Part 3 (2/2)
”I'm the hotel nurse.”
”What's the matter with me?”
”Poisoned,” she said briefly. ”Poisoned, the whole lot of you. I never seen anythin' like it. Sick here, sick there, whatever have you young ladies been stuffin' yourselves with?”
”Is everybody else sick too?” I asked with some hope.
”The whole of your lot,” she affirmed with relish. ”Sick as dogs and cryin' for ma.”
The room hovered around me with great gentleness, as if the chairs and the tables and the walls were withholding their weight out of sympathy for my sudden frailty.
”The doctor's given you an injection,” the nurse said from the doorway. ”You'll sleep now.”
And the door took her place like a sheet of blank paper, and then a larger sheet of paper took the place of the door, and I drifted toward it and smiled myself to sleep.
Somebody was standing by my pillow with a white cup.
”Drink this,” they said.
I shook my head. The pillow crackled like a wad of straw.
”Drink this and you'll feel better.”
A thick white china cup was lowered under my nose. In the wan light that might have been evening and might have been dawn I contemplated the clear amber liquid. Pads of b.u.t.ter floated on the surface and a faint chickeny aroma fumed up to my nostrils.
My eyes moved tentatively to the skirt behind the cup. ”Betsy,” I said.
”Betsy nothing, it's me.”
I raised my eyes then, and saw Doreen's head silhouetted against the paling window, her blonde hair lit at the tips from behind like a halo of gold. Her face was in shadow, so I couldn't make out her expression, but I felt a sort of expert tenderness flowing from the ends of her fingers. She might have been Betsy or my mother or a fern-scented nurse.
I bent my head and took a sip of the broth. I thought my mouth must be made of sand. I took another sip and then another and another until the cup was empty.
I felt purged and holy and ready for a new life.
Doreen set the cup on the windowsill and lowered herself into the armchair. I noticed that she made no move to take out a cigarette, and as she was a chain smoker this surprised me.
”Well, you almost died, ” she said finally.
”I guess it was all that caviar.”
”Caviar nothing! It was the crabmeat. They did tests on it and it was chock-full of ptomaine.”
I had a vision of the celestially white kitchens of Ladies' Day Ladies' Day stretching into infinity. I saw avocado pear after avocado pear being stuffed with crabmeat and mayonnaise and photographed under brilliant lights. I saw the delicate, pink-mottled claw meat poking seductively through its blanket of mayonnaise and the bland yellow pear cup with its rim of alligator-green cradling the whole mess. stretching into infinity. I saw avocado pear after avocado pear being stuffed with crabmeat and mayonnaise and photographed under brilliant lights. I saw the delicate, pink-mottled claw meat poking seductively through its blanket of mayonnaise and the bland yellow pear cup with its rim of alligator-green cradling the whole mess.
Poison.
”Who did tests?” I thought the doctor might have pumped somebody's stomach and then a.n.a.lyzed what he found in his hotel laboratory.
”Those dodos on Ladies' Day. Ladies' Day. As soon as you all started keeling over like ninepins somebody called into the office and the office called across to As soon as you all started keeling over like ninepins somebody called into the office and the office called across to Ladies' Day Ladies' Day and they did tests on everything left over from the big lunch. Ha!” and they did tests on everything left over from the big lunch. Ha!”
”Ha!” I echoed hollowly. It was good to have Doreen back.
”They sent presents,” she added. ”They're in a big carton out in the hall.”
”How did they get here so fast?”
”Special express delivery, what do you think? They can't afford to have the lot of you running around saying you got poisoned at Ladies' Day. Ladies' Day. You could sue them for every penny they own if you just knew some smart law man.” You could sue them for every penny they own if you just knew some smart law man.”
”What are the presents?” I began to feel if it was a good enough present I wouldn't mind about what happened, because I felt so pure as a result.
”n.o.body's opened the box yet, they're all out flat. I'm supposed to be carting soup in to everybody, seeing as I'm the only one on my feet, but I brought you yours first.”
”See what the present is,” I begged. Then I remembered and said, ”I've a present for you as well.”
Doreen went out into the hall. I could hear her rustling around for a minute and then the sound of paper tearing. Finally she came back carrying a thick book with a glossy cover and people's names printed all over it.
”The Thirty Best Short Stories of the Year.” ”The Thirty Best Short Stories of the Year.” She dropped the book in my lap. ”There's eleven more of them out there in that box. I suppose they thought it'd give you something to read while you were sick.” She paused. ”Where's mine?” She dropped the book in my lap. ”There's eleven more of them out there in that box. I suppose they thought it'd give you something to read while you were sick.” She paused. ”Where's mine?”
I fished in my pocketbook and handed Doreen the mirror with her name and the daisies on it. Doreen looked at me and I looked at her and we both burst out laughing.
”You can have my soup if you want,” she said. ”They: put twelve soups on the tray by mistake and Lenny and I stuffed down so many hotdogs while we were waiting for the rain to stop I couldn't eat another mouthful.”
”Bring it in,” I said. ”I'm starving.”
5.
At seven the next morning the telephone rang.
Slowly I swam up from the bottom of a black sleep. I already had a telegram from Jay Cee stuck in my mirror, telling me not to bother to come in to work but to rest for a day and get completely well, and how sorry she was about the bad crabmeat, so I couldn't imagine who would be calling. Slowly I swam up from the bottom of a black sleep. I already had a telegram from Jay Cee stuck in my mirror, telling me not to bother to come in to work but to rest for a day and get completely well, and how sorry she was about the bad crabmeat, so I couldn't imagine who would be calling.
I reached out and hitched the receiver onto my pillow so the mouthpiece rested on my collarbone and the earpiece lay on my shoulder.
”h.e.l.lo?”
A man's voice said, ”Is that Miss Esther Greenwood?” I thought I detected a slight foreign accent.
”It certainly is,” I said.
”This is Constantin Something-or-Other.”
I couldn't make out the last name, but it was full of S's and K's. I didn't know any Constantin, but I hadn't the heart to say so.
Then I remembered Mrs. Willard and her simultaneous interpreter.
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