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."Not the General," she wheezed."I got a bitch of a triage nurse last time.St.Mike's.”“No problem.Got your stuff?"She leaned over a cluster of plastic bags and began coughing again.Eventually we made it the few feet to the truck and Anders began loading her bags into the back.Wendy took one look at the bench seat and stopped in her tracks."Shit," she rasped, "you two don't want to catch what I've got."Anders saw her starting to edge away."Wait.Wendy, it's all right.We'll find something to cover your mouth.They'll make you do it at the hospital anyway.Have you got a scarf or something?"She gestured weakly to the back where her bags were."I'm not lousy, anyway, you'll be glad to know.Got cleaned up the other day at the Sally Ann."I was glad to know this, if it was true.My thoughts ran to lice, and bedbugs, and Streptococcus pneumoniae, and then shame slapped me.The 368As She’s Told – Anneke Jacobwoman needed help.Anders appeared from the back of the truck with something white in his hand."Here, try this; it's clean." It was the kind of mask he used for dusty deconstruction.She fumbled it on.Despite the cold wind, her forehead glimmered with oily sweat beneath the street light.Probably a fever.The face was younger than I'd expected, but sanded rough, like a city statue weathered by smog and sulphuric acid.I felt as if I ought to be making some kind of friendly conversation with the woman beside me, but the last thing she needed was to be forced to talk.Speaking just with Anders would have been rude.And in any case it felt like all the life in me had drained away like dirty water.On the way out of the folk club I'd been full of observations and questions for the trip home, charged and filled up with sparkling music and ready to pour.Now the whole happy evening was a mockery: a glitter of tinsel caught in the hair of a child who was starving to death in a ditch.I glanced at the bleak-eyed figures to either side of me, and made myself small.Wendy and I went through the Emergency entrance while Anders parked.The lineup of people waiting just for triage was long and weary; it was Saturday night.Anders helped Wendy look for what little ID she had; her health card had been stolen twice.He made a couple of calls.She asked for coffee and I searched the hospital for it.After a couple of wrong leads I located a Second Cup by the Queen Street entrance that was, miraculously, still open.We stayed because Anders wanted to make sure that they kept Wendy in and didn't turf her out into the streets.She sweated and dozed in her chair, waking to cough into her mask and settling to doze again.She'd insisted that we sit across from rather than next to her, and people who sat near her moved away once they heard her cough.I watched the parade of ill and injured, listened to the arguments, saw the paramedics casual by the doors, stuck till someone took the stretcher occupants off their hands.Sirens wailed closer and closer.Someone came in feet first between six rushing feet and hands elevating IVs, and disappeared through swinging doors.A brief moment of excitement to break up the hours of tedium.I looked at Anders.The harsh fluorescents seemed to have drained him of colour.His eyes were obscured; the kind of overcast that turns the day 369As She’s Told – Anneke Jacobcold.I interlaced my fingers with his and squeezed, and he glanced at me."Tired?" he asked."I could send you home in a cab.”“I'm all right." I ran my other hand up and down his forearm.He sighed, then leaned forward, elbows on knees, keeping my hand tight in his."I can't do it," he said, in a quiet, bitter voice."Can't help them.The simplest thing, a place for them to stay, and I can't do it.""But – ""Don't tell me I'm helping," he said."This is do-gooder Samaritan crap."A cleaner swivelled a long, flat, silent mop around the weary groups in their linked plastic seats.I watched the mop as it manoeuvred around the man huddled in a wheelchair to our left, and then around our own feet."What do you expect from yourself?" I asked."That governments won't do?"Slowly he shook his head."I don't know.All I know is I can't do it.I have good ideas; really good, workable ideas.I can build.On a shoestring if I have to.But the steps to get there – the politicking – I don't have it in me.That's what has to be done, and I can't do it.”“Even if you did – would it help? Aren't others doing that already?""No excuse.No excuse! Look at her!" He gestured brusquely at the sleeping Wendy, her pitted skin rusty against the glaring white of the mask."Six months ago she was healthy.She took temporary jobs.She's got office skills.And now she's having her second bout of pneumonia, or whatever it is.She needs a roof over her head."I nodded, held his hand tight in both of mine."I swore I'd get at least some of them housed by now.A pilot project, something that would convince the government to fund more.""Swore to who?""Myself." His laugh was silent, humourless."Maybe it would have happened if I'd been able to kiss up.Manoeuvre and scheme.Without that I'm just – failing them.""No." I shook my head, held on tight.Wishing to god I had the skills he lacked, so I could help him.But I didn't, not even close."I just can't," he repeated dully."Can't play games.Don't even try any more.People are sick and dying and I've thrown up my hands and I'm going home to my nice warm house."Appalled, I pressed my forehead to his shoulder and rolled my head 370As She’s Told – Anneke Jacobback and forth, whispering, "Please, stop.That's not fair.""Nothing's fair!" he cried.I reared back and his expression softened.He rubbed my fingers between his.I took a breath."Could you partner with someone? Is there a – a game player, a political type, a fund-raiser maybe, that you could work with?Someone who could do their part so you could do yours?""I don't know," he said, wearily.He rubbed his eyes.They looked hollow.A few hours ago they'd been sparkling at me above his fiddle.They called Wendy in then, and the next phase of waiting began.By the time the doctor had finally seen her, diagnosed her pneumonia and persuaded the nurse that they were going to have to find her a bed, it was three-thirty in the morning.And we went home to our nice warm house, and went to bed.***On Sunday Anders managed to reach Wendy's worker and the nurse she saw at the Sherbourne Health Centre, and they took on the problem of finding her somewhere to stay until she was better [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]