CHAPTER XV

Nothing happened until afternoon. The doctor was a thin quiet little man

who seemed disturbed by the war. He took out a number of small steel

splinters from my thighs with delicate and refined distaste. He used a

local anæsthetic called something or other “snow,” which froze the

tissue and avoided pain until the probe, the scalpel or the forceps got

below the frozen portion. The anæsthetized area was clearly defined by

the patient and after a time the doctor’s fragile delicacy was exhausted

and he said it would be better to have an X-ray. Probing was

unsatisfactory, he said.

The X-ray was taken at the Ospedale Maggiore and the doctor who did it

was excitable, efficient and cheerful. It was arranged by holding up the

shoulders, that the patient should see personally some of the larger

foreign bodies through the machine. The plates were to be sent over. The

doctor requested me to write in his pocket notebook, my name, and

regiment and some sentiment. He declared that the foreign bodies were

ugly, nasty, brutal. The Austrians were sons of bitches. How many had I

killed? I had not killed any but I was anxious to please—and I said I

had killed plenty. Miss Gage was with me and the doctor put his arm

around her and said she was more beautiful than Cleopatra. Did she

understand that? Cleopatra the former queen of Egypt. Yes, by God she

was. We returned to the little hospital in the ambulance and after a

while and much lifting I was upstairs and in bed again. The plates came

that afternoon, the doctor had said by God he would have them that

afternoon and he did. Catherine Barkley showed them to me. They were in

red envelopes and she took them out of the envelopes and held them up to

the light and we both looked.

“That’s your right leg,” she said, then put the plate back in the

envelope. “This is your left.”

“Put them away,” I said, “and come over to the bed.”

“I can’t,” she said. “I just brought them in for a second to show you.”

She went out and I lay there. It was a hot afternoon and I was sick of

lying in bed. I sent the porter for the papers, all the papers he could

get.

Before he came back three doctors came into the room. I have noticed

that doctors who fail in the practice of medicine have a tendency to

seek one another’s company and aid in consultation. A doctor who cannot

take out your appendix properly will recommend to you a doctor who will

be unable to remove your tonsils with success. These were three such

doctors.

“This is the young man,” said the house doctor with the delicate hands.

“How do you do?” said the tall gaunt doctor with the beard. The third

doctor, who carried the X-ray plates in their red envelopes, said

nothing.

“Remove the dressings?” questioned the bearded doctor.

“Certainly. Remove the dressings, please, nurse,” the house doctor said

to Miss Gage. Miss Gage removed the dressings. I looked down at the

legs. At the field hospital they had the look of not too freshly ground

hamburger steak. Now they were crusted and the knee was swollen and

discolored and the calf sunken but there was no pus.

“Very clean,” said the house doctor. “Very clean and nice.”

“Um,” said the doctor with the beard. The third doctor looked over the

house doctor’s shoulder.

“Please move the knee,” said the bearded doctor.

“I can’t.”

“Test the articulation?” the bearded doctor questioned. He had a stripe

beside the three stars on his sleeve. That meant he was a first captain.

“Certainly,” the house doctor said. Two of them took hold of my right

leg very gingerly and bent it.

“That hurts,” I said.

“Yes. Yes. A little further, doctor.”

“That’s enough. That’s as far as it goes,” I said.

“Partial articulation,” said the first captain. He straightened up. “May

I see the plates again, please, doctor?” The third doctor handed him one

of the plates. “No. The left leg, please.”

“That is the left leg, doctor.”

“You are right. I was looking from a different angle.” He returned the

plate. The other plate he examined for some time. “You see, doctor?” he

pointed to one of the foreign bodies which showed spherical and clear

against the light. They examined the plate for some time.

“Only one thing I can say,” the first captain with the beard said. “It

is a question of time. Three months, six months probably.”

“Certainly the synovial fluid must re-form.”

“Certainly. It is a question of time. I could not conscientiously open a

knee like that before the projectile was encysted.”

“I agree with you, doctor.”

“Six months for what?” I asked.

“Six months for the projectile to encyst before the knee can be opened

safely.”

“I don’t believe it,” I said.

“Do you want to keep your knee, young man?”

“No,” I said.

“What?”

“I want it cut off,” I said, “so I can wear a hook on it.”

“What do you mean? A hook?”

“He is joking,” said the house doctor. He patted my shoulder very

delicately. “He wants to keep his knee. This is a very brave young man.

He has been proposed for the silver medal of valor.”

“All my felicitations,” said the first captain. He shook my hand. “I can

only say that to be on the safe side you should wait at least six months

before opening such a knee. You are welcome of course to another

opinion.”

“Thank you very much,” I said. “I value your opinion.”

The first captain looked at his watch.

“We must go,” he said. “All my best wishes.”

“All my best wishes and many thanks,” I said. I shook hands with the

third doctor, “Capitano Varini—Tenente Enry,” and they all three went

out of the room.

“Miss Gage,” I called. She came in. “Please ask the house doctor to come

back a minute.”

He came in holding his cap and stood by the bed. “Did you wish to see

me?”

“Yes. I can’t wait six months to be operated on. My God, doctor, did you

ever stay in bed six months?”

“You won’t be in bed all the time. You must first have the wounds

exposed to the sun. Then afterward you can be on crutches.”

“For six months and then have an operation?”

“That is the safe way. The foreign bodies must be allowed to encyst and

the synovial fluid will re-form. Then it will be safe to open up the

knee.”

“Do you really think yourself I will have to wait that long?”

“That is the safe way.”

“Who is that first captain?”

“He is a very excellent surgeon of Milan.”

“He’s a first captain, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but he is an excellent surgeon.”

“I don’t want my leg fooled with by a first captain. If he was any good

he would be made a major. I know what a first captain is, doctor.”

“He is an excellent surgeon and I would rather have his judgment than

any surgeon I know.”

“Could another surgeon see it?”

“Certainly if you wish. But I would take Dr. Varella’s opinion myself.”

“Could you ask another surgeon to come and see it?”

“I will ask Valentini to come.”

“Who is he?”

“He is a surgeon of the Ospedale Maggiore.”

“Good. I appreciate it very much. You understand, doctor, I couldn’t

stay in bed six months.”

“You would not be in bed. You would first take a sun cure. Then you

could have light exercise. Then when it was encysted we would operate.”

“But I can’t wait six months.”

The doctor spread his delicate fingers on the cap he held and smiled.

“You are in such a hurry to get back to the front?”

“Why not?”

“It is very beautiful,” he said. “You are a noble young man.” He stooped

over and kissed me very delicately on the forehead. “I will send for

Valentini. Do not worry and excite yourself. Be a good boy.”

“Will you have a drink?” I asked.

“No thank you. I never drink alcohol.”

“Just have one.” I rang for the porter to bring glasses.

“No. No thank you. They are waiting for me.”

“Good-by,” I said.

“Good-by.”

Two hours later Dr. Valentini came into the room. He was in a great

hurry and the points of his mustache stood straight up. He was a major,

his face was tanned and he laughed all the time.

“How did you do it, this rotten thing?” he asked. “Let me see the

plates. Yes. Yes. That’s it. You look healthy as a goat. Who’s the

pretty girl? Is she your girl? I thought so. Isn’t this a bloody war?

How does that feel? You are a fine boy. I’ll make you better than new.

Does that hurt? You bet it hurts. How they love to hurt you, these

doctors. What have they done for you so far? Can’t that girl talk

Italian? She should learn. What a lovely girl. I could teach her. I will

be a patient here myself. No, but I will do all your maternity work

free. Does she understand that? She will make you a fine boy. A fine

blonde like she is. That’s fine. That’s all right. What a lovely girl.

Ask her if she eats supper with me. No I won’t take her away from you.

Thank you. Thank you very much, Miss. That’s all.”

“That’s all I want to know.” He patted me on the shoulder. “Leave the

dressings off.”

“Will you have a drink, Dr. Valentini?”

“A drink? Certainly. I will have ten drinks. Where are they?”

“In the armoire. Miss Barkley will get the bottle.”

“Cheery oh. Cheery oh to you, Miss. What a lovely girl. I will bring you

better cognac than that.” He wiped his mustache.

“When do you think it can be operated on?”

“To-morrow morning. Not before. Your stomach must be emptied. You must

be washed out. I will see the old lady downstairs and leave

instructions. Good-by. I see you to-morrow. I’ll bring you better cognac

than that. You are very comfortable here. Good-by. Until to-morrow. Get

a good sleep. I’ll see you early.” He waved from the doorway, his

mustaches went straight up, his brown face was smiling. There was a star

in a box on his sleeve because he was a major.