In the middle of Wednesday afternoon, Iris knocked on the examining room door where Rebecca was looking down a little girl’s throat.
“Sarah’s on the phone,” Iris said through the door, surprise lifting her voice. “She’s at the hospital.”
Rebecca excused herself to the young patient and her mother and stepped into her private office. Her mother-in-law never called her at the office.
“Sarah? Are you all right?”
“It’s Natalka. I’m sorry, I’m a little upset. She’s all right now but… the doctor sent her down to get her blood taken…”
“Dr. Koboy?” She had almost forgotten Natalka’s appointment with the hematologist.
“But then it wouldn’t stop bleeding. So he said she should stay overnight.”
“Did they stop the bleeding?”
“Yes. She’s fine now. Just nervous. She said this happened before. She said sometimes she had nosebleeds that wouldn’t stop. It’s very nerve-wracking.”
Sarah had been through enough with David. She didn’t need to get emotionally involved with another family’s illness. Especially one with a rotten prognosis. Bleeding was one of the symptoms of leukemia. On the other hand, it was also a symptom of a legion of other disorders.
“Let’s wait till we hear from the hematologist,” Rebecca said.
“I’ve got to go home,” Sarah said. “I’ve got a student coming for a lesson after school. I just wanted to let you know she’s here.”
“You haven’t heard from Halina?”
“No.”
After she hung up, Rebecca wondered, where was Halina? She had left Sarah holding the bag with Natalka. Didn’t she care about her daughter? She had certainly given the impression of caring. But what did Rebecca really know about her? Maybe she was just a good actress. Rebecca wondered if she could be that wrong about someone. She prided herself on her ability to assess people, but maybe the cultural divide changed all the rules. Maybe she ought to stick to assessing the people who walked into her office and whose bodies she could probe with her instruments. For all she knew, John Baron was right and Halina had killed Michael.
Rebecca finished out the afternoon in the office. It was after six when her last patient left. She slunk past Iris to avoid any long explanations, then marched down the stairs and out the front entrance of her building, her olive-coloured suit jacket over her arm. The hospital was a ten-minute walk away. She crossed Beverley Street, heading east on D’Arcy, glad for the chance to get out.
It was still light, but the energy of the day waned with the sun. A stillness hung in the air, a harbinger of fatigue. She resisted it.
In five minutes she had crossed McCaul and walked up to Elm Street. Her chest went tight as she marched past the hospital residence on Elm where she had lived with David while interning at Mount Sinai hospital. One of the happiest years she could remember. Small two-room apartment, galley kitchen. Nowhere for the TV but in front of the bed. David in the bed when she had a few hours off. Who could have known they would have so little time.
She came up to Murray Street, the back entrance of the hospital, still lost in David’s arms. Her energy was flagging. She’d had a small sandwich for lunch hours ago, and though she didn’t really feel hungry, she recognized that empty space in her stomach that pulled the strings to the rest of her.
She settled for a half-pint carton of chocolate milk from the coffee shop on the first floor of the hospital. She hated milk and could only face it when it came gooey-sweet and brown. Standing near the glass wall of the shop, she sucked up energy through the straw, watching the crowds rush up and down the corridor. After tossing the carton into a trash can, she headed toward the elevators.
Her mind had gone pleasantly blank watching the light above the elevator descend from floor to floor, signalling its approach. Two elevators arrived at the same time, and she was about to step into one, surrounded by the other passengers, when someone getting off the next elevator caught her eye. Out of context she almost didn’t recognize her. A blonde profile walking briskly toward the front door of the hospital in low pumps and a grey suit. It was Halina.
Instantly Rebecca swivelled her body amid the throng of people moving into the elevator. “Excuse me!” she said.
The momentum of the crowd pulled her along like a river. “Pardon me!” she said, pushing her way backwards, raising some scowls on people behind her trying to get on the elevator.
She escaped and rushed out the front door. People filled the wide sidewalks on their way home from work. She narrowed her eyes, looking north, then south, watching for the white-blonde hair, the grey jacket. She stared at a line of people waiting for the light at Elm Street. When the light changed, a grey suit stepped forward, separating from the crowd. It was her. She was heading south along University Avenue. Somehow she must have found out about Natalka and was now returning to her lair.
Rebecca was too far away to call out. And if she saw Rebecca she might bolt. The woman may have been over sixty but she was in good shape.
Rebecca followed her down University to Dundas. Halina showed no signs of slowing down. She kept walking until Queen Street loomed up ahead. At Queen, Halina turned right. Rebecca followed at a discreet distance. People were milling about after work, meeting friends on street corners, smoking in front of restaurants.
They passed Beverley Street, still continuing west. When Halina was partway across Spadina Avenue, the light changed and stranded Rebecca on the wrong side of the street. She tapped her toes on the curb at the edge of the noisy traffic while her quarry marched obliviously into the distance.
Cars, trucks, trolleys streamed in front of her. She squinted through the gasoline vapours, trying to keep the grey suit in her sights. Finally the red light turned green. She bounded across the street, avoiding the streetcar tracks. She was shooting toward the sidewalk when a car inching into a right turn on the red nearly collided with her. She glared at the startled woman driving, then resumed the chase.
Except when she looked up, her quarry was gone. She rushed past shop after shop selling fabric; schmata stores, her mother called them. Had Halina gone into one of them? Rebecca glanced through each window as she flew past. Nothing. She must have turned a corner. When Rebecca reached Augusta Avenue, she turned right. Still nothing. No, not nothing.
A few buildings up from Queen, behind a tall wrought iron fence, stood an imposing mansion that looked out of place on this street of small, semidetached houses. A pale gingerbread trimmed the rich brown brick that erupted into many gables; contrasting cream-coloured bricks edged the corners of each wall. A grand tower soared from the centre toward the dusky sky. One of the front windows had been replaced by stained glass, a spare modern design with a large cross at its centre. But what gave Rebecca hope was the shrine in the backyard: a painted plaster Madonna in a blue robe, her arms spread beneficently. Perhaps Halina had found some kind of retreat. Rebecca opened the gate and stepped toward the heavy wooden door.
Her hand reached for the doorbell. In that moment she thought, What am I doing here? Did she really believe that John Baron was accusing Halina for any other reason than to get Rebecca off his scent?
The door opened. Rebecca was at a loss for words at the sight of the diminutive elderly woman who stood before her. She was dressed in a nun’s habit, a starched white headband fronting a black wimple that covered her hair. A large gold cross hung around her neck over the floor length black dress. She smiled shyly, her head on a slight inquisitive tilt.
“I’m looking for Halina,” Rebecca stammered. She realized she didn’t remember Halina’s last name.
“Who are you?” the woman said in accented English. Her plump face shone white against the backdrop of black. Pale downy hair grew on her upper lip.
“I’m her daughter’s doctor.”
“Something wrong? She sick?”
“She’s in the hospital.” Rebecca neglected to mention Halina already knew that.
The woman nodded with concern and turned aside to let Rebecca in. “Please wait.”
The nun began to climb the oak staircase as if each step was an effort.
A lamp had been turned on in the fading light of the hall. The walls were half panelled in dark oak, the upper half of the room filled with pictures of Jesus and Pope John Paul II. The scenes of the crucifixion made Rebecca uneasy. All those nails in the hands. The depiction of torture and death seemed an odd image for people to worship. Was that really what God wanted? For people to suffer?
On a small table she found brochures about the Felician Sisters, a group started in Poland by Sister Mary Angela in 1855. A convent. It seemed a strange place for a Communist to hide. Natalka had said her mother was not a good Party member.
After a few minutes, the nun stepped slowly down the stairs, followed by Halina. The nun continued walking and disappeared into a room off to the side.
Still in a grey skirt and white blouse, Halina watched Rebecca nervously, her hands clasped tightly in front.
“Everyone’s been worried about you,” Rebecca said.
She looked with hard eyes at Rebecca. “Did Janek send you?”
“Of course not. Why would you think…?”
“How did you know I am here?”
“I followed you from the hospital. I was just on my way up to see Natalka.”
She looked behind Rebecca at the door. “How you know Janek did not follow you here?”
“Why should he?”
She stared dumbfounded at Rebecca. “Because he kill Michael and now he want to kill me.”
Was that the real reason she had fled? Or was the show of fear just good acting. “Baron says it was you who killed Michael.”
Halina blinked several times, but her face did not betray her thoughts. She played the game well. “Of course he say this. You believe him?”
“I know you called Michael the night before he died.”
“So?”
“You said you were coming over.”
Halina looked momentarily confused. “No.”
“You didn’t go to Michael’s house that night?”
“No. I call him on phone, but Janek comes into room and I hang up.”
“Where were you?”
Halina’s pale cheeks turned pink. “He has apartment. You must understand — he is helping us. I need be good to him for Natalka.”
It was Rebecca’s turn to be embarrassed. “Your private life is none of my business.”
Halina turned away self-consciously.
“But why did you phone him?”
Halina glanced toward the room into which the nun had disappeared. She led Rebecca into an opposite corner of the hall. “I want to warn him.”
“About what?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I say something stupid to Janek. It is my fault. I want to scare him to give me money for hospital. I know what he did after war and I say I will tell Michael. Of course I will not tell, but Janek blows up. He not listen no more.”
“What did he do after the war?”
Halina’s face turned stony. “It is terrible. Better to forget.”
“I need to understand what happened.”
Halina closed her eyes. “Janek denounced Michael’s parents after war. Michael never know. Because of Janek, they are sent to gulag and die. Janek hate Michael’s father, Piotr, because I love him. Janek was jealous.”
Rebecca felt nauseated. So it was Janek who had destroyed Michael’s family. Who had sent them to Siberia to their deaths. Who had blithely gone on with his life in Canada as if they had never existed. What must he have thought when Michael came to him for a job after he had managed to escape his parents’ fate? After all those years to find out. No wonder Michael had hit him hard enough to leave bruises.
“Piotr was handsome man,” she said with unaccustomed wistfulness. “He love me too. Janek thought Piotr was Natalka’s father.”
Rebecca held her breath. “Was he?”
Halina shook her head.
Didn’t Michael say he had first met Halina when she came to the countryside with her baby? If Michael’s father had sired Natalka, wouldn’t Michael have known her earlier? Could the lovers have hidden such a liaison during the war? Rebecca was inclined to believe Halina on this one thing.
“Why would Janek kill Michael?” Rebecca asked.
“Maybe it was accident. I don’t know. Janek go there to explain. He was thinking I tell Michael already. He thinks Michael knows. So probably he say, himself, what he did, then Michael is finding out. This must be shock for Michael. He must be furious. Janek has bad temper. Probably they fight.”
“How do you know he went to Michael’s?”
Halina glanced nervously toward the room at the other end of the hall. “I am with Janek all night. In the apartment. He leave in morning, ten o’clock. Bad mood. He say he go to straighten things with Michael.”
“Did you speak to Janek after that?”
Halina shook her head. “I go to Sarah’s house in taxi. I am sleeping when everybody go to Michael’s. Then Natalka call me later from his house — she say Michael is dead. I am afraid to speak to Janek after this.”
“Are you sure about the time that Janek left? Ten?”
“I go to Sarah same time.”
That left a time gap. Had they argued for two hours and then Baron had somehow drowned Michael in the pool? Because Michael had not been dead that long when Rebecca fished him out of the water. Had Michael become despondent after discovering that he had been working for decades for the man responsible for his parents’ death? So despondent that he had swallowed Valium with a couple of shots of something and jumped into the pool? No. The goggles said no. Someone in the depths of despair about to kill himself does not stop to put on goggles.
Rebecca stood in the doorway of Natalka’s hospital room, tired, confused. She carried a bag of goodies from the coffee shop together with two cardboard cups of tea anchored in a disposable tray. Her head ached from thinking. John Baron, according to some, was the devil, but had he killed Michael? Indeed, had anyone killed Michael? The more Rebecca knew, the less she understood.
They had placed Natalka in a semi-private room. She lay in the bed closest to the door, leaning back on her pillows with her eyes closed. Her white hair lay unpinned around her long neck, her pale skin wan in the fluorescent light.
Rebecca was about to place the bag on the night-stand and leave unannounced when Natalka opened her eyes. As soon as she saw Rebecca her face lit up. Her skin took on some colour as she sat up. Rebecca approached, standing by the bed.
“I’m so happy to see you,” Natalka said, putting her hand out.
Rebecca took the hand, which held on without letting go. “How are you feeling?”
Natalka smiled. “Not so bad. Could be worse.” She angled her head toward the other patient in the room. She was elderly and attached to an IV. No visitor.
“It sounds like the doctor just wanted to make sure you were stable. Sarah said they couldn’t stop the bleeding.”
“I don’t know why the doctor was worried,” Natalka said. “I have lots of blood left.”
Rebecca smiled.
“It is nice to see familiar face. You are tired?”
So it showed. “It’s been a long day.” She wasn’t going to trouble her with news of her mother.
“I brought you some tea,” Rebecca said, placing the little tray on the night table. She pulled a chair close to the bed then fished out her dinner, an egg salad sandwich, and for the patient, a small pack of digestive cookies and an apple.
“You’re a good doctor,” Natalka said scowling. “You bring only healthy food.”
Natalka sipped her tea, watching with interest as Rebecca bit into the sandwich.
Rebecca took the other half of the sandwich out of its plastic sleeve and handed it to her. Natalka grinned and offered Rebecca a cookie.
They were chewing happily when a figure appeared at the door. Marty Koboy, Rebecca’s favourite professor in medical school, approached and placed his hand on her arm in greeting. Standing up, she towered over him, though she was average height. His build was small but athletic. He always said, “Good things come in small packages.” His ability to put everyone at ease endeared him to all his students. His thick black hair was now peppered with grey. The tiny broken veins in his cheeks made them look rosy.
“I’m sorry I had to incarcerate your patient, Rebecca, but she was bleeding all over the floor.” He said this loud enough for Natalka to hear.
The patient smiled.
He stepped close to the bed. “Did you finally stop bleeding?” Gingerly he lifted up her hand with one of his, taking her pulse with the other.
She blushed. “I am fine. Maybe I can go home now?”
“Is this such a terrible place?” he said. “Look, I’m still here. I’m just leaving to go home and I can’t wait to get back tomorrow.”
She shrugged at Rebecca, as if wanting an advocate.
“Anyway,” he said, “you’re going to have another test tomorrow. We’re going to get a sample of your bone marrow.”
Rebecca cringed but kept her face blank.
“It’s not the most pleasant test in the world. But it will confirm my diagnosis. Then we’ll know what to do.”
“Do you think I have leukemia, Doctor?”
“I’ll have more information for you tomorrow. Let’s just say I’m cautiously optimistic.”
Natalka’s face brightened. She brought her hand to her mouth, hiding a smile.
He cocked his head and patted her arm. “Now don’t you bleed anymore.”
Rebecca followed him out the door. They stepped away from the room, out of earshot. “Doctor, don’t you think she has leukemia?”
He grimaced. “No,” he said. “But I can see why there might be confusion. The lady is luckier than that. I think she has Gaucher’s Disease.”
“Gaucher’s?” Rebecca recalled the name but not the details.
“It’s a rare bird. I’ve never actually seen a case. It’s a lipid storage disease, a deficiency in the glucocerebrosidase enzyme that affects the spleen, as you’ve seen. It can be fatal, but mostly when it presents in childhood. It’s not a pleasant disease, but she’ll survive. She’ll have to have a partial splenectomy. And there’s some experimental work being done to replace the enzyme, mostly in the States. She might be able to get on a list. But like I said, I need to look at the bone marrow to confirm.” He observed Rebecca more closely. “Is she a relative?”
“No. Why?”
“Gaucher’s is familial, and I noticed she was here with your mother before,” he said.
Rebecca recoiled. “That was my mother-in-law.”
He gave a knowing smile. “Well, the young lady’s as charming as you are. I thought you might be related.”
Rebecca was exhausted from her insomnia over the past week. She climbed into bed early with a cup of hot chocolate and opened Michael’s manuscript to the second last chapter, titled “The Flesh is Weak.” It started with a letter from Sir Charles to Catherine. Rebecca was getting very fond of the English diplomat and felt uneasy about his future.