Linda left quickly and picked up the nearest phone. Fifteen minutes later Karsten Thorlund appeared at the door of the sickroom. “You speak Eskimo?” Markley asked.
The Dane nodded. “That I do.”
“Good. Introduce yourself and explain that I want her to answer some questions.”
The internist could not understand a word that was spoken, but he saw that communications had been established. “Does your throat feel sore?” he asked through the interpreter.
His little patient slowly nodded her head.
He smiled at her. “How about something to eat? We have good food here.”
After that had been translated, the child rolled her head a minimum amount on the pillow. Markley looked at Linda. “Note loss of appetite.” Then he turned back to Bebiane. “Do you have a headache?” he asked.
This time the answer came verbally. “She says a little,” Thorlund translated.
“Ask her if she has any feeling of nausea.”
“Doctor, she may not know what that means.”
“Then ask her if her stomach feels all right.”
Thorlund took longer to get the answer to that. “She does not feel good, but she says that is because she hurts all over. She asks that her father not kill the dogs because they will be needed this winter.”
Markley drew Linda aside. “Watch for any indications that she is unduly sensitive to either noise or light. Also, I want you to offer her a drink of water, milk, or whatever at least every half hour. I want to know if she accepts any liquids, or if she displays definite rejection. And if you note any excess salivation, notify me at once.”
“Yes, doctor.”
“I will stay,” Thorlund volunteered. “It may help her to talk to someone. And if she wishes to say something to the nurse, I can translate.”
“Thank you — I much appreciate it.”
“I do not mind, doctor; there is no place to got.”
When the lunch tray arrived, the child perked up and ate a little. After that she rested quietly until shortly after 1500 hours; then she motioned to the man who could understand her and made a request. Thorlund translated for the nurse. “She says that the light in the ceiling is hurting her eyes. She asks that you turn it off.”
Linda stepped to the switch and obliged. She checked her patient to be sure that she was all right, then she stepped out and called Markley at once. As soon as the internist had that fresh bit of news, he picked up his phone and dialed Weather. “What are the chances of getting a flight in here tomorrow if we have to?” he asked.
“Tomorrow should be all right,” the duty forecaster told him. “We expect diminished winds, well below Phase Alert. However, we have another storm coming in, probably in a day or two.”
“Thank you.” That much, at least, had been good news. The doctor hung up for a moment and then called the base operator. “I want to talk to Dronning Ingrid’s Hospital at Godthaab,” he said. “Medical priority.”
“Right. Call you back, sir.”
Markley crossed to Bowditch’s office to fill his colleague in. “Right now it doesn’t look too good,” he said. “She’s got a slight sore throat, very little appetite, and she just asked to have the ceiling light in her room turned off.”
Bowditch considered that. “Indicative,” he agreed, “but fortunately not conclusive. She was pretty badly mauled and she had a rough time of it until Pedersen was able to give her that Demerol. Then she had a Pasteur shot, and I did quite a bit of work on her. All that could cause a loss of appetite and contribute to a sore throat. And she may simply have gotten tired of staring up at that light.”
“Is that your honest medical opinion?” Markley asked calmly.
“It’s one way of looking at it.”
The young internist took a deep breath and let it out again. “All right, but I’ve got a call in to Godthaab to alert them that we have at least a fifty-percent chance of a case of human rabies here. If the symptoms persist, or if I get any new indications, I’m going to ask them to send their Bennett up here.”
“With a team?”
“Yes. The moment that she shows the first sign of muscle spasms, if she does, I’m going to immobilize her.”
“Tough on the patient.”
“I know it, but not as tough as losing her young life. And that’s what I’m facing now.” He heard the phone ring on his desk and he hurried to answer it. While he was talking, Bowditch pushed a cart of supplies down the corridor himself on his way to check on the lacerations that he had repaired the night before. There was visible reddening around one of the spots where the girl had been bitten; as soon as he discovered it, he sent word to Markley.
Less than an hour later the hospital at Godthaab called back; the chief of staff there asked for the latest report. Markley confirmed that his patient was already showing many of the classical symptoms of rabies. She had been given her second Pasteur shot, but the indicated treatment probably had been started too late.
As Markley finished reporting, Bowditch was back and touched him on the arm. “She refused water, and when the nurse set it on the table beside her, she deliberately knocked it away.”
For a second Markely looked ashen, then with his voice a little tighter than usual, he reported the new information over the telephone.
“We will set up a team immediately,” the chief of staff at Godthaab advised. “They will start up in the morning and will bring our Bennett with them. When do you plan to immobilize?”
“At the first sign of muscle spasms.”
“Good — I concur. Look for our people tomorrow afternoon. Will you need them sooner?”
“No, doctor — we have a small respirator, here that is good for several hours.”
“You have enough curare? I can send some.”
“We have the curare. Doctor, thank you for this help; if I have to immobilize her, then your team will be essential as well as your respirator. How are they coming?”
“Helicopter to Sondrestrom; there we have a Twin Otter, ski-equipped, to make the flight. Please keep us advised on your patient’s condition.”
Markley promised that he would and broke the connection. He looked up to see Major Valen waiting in front of his desk. “May I see your patient?” the chaplain asked.
The young internist knew better than to refuse that; he took the major down the hall and ushered him into the room. Valen bent over the bed where the little girl lay, offering her a confident smile as he did so. She was clearly a plucky little thing and without the disfigurement of the bite, her small, Oriental-type face was appealingly attractive. When he began to talk with her through Thorlund, she asked if her family was all right and how the hunt was going.
Valen stayed only briefly; then he announced, “I’m going to the chapel.” Markley understood and nodded his appreciation; then he went back to work.
The watch was kept, uninterrupted throughout the night, as Bebiane slept. In the early morning she appeared somewhat better: she no longer had a headache and she ate moderately well, though for only a short time.
At almost the same time, a Sikorsky S-61 sitting on the helipad at Godthaab was loaded with the Bennett respirator bound for Thule. As soon as that vital piece of equipment had been stowed, Dr. Rasmus Lindegaard, the thoracic surgeon on the staff of the Dronning Ingrid’s Hospital, boarded the helicopter together with the three chosen nurses: Grethe Morgensen, Vibeke Toft, and Helle Nielsen, all of whom were specially qualified in the use of the Bennett.
As soon as the passengers had been seated and secured, the pilot increased the power, made a final check, and then lifted off the ground. In less than five minutes he was at his cruising altitude and headed north toward Sondrestrom.
During most of the morning there was no significant change detected in the condition of Bebiane Jeremiassen. Four of the men from Det. 4 came to see her and brought some little gifts they had bought for her in the BX. J Site phoned down for a bulletin. Scott Ferguson put in an appearance with a bag of candy. Since children were rare exceptions at Thule, there had been nothing available that was any more suitable. He sat with her a little while, but she did not know him and they could not converse in any common language. He left when he saw that the child was restless and that he was contributing nothing to her welfare.