The Night Tiger(40)
But perhaps I was being overly suspicious, as he kept talking about various specimens. He seemed to know quite a lot about them.
“How long do you keep them for?”
“No idea. They’re mostly curiosities—the orderlies like to bring the trainee nurses in after dark to give them a thrill.”
I couldn’t resist asking, “Is it hard to become a nurse in this hospital?”
“Have you gone to school? You sound like it.”
Briefly, I told him about having finished my School Certificate and how I wanted to do something else.
“I see.” He rubbed his chin, appraising me again. “It’s not a very standardized system, nothing like what we have in Britain. Here it depends on the hospital. Batu Gajah District Hospital trains local girls to fill positions. Lectures on nursing are given by senior nursing staff and some of the doctors, and there’s a state examination.”
“Are there still vacancies for trainees?” The hopeful note in my voice embarrassed me, but he looked pleased at my interest.
“You’d have to find out from the hospital. If not this year, there’s always the next intake.”
“What about school fees?” I’d no money of my own after making my mother’s debt payments, and as long as my stepfather refused to fund me, the door was closed.
“I believe there are scholarships. You’d need a personal recommendation, of course.”
There was something in his eye, a sort of greedy loneliness that I recognized from all those long afternoons dancing with strangers.
“Here’s my card.” He handed me a sharp-edged rectangle of paper. “Give it to the medical director and say you’re interested in nursing. Or you can fill out an application and I’ll pass it on to Matron.”
It read: William Acton, General Surgeon, followed by a row of letters that meant nothing to me but were apparently enough to carry weight with hospital officials.
Perhaps I’d misjudged him. I shouldn’t be so distrustful; it closed doors and pushed people away. My last year in school my form mistress, distressed that I wasn’t going on for my Higher Secondary Certificate, had offered to come home with me to persuade my parents. There were only a handful of girls sitting that examination, perhaps four or five in the entire country, and she was sure I could be one of them. I’d refused. I couldn’t bear to bring her to my stepfather’s house to witness his refusal and my humiliation. But maybe I should have fought harder.
So this time, I said “thank you” and really meant it. Tucking the card into my pocket, I felt the engraved name slide under my fingertips.
Perhaps my luck had changed. I’d heard people say that luck—good and bad—came in phases, like the story of Joseph in the Bible. My mother had sent me to a school founded by Methodist preachers, and the quiet chanting, the standing and sitting, and opening of hymnals had been a solace to me, even while I’d thought about dreadful, evil things, like poisoning my stepfather.
But the salesman, Chan Yew Cheung, had also talked about luck. In fact, he’d said that he was about to be very fortunate though he’d ended up dead in a ditch.
* * *
There was a rattle in the corridor, and Shin, carrying yet another box of files, barged in. He stopped short, surprised.
“Well, I’ll be on my way,” said the surgeon, suddenly brisk.
Shin circled warily into the room. He looked at William Acton, then at my flushed, excited face.
“Is there anything that you need, sir?” Shin asked.
“You’re one of the summer orderlies. A medical student, is that right?”
“Yes, sir.”
They were like two dogs sizing each other up, but I paid little heed. A door to a career that I’d thought was closed had cracked open, and perhaps I might squeeze through.
“Tell Rawlings I came by,” and with a brief nod, the doctor was gone.
Shin stood in the doorway watching him for a moment.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Of course I was. A year ago I’d have been more shy, but working at the May Flower had inured me to strangers. And he hadn’t really tried anything. Not like the various buayas whose wandering hands I slapped away. Though if, like Rose or Pearl, I had a hungry child waiting for me at home, I wouldn’t have had the luxury of refusal. Sometimes I wondered whether my mother’s decision to remarry was my fault. Had she, staring at my too-short clothes and the empty sack of rice in the corner, decided that marriage was her best option? But no, she’d liked my stepfather as well. There was something about him that appealed to her, I couldn’t deny it.
“Let’s take a break for lunch,” said Shin. “The canteen’s still open.”
He locked up and we crossed the grass to another building. The red earth broke apart in coarse warm crumbs, and large black ants, each the length of the top joint of my finger, scattered frantically underfoot. Shin was very quiet; his earlier good mood seemed to have evaporated.
“He said they have at least a dozen fingers in the pathology collection,” I said, pleased to have something to report. “We ought to cross-check the records to see if any of them are missing.”
It was a relief to reach the shaded walkway, out of the burning glare. An orderly in a white uniform wheeling an old man in a wheelchair gave Shin a friendly thumbs-up as they passed.