The Trouble With Fire by Fiona Kidman

Author:Fiona Kidman [Fiona Kidman]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781869793609
Publisher: Random House New Zealand
Published: 2011-09-17T04:00:00+00:00

I WAITED IN A VESTIBULE with couches covered in brown faux leather. While I waited, a woman I soon discovered was American came to the desk. Her husband had just been admitted with a heart problem. He, too, had gone to intensive care. ‘But this is preposterous,’ she said loudly to the man at the desk. ‘He’s had a murmur like this before, he doesn’t need intensive care. In the morning I’ll take him to Bangkok, see a proper doctor. Tell them to take him out of there.’

The man spread his hands in a gesture that said ‘This is not my problem’. Our eyes met, and for a moment something like sympathy passed between us. At least I hadn’t told him what to do. The woman introduced herself to me. Her name was Irene. She had just come to Hanoi with her husband, who was to work in one of the banks. I have never quite understood American women. When I travel, I find them often generous and funny and warm, but they have a brittle edge that threatens to snap if they are crossed. I’ve learnt never to talk about politics to an American woman. ‘Hey, seems you’re a bit stranded,’ Irene said, when we had exchanged a few words, and gave me her card. ‘If you’re still on your own tomorrow night, we could go out and play a bit, what d’you think? Don’t worry about your husband, he’ll be fine. At least these doctors know how to fix tummy bugs.’

A Vietnamese doctor appeared and introduced himself to me. ‘Your husband is now in isolation,’ he said.

‘Has he got cholera?’

‘No. It is not cholera.’

‘What is wrong with him?’

‘He has rotavirus. Very infectious disease.’

A virus, I thought. ‘It’s not serious, then?’

‘Oh yes, it is serious.’

‘He won’t die, will he?’

‘Oh, maybe. His kidneys do not work now. He is, how do you say, dehydrated. He should have seen a doctor much more early.’

‘Tonight? My husband might die tonight?’

‘Prob’ly.’

‘I must see him.’

‘Not possible. Now he is in isolation. You go home now.’

‘Where? Show me where he is.’

After a while, he relented and took me in a lift to another floor. I was led through a door that had to be unlocked from the other side by some nurses. After that, there was another locked door, and through a window, in a bare cell, I saw my husband lying naked on a stripped-down bed. He appeared barely conscious.

‘I’ll stay here.’

‘No, you cannot stay here. You must leave now.’

A nurse took my arm. She led me back to the lift and accompanied me to the ground floor. ‘You must go.’

I shouted at her. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I’ll sleep here.’

She shrugged and made a face at the man behind the desk. I lay down on the concrete floor. The nurse left, and I was by myself. I sobbed then, as if I would never stop. All the old fretted and worn seams of love that had stretched but never parted were laid out before me.

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