movements. “Does anything feel broken or numb?”
“No.” She wiggled herself up to her elbows. “I was just stunned. I didn’t expect anyone to fly at me in the dark, and that train . . .”
I slid my arm around her back and helped to raise her up to a seated position while the other girl crouched down beside us. The three of us sat in the street, not more than five feet down from the still-humming tracks. If the APL brought their nighttime walking patrol to that part of town and spotted us huddled together on that ground like that, so close to an ambulance, I wondered if they’d even bother to ask if we needed help.
“How many patients are lying in Polish Hall right now?” I asked.
“Over a hundred,” said the blonde. “Maybe two hundred, with five to seven deaths a day.”
“Five to seven?”
“Will you help drive us, ma’am?” asked the younger girl. “You somehow seem to know a thing or two about trucks. I’ve never seen such a useful white woman in all my life.”
I looked between the two of them. Both women peered at me with those damp and pleading eyes that poured the weight of the world upon my shoulders.
“Well . . .” I swallowed. A flock of excuses flapped around inside my brain. It’s too late, and I’m tired . . . I’m too busy worrying about the brother of a murdered man . . . The APL are prowling the streets tonight . . . My heart is still pounding over that escape from the train . . . My father always told me Southside was a breeding ground for diseases, and I should never, ever think of going near it. . .
“I suppose . . . all right.” I nodded. “I can help for a bit, but I can’t guarantee I’ll feel well enough to drive for long tonight. Just . . . tell me how to get to the social hall, and we’ll start by getting your patient delivered. My name is Ivy, by the way.”
“Thank you, thank you, lovely Ivy,” said the blonde, grabbing hold of my elbow. “God bless you. I am Nela, and this is Addie. And, as I said, Liliana lies in back.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” I helped Nela to her feet by holding her arm and the back of her waist. “I’m just sorry I had to meet you this way.”
D O W N O N T H E south side of the tracks, the monstrous shadows of the textile mills and railcar factories rose up along the river like smokestack-covered watchmen. We drove past endless rows of immigrant housing with webs of clotheslines crisscrossing alleyways and yards, and the air smelled of industry and pollution. Soot and refuse. Progress and poverty. The darkness seemed a living thing down there, its fluid weight settling over the homes and the factories and the treeless strips of weeds for yards. The entire region exhausted me. Everything seemed to sleep and wither and drown in blackness.
“There it is,” said Nela, pointing across the steering wheel toward the left-hand side of the street. “Polish Hall.”
I peeked through the windshield and spied a two-story brick building attached to a small Polish grocery store. Electric lights illuminated every window despite the late hour and the lack of life in the rest of Southside. I pulled the ambulance alongside the curb.
Before I even set the emergency brake, both of my passengers leapt off the seat and disappeared toward the back compartment. I followed after them and found them lifting a canvas stretcher that held a pale young brunette woman, also dressed in a gray Red Cross uniform. Her eyes were closed, and the movements of the stretcher jostled her small shoulders and her long legs.
“Hurry!” Nela hoisted up the front end of the stretcher and led the way to the brick steps of the hall. She said something to her patient in Polish, but all I understood was the woman’s name— Liliana .
“ Nie! ” Liliana’s eyes flew open, and she grabbed hold of Nela’s hand. “Do not take me here! Nie! Nie! ”
“What can I do to help?” I asked, and I hurried past them so I could at least open the
“No.” She wiggled herself up to her elbows. “I was just stunned. I didn’t expect anyone to fly at me in the dark, and that train . . .”
I slid my arm around her back and helped to raise her up to a seated position while the other girl crouched down beside us. The three of us sat in the street, not more than five feet down from the still-humming tracks. If the APL brought their nighttime walking patrol to that part of town and spotted us huddled together on that ground like that, so close to an ambulance, I wondered if they’d even bother to ask if we needed help.
“How many patients are lying in Polish Hall right now?” I asked.
“Over a hundred,” said the blonde. “Maybe two hundred, with five to seven deaths a day.”
“Five to seven?”
“Will you help drive us, ma’am?” asked the younger girl. “You somehow seem to know a thing or two about trucks. I’ve never seen such a useful white woman in all my life.”
I looked between the two of them. Both women peered at me with those damp and pleading eyes that poured the weight of the world upon my shoulders.
“Well . . .” I swallowed. A flock of excuses flapped around inside my brain. It’s too late, and I’m tired . . . I’m too busy worrying about the brother of a murdered man . . . The APL are prowling the streets tonight . . . My heart is still pounding over that escape from the train . . . My father always told me Southside was a breeding ground for diseases, and I should never, ever think of going near it. . .
“I suppose . . . all right.” I nodded. “I can help for a bit, but I can’t guarantee I’ll feel well enough to drive for long tonight. Just . . . tell me how to get to the social hall, and we’ll start by getting your patient delivered. My name is Ivy, by the way.”
“Thank you, thank you, lovely Ivy,” said the blonde, grabbing hold of my elbow. “God bless you. I am Nela, and this is Addie. And, as I said, Liliana lies in back.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” I helped Nela to her feet by holding her arm and the back of her waist. “I’m just sorry I had to meet you this way.”
D O W N O N T H E south side of the tracks, the monstrous shadows of the textile mills and railcar factories rose up along the river like smokestack-covered watchmen. We drove past endless rows of immigrant housing with webs of clotheslines crisscrossing alleyways and yards, and the air smelled of industry and pollution. Soot and refuse. Progress and poverty. The darkness seemed a living thing down there, its fluid weight settling over the homes and the factories and the treeless strips of weeds for yards. The entire region exhausted me. Everything seemed to sleep and wither and drown in blackness.
“There it is,” said Nela, pointing across the steering wheel toward the left-hand side of the street. “Polish Hall.”
I peeked through the windshield and spied a two-story brick building attached to a small Polish grocery store. Electric lights illuminated every window despite the late hour and the lack of life in the rest of Southside. I pulled the ambulance alongside the curb.
Before I even set the emergency brake, both of my passengers leapt off the seat and disappeared toward the back compartment. I followed after them and found them lifting a canvas stretcher that held a pale young brunette woman, also dressed in a gray Red Cross uniform. Her eyes were closed, and the movements of the stretcher jostled her small shoulders and her long legs.
“Hurry!” Nela hoisted up the front end of the stretcher and led the way to the brick steps of the hall. She said something to her patient in Polish, but all I understood was the woman’s name— Liliana .
“ Nie! ” Liliana’s eyes flew open, and she grabbed hold of Nela’s hand. “Do not take me here! Nie! Nie! ”
“What can I do to help?” I asked, and I hurried past them so I could at least open the
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