“In a moment.” Sibylla waved impatiently and the man withdrew.
Emily packed the leftovers in a sack. While Sibylla folded the blanket, she thought hard about how to convince her daughter that she would do her best.
“Once Dr. bin Abdul is back in Mogador,” she began, “I am going to invite him over and talk to him about everything. If he can convince me that he will take good care of you and not break your heart, I shall do everything in my power.”
“Thank you, Mummy!” Emily kissed her mother.
“In the meantime, you might go to London first, pursue your studies, and see something of the world,” Sibylla could not stop herself from suggesting. And even though she could see how Emily’s expression darkened, she added hopefully, “Distance can give one a little perspective.”
“You can try, Mother, but you are not going to drive Sabri and me apart.” Emily turned around and stomped to her horse.
“Sabri, please hold the candle closer.”
Thomas leaned over Aynur and examined the wound on her arm as well as he could in the flickering light. It was a bright day outside, but he had closed the shutters.
“What’s going on here? Why is it so dark? Why is she not getting any fresh air?” André panted.
His vertigo and headache had prevented him from keeping pace with Sabri. He had also stopped outside to console Malika, who was hysterical because Thomas had said that each additional person in the room was excruciating for her mother.
“Shush, Monsieur Rouston!” Thomas whispered. “Noise causes her pain, but tranquility and darkness do her good, don’t they, madame?” He smiled at Aynur.
The cramps that had made her slender body twitch as André entered had subsided. She was lying still. However, her back was stiff as a board, as though stretched between two pegs.
André felt his way to the head of the bed. The sight of his wife, whose pretty face had been frozen into a ghastly mask, teeth bared, gave him a fright. He was only too familiar with this look. He had seen it often enough on his wounded comrades during the Algerian War.
“The doctor will help you, ma chère,” he whispered. “Don’t be afraid.”
He gently caressed her sweat-beaded brow with his fingertips. Immediately, her neck went into spasms, bending her head all the way back. André quickly jerked away, shaken to the core. Only by her eyes was his wife still recognizable. Deep black eyes, in which her agony, which she could not escape, was written. Since he had entered the room, these eyes had followed him, had stared at him without blinking. She wanted to say something to him with that look. André sensed what it was, but was too terrified to accept it.
“Sabri, hand me the bottle of silver salts from my bag. I want to cleanse the wound again. And I also need fresh dressing material,” Thomas whispered.
Sabri brought them over. “I got you some quinine powder as well, for the fever.”
“Good idea.” Thomas treated Aynur’s wound with a few careful movements with Sabri assisting him and André holding the candle in his trembling hands. He carefully shielded her face from the light to spare her unnecessary agony. Still, her frail body was racked by spasms as soon as Thomas touched her ever so lightly.
André was haunted by long-forgotten memories of helpless surgeons on the edge of battlefields, of shocked and frightened soldiers having to witness the agonizing death of their comrades. Aynur’s eyes with their dilated pupils were fixed on him as though in a silent scream. She knew what was in store, and she was begging him for help. His eyes welled up. He bowed his head and softly stroked her hair. “I know, ma chère,” he whispered. “I know what you’re asking me.”
A short while later, he stood in front of the sickroom with Thomas and Sabri. He was white as a sheet and had to support himself against the wall. He had sent Malika away to make some tea for her mother. “I want you to be honest with me, Doctors. Is there anything you can do for my wife?”
Thomas looked gravely at Sabri. “What do you think, my friend?”
The young physician moved his head side to side. “Convulsions in the affected arm, risus sardonicus, musculoskeletal tension of the back, high fever, discolored margins, and greatly increased sensitivity. The wound is badly infected.”
Thomas nodded slowly. “That’s my diagnosis as well.”
“So it’s tetanus,” André concluded. “Is it still possible for you to amputate the arm?”
The two physicians exchanged looks. “You’re familiar with this, Monsieur Rouston?”
He took a deep breath. “During the war in Algeria, I became better acquainted with the deadly symptoms of tetanus than I care to recall. So, gentlemen, what is your opinion?”
Thomas cleared his throat. “I’m afraid it’s too late for an amputation. I recommended it to your wife, but she wouldn’t hear it. By now, the toxins have spread all over her body.”
“Apart from that, the patient is weakened considerably. The danger is great that she would not survive such a procedure,” Sabri added.
André lowered his head. His chest felt like it might split in two. Yet nothing compared to the pain Aynur was having to endure. “How much time does she have?” he finally managed.
“One day, two at most,” Thomas replied, and Sabri nodded.
André thought about the look Aynur had given him. It was the last plea of a dying woman, and he vowed to comply with it, no matter how difficult it might be. He looked each of the doctors in the eye and said, “I know how this disease progresses and I have seen people die from it. But Aynur will not die that way. Her cramps will not break her bones. She will not suffocate from paralysis, drowning in fear. My wife will leave this world in a dignified and pain-free manner. That is her wish, and I will see it honored. My question for you, Dr. Hopkins, and you, Dr. bin Abdul, is the following: Can my wife count on your help?”
The three men were silent. Thomas and Sabri exchanged tense glances. Thomas’s head was spinning. What about the Hippocratic oath that he and Sabri had taken, the holy oath of physicians to do no harm? For Thomas, that oath had been the solemn culmination of his medical studies, and he took it very seriously. He had seen much misery in the slums of London. He had personally witnessed the cruel death that a tetanus infection could mean. At times, he had caught himself quarreling with God and with himself when a patient had to die slowly and painfully, especially where children were concerned. Nonetheless, until now, he had not dared interfere with the Lord’s decisions.
“I realize what I’m asking you to do.” André’s voice cut through the silence. “But my wife’s death is certain, and you are asking much more of her than I am of you if you deny her peace.”
Thomas looked intently at Sabri. “I believe that she should be allowed to die a peaceful death. What do you think, my friend?”