The Icelandic Canadian - 01.03.1968, Side 33

THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
31
“I am no doubt gradually getting a
little better”, she would say. Then 1
would look away, to avoid those
questioning eyes, which I could sense
following me around the room.
Sometimes she was fretful, like a
little child, and longed for this or that.
But she complained to no one except
the Superintendant. She sensed with
her childlike intuition that she could
trust him. She would then ask for
something or other that was not on
the menu. If it was available, it was
given to her without question.
Once she mentioned that she could
not see out the window, the way her
bed was turned. She could not see,
she said, what the weather was like.
The doctor rearranged her pillows
and changed her position in the bed.
She looked at him gratefully and
smiled with one side of her mouth.
“I feel better now”, she said, “but
when can I get up? Won’t that be soon?
I long so much to get out into the sun-
shine.”
She often expressed her desire to
be out in the sun. Then the doctor
would look uneasy and he usually
thought of something that required
him to hurry away.
Once she did not let it go at that,
and called after him, “When?”
The doctor did not pause, and said,
without looking back:
“By spring. It is too cold for you
to get up now. Spring will soon be
here”.
I understood full well. I knew that
there could be only one kind of spring
for her. But Soley smiled, and count-
ed on her fingers the months till
spring.
Usually I spent my rest periods in-
doors, and when I returned from my
walks Soley welcomed me as if I had
been away for rveeks. “I get so tired of
being alone”, she said.
About this time she received a letter
from her parents, with an enclosure of
five dollars. What rejoicing! She read
the letter over and over, day after day,
and inspected the bank note.
“I know”, she said, lowering her
voice as if confiding a secret to me,
“that they are going to send me my
passage money and this is the
beginning. Next time they will prob-
ably send me a larger sum, so it will
not be long until I have enough for
the passage.”
This unexpected joy seemed to
cause a temporary improvement—it did
not last long. Soley grew weaker day
by day. Her face became even thinner
and less recognizable, and her eyes
more dull. Her strength was ebbing
and she was no longer able to sit up
in bed.
One day when I returned from a
walk, I saw that she had been crying.
“Sit down beside me”, she said. “I
should like to ask a favor of you and
you must not deny me this.” She took
my hand.
“If I am to die, I would like to die
in this room, here with you. I don’t
want to be taken alive to the death
room and die there. That place is far
colder than death itself.”
I felt a sharp stab of pain in my
bosom and I had to turn away, so that
Soley should not see the tears I was
unable to restrain. With an effort I
said, “I promise you—if this happens.”
This seemed to soothe her, and she
smiled at me.
We had long since given up our
chess. She had neither strength of mind
nor of body for the game. Now, there
was no further mention of the journeey
across the ocean and to the Rocky
Mountains.
Power of mind and body ebbed to-
gether. Her vocal organs were losing
their strength and her voice, which
had been so clear, was becoming indis-
tinct, the enunciation woolly. She suf-