Read Online War and Remembrance by Herman Wouk - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Herman Wouk
Tags: Fiction, General, Fiction - General, Classics, Literature: Classics, World War; 1939-1945, Modern & contemporary fiction (post c 1945), General & Literary Fiction, Classic fiction, Literature: Texts
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straight to the embassy. I don’t know what to believe, and frankly —
Oh!”
The deck of the small cabin sharply pitched and bumped. Natalie staggered, he jumped up to steady her, and she fell against him, crushing her breasts on his chest. He caught her upper arms in a hard grip, and held her gently away.
“Steady.”
“Sorry.”
“Okay.”
He let her go. She forced a smile, her arms and breasts tingling.
“The wind keeps backing around. The weather reports aren’t good. Still, we sail at first light.”
“That may solve my problem. Maybe Beck won’t come that early.”
“He will. You’d better decide. It’s a tough one for you, at that. I can see it is.”
Aaron Jastrow in a blue bathrobe, his thin gray hair blown about, knocked and opened the door. “Sorry to interrupt. The baby’s acting strange, Natalie.” Her face distorted with alarm. “Now don’t be frightened. Just come and see.”
Rabinovitz seized her arm and they went out together. In their scurry down the moonlit windswept deck, Natalie’s hair blew wildly. Louis lay in his basket on the bunk,
his
eyes shut, thrashing clenched fists this way and that.
“Louis!” She bent over him, putting both hands on the writhing little body. “Baby! Baby! Wake up — oh, he won’t open his eyes! What is it? He’s wriggling so!”
Rabinovitz took the child up in a blanket. “It’s a convulsion from the fever. Don’t worry, infants come out of convulsions.” Louis’s head was jerking above the blanket, eyes still shut. “Let’s get him to the infirmary.”
Natalie ran after him, down into the fetid gloom of the lower decks, into the miasma of latrines, of crowded unwashed bodies and clothes, of stale overbreathed air. Rabinovitz pushed past the queue jamming the passageway outside the infirmary. In the narrow white-painted cabin he thrust the baby on the doctor, a haggard graybeard in a soiled white coat. With a harassed air the doctor unwrapped Louis, looked at the jerking body, and agreed that it was a convulsion. He had no medicine to give. He reassured Natalie in a hoarse weak voice, speaking a Germanic Yiddish, “It’s that inflammed right ear, you know. It’s a febrile episode, I’m sure, nothing involving the brain. You can expect he’ll come out of it soon with no harm done.” He did not look as cheerful as his words.
“What about a warm bath?” Rabinovitz said.
“Yes, that could help. But there’s no hot water on this boat, only cold showers.”
Picking up Louis, Rabinovitz said to Natalie, “Come.”
They hurried down the passageway to the ship’s galley. Even when the galley was cleaned up and shut for the night, as now, it was malodorous and greasy. One piece of equipment, however, a tremendous vat, shone in the flickering electric light. Soup was the mainstay of the refugees’ diet. Rabinovitz had somewhere procured this restaurant boiler and installed it. Briskly he opened a faucet and a valve. Water poured into the vat, and from a nozzle at the bottom live steam bubbled up.
“Feel that,” he said after a few seconds. “Too hot?”
She dipped in a hand. “No.”
Stripping the writhing infant, she pushed back her purple sleeves and immersed the little body in the tepid water to the chin. “Get some on his head, too.” She obeyed. The stiff arch of Louis’s back soon loosened. Rabinovitz let in more cool water. The spasms weakened, her son went limp in her hands, and she glanced at Rabinovitz with nervous hope.
“When my baby brother went into a convulsion,” he said, “that’s what my mother always did.”
The blue eyes opened, the baby’s gaze focussed on Natalie, and he gave her a tired little smile that wrung her heart. She said to Rabinovitz, “God bless you.”
“Take him back up and keep him warm,” Rabinovitz said. “My brother used to sleep for hours afterward. Let me know if you have more trouble. There’s a clinic on shore we can go to, if we must.”
Later he came and
Oh!”
The deck of the small cabin sharply pitched and bumped. Natalie staggered, he jumped up to steady her, and she fell against him, crushing her breasts on his chest. He caught her upper arms in a hard grip, and held her gently away.
“Steady.”
“Sorry.”
“Okay.”
He let her go. She forced a smile, her arms and breasts tingling.
“The wind keeps backing around. The weather reports aren’t good. Still, we sail at first light.”
“That may solve my problem. Maybe Beck won’t come that early.”
“He will. You’d better decide. It’s a tough one for you, at that. I can see it is.”
Aaron Jastrow in a blue bathrobe, his thin gray hair blown about, knocked and opened the door. “Sorry to interrupt. The baby’s acting strange, Natalie.” Her face distorted with alarm. “Now don’t be frightened. Just come and see.”
Rabinovitz seized her arm and they went out together. In their scurry down the moonlit windswept deck, Natalie’s hair blew wildly. Louis lay in his basket on the bunk,
his
eyes shut, thrashing clenched fists this way and that.
“Louis!” She bent over him, putting both hands on the writhing little body. “Baby! Baby! Wake up — oh, he won’t open his eyes! What is it? He’s wriggling so!”
Rabinovitz took the child up in a blanket. “It’s a convulsion from the fever. Don’t worry, infants come out of convulsions.” Louis’s head was jerking above the blanket, eyes still shut. “Let’s get him to the infirmary.”
Natalie ran after him, down into the fetid gloom of the lower decks, into the miasma of latrines, of crowded unwashed bodies and clothes, of stale overbreathed air. Rabinovitz pushed past the queue jamming the passageway outside the infirmary. In the narrow white-painted cabin he thrust the baby on the doctor, a haggard graybeard in a soiled white coat. With a harassed air the doctor unwrapped Louis, looked at the jerking body, and agreed that it was a convulsion. He had no medicine to give. He reassured Natalie in a hoarse weak voice, speaking a Germanic Yiddish, “It’s that inflammed right ear, you know. It’s a febrile episode, I’m sure, nothing involving the brain. You can expect he’ll come out of it soon with no harm done.” He did not look as cheerful as his words.
“What about a warm bath?” Rabinovitz said.
“Yes, that could help. But there’s no hot water on this boat, only cold showers.”
Picking up Louis, Rabinovitz said to Natalie, “Come.”
They hurried down the passageway to the ship’s galley. Even when the galley was cleaned up and shut for the night, as now, it was malodorous and greasy. One piece of equipment, however, a tremendous vat, shone in the flickering electric light. Soup was the mainstay of the refugees’ diet. Rabinovitz had somewhere procured this restaurant boiler and installed it. Briskly he opened a faucet and a valve. Water poured into the vat, and from a nozzle at the bottom live steam bubbled up.
“Feel that,” he said after a few seconds. “Too hot?”
She dipped in a hand. “No.”
Stripping the writhing infant, she pushed back her purple sleeves and immersed the little body in the tepid water to the chin. “Get some on his head, too.” She obeyed. The stiff arch of Louis’s back soon loosened. Rabinovitz let in more cool water. The spasms weakened, her son went limp in her hands, and she glanced at Rabinovitz with nervous hope.
“When my baby brother went into a convulsion,” he said, “that’s what my mother always did.”
The blue eyes opened, the baby’s gaze focussed on Natalie, and he gave her a tired little smile that wrung her heart. She said to Rabinovitz, “God bless you.”
“Take him back up and keep him warm,” Rabinovitz said. “My brother used to sleep for hours afterward. Let me know if you have more trouble. There’s a clinic on shore we can go to, if we must.”
Later he came and
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