it.”
“People can get seriously ill and die from contaminated water,” I told him. Mike looked shocked. Was I finally getting through to him? “I want you to order a truckload of bottled water and tell Sarge to boil all water before using it for cooking or washing. This is an emergency.”
At that, Mike stood there, thinking. “Does this mean the carnival is cancelled?”
I lunged forward to strangle him, but he must have thought I was zeroing in for a hug. Once again we ended up in another tangle of misunderstanding. I pulled away. No one was taking me seriously, but at least I could try to save my own kids. I raced to find them and warn them not to drink the water. I barged right into Max’s cabin, and plowed through a sludge of wet towels and bathing suits, piles of grubby clothes and scattered candy wrappers. The kids were all there, a couple of them up high in the rafters, climbing the beams and swinging like monkeys. A few kids were gathered on the floor in the corner of the cabin, feeding potato chips to a family of mice. I happened to notice a nine-year-old boy wearing a dress, with his hair in pigtails and ribbons, but there was no time to inquire about that. Quade and a few other counsellors were playing poker with Spleen, while Max sat on the jailbird’s shoulders, doing flips backward onto the bed, giggling helplessly each time. (Fleetingly, I had to wonder if the gambling winnings would be divvied up equitably in true socialist form.) I interrupted the game to give them the warning.
“Hey, first you tell us to drink more water and now you’re telling us not to drink the water at all? I don’t get it,” Quade said. “Make up your mind. What’s your bottom line?”
“Yeah, what gives?” Spleen said without looking up from his hand.
No time to explain! I ran out and continued to spread the word. Rain started coming down, a heavy but pleasant downpour that broke the heat wave. By late afternoon, it was still coming down. The roof was leaking in the mess hall and Anderson and Wheels were up there, trying to patch the holes. The water had been shut off and bottled water had arrived. Meanwhile, all around camp, the valleys were filling up. Two enterprising counsellors hauled up canoes from the shed nearthe lake and were paddling on the newly forming ponds of knee-deep water. The kids piled into the boats and others started jumping into the water with their clothes on. Kids dragged the vinyl mattresses from their beds and used them as rafts or to slide off the mess hall porch into the middle of a huge pile of mud. Pretty soon, just about everyone was deep in the mud, wearing their bathing suits or else stripped down to their underwear. I caught sight of my own kids. Max was running through the mud barefoot, looking like a feral child, while Harry was drifting around contentedly in one of the canoes, his white, mosquito-bitten arms splattered with mud. Everyone was delirious with joy! It was Woodstock, but without the drugs or music. But then someone realized that music was exactly what was missing from this scene and ran to bring the boom box from the mess hall. Soon the valley resounded with garage band grunge from what sounded like a homemade tape.
Mike joined me and gazed at the scene appreciatively. “The fun never stops around here, does it, Nurse Tilda?”
Please, make it stop!
Just then I noticed that the live electrical cord running from the mess hall was lying in a foot of water and I ran off to put the kibosh on the music.
Later on, after the water emergency ended and the mud bacchanal died down, and after I’d finished treating the cuts and twisted ankles from kids slipping and sliding in the mud, there was still Zack’s knee and Sarge’s lungs to worry about. I had nabbed Zack at lunch, but he couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t examine his knee right then and there (he’d placed it right beside my tuna-fish sandwich).
“Bring this knee of yours to the infirmary after
“People can get seriously ill and die from contaminated water,” I told him. Mike looked shocked. Was I finally getting through to him? “I want you to order a truckload of bottled water and tell Sarge to boil all water before using it for cooking or washing. This is an emergency.”
At that, Mike stood there, thinking. “Does this mean the carnival is cancelled?”
I lunged forward to strangle him, but he must have thought I was zeroing in for a hug. Once again we ended up in another tangle of misunderstanding. I pulled away. No one was taking me seriously, but at least I could try to save my own kids. I raced to find them and warn them not to drink the water. I barged right into Max’s cabin, and plowed through a sludge of wet towels and bathing suits, piles of grubby clothes and scattered candy wrappers. The kids were all there, a couple of them up high in the rafters, climbing the beams and swinging like monkeys. A few kids were gathered on the floor in the corner of the cabin, feeding potato chips to a family of mice. I happened to notice a nine-year-old boy wearing a dress, with his hair in pigtails and ribbons, but there was no time to inquire about that. Quade and a few other counsellors were playing poker with Spleen, while Max sat on the jailbird’s shoulders, doing flips backward onto the bed, giggling helplessly each time. (Fleetingly, I had to wonder if the gambling winnings would be divvied up equitably in true socialist form.) I interrupted the game to give them the warning.
“Hey, first you tell us to drink more water and now you’re telling us not to drink the water at all? I don’t get it,” Quade said. “Make up your mind. What’s your bottom line?”
“Yeah, what gives?” Spleen said without looking up from his hand.
No time to explain! I ran out and continued to spread the word. Rain started coming down, a heavy but pleasant downpour that broke the heat wave. By late afternoon, it was still coming down. The roof was leaking in the mess hall and Anderson and Wheels were up there, trying to patch the holes. The water had been shut off and bottled water had arrived. Meanwhile, all around camp, the valleys were filling up. Two enterprising counsellors hauled up canoes from the shed nearthe lake and were paddling on the newly forming ponds of knee-deep water. The kids piled into the boats and others started jumping into the water with their clothes on. Kids dragged the vinyl mattresses from their beds and used them as rafts or to slide off the mess hall porch into the middle of a huge pile of mud. Pretty soon, just about everyone was deep in the mud, wearing their bathing suits or else stripped down to their underwear. I caught sight of my own kids. Max was running through the mud barefoot, looking like a feral child, while Harry was drifting around contentedly in one of the canoes, his white, mosquito-bitten arms splattered with mud. Everyone was delirious with joy! It was Woodstock, but without the drugs or music. But then someone realized that music was exactly what was missing from this scene and ran to bring the boom box from the mess hall. Soon the valley resounded with garage band grunge from what sounded like a homemade tape.
Mike joined me and gazed at the scene appreciatively. “The fun never stops around here, does it, Nurse Tilda?”
Please, make it stop!
Just then I noticed that the live electrical cord running from the mess hall was lying in a foot of water and I ran off to put the kibosh on the music.
Later on, after the water emergency ended and the mud bacchanal died down, and after I’d finished treating the cuts and twisted ankles from kids slipping and sliding in the mud, there was still Zack’s knee and Sarge’s lungs to worry about. I had nabbed Zack at lunch, but he couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t examine his knee right then and there (he’d placed it right beside my tuna-fish sandwich).
“Bring this knee of yours to the infirmary after
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