Elizabeth Peters - Crocodile On The Sandbank

"Walter, you are incoherent," I said. "This is no time to lose your head. I understand your concern, but there is no need for it now. I am here. I have no intention of leaving until Mr. Emerson is on his feet again. I have always wanted to spend some time with an archaeological expedition; it should be a delightful experience. There is no point in moving your brother, for the crisis will come in the next few hours, long before we could reach the nearest town. I believe there is no cause for alarm. He has a strong constitution; and at the risk of sounding repetitious, may I say again that I am on the job."

Walter was sitting on the floor next to me. He watched as I wrung out another cloth and slapped it on Emerson's chest. Then, quite without warning, he leaned forward, took me by the shoulders, and kissed me soundly on the cheek.

"I believe you, Miss Peabody; there is no cause for alarm with you here. I believe you would square off at Satan if he came around and inconvenienced you!"

Before I could reply he had jumped to his feet and bolted out.

I turned back to my patient and wrung out another cloth. There was no one there but myself and Emerson, and he was sleeping; so I permitted myself to smile. Some Eternal Designer had robbed Peter to pay Paul; one Emerson had an extra share of charm and the other had none. Poor Evelyn; no wonder she had succumbed! Luckily Emerson presented no such danger to any woman.

I had to admit, though, that he looked rather pathetic in his present state. A fallen colossus is more pitiable than a felled weakling. As I went on wiping his hot face, some of the lines of pain smoothed out, and he gave a little sigh, like that of a child sinking into restful sleep.

The crisis of the fever came that night, and we had our hands full. Neither Evelyn nor I saw our beds until dawn. Walter had made some of his workers clean out a tomb for us, and Michael fitted it up quite comfortably; but I would not leave my patient, and Evelyn would not leave me. Or perhaps it was Walter she was reluctant to leave. I had no time or energy to inquire, for Emerson became delirious toward sunset, and it took all my strength and Walter's to keep him from harming himself, or us. I acquired a handsome bruise across one cheek when Walter's grip on his brother's arm failed for a moment. I have never seen a man carry on so; you would have thought him an Egyptian soul traversing the perils of the Afterworld, and us crocodile-headed monsters trying to keep him from Heaven. Well, we kept wrestling him back onto the bed, and I forced more medicine down him; and in the early hours of the morning he fell into a coma that must end, as I knew, in death or recovery.

In a way, those succeeding hours were worse than the violent struggles of the earlier time. Walter knelt by the bed, unaware of anything except his brother's gasping breath. The fever rose, in spite of our efforts. My hands were sore from wringing out cloths, and my bones ached- especially those of my left hand, for at some point before he dropped into his coma Emerson had seized it and would not let go. It was terrifying to feel the hard grip of that hand and see the immobility of the rest of his body. I had the superstitious feeling that he was clinging as if to a lifeline, and that if I forced his fingers apart he would drop into the bottomless abyss of death.

As the night wore on I grew giddy and light-headed with lack of sleep. The scene was uncanny: the smoky lamplight casting its shadows over the taut faces of the watchers and the sunken countenance of the sick man; the utter stillness of the night, broken at long intervals by the wavering howl of a jackal, the loneliest, most desolate sound on earth.

Then, in the darkest hour before dawn, the change came.

It was as palpable as a breath of cold air against the face. For a moment my eyes failed, and I felt nothing. I heard a sound, like a strangled sob, from Walter. When I opened my eyes I saw him lying across the foot of the bed, his face hidden and his hand resting on bis brother's arm. Emerson's face was utterly peaceful. Then his breast rose in a single long inspiration- and continued to move. The hand that held mine had gone limp. It was cool. He would live.

I could not stand; my limbs were too cramped with crouching. Walter had to half carry me to my bed. He would sit with Emerson the rest of the night, in case there was a relapse, but I had no fear of that. I fell into slumber as one falls into a well, while Evelyn was bathing my hands and face.

When I woke later that morning I could not imagine for a moment where I was. Stone walls instead of the white paneling of my cabin; a hard surface below instead of my soft couch. I started to turn, and let out a cry of pain; my left hand, on which I had tried to raise myself, was swollen and sore.

Then memory came back; I levered myself up from the pallet on which I had slept and fumbled for my dressing gown. Across the room Evelyn still slept the sleep of exhaustion. A beam of light streaming through a gap in the hastily curtained doorway touched her fan: hair and made it glow like gold.

When I stepped out onto the ledge in front of my improvised bedchamber, the heat struck like a blow. In spite of my anxiety I could not help pausing for a look. Below me a panorama of desert rolled away to the blue curve of the river, with the western cliffs beyond like ramparts of dull gold. The huts of the village were cleansed by distance; half hidden by the graceful shapes of palm trees, amid the green of the cultivated fields, they looked picturesque instead of nasty. Midway between the village and the cliffs a huddle of black shapes, busy as ants, moved amid a great dusty cloud of sand. I surmised that this was the site of the current excavation.

I walked along the ledge to the next tomb, whence I could hear sounds of altercation. My anxiety had been unnecessary. Emerson was himself again.

I wish it clearly understood that my feelings that bright morning were those of pure Christian charity. For Emerson I felt the comparison and interest one always feels toward a person one has nursed.

These sentiments did not last two minutes.

When I entered I saw Emerson half out of bed, restrained only by Walter's arm. He was partially clad; his nether limbs were covered by the most incredible garments, pink in color. He was shouting at Walter, who waved a small dish under his nose like a weapon.

Emerson stopped shouting when he saw me. His expression was hardly welcoming, but I was so glad to see his eyes aware and sensible, instead of flaring wildly with fever, that I gave him a cheerful forgiving smile before I inspected the contents of the dish Walter was holding.

I forgot myself then; I admit it. I had picked up several forceful expressions from Father, and I used them in his presence, since he never heard a word I said; but I endeavored to avoid them in other company. The sight of the sickly gray-green contents of the dish were too much for my self-control.

"Good Gad," I burst out. "What is that?"

"Tinned peas," said Walter. He looked apologetic, as well he might. "You see, Miss Peabody, they are an excellent cheap source of food. We also have tinned beef and beans and cabbage, but I thought this might be more- "

"Throw it out," I said, holding my nose. "Tell your cook to boil a chicken. One can obtain chickens, I hope? If this is what you eat, no wonder your brother had fever. It is a wonder he doesn't also have dysentery and inflamed bowels."

Walter brought his hand to his brow in a military salute and marched out.

I turned to Emerson. He had flung himself back onto the bed and pulled the sheet up to his chin.

"Go on, Miss Peabody," he said, drawling offensively. "Comment on my other organic failures if you will. I understand I am to thank you for saving my life. Walter is inclined to dramatize things; however, I thank you for ministering to me in your inimitable fashion. Consider yourself thanked. Now go away."