Page 19 of Six Days in Bombay

The doctor introduced us. Timothy, with his easy smile, was around my age. I put Dr. Stoddard’s arm around my shoulder so I could carry half his weight. Timothy steadied him from the other side as we helped him off the bed.

“Where did it come from?” I asked as I held the wheelchair in place and Timothy lowered the doctor into it.

“I still have a few favors I can call in,” the doctor said. “I hadTimothy ask Mohan, down in maintenance, to bring it up after the visitors were gone.”

He looked at his roommate, Mr. Hassan. “What say you, Fahid? Shall we wheel down to the pawnbroker if you can tear yourself away from that tome?”

Mr. Hassan, whom I was here to check up on, had become used to his roommate’s sense of humor. He set down his copy of Tagore’sThe Home and the World. “I’m halfway through, my friend. Can’t possibly stop now,” he said. For now, his condition was stable. We would keep an eye on his heart while he recuperated from his appendicitis operation. “Bon voyage,” he chuckled.

“Get cracking, Timothy!” Dr. Stoddard, tired of his cast, was anxious for the adventure to begin.

Timothy Stoddard’s spectacles shielded velvety brown eyes with thick lashes. He grinned at me. “Uncle Ralph has always been a handful. I’m not sure his servant wants him back home.”

“I may decide to go elsewhere, laddie. Been thinking of Istanbul,” he said. Then he brightened and addressed me, “Why not come with me, my dear? Be good to have a fetching nurse on board the ship. I can teach you that gin rummy game I keep promising.”

Timothy, behind him now with his hands on the handles, winked as he passed me. “He cheats, you know.”

“I’m well aware, laddie.” I smiled.

I followed them to the doorway. Dr. Stoddard exclaimed, “Heave-ho!” Timothy pushed the wheelchair with all his might down the hallway. I clapped softly. It was like a race with only one entrant, and Timothy was making good time. He reached the end of the hallway and turned the wheelchair in my direction. I looked around to make sure no patients were hovering in the hallway. That’s when I saw her.

Matron’s formidable mien was headed our way, blue eyes blazing.

Using all his might, Timothy was able to bring the wheelchairto a standstill just as it reached her feet. Only then did she notice me. I looked at Dr. Stoddard, then at Timothy. My heart was hammering so loudly in my chest, the noise in my ears was deafening. I would be reprimanded again in the high court of the Matron. My armpits were moist. I braced an arm against the door, afraid for my thudding heart.

Matron folded her arms across her chest. “I take it this is a doctor-approved regulation wheelchair?” We all knew Wadia Hospital did not have wheelchairs at its disposal.

Dr. Stoddard looked up at her with his most charming smile. “Of course, Matron. Would I ride in anything else?”

The doctor and Matron regarded one another in silence. Finally, she turned to me. “Nurse, come see me when you’re done here.”

Dr. Stoddard said, “She didn’t order the wheelchair, Matron, or make me sit in it. She came to look in on Hassan, the old chap.” He lowered his voice as if he were sharing a confidence. “Between you and me, Nurse Falstaff is the highlight of his day.”

Timothy chimed in, “Nurse Falstaff did try to stop us, but Uncle would have none of it.”

The doctor pressed his hands together in supplication. “I’m a brute, Matron. Please, as a favor to me, don’t penalize the poor girl.”

“Dr. Stoddard,” she said, as if she were pointing a finger at him. “What I do or don’t do with my nursing staff should be no concern of yours.”

“Oh, but it is, dear girl. I’m on the board of the hospital, don’t you know? And I say, this girl will not be punished for something I instigated. Right then, Timothy. You may wheel me back to bed.” Timothy did as requested, giving me a wink as he went past.

Emboldened now, I looked at Matron. “I need to finish with Mr. Hassan.” Without waiting for her approval, I turned on my heel and walked to his bed, busying myself with the blood pressurecuff. I was afraid to look at the doorway. When I finally did, she was no longer there.

Timothy was struggling to get Dr. Stoddard out of the wheelchair. I went to help him. I could tell that while the ride had been exhilarating, it had tired the old doctor. His cheeks and his nose were flushed. Timothy poured a glass of water for him.

“Doctor, I’m curious,” I said. “If you’re on the hospital board, why didn’t you request a private room?”

“Because I like company, my dear. Hassan is great company.”

I went back to Mr. Hassan, who seemed not to have seen or heard anything. He calmly put down his novel. I gave him his medicine and a glass of water.

“I’m not sure what to make of a woman who saves my lifeandmonitors wheelchair races.” The old Muslim grinned, his salt-and-pepper mustache dancing.

I glanced at Dr. Stoddard. His smile was kind when he said, “Heroes should be recognized, my dear. Raise a toast, Fahid.”

Mr. Hassan raised his water glass to me. Dr. Stoddard did the same.

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