My Brother's Keeper ( Part 4)

“I know what you're thinking, James.”

The words breaking the silence made me jump guiltily. Tristan was watching me closely. “You're blaming yourself.”

I didn't answer. It was true; I kept thinking, what if we hadn't gotten back in time? How would we have lived with ourselves? How can you wake up one morning with everything fine, and have it all destroyed by nightfall?

“Remember Paul Cottrell? You put his little dog to sleep, and he committed suicide soon after. You blamed yourself for days, maybe you still do. You can't be responsible for everyone else's choices in life, James. Besides, if anyone is to blame, it's me. I got myself into a mess, as usual, and Siegfried dragged me out of it, kicking and screaming, again as usual. I should have noticed he's been sick for days. After all, I am my brother's keeper. Something like that.” He surveyed the dregs of his tea mug. “You'd think they'd serve something a bit stronger at a hospital, wouldn't you.”

I smiled in spite of myself. “It wouldn't do. You'd soon be performing 'the Mad Conductor' and have the place in an uproar. By the way,” I added, as an afterthought, “tell me about Deidre.”

“Oh, that was an unholy mess. She'd written me that she wanted to come for a visit, that she was terribly unhappy and bored, that she missed me...I'm afraid that I filled in a few blanks for myself. It was very flattering to think that she was pining away for my erudite company. You know how we men are, James. Putty in the hands of a really determined woman. At any rate, once she got here, the absurdity of the situation sort of struck me, but then I didn't know how to get out of it. So, it was a relief, in a way, that Siegfried took charge. I don't know why I went off like I did. I guess I was angry at myself, for having made a botch of things, embarrassed for having been swept away by romantic notions, and somehow resentful of my brother for always being the one to bail me out.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “It's strange, isn't it. Somehow, he drives me wild sometimes. But I couldn't do without him.”

“Nor he without you, Tris. Although he'd never say so. He has a real horror of emotions he views as weak or soft. And he does have a knack for driving everyone wild sometimes. He's stubborn, overbearing, contradictory, forgetful, and altogether inconsistent. He's also brilliant, generous, and loyal to a fault.” I sat back in the cold, hard chair and closed my eyes.

“I don't think anyone else could have stood him as a partner, James. And you've been a good friend, to boot. To him, and to me. God, we're talking about him likes he's already gone.” Tristan rubbed his face. “We should be telling him, not each other, but the very thought makes my toes curl. I really could use a drink, Jim.”

“I'd say he already knows all of it, Tris. He's really rather sensitive. At any rate, I guess we'd best just get on with things. After all, you were the one who told Helen before the war that Siegfried is pretty much indestructible.”

“He'd like us to think that, wouldn't he?”

I looked at my watch. We'd been waiting practically all night.“I've got to go and pick up Helen at the train station in an hour. I'll check in at Skeldale before hand; Angus Grier is sending his assistant up, to help out for a few days. It'll be like Heaven for the poor sod.”

I recoiled at the very name of Grier. I'd had the misfortune of working with him twice, and a meaner, more obnoxious man did not exist in my book. He took particular joy in making his young assistants' lives miserable.

“Is Caroline coming?” he asked.

“Afraid not,” I replied, “she's hung up with some sort of ceremony in London tomorrow, dedicating a new wing of a museum, or some such civic nonsense.”

I stood up and stretched, feigning nonchalance. “You'll ring me when you know something?”

“Of course. And Jim,” he added, with an equally detached air, “may I quote you something?”

“Of course.”

“It was never completely in our hands, James, it never is.”

I collected Helen at the station, glad as always to have her calm, steady presence nearby. I thought we might sit and have tea at Skeldale, but after five minutes Helen threw me a look of exasperation.

“Stop fidgeting, James! Working yourself into a state over this isn't going to do Siegfried a bit of good.”

“Yes, I know, love, but I can't help it. I hate standing by, not being able to do anything. I can't imagine how Tristan's coping.”

“Tris is fine. He's probably found a nurse to keep him company. That's if they're not all lined up at Siegfried's side, the old charmer.” Helen had always had a soft spot for Siegfried. “We might as well go over there, otherwise you'll just worry yourself sick. And we can't have that, can we?” She kissed me on the forehead. “I know how close you all are, but it will be alright. Really.”

“Brucellosis?” I shook my head in disbelief.

“Also known as undulant fever or Maltese fever in humans. I'm sure you know it's a very real threat to all practicing vets. It's virtually impossible to not come in direct contact with contaminated material.”

Brucellosis is called contagious abortion in livestock, and can be passed to human beings through unsterilized milk, meat and contact with secretions. It was just one more hazard of the job that you were vaguely aware of, but never gave much thought to. We all followed hygiene procedures as best we could, but often, we were working with a sliver of soap and a bucket of tepid water. I also knew that complications included pneumonia and meningitis, and that in many cases it became chronic and recurring.

“We use Prontosil in livestock, with some success.” I was thinking out loud.

Dr. Albright smiled. “Yes, we'll try sulfa drugs first, and keep a close eye on him. The blood and urine samples were positive for the Brucellosis, but we didn't see any evidence of any secondary infections.”

“Could he possibly go home?” I could see Helen was shifting into nurse mode already.

“I don't see why not. He's able to sit up and take fluids, and the rest is really just good nursing and supervision while the drugs take effect. I suppose you know there are psychological components as well?”

“Sorry?” I thought my mind had been drifting.

“Well, patients often suffer from mood swings, mental depression, that sort of thing. You'll need to watch for unusual bouts of anger, sadness, that sort of thing.”

“But he's like that all the time! How on earth will we know?” blurted Tristan.

“It will be more pronounced.”

I felt the hysterical urge to laugh. Siegfried, “more pronounced” didn't bear thinking of.

We tiptoed into his room. He was lying, propped in bed, looking incredible small and wan. Tristan walked toward him and gingerly touched him on the shoulder.

“Siegfried,” he whispered.

Siegfried opened his eyes. He reached a trembling hand for his water glass.

“Here, let me get that for you,” said Tristan. He picked up the glass and, placing his other hand behind his brother's head, helped him drink. He gently laid him back on the pillow.

Then he dropped the glass.

Siegfried winced. His lips moved.

“What?” asked Tristan, leaning in close to hear.

“I said , YOU'RE BLOODY HOPELESS!” He leaned back on his pillow, exhausted by the effort.

It was only a shadow of his normal bellow, but remarkable, nonetheless.

Tristan grinned. “I'm glad to hear it, Siegfried. Really glad to hear it.”

And so was I.

Finis