David Foard - Published Author

CHAPTER TWO.

As I opened my eyes, my first thought was how silent everything was. There was no traffic noise outside, or the ever present brouhaha which normally drones on in the background no matter where you are.

I tried to say 'where am I' but the words jumbled into a dull tone, deep at the base of my neck.

Then a bright light, small yet very intense was being shone into my eyes, from right to left, then back again.

As I began to focus, a warm hand encircled mine, and I could see Fitzgerald's impish grin. He spoke something and raised his eyebrows, then tapped my hand in reassurance.

I watched him say something to a nurse on the other side of the bed, and seemed to understand her reply without actually hearing it.

Finally, a tall, middle aged man with receding hairline and glasses, switched off the flashlight and placed it into the top pocket of his jacket. He mumbled something and pointed to the back of his head, just behind the ear.

I was fully alert now and realized I couldn't hear. There was a throb from the base of my neck and an ache which seemed to permeate my whole body.

Fitzgerald looked around, fetched my shoulder bag from a side chair, rummaged through it and produced my sketch pad and pencil. He turned the pages to a fresh sheet, and began to write. When he turned it towards me, I cried. It said:

'Don't worry. It's only temporary... I still love you.'

Then I felt an injection in my right arm and things went fuzzy pretty quickly. I must have slept for ages. When I woke again it was after surgery, and I was in a private room in Wollongong Hospital.

It must have been early morning, as the traffic noise outside made me visualize 'drive time'.

I looked around the room and found Fitzgerald fast asleep on a very uncomfortable tubular style chair. There was an open copy of OZ-WIDE TALES resting precariously on his stomach, while his glasses were hanging by finger and thumb, ready to crash to the ground.

"Doctor... " I said, and without thinking began to fold down the sheets to get out of bed. Then realised I couldn't.

The room began to twirl, so I rested flat on my back until the feeling passed. It must have been only a few minutes, but it seemed longer. Then I sensed someone at the door and turned my head slowly to see a short, skinny nurse with dark swarthy skin, enter the room. She had large, dark brown eyes, and a very bland smile.

"How are you?" she asked, without really expecting an answer. "Open up... " and proceeded to place a thermometer under my tongue.

Fitgerald stirred, and without any conscious thought went through the motions of replacing his specs. He slapped his lips together, rubbed his chin, then delved into his pocket to produce his watch.

He tapped the cover twice as usual, opened the flap, looked at the time and replaced it without really knowing what time it was. I watched him sneak an extra strong mint from his other pocket, and cover it under the guise of wiping his nose with a pale green handkerchief.

"There now, that's better," he said, "and how is my little trouble maker, this bright and fanciful morning?"

I wanted to answer, but the nurse did it for me.

"Fine thank you, doctor. Is there anything I can get you. Coffee? Tea?"

He shook his head. "No need to trouble y'self. Or as they say here in Australia... I'll be alright, so I will."

The nurse laughed, removed the thermometer, glanced at it quickly, then shook it, before writing the details onto a report, clipped at the end of my bed.

It was then I felt the constraint of bandages around my head and neck. The overall soreness returned to my body and I felt more tired than I had after running the College fun run last July.

I must have fallen back to sleep after that, because it was dark when I next looked towards the window.

I eased myself up onto my elbows and felt okay. There was no-one else in the room, but a copy of The Illawarra Mercury was placed on the tubular chair near the window where Fitzgerald must have slept the night before.

There were several cups tucked under his chair and one of his shoes was half covered by a grey blanket and pillow.

Then I heard a toilet flush and looked towards the private bathroom opposite my bed. Fitzgerald emerged looking about as bad as I felt.

"Awake at last then," he teased, and clip-clopped, one shoe on, one shoe off, across the floor to my side.

"Are you hungry... expect you are. I'll see what I can rustle up from the cavern of the Phantom."

He gently placed a hand against my cheek, as a father to an ailing child, and said; "You shouldn't have gone to all this trouble just for me, y'know."

I grinned and it hurt. He reached over and kissed me gently on my forehead.

"But what happened..?" I began to say. He cut me off in mid sentence.

"Tst... Shush now. First you must eat something, drink some tea, get your strength back, then we'll have a little chat about the day before yesterday."

Before I could argue with him, he was gone, and another nurse, different from the one I had seen earlier, was taking my temperature and filling in charts.

By the time he returned I was sitting up, had washed, and changed into one of my own nightgowns, and was feeling a thousand percent better than I had earlier that morning.

The bandages which covered my head were wrapped from temple to neck, completely covering my left ear and side. What I could see of my hair, was tied and bunched on the right, and fell over my shoulder.

By the time I'd finished my meal, devoured a third helping of tea and finally pushed the tray from me, it must have been getting close to midnight.

"That's better," I said, then burped.

"I should think so to," Fitzgerald answered. "Why I've never seen anyone so disgustingly healthy in all my life, so I haven't. Not since... "

"What happened?"

"You burped. Ate too much, too quick shouldn't wonder. Babies get the same problem."

He could see from my face I was in no mood for one of his cross talks.

"During the hold up, you took part of the blast which killed the guard. A small pellet entered the skin just behind the left ear, and lodged terribly close to the stapes... That's the Stirrup bone to you non-medical types," he said with a flourish of his right wrist. "It's part of the middle ear. It was certainly enough to cause concern. You probably lost hearing for a short while, as you were pretty close to the discharge. The pellet interfered with vibrations from the eardrum to the cochlea... part of the inner ear. It was a delicate operation, but we think you'll be around to nag me a little longer."

"And that's it?"

"That's the good news," he added. "The bad news is you've had a hair cut. Oh, but I shouldn't wonder it'll be all the rage in Swansea by the time we get back."

I mouthed 'haircut' and reached to my hair at the same time. I could still feel it, see it even, over my right shoulder.

"It's going to be a sad thing to watch," said Fitzgerald callously, "A smarty farty art teacher, leading her students up the garden path... with a hair do such as that... and for what, I ask you?" He opened his palms.

"Hair do?" I tugged at my locks again, skeptical.

He chuckled, offered me a peppermint, and reassured me it would help the wind.

"You've only half a head of hair, child. The other half is at this very moment, entering the incinerator somewhere in the depths of the basement. Still... " he concluded, clearly enjoying my torment, "You won't be able to make fun of my thinning locks any more, will you?" He paused. "Now let me see..Elizabeth Temple by name, and temple exposed by nature. Seems the hand of God was in there somewhere."

I was speechless and clawed the air towards a mirror resting on a side table near the door. I looked like one of those half clown faces, which look happy on one side and sad on the other... only on me, it was all in front.

"Scar... " I spluttered.

"Enormous," he answered. "Surely to be metres long, and subject to inclusion in the Guinness book of records."

"Will it show?"

"Every time you wear a bikini," he jested.

At least I was beginning to feel a little better, even if I didn't look it. His manner put me at ease, as I knew he wouldn't tease me unless everything was all right.

"How long before I can get out of this place, and when will I be back to normal? Has anyone said how long it will take for it to grow? Will there be any..."

"Tst, tst tst. Here we go again. Can't keep it shut despite us cutting off half your hair, can you. As far as being back to normal... What would you say was normal for a twenty year old, art student teacher with half a head of hair, eh? Knew we should have trimmed the tongue while we had the scissors in our hands."

Then I felt tired again. It seemed to come over me very quickly. One minute I was wide awake, the next...

I slid down and sensed Fitgerald tuck me in, like the old nursemaid he is. I was thankful as hell to have him.

The following morning I went through the same questions again, only this time the answers seemed to sink in.

It appeared the operation took two and a half hours, and everything would be fine in a couple of days. There was no apparent permanent damage to my hearing, as no subsequent infection had occurred. All being well I should be out of hospital by the weekend. There was just the matter of talking to police.

"Again... "

Fitgerald nodded. "It's just routine stuff, Elizabeth. They just need the facts as you remember them."

"But this is always happening to me," I whinged. Then recalled a child running between the dead guard and me.

"There was a girl... A little girl."

But he didn't answer, his silence ominous.

The detective who came to see me was long and thin. His moustache and hair were almost white. He was in his mid forties, wasn't sure how to smile, and smoked small, black cigarettes, which seemed to match his personality.

"My name's Detective Zoranski," he announced. "This won't take long, Liz. It's all pretty straightforward really. Have you ever been interviewed by police before?"

I tried to explain the affair at the auction house in Wales, and the later murder of cousin Alice at Yellow Rock a few months before. He didn't seem particularly impressed.

"Seems a regular occurrence for you two," he smarted.

We went through the events, clearly as I could recall, and didn't stop until I repeated:

"There was a girl... a little girl. Is she all right?"

"I expect so miss," he answered ruefully, yet I knew something was wrong.

After he'd gone I turned to face Fitgerald again. This time he wasn't going to ignore my questions.

"Just as the guard stepped back to let me pass, a little child... she couldn't have been more than three... came running between us. I remember the old guard laughing, just before...before..."

Fitgerald sat on the edge of the bed and looked me straight in the eye.

"She's alive, Elizabeth. At least we think so."

My puzzled face spurred him on.

"It appears she saved your life in a way. Silly really, her being there like that, just as the gun went off. You must have bent slightly towards her. Witnesses say she was almost in your arms when Standerton... that was the guard's name... got hit full in the chest."

I shook my head, "But I remember someone yelling, 'Get the bitch... get the bitch' and I ducked to avoid..." Then I went silent for a moment. "I thought they were talking about me. Weren't they yelling about me?"

Fitgerald stroked the stubble on his chin and pursed his lips. Eventually he said,

"Someone took the child. That was three days ago. The police have had no contact with anyone since."

I remember thinking how stupid I was to worry so much about my hair. And cried myself to sleep for another night.

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