Radio and television mirror (Nov 1939-Apr 1940)

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DB I'owd r-Base 2)1 5th Ave, New York □ Kachellc Send me one large trial size of D Urunctte POWD'IVBASI: also one of D Flesh POWD'R-BASE ROUGE in Rouge I shades checked. I enclose 5c D U«ht ■ in coin or sumps for mailing. D Hrinht I Nam DUark Addrtu „ | 80 I hung up and turned to Bob. "It's Beatrice," I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling. "She's been hit by an automobile and — and Dr. Pastor says her condition is serious." He stepped backwards, as if he were trying to ward off a blow. His gaze searched my face, and I knew we both had the same terrible suspicion. Had she stepped in front of that speeding car on purpose? An hour later, I had finished my diagnosis. There was one chance — a slight one — that we could save Beatrice's life by operating. Dr. Pastor agreed with me. Beatrice was conscious. Her eyes never left my face when I told her that Dr. Pastor would operate immediately. I thought at first she hadn't even understood, because she whispered, "Bob— Is Bob here, Hilda?" "Yes," I said. "He's outside." "Can I see him? I mean — I'd like to see you and him, alone." I glanced across at Dr. Pastor. He nodded slightly and went out. IS it awfully — dangerous, this op■ eration?" Beatrice asked. Between the bandages her face was shadowy. I couldn't tell what she was thinking. "There's a certain amount of risk in all operations — " I temporized. "I'm going to die — that's true, isn't it?" she demanded. "Certainly not. You're going to be all right, Beatrice. Dr. Pastor is one of the best surgeons in New York — " "Oh," she said just as the door swung softly open and Bob came in, "but I want you to operate on me." "Hello, Beatrice," Bob said. "Hello, Bob." Even though the dim bedside lamp was turned aside so no light would shine into her eyes, I could feel Beatrice watching us. "Beatrice, I don't think you understand," I said. "Dr. Pastor has had a great deal more experience than I in cases like this. It would be much better for him to operate." "Oh, no, it wouldn't," she said in that same soft, faraway voice. "I won't let anyone at all operate on me except you." "But don't you want to get well?" I demanded. "Yes — now I do. I didn't when I jumped in front of that car." I heard Bob's sharp indrawn breath. Beatrice went on: "But now I want to get well — and you've got to help me, Hilda." "I?" I gasped. "Yes — don't you see, that's my way of making sure I'll get well. Because you won't dare to let me die. You know that people would say you wanted to get rid of me because you loved Bob." "Don't be insane, Beatrice!" Bob broke in. "Hilda is a respected surgeon — no one would believe that of her." "Oh," Beatrice said, "but even if they didn't, Hilda would wonder herself— enough to keep you and her apart for the rest of your lives. You see" — her voice fell so low that we could scarcely hear — "you see, I love you so much I can't bear to share you with another woman, even after I'm dead. . . ." "But it isn't fair to put such a burden on Hilda!" Bob argued. "How can she operate successfully if she's worried — afraid — " "If Hilda won't operate, I won't let anyone else. And my death will still be on her conscience, because she could have saved me . . . but she refused." I listened unbelievingly. "And suppose I operate, and save your life?" I asked her. "Then, will you give Bob his freedom?" "If I live," she answered, "I'll go on fighting to keep him! . . . Well, Hilda, will you operate?" "I — I can't, Beatrice! It's not right to ask me," I said. "Then I won't let anyone else touch me!" she said, flaring into unexpected hysteria. Bob laid his hand on my shoulder. "Hilda!" he begged. "Please say you'll operate. It's our only chance!" I looked up into his face, drawn, tense, and I knew that whatever he asked I must do. "Very well," I said with a great weight of fear on my heart. "I'll operate on you, Beatrice." Outside, in the corridor, he took my arm. "I'm sorry," he said. "It was the only way to keep her quiet — but of course I don't expect you to do the operation. After she's under the anaesthetic, she won't know — " Actually, it was a way out that hadn't even occurred to me — and it was only a second before I realized that it wasn't really a way out at all. "But I have to operate," I told him dazedly. "I promised I would — and I can't break my promise." "Oh, she won't know — " he began. "No — but if we tricked her — if I let Dr. Pastor operate, and she — died," I said, "I'd feel that it was my fault. That's silly, isn't it? There's no reason why I should, but — I'd feel as if I'd killed her then, too. That's why I have to keep my promise." \A/HILE I scrubbed my hands and " v got into my sterilized apron I tried to recapture my old trick of not thinking about an operation. I tried — and failed. I had to think about this one, even if thinking of it brought me to the edge of a breakdown. It was a tremendously difficult surgical case, under the best of circumstances— and I was to perform it under the worst! Dr. Pastor would be beside me, assisting, but the real responsibility would be mine alone. Suppose the knife cut a hair's breadth too far? Suppose my fingers lost their strength? Suppose — so many things? I looked at my hands. They were trembling. My forearms felt cold and numb. My heart was thudding in my breast so I could scarcely breathe. Dr. Pastor was looking at me anxiously. "Hilda — should you perform this operation? You look a little under the weather — " "I'll be all right," was all I could trust myself to say. The operating room had never seemed so big, the stretch of polished floor between the door and the table so long. Above white masks the eyes of the nurses and the anaesthetician regarded me intently. Did they, by some intuition, know? The light clicked on overhead. "How is the patient?" I asked. "Going under nicely," the anaesthetician replied. I took a deep breath, stretched out my hand toward the nurse at the instrument table. The nurse slipped a scalpel into my hand. Through the rubber glove I felt its sturdy steel handle — cold, clean, familiar. Strength flowed up my arm from it, through my whole body — wonderful, glorious strength RADIO AND TELEVISION MIRROR