would not be quenched. I did not allow myself to dwell on my discomfort, for how could I when my patients suffered so very much worse? The hospital was well appointed, compared to many in which I had worked, but still those afflicted with leprosy were relegated to its outer reaches, to the meanest of buildings, shut away from sight. When first I had encountered the disease, while nursing during the war in Bulgaria, it had moved within me such pity for the suffering it caused that it would not be banished from my mind. Not when I returned to England. Not after that, as I continued my nursing. So it was that I made my way to India where the disease was known to be prevalent. Here I was able to learn about it; its causes, its progression, its pitifully ineffective treatments. I saw strong, able men reduced to penury and begging. I found whole families decimated. I encountered children beyond counting, orphaned or abandoned, disfigured and despairing. I did what I could, nursing, taking them the solace of God’s word, petitioning the authorities for money, pleading with them to give more, to do more. And ever and always it was not enough.

  One evening, as I was nearing the end of my shift, I assisted a doctor from the south of the sub-continent who had recently come to work at the hospital. He, like me, was passionate in his determination to help sufferers of this cruel disease and worked tirelessly to improve the treatment of his patients. Dr Bindari was an unremarkable man to look at, slightly overweight, his hair thinning and receding, he was given to frequently taking off his wire-framed spectacles in order to clean them with an ever available handkerchief that remained miraculously spotless. He had asked me to remove the patient’s bandages and dressings so that he might inspect the condition of the old man’s limbs. The heat of the long day had won out over the inadequate ventilation, despite the best efforts of the boy working the fan. That same heat was the enemy of healing. As I lifted the last of the lint from the fingerless hands the unmistakeable stench of decay was released. A nurse becomes accustomed to such odours and quickly learns to appear impassive, but it is a truly terrible smell, for it heralds despair. It heralds death.

  Dr Bindari leaned closer, lifting one of the shortened arms with great tenderness, peering at the glistening stumps. Wordlessly, he repeated his examination for all the man’s limbs. When he had finished he nodded to me. I would clean and redress the wounds. He smiled down at the patient and spoke to him in Urdu with such cheeriness you’d think they were taking tea together, not discussing the likelihood that one of them would not live to see the end of the monsoon.

  A little later, when I had made the patient as comfortable as I could, I found the doctor apparently waiting for me in the courtyard. This spartan area separated the lepers’ ward from the rest of the hospital. Ordinarily a dusty no-man’s-land, recent rains had caused it to change to a dark pool. The water seeped into my shoes as I stepped forwards, and I confess the cool of it was a relief. Dr Bindari had taken off his sandals and was standing ankle deep in the water, smoking a cigarette. He smiled at me sheepishly.

  ‘I apologise for my unseemly behaviour, Nurse Marsden. I gave in to an impulse that began with a need to lower my body temperature and culminated in a wish to celebrate the fact that I am fortunate enough to have both my feet.’ He wriggled his toes as he spoke.

  I waited, for it seemed to me he wanted to speak further.

  ‘There are times,’ he continued, ‘when I believe that is all we are here for, to give at least temporary relief from suffering, and as good a death as it is possible to have when parts of your body are festering.’ There was not bitterness in his tone as much as there was sorrow.

  ‘We do what we can,’ I said.

  ‘But it is not enough.’

  How could I argue when I so wholeheartedly shared his view? And yet I saw a fellow healer struggling to come to terms with his own limitations.

  ‘You are a fine physician, Dr Bindari,’ I told him. The words sounded trite even as I spoke them, but what more was there to be said? ‘We all do our best…’

  ‘And it is not enough!’ He shouted this time, the sound so uncharacteristic from this mild, cheerful man as to be shocking. He flung his cigarette into the water. ‘How many people have we watched die here? How often have you and I observed the march of this damnable disease, knowing that we could do nothing to halt its progress, beyond mumbling soothing words that avoid saying the truth? The simple truth. Which is I cannot save you!’ He waved his arms in exasperation. ‘People are brought here, left here like so much discarded rubbish, or they drag themselves here, all of them terr
ified, alone, their hearts broken… they know what they have. They know what will happen to them. Just as they know there is no cure, and yet each and every one of them looks at us – at me and at you – and whatever nonsense comes out of their frightened mouths their eyes scream help me! And the plain fact of the matter is that we cannot.’ He let out a long, long sigh. ‘Nobody can help them.’ He took his glasses from his face, squeezed his eyes tight shut for a moment, and then took out his handkerchief and began polishing the spectacles.

  ‘Forgive me, Nurse…’

  ‘There is no need to ask for my forgiveness, Doctor. Absolutely no need.’

  ‘It is simply that there are times…’

  ‘I understand,’ I said.

  He gave me another of his smiles. He nodded. ‘Yes, I know that you do.’ After a pause he gave a shrug. ‘What we need is a miracle, Nurse Marsden. Do you think one of our gods will send one any day soon?’ Then, seeing my discomfort, he went on. ‘I am sorry, that was… impolite.’

  ‘Oh, I do not believe your gods or mine concern themselves with what is polite!’ I found myself almost laughing, and I knew it was because I too was close to despairing over how little difference either of us seemed able to make to our patients.

  The doctor lifted a foot from the water. ‘The other day,’ he told me as he hopped about, pushing on first one sandal, then the other, ‘I met an interesting fellow who had travelled a great deal. All over the globe. He told me that in the wilderness of Siberia there grows a very special plant. Its name and its whereabouts are known only to the local shaman, for it is very precious. These people use it to cure leprosy.’ His footwear fixed in place, he stood still and regarded me with a steady gaze then, a look of wonder on his face. ‘Imagine that, Nurse Marsden. A cure, just growing there in the ground, waiting to be picked. Shall we tell our patients, do you think? Shall we tell them to go to Siberia and find that flower and they will be back at work by the end of the week?’ He gave a light laugh, bid me goodnight, and made his way across the flooded courtyard, the wash of his steps rippling back to me as he went.

  The view of Paris from our hotel room was spectacular. I threw wide the windows and leaned out onto the railing of the Juliet balcony.

  ‘Nell, do come and see. Such a splendid city, laid out before us!’

  She came to stand beside me, but already I could sense her reluctance to enjoy our good fortune. ‘It is very fine,’ she agreed flatly.

  ‘Nell, please don’t sulk, it is most unbecoming.’

  ‘I am far too old to be sulking. Though if I were to do so, who could blame me?’

  ‘We are arrived in this most romantic of places and you seek to spoil our time together here. I confess there are times I am at a loss to understand you.’

  ‘Is it really so difficult? Am I really so complicated?’

  ‘You wanted so very much to be here, for us to be here together.’

  ‘Yes, that is precisely it!’

  ‘But here we are!’

  ‘For this moment, yes, and then you will be off at a run, pestering the great and the good, not least Monsieur Pasteur, I don’t doubt.’

  ‘He is one of the reasons we came here, Nell. He is working on a cure. How could I not wish to talk to him?’

  ‘It appears he does not wish to talk to you,’ she said tartly, turning to pull off her gloves and drop them onto the bed. She untied her bonnet and removed that also.

  ‘He is a busy man. I should not expect otherwise than that he is constantly engaged in his work, with an endless line of people demanding his attention. I believe that once he knows I am here, knows why I have come and how much we might be able to assist one another in our common goals, well, of course he will see me.’

  ‘Well, Kate, God knows you will see him whether he wants it or not. Unless he has a guard at his door.’

  I moved over to where she stood but she pointedly turned away from me to tidy her hair in the dressing table mirror.

  ‘Please come with me, Nell.’

  ‘You mean to go now? We have just this minute arrived.’

  ‘Then let us complete our business without delay, so that afterwards we will be free to enjoy Paris at our leisure.’

  ‘Truly?’ She stopped adjusting her pins and listened. ‘Once you have finished with Monsieur Pasteur you will have time for me?’

  ‘Time for both of us! Tell me where you would like to visit? The Louvre. Sacré-Coeur? We could take a boat trip down the Seine. You choose, my darling Nell.’

  ‘Oh, I should very much like to cruise the river!’ she said, her face aglow at the thought. ‘We could take supper on board one of the charming little boats. They have musicians too, I believe. And then we could walk to Notre-Dame, could we not?’

  ‘An excellent plan. Now, replace your bonnet, come with me whilst I attend to this important business as briefly as possible, and then I am yours to command, as is the whole of Paris, I promise you!’

  The ballroom of the Winter Palace looked even more splendid than usual on that occasion. I recall the Tsarina telling me that she had put in more chandeliers and more mirrors and had even had some of the gilt repainted onto the plasterwork, just to make absolutely certain that everything was at is very best. When I protested that she need not have gone to so much trouble on my account, she was adamant that my cause and my success demanded nothing less.

  ‘Katerina, all of St Petersburg will turn out to see the brave English nurse who travelled so very far, who endured such hardships, all for the sake of those suffering from this terrible curse. We must give them such a ball as they will remember until the end of their days. And of course, such a marvellous occasion that it will encourage them to donate generously to towards the construction of the new hospital.’

  ‘You are too kind, Your Highness, I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for me. Without your patronage, without the letter that I carried with me all those miles, I would never have succeeded where I did.’

  ‘Nonsense, it is we who must thank you, Katerina. Your diligence, your self-sacrifice, it has put all of us to shame. Where was the Russian man or woman prepared to face the hazardous journey that you have made? No, this will be an evening of celebration, and one that you deserve completely. Now, to the question of your gown. You cannot have had time to find a dressmaker since your return, so I insist that you use mine.’

  ‘Oh, I could not presume…’

  ‘I will hear no argument from you on this matter,’ she declared, raising her hand with mock severity, even though her sweet smile gave her away. ‘You must choose the most elaborate, most wonderful gown, which she will produce to suit your requirements exactly. This is not a moment for you to hide, Katerina. Everyone will want to meet you, to speak with you, to dance with you. And I know when they do they will be won over to your cause. This will be your night, my dear, and you must shine!’

  I would never, without the Tsarina’s encouragement, have selected a gown of such richness, such elaborate detail. It was dark gold, with exquisite embroidery covering the close-fitting bodice, and yards and yards of silk in the full, cascading skirts. The dressmaker was indeed an expert at her craft, and tailored the dress to flatter without being in any way frivolous or girlish. The lines were simple, the neck modest, and the overall effect one of sophistication and elegance. I had never felt so noble, so grand, and never did again.

  Maria Feodorovna had been correct in her expectation, and it seemed as if every person of note, wealth or influence in the city had turned out that night. The Tsarina herself wore white, and I recall thinking, as she entered the ballroom, that she resembled perfectly my notion of a snow queen, as if she were clothed in the very icicles and snowflakes of the vast Siberian wilderness itself. She was at my side almost the entire evening, like a proud parent showing off her clever offspring. She took care to introduce me personally to so many people that they became a blur of faces and a jumble of names in my memory. I cannot conjure the individuals, but I can summon the mood o
f that evening. The thrill of it. The sense of being accepted by these people of high society. Of being lauded by them for my work. And that admiration they readily expressed in the liberal donations they made to the collection for the leper hospital to be built in Viliusk, so that by the end of the evening we had raised over four thousand pounds!

  It was late in the afternoon by the time Nell and I arrived at the residence of Monsieur Pasteur. We presented ourselves at the gates of the large, square building, only to be told that the great scientist was too unwell to receive any callers. When I explained who I was and the purpose of my visit the porter yet insisted that we could not be admitted. Three times he refused to let me pass. I turned to Nell with an urgent whisper.

  ‘Have you any coins in your purse?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I recall you brought a sovereign with you, Nell. Do let me have it; this man is most obstinate, and you know I simply must see Monsieur Pasteur.’ I hated asking her for it, but my darling girl understood the importance of my seeing the great man. She gave me the money, and sure enough it proved to be the price of my admittance. Alas if I had harboured any hopes of a lengthy interview where Monsieur Pasteur and I might discuss the treatment of the lepers it was not to be. Oh, how I wished to hear of his rumoured cure! And yet, it transpired that the porter was accurate in his description of the scientist’s health. Although I did gain admission to his quarters, it was only for the briefest of introductions. I am not sure, to this day, that he was sufficiently well to know to whom it was he was speaking, and he could not, sadly, elucidate on the matter of the disease or its possible prevention. Instead I had to content myself with a few polite words, a handshake, and his assurance that any assistance I could take to sufferers would no doubt be greatly welcomed.