The Icelandic Canadian - 01.03.1968, Síða 31

THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
29
SOLEY
By ELINBORG LARUSD6TTIR
Translated by W. Kristjanson
I recall vividly the time when Soley
was brought into the room where I lay.
A gaunt child’s face peered over the top
of the basket stretcher. What I thought
most arresting about her face were the
large, dark-gray eyes, lively, searching,
giving the impression that their search
would never be completed.
When the nurse removed the cover-
let, there was revealed the merest
skeleton of a body. The young girl’s
bare legs protruding from the folds of
her dress were like pipe stems, small
as a baby’s arm. The muscles shrunk
so that every nerve and sinew stood
out. There were sores on her insteps.
She was placed in a bed and a cover
spread over her. “This is a living
corpse”, I thought to myself. “Her eyes
show life, but the body speaks of
death.”
As for Soley herself, she had ap-
parently no worries and was happy
to be in hospital, for she asked im-
mediately if patients there did not get
well at once. “I know” she added, “that
I shall get better here.”
Soley was examined the following
day. She had a considerable temper-
ature and her strength was at a low
ebb. Her faculties, however, were alert
and she was cheerful and jovial. She
did not have the slightest fear of her
illness. She did not realize that the
white plague is an aggressive foe and
has laid many people low, and she lay
in her bed like a child without a care.
We soon became acquainted. I found
her to be childlike and sincere and un-
usually intelligent and entertaining.
Her family lived in the West Country
and there she had been brought up.
Soley was sixteen years of age, some-
thing that few would have believed, on
seeing her. Judging by her size, she
could just as well have been only eight
years of age.
When Soley was three years her par-
ents emigrated to America, leaving her
with an aunt, a married woman. This
aunt died, a victim of the white
plague. Then little Soley herself be-
came ill. No one dreamed that there
was any danger. “It was nothing but a
dry cough and a little temperature.”
As far as I could make out, it was near-
ly a year later that there was any
thought of sending her to the san-
atorium.
On board the ship on which she
had passage there was no room for
her except in the hold. On their ar-
rival in Reykjavik, Soley was carted
like a bundle of goods from the hold
to the warehouse. I thought this treat-
ment outrageous and expressed myself
to that effect. To this Soley replied:
“I knew no one and I was very com-
fortable there. They phoned the doc-
tor at once and the automobile came
for me”.
“How did you get these sores on
your feet?” I asked.
“I ran a temperature all winter and
I was always on my feet. The living
room is rather chilly, for there is no
heater there. Even if there had been
one, there was no fuel for it. I was
often cold.”
“This has pulled you right down”, I
said. “Why in the world did you not
stay in bed?”
“That was impossible; there are so
few to do the work. I had no desire to