front door for them.
“Stay with us so you can drive us,” said Addie, maneuvering the stretcher up the steps from the back. She had to duck her head to avoid Liliana’s feet kicking her in the head with those thick Red Cross boots.
I pushed open a weighty paneled door, and the stench of vomit and whiskey socked me in the face with such a blow that I stepped back and held my breath. In the main front room, beneath beautiful golden-wood walls and stained glass windows, a shivering mass of coughing and wheezing bodies huddled beneath blankets, both on the floor and in cots. To my utter horror, blood flowed inside that hall—nosebleeds mainly. Horrific scarlet rivers that drenched clothing, cots, blankets, people, and even the walls. I swear upon a stack of Bibles: people bled from their noses with such force and velocity that the blood from their nostrils shot across the room and hit the walls. They resembled victims of heinous knife attacks, or people wounded in the face by bullets. Not sufferers from influenza.
Not more than five feet away from me, a woman leaned over the side of her cot and vomited a black fluid that resembled tar, her lips blue, her face a purplish brown. A mahogany-colored body with wide-open eyes lay on a pile of blankets not more than five feet from where I stood, clutching the door, my legs shaking.
Nela and Addie lugged Liliana to the back of the room and turned to the left, through an open doorway. I covered my mouth to stifle the smells and attempted to follow after them—to do something besides gaping at the horror. My feet slipped in a dark puddle. I gasped, righted myself, and kept walking.
A young black man buried beneath a pile of blankets grabbed hold of my leg and forced me to a stop.
“Get me outa here, miss,” he said from down on the floor, his fingers tight on my shin, hurting the bone. “I gotta go. Please, get me outa here.”
“No, it’s for the best if you stay.” I peeled his hand off my leg and lowered his head back down to the scuffed floorboards. “There are doctors who can help you here.”
“How many doctors do you see here, miss? How many?” He nodded across the room toward a gray-haired physician in a white coat who forced a man down to a cot as the man shouted, “I want to kill myself! I don’t want to die like this. I want to take a knife to myself and my family.”
A Girl Scout in a khaki dress and hat stood behind the physician with a bottle of whiskey at the ready.
Another Girl Scout dashed toward the back staircase with a bedpan.
“Oh, God.” My eyes bulged at the sight of children cleaning up bodily fluids and tending to the sick—including, I noticed, my piano student Ruby Rogers, who mopped the floor on the far side of the room. Her chestnut-brown braids poked out from beneath a gauze mask, and blood stained the skirt of her uniform. “Girl Scouts are helping? Little Ruby Rogers is helping? Ruby!”
“There aren’t enough nurses or doctors, miss,” said the young man, and his grip grew fierce. “They’re all at the regular hospital. Get me outa here. I’m not sick anymore—I swear to God, I’m not.”
“What is your name?”
“Benjie,” he said, his brown eyes glossy with tears.
I squeezed his shoulder. “How old are you?”
“Nineteen, and I want to live to see twenty. I sure as hell won’t if I’m stuck in this godforsaken place.”
Someone called my name behind me, and I peeked up to find Addie and Nela rushing my way with the stretcher, which still held Liliana.
“There’s no room,” said Nela. “We can’t leave her here. I’m taking her to my house.”
“Let’s try the regular hospital again,” I offered. “Maybe—”
“It’s full!” Nela continued backing Liliana toward the door. “If we show up, they’ll send us away and glare at us, as if we’re covered in Southside germs.”
“All right. I’ll be right there.” I let go of Benjie. “I’m sorry. I need to go.”
“Take me with
“Stay with us so you can drive us,” said Addie, maneuvering the stretcher up the steps from the back. She had to duck her head to avoid Liliana’s feet kicking her in the head with those thick Red Cross boots.
I pushed open a weighty paneled door, and the stench of vomit and whiskey socked me in the face with such a blow that I stepped back and held my breath. In the main front room, beneath beautiful golden-wood walls and stained glass windows, a shivering mass of coughing and wheezing bodies huddled beneath blankets, both on the floor and in cots. To my utter horror, blood flowed inside that hall—nosebleeds mainly. Horrific scarlet rivers that drenched clothing, cots, blankets, people, and even the walls. I swear upon a stack of Bibles: people bled from their noses with such force and velocity that the blood from their nostrils shot across the room and hit the walls. They resembled victims of heinous knife attacks, or people wounded in the face by bullets. Not sufferers from influenza.
Not more than five feet away from me, a woman leaned over the side of her cot and vomited a black fluid that resembled tar, her lips blue, her face a purplish brown. A mahogany-colored body with wide-open eyes lay on a pile of blankets not more than five feet from where I stood, clutching the door, my legs shaking.
Nela and Addie lugged Liliana to the back of the room and turned to the left, through an open doorway. I covered my mouth to stifle the smells and attempted to follow after them—to do something besides gaping at the horror. My feet slipped in a dark puddle. I gasped, righted myself, and kept walking.
A young black man buried beneath a pile of blankets grabbed hold of my leg and forced me to a stop.
“Get me outa here, miss,” he said from down on the floor, his fingers tight on my shin, hurting the bone. “I gotta go. Please, get me outa here.”
“No, it’s for the best if you stay.” I peeled his hand off my leg and lowered his head back down to the scuffed floorboards. “There are doctors who can help you here.”
“How many doctors do you see here, miss? How many?” He nodded across the room toward a gray-haired physician in a white coat who forced a man down to a cot as the man shouted, “I want to kill myself! I don’t want to die like this. I want to take a knife to myself and my family.”
A Girl Scout in a khaki dress and hat stood behind the physician with a bottle of whiskey at the ready.
Another Girl Scout dashed toward the back staircase with a bedpan.
“Oh, God.” My eyes bulged at the sight of children cleaning up bodily fluids and tending to the sick—including, I noticed, my piano student Ruby Rogers, who mopped the floor on the far side of the room. Her chestnut-brown braids poked out from beneath a gauze mask, and blood stained the skirt of her uniform. “Girl Scouts are helping? Little Ruby Rogers is helping? Ruby!”
“There aren’t enough nurses or doctors, miss,” said the young man, and his grip grew fierce. “They’re all at the regular hospital. Get me outa here. I’m not sick anymore—I swear to God, I’m not.”
“What is your name?”
“Benjie,” he said, his brown eyes glossy with tears.
I squeezed his shoulder. “How old are you?”
“Nineteen, and I want to live to see twenty. I sure as hell won’t if I’m stuck in this godforsaken place.”
Someone called my name behind me, and I peeked up to find Addie and Nela rushing my way with the stretcher, which still held Liliana.
“There’s no room,” said Nela. “We can’t leave her here. I’m taking her to my house.”
“Let’s try the regular hospital again,” I offered. “Maybe—”
“It’s full!” Nela continued backing Liliana toward the door. “If we show up, they’ll send us away and glare at us, as if we’re covered in Southside germs.”
“All right. I’ll be right there.” I let go of Benjie. “I’m sorry. I need to go.”
“Take me with
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