the convent little more than a year. But they put you to work in a jiffy back then.
“Well, I was assigned to give baths. And I tell you, the only thing that got me out on the floor with a basin and cloth was the vow of holy obedience. Lordy, I was embarrassed! I’d never seen an unclothed man before, let alone touched one. And, as it happened, my first patient was a hirsute creature, a bear of a man. He had hair on his chest like a shag rug.
“Well, I can’t tell you how nervous I was. The only way I could get through it was to concentrate on not spilling the water basin. But in the process, I put so much soap on the poor man’s chest that it got all matted in his hair. And this was long before there was a water faucet in each room. I had to go all the way down the hallway to get water. I think I spent most of that day getting water and coming back to try and get the soap out of his chest hair.”
Koesler was laughing.
“I suppose the only good thing to come out of that, as far as me and my innocence were concerned, was that I never got beyond the man’s chest.”
“That was nice of God to protect your modesty.” Koesler smiled. “More.”
“I think about this sort of thing from time to time. But you know, most of the things we find funny now were not at all funny when they happened. For instance, I recall a time when the nurses had to provide most of the equipment they used. Very little of it was supplied by the hospital.”
“I didn’t know that. That must have been a terrible burden for the nurses. They don’t make all that much even now. They must have made considerably less years ago. And then to have to buy equipment!”
“Yes. And—you may find this hard to believe—but back in those days most of the nurses used to sharpen their hypodermic needles by scraping them across the terrazzo floor.”
Koesler winced as he smiled. “Nothing like giving the patients something genuine to complain about.”
“As I was saying, it sounds odd and a bit humorous now. But back then it was pretty grim. Dreadful for the nurses and frightful for the patients. But the poor girls simply were unable to buy new needles all the time.”
“And now in this plastic age, most everything is used once and then discarded.” He shook his head. “Tell me some more.”
“Oh, you’ve got better things to do than listen to an old biddy tell stories about long ago.”
“I will never have anything more important to do.”
“Well, I do remember a time—and not all that long ago—when the second floor of this building was reserved for black people. We called them Negroes then.”
“Segregated! St. Vincent’s was segregated?”
“Hard to believe, isn’t it? But it did happen. I don’t suppose there’s any way to remember a time when just about everything in this country was segregated. And it all seemed right and proper. We’ve had the civil rights movement with us now for so many years. But that’s the way it was. As far as I can remember, our black patients got the same kind of care and treatment as the whites, but they were all on the second floor.”
“Incredible.”
“But true.
“Sometimes a very light-skinned black patient would be assigned to one of the other floors on admittance. We never asked people their race, you know, just looked at them. That was enough in most cases. But visitors would come. And that light-complexioned person would get a lot of dark-complexioned visitors. Then, without anyone’s saying anything, the patient would be moved to the second floor.”
Koesler shook his head. “And now, it’s rare to find a white patient here. Sister, you know you really ought to write these things down, get them published. The present and the future need to know the past. You could just turn your memory on and record these marvelous anecdotes for the rest of us. And for those who will follow us.”
“
“Well, you, for one. Now don’t be offended, but it’s no secret around here that you are more than eligible for retirement.”
Rosamunda’s countenance changed swiftly and dramatically. Koesler was aware that he had skated onto thin ice.
“I just want you to know,” he plunged ahead, “that I can understand your reluctance to go into retirement.” He paused, hoping she would contribute something. She did not. “I’m sure you have no fear that retirement will only lead to consequent death as it does for some people. I’m sure you are not afraid of death. It isn’t that, is it?”
Steely silence.
“I can remember when nuns did not retire. They died teaching school or nursing or whatever else they had been actively involved in. They didn’t retire unless they were physically unable to put one foot in front of the other.
“I can also remember—and so can you—when priests didn’t retire. They died giving absolution or hanging on until the end of Mass. It was a disgrace to retire.” The last was said with deliberation.
It did the trick. Koesler could see the sudden spark in Rosamunda’s eyes. That was it. She equated retirement with what it had been throughout most of her long career: disgrace. Was there some way he could dislodge her mental equating of retirement with disgrace? He waited to see if she would respond. Time passed. Though little more than a minute, it seemed much longer.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she said finally.
“Doing? I’m not doing anything to you, Sister. I’m trying to help you. That’s all.”
“It’s none of your affair. You have nothing to do with it. It’s between me and Eileen. And that’s bad enough. Eileen has all the power of the administration behind her. How can anyone expect me to fight all that and the rest of you too? It’s unfair. It’s just unfair!” Her lower lip trembled. It was as close as Koesler had come to seeing her break down and cry. It was about as close as anyone had come to that.
“Sister, I just called on one of your patients.”
“How—” Koesler broke in before she could finish the sentence—
“It was a mistake that called me there. Some nurse’s aide had noted that the patient had requested confession. So I called on her. Turned out she isn’t Catholic. It also turned out that she’s been here a couple of days and you haven’t called on her. She’s going for surgery tomorrow morning and it was even money you wouldn’t be seeing her before the operation.”
“How can you . . .”
“Because it’s been happening a lot lately. Others have been talking. Sister, no one wishes you any evil. Everyone here has the highest regard for you. I was just trying to help. There is no disgrace in retiring. I’ve suggested only one of many contributions you could make if you didn’t have the pressure of this active life to weigh you down. All of us just want to help.”
“Then get out of my way. Stay out of my way. I am not going to retire. Things will be much clearer for all of you who ‘just want to help’ if you will only understand one simple fact: I am not going to retire!”
“Sister, as I understand it, you have no choice.”
“This is between Eileen and me. The rest of you stay out of it! Do you hear? Eileen may have the administration on her side. But I’ve got a tad more experience. I am not going to retire!”
She rose unsteadily and turned to leave. Abruptly, she turned back. Koesler thought it was as much to give herself time to regain her balance as it was to ask her final question. “Who is it who’s going to surgery tomorrow?”
“Mrs. Alva Crawford . . . 2214-A.”
“I’ll see her tonight!”
The implication clearly was that he was to stay out of her business entirely.
Koesler sipped at his lukewarm coffee. He had not anticipated the response he had triggered from Rosamunda. He shook his head sadly at the futility of it. There was no way she could stave off an inevitable retirement. She might, as she claimed, have a tad more experience. But Eileen, as her superior and with the rules on her side, held all the cards.
There was no doubting Rosamunda’s determination. But what could even that degree of determination do? How far would Rosamunda be willing to go in her battle to stay active? In her war with Eileen? As he drained the now tepid coffee, Koesler began to wonder about that. How far
* * *
