'That's right. Right out of Miami.'
'But there are people here who need me. How could I leave my patients?'
'Nurse,' said Dr. Petrie, 'you know and I know that they're all going to die anyway. You don't think that anything you can do will prevent that?'
'No, I don't,' she said, without hesitating. 'But it's my duty to stay with them, and do whatever I can. It's only human.'
Dr. Petrie said, 'You know that you'll die yourself, don't you?'
She nodded.
He didn't say anything else — just looked at her, and thought what a waste it was. She was young and she was black and she was pretty, and she had everything in the world to stay alive for. Now, because of some crass and destructive official bungling, she was going to die.
'Doctor,' she said quietly, 'I know what you're thinking.'
He looked away, but she stepped up to him again and laid her hand on his arm.
'Doctor, we're all human here. We're nothing special — just ordinary people. I want to stay because that's my choice, but maybe you want to go. Doctor, you don't have to seek my approval to do that. You only have to walk right out of here, and take your chance.'
'I have a daughter,' he said, in a trembling voice.
The nurse smiled, and shook her head. 'There's no reason to make excuses. Not to me, nor anyone. Just go, Doctor Petrie.'
He bit his lip, then turned away to the elevators. The last he saw of the colored nurse was her forgiving, resigned and understanding face, as the elevator doors closed between them. There are some people, he thought, whose devotion makes everything else around them seem tawdry and irrelevant.
Dr. Selmer was fast asleep on the couch when Dr. Petrie returned to the office. Adelaide was sitting beside him reading a medical magazine and yawning.
'That didn't take long,' she said.
He sat down next to her and rubbed his eyes. 'It was Margaret,' he said wearily. 'She just died, about five minutes ago.'
Adelaide slowly put down her magazine. 'Margaret?' she said, shocked.
'She's dead, Adelaide. She had the plague.'
She reached over and grasped his wrist. 'Oh, Leonard. Oh, God — I'm sorry. I know that we wished all kinds of things on her. But not this.'
Dr. Petrie sighed. 'There's nothing we can do. She caught it, and she died. It doesn't matter what we wished or didn't wish.'
'What about Prickles? Has she got it too?'
'I don't know. Margaret said she hadn't. She left her with the woman next door when they took her into hospital.'
Adelaide frowned. She could see what Leonard was thinking. He was exhausted, and the past forty-eight hours seemed to have bent and aged him. He was suddenly faced with a choice — to shoulder the responsibility of saving what he had left; or to close his eyes to his own loves and feelings, and plunge himself into a medical battle that he knew was utterly hopeless.
'Leonard,' she said softly, 'I know that you're a doctor, and whether you can cure people or not, you still have to do your best.'
He didn't answer. He merely said, 'Is there any more coffee?'
She held his wrist harder. 'Leonard, if you want to stay here, I'll understand. But if you want to make a break for it, I'll understand that, too. I want to be with you, that's all.'
Dr. Petrie leaned over and kissed her cheek. She turned her face, and kissed him on the mouth. There was passion in their kiss, but there was also a kind of exploration and communication. Lips touching each other, tongues touching each other, questioning and asking.
At last, he said, 'A nurse downstairs told me they were going to burn the city. She heard it from a fireman.'
Adelaide stared. 'They're going to do what?'
'The plague is obviously out of hand. They're thinking of burning the city.'
'Who is?'
'I don't know. Firenza, the Disease Control Center, the county health chief. What does it matter?'
'But that's insane. They can't set fire to the whole of Miami!'
Dr. Petrie stood up. 'They can, honey, and they probably will. Now, how about that coffee?'
Adelaide stood up, too. 'Leonard — damn the coffee! If this city's going to bum, I'm not going to burn along with it! You think I'm going to stand here passively making cups of coffee while the whole place goes up in flames? You're out of your mind!'
Dr. Petrie held her shoulders and calmed her down. 'Don't panic, Adelaide, for God's sake. It's probably nothing more than a contingency plan, that's all. Whenever there's a plague, you have to burn clothing and blankets and bodies, just to stop further infection. Look — we don't even know what's really happening. We have no idea how many people have died, or whether the plague is spreading or not.'
Adelaide looked straight into his eyes. 'Leonard,' she said, 'I don't care. I just think we ought to get the hell out of here before they put a match to us.'
'Even if I decide to stay?'
'You can't decide to stay!'
Dr. Petrie turned away. 'That girl downstairs — the one who told me they were going to burn Miami — she's staying. She wants to stand by her patients.'
'This is her hospital,' persisted Adelaide. 'It's her job to stay. What about Prickles? Are you just going to leave her out there, and cross your fingers that she won't get sick — or burned — or raped by some maniac?'
'Adelaide!' shouted Dr. Petrie.
'For Christ's sake, Leonard, this is not the time to play at heroes!' retorted Adelaide. 'These people don't need you! They're all going to die, aren't they? What's the use of staying, Leonard?'
Dr. Petrie turned around, clenching and unclenching his fists. He stared at Adelaide, with her fierce brown eyes, and her brunette curls, and that disturbing, angry, beautiful face.
'The use — ' he began, uncertainly. 'The use is — '
'The use is what?' interrupted Adelaide hotly. 'You can't cure them, so what are you going to do for them? Make sure that the last thing they see on earth is your benign and self-sacrificing mug? Leonard, for Christ's sake, you're not Albert Schweitzer!'
Dr. Petrie was about to answer, but changed his mind. He simply said: 'No, honey, I know I'm not Albert Schweitzer.'
'Then let's go,' said Adelaide. 'Let's just get out of here while we can.'
Dr. Petrie nodded. 'I was going to go anyway. I guess I just needed someone to persuade me. I just don't feel very proud of myself.'
Adelaide sighed. 'Leonard, it's not a question of pride. It's purely a matter of survival.'
Dr. Petrie sat down heavily, with his face in his hands.
She knelt down in front of him, and took his hands away. 'You don't have to justify what you do. There doesn't have to be a reason. It's the same with everything. Why did we fall in love? Why do I want to cling on to you so much?'
'I'm not a great sheltering tree, you know,' said Dr. Petrie. 'I don't even know if I'm a great sheltering man. I feel like a goddamned broken reed at the moment.'
Aaton Selmer, asleep on the couch, grunted and whispered something. Dr. Petrie gently laid Adelaide's hands aside, and walked over to look at him. The stocky, red-headed doctor looked pale and sweaty. Petrie lifted his wrist and checked his pulse.
'Is he all right?' asked Adelaide.
He counted the pulse-rate and respiration-rate. Under his probing, long-fingered hands, Dr. Selmer didn't even stir.
'I think he's okay,' Dr. Petrie said at last. 'But he's totally exhausted. He needs all the rest he can get.'
