Chapter Forty Marion
forty MARION
After the race, the river, the gunshot, then the kiss—never mind the helicopter crash—Marion was too weak to walk on her own, so Daniel wrapped her good arm around his shoulder, letting her lean against him. After a moment, he found a secluded space and set her gently in the grass, always keeping watch.
“We’ll stay here until you’re ready,” he promised, adjusting the gun where it lay across his lap.
“I didn’t know you had a gun with you.”
“I had a pistol, which we cleared through Customs because of the Red Cross. This one? I took it off Charlie after he shot down the chopper. He owed me.”
The air between them was still with a new awareness. As much as she longed for another kiss, she was glad of the distance. Her gaze lingered on his lips, then she looked away. She couldn’t afford to get distracted. Not here.
The other men from the helicopter eventually caught up, following the sound of gunfire. One was a medic, and he went straight over to examine Marion’s shoulder wound. She could tell it was only a graze, once he unwrapped Daniel’s bandage. The bullet had whizzed by, leaving a deep scrape, but that was quickly put to rights.
She marvelled at the soldier’s expediency. “I imagine you do this a lot,” she said.
He was young—weren’t they all?—with dark hair and a faint moustache. “In my sleep, ma’am.”
“What can you tell me about the hospital in Da Nang?”
“Which one? There’s a surgical, a medical, and an obstetrics hospital there.”
She hadn’t known that. “Surgical. That’s where I’m assigned.”
“Surgical is called the Provincial Hospital. It’s a great place for black-market goods. Fresh fruit, coffee, flashlights, bug spray, rum, and huge crates of clothing marked ‘Not for Sale,’ donated by the United Church of Canada. The whole city is a little nuts, to be honest.”
Daniel agreed. “The traffic is wild. I can’t understand how people aren’t killed there on an hourly basis.”
A man who appeared to be in charge stood and announced that it was time to move on. He’d arranged a rendezvous where a truck would pick them up, then they’d go straight to Da Nang. The very idea of walking through the jungle then driving to a place nicknamed Rocket City shook Marion’s fragile courage.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered to Daniel as they walked.
He didn’t laugh, didn’t scold. “I wish I had a dollar for every time I said that.”
When at last they climbed into the back of the truck, she could only do it with his help. Holding back tears of panic and exhaustion, she finally laid her head down in his lap and fell asleep.
“We’re here,” she heard sometime later. He was leaning over her, peering into her face. “Time to wake up, Doc.”
The truck’s tires crunched over gravelly sand toward a large cement building with yellow stucco walls and orange roof tiles. A large khaki canvas tent stood nearby.
“That’s orthopaedics,” the medic explained. “Up there is the emergency entrance, and there’s a heliport behind that can take in two or three medevacs at a time.”
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing past the hospital. Small outbuildings stood at the base of a giant cement water tower.
“Laundry and storage facilities.” He pointed. “Those are the bathhouses and lavatories. If there’s a power failure, they’re run by a diesel engine.”
She saw hydro poles stretching across the grounds to the transformer station. “Can’t the Vietcong sabotage those wires? They’re completely exposed.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the medic said. “Happens all the time.”
At last they pulled up to the door of the surgical hospital, and a small flock of nurses greeted Marion at the door. The other soldiers left, but Daniel stuck by her side.
“I don’t think they’ll let you stay when I’m operating,” she said.
“I’m going to be with you whenever it’s allowed.”
She still wasn’t sure how that would work, but she was comforted.
The nurses led Marion and Daniel to the chef d’administration , a tall, blond Frenchman who was all business. “ Bonjour, Docteur et Majeure . Might I suggest, Majeure, that you go with my assistant now? You can speak with the guards outside the hospital while I give Dr. Hart a brief introduction of l’h?pital . The guards will answer questions and show you the areas that will concern you.”
Daniel checked with Marion, and she gave him a look meant to reassure him. She watched him go, immediately feeling lost, but the chef didn’t appear to notice.
“Before we begin, I have spoken with other foreign medical experts, and they all concur with what I am about to say to you, so I hope you will not feel affronted.”
“Please,” she said, hoping she would remember everything. She still didn’t feel fully conscious.
“You can operate the way you are used to doing, but that will not encourage comradery, which you will need. Our best advice is that you incorporate civilian Vietnamese surgeons whenever possible, and share your expertise with the intern staff. They will have different solutions from what you know; however, you must remember that you are in their country. Constructive and useful criticism is welcome, but in the face of emergencies, which you will see on an ongoing basis, it is best to be calm, polite, and open with these local doctors. Remain patient and positive. Comprenez? ”
“I do.”
“Have you any questions?”
A thousand, Marion thought. “Where will I sleep? I saw there’s construction going on by the hospital.”
“Yes. A walled compound for staff and visiting surgeons. Unfortunately, that is incomplete. We will show you to your accommodations after our tour here.”
Learning the compound hadn’t been built yet did nothing to instill confidence. “What is the schedule?”
“The general day shift begins at nine o’clock in the morning; we have a three-hour hiatus at noon; then the OR will close at five p.m. Of course nursing staff and anaesthetists will be here prior to that, and we expect surgeons to be scrubbed and ready to go before eight o’clock.”
“A hiatus?”
“Of course. A siesta, as they call it. But we also have night-duty surgeons and interns.”
“I see.”
“Come and I will introduce you to the hospital,” he said, and she followed him toward a number of interconnected buildings. “ Attention. Watch your step.”
Marion hadn’t expected much from the Provincial Hospital in Da Nang, but right away she saw she should have anticipated worse. The first ward they encountered stopped her in her tracks. Bandaged bodies were everywhere, lying, sitting, crammed into every corner. More than one patient lay in each of the tightly packed cots.
“What is going on here?”
“We are, of course, always overcrowded. But everyone is cared for.”
She couldn’t stop staring, taking in the filth and the faces. “How overcrowded are you?”
“This hospital has five hundred beds. At the moment, we have approximately fifteen hundred patients.”
Holding her breath against the reek of the sick, wounded, and dying, she followed the chef through a labyrinth of wards, slightly panicked at the thought of navigating them by herself. The stench lessened within the wards, since every window was wide open, but that created its own problems. There was no glass, no screens or shutters, which explained why every surface was covered in a fine film of sand, blown in by helicopters landing or taking off. Partway down the hallway, Marion slapped her hand over her nose, repulsed by a solid stink coming from open toilets. Houseflies hovered and landed, and she swatted a couple out of her face.
“The children’s ward,” the chef announced, appearing not to notice the flies. He indicated the next room, and Marion felt her knees weaken. So many parents and relatives had come to take care of the little ones that the crowding was even worse, resulting in up to five youngsters on one cot.
“Can’t the parents go home? To make more room?”
He appeared confused by the question. “Who would prepare their meals and bathe them?” He gestured toward a row of large sinks. “Here is where they wash up.”
She sniffed and tried not to gag. “Why do I smell smoke?”
“Cooking fires. They’re all around the compound.”
“What about all the flies? Can’t you do anything about them?”
“Dr. Hart, do you recall what I first said about working with local doctors and not always following the same rules set out in your country? It is possible to learn valuable lessons from other cultures, especially in a place like this. These flies serve a purpose. They may be annoying, but they are especially beneficial to patients with gangrene, pressure ulcers, and napalm burns. They land on the wounds, lay their eggs, and maggots will soon emerge. Maggots, I’m certain you know, consume only dead tissue. Healthy tissue is left behind, ready for skin grafting or whatever is needed.”
She’d read about that but never seen it in practice. She peered closer at one child who lay facedown, his buttocks and back covered in what appeared to be napalm burns. Tiny white worms moved among the wounds, doing their job. Regardless of how hard they worked, Marion couldn’t help shuddering and quickly moved on.
“Here, you can see, is one of the operating rooms.”
A man lay on a bed, his leg shattered. Above him, his surgeon hunched in concentration. Blood pooled on the floor, but the nurses were too busy to mop.
“What do they do for blood transfusions?” Marion asked, unsure she wanted to know the answer. Her mind kept going back to the maggots.
“We have supplies, but the U.S. Naval Hospital will send more over. It’s not always fresh, but three-week-old blood is better than none at all, wouldn’t you say?” They stood in the doorway a moment, and he pointed out the array of shining silver instruments standing by for use. “We have everything you might need. I understand you are here as a senior medical student, so you will be mostly with the interns, working alongside surgeons doing suturing, debriding entry and exit wounds, and anything else the surgeon requires.” He nodded, satisfied. “You are on the schedule for tomorrow morning at eight. Any more questions?”