She stirred, but he had to almost lift her before he could get her to sit up. She tasted the tea and juice obediently and used the asthma inhaler with a well-practiced routine. Then she seemed to lose her strength again, and slumped backwards to lean on the back of the sofa. Her face was pale and clammy, her eyes glossy, and her breathing still sounded like it could stop any minute.
“Are you alright?” he asked. “Can I do something more for you?”
He could see her trying to concentrate. She said a word that sounded like a name. She got a little livelier and tried to get up.
“Hmh?” he said. She tried to concentrate on him.
“Katten,” she said. “The… the cat. Musse.”
“I put out water and dry food, and changed the litter,” he said. “Want me to give it canned food as well?”
She stared at him, squinting her eyes like the light hurt her. She nodded. He smiled, hoping it came out as encouraging, and went to open a can of cat food and put it in a bowl next to the dry food. There was still no sign of the cat.
She was still sitting nearly upright, slumping against the back of the sofa, when he came back to the living room. He sat beside her.
“Listen, Johanna,” he said. “When was the last time you ate? Can I make you some soup?”
“I… don’t know,” she said. “I’ve been sleeping.”
“Uh huh,” he said. “Well how about you go back to bed, and I’ll make you some soup, huh? You’ll feel better if you eat.”
He didn’t know if it was true, but he really hoped so. He helped her upstairs to her bedroom, and she was so weak she leaned heavily on him. She felt small, soft, vulnerable. He did his best to be gentle and touch her as little as possible, and still her proximity made his heart thump. He was a loner, and to be this close to anyone, let alone a pretty girl, was highly unusual for him.
He realized her bedroom shared a wall with his, and her bed was against it, just as his was. He helped her in, tucking the covers up to her chin.
“Okay there?” he asked. “I’ll bring up the tea and stuff. And the soup when I get it done.”
He took the juice, tea, and medicine upstairs and set them on the bedside table. Johanna looked like she was sleeping. Her breathing was still heavy and labored. He thought of opening a window, but then the cat might escape.
Samuel went back to the kitchen and warmed up some soup. Midway through, a lanky white cat sneaked in. It avoided him the best it could, and settled in to eat so that it could keep an eye on him as he stood by the stove.
“Well, hello, Musse,” he said. The cat didn’t seem impressed. Maybe it was his pronunciation. He laughed at himself, realizing he was worried what a cat was thinking about him.
He had always been an introvert, and not very good at making friends or keeping up relationships. After finishing school, his few friends had scattered around the country, and now he was effectively a hermit. He met people at work, but he did a lot of telecommuting, and even when he went to the office, he hardly talked with anyone. Outside work? Never. His longest conversation in months had probably been with the pharmacist, trying to figure out how he could buy Johanna’s medicine. Still, to be nervous of a cat seemed like overkill, even by his standards.
He took the soup up to her. Johanna was disinterested but ate a few spoonfuls, and a few more when he fed them to her. It felt really weird but somehow nice to feed her, to take small portions at the tip of the spoon and try not to drop any on her covers.
After she was done eating, he couldn’t think of anything more he could do for her. He fidgeted for a few minutes. It didn’t feel right to just leave her but staying felt just as wrong. Eventually he decided to leave, but to keep her keys so he would be able to come back and check on her later. That way she wouldn’t have to get up to answer the door.
Samuel returned home. He tried watching tv, listening to music, reading. He tried going to sleep, but all he could think of was the bed at the other side of the wall. He touched it, spreading his fingers. He wondered if he should move his bed further away.
He was worried about Johanna. Her breathing was so labored and sounded so awful, wheezing in her chest like that. She had said she’d be okay, that it was just asthma, but did she really know? He was torn between respecting her privacy and wanting to take care of her.
Close to midnight he surrendered. He sat up and called the round the clock health care advice number. They advised it would be best to monitor her condition, and if it appeared she didn’t get enough oxygen, he should call the ambulance. He asked how he would know if she was getting enough oxygen. They told him to monitor the color of her lips, fingers and toes.
Now, how was he supposed to do that?
He pressed his ear against the wall, but of course heard nothing. He thought of her, alone, sick, maybe fighting to breathe. He put on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, and went back to her place.
She was still alive, and still very sick. All the drink, medicine, and soup were just as he had left them. She was still breathing heavily, and it sounded as just as awful as before.
He went to take the soup away. Musse had eaten all the canned cat food and most of the dry. He considered filling the dry food bowl up, but didn’t dare. There was still some left, and he didn’t know how much food was too much for a cat. He changed the water anyway and checked the cat box.
He took a big glass of cold water upstairs. Johanna was restless, tossing and turning, and he tried to get her to drink. She was hot as a cinder, but sweaty, her hair was sticking to the skin of her forehead and neck. He tried to wipe the hair off her face and murmured something soothing. She mumbled something back. He didn’t think she knew he was there.
He went through her closets until he found towels. He wet a small one with cool water and sat down on her bedside to wipe her face.
The effect was instantaneous. She soothed, stopped fidgeting, and pressed her face lightly against the towel.
“Oh that’s better, is it?” he said quietly. “You poor thing.”
She was so hot. He was a little worried, but he had no thermometer, and didn’t know if she did. He kept wiping her forehead, cheeks, and neck. She had on a pajama shirt with buttons in front, and after a moment’s consideration he unbuttoned the top one and wiped the pit between her collar bones. He kept turning the towel so that it would be cool against her skin and went to wet it after her scorching skin had warmed it again.
He puffed up her pillows the best he could to get her head higher and to ease her breathing. He opened the window for a few minutes to let cool night air into the room, then closed it again, fearing the draft would be bad for her. He tried to remember if feverish patients should be kept cool or warm. He was sure he had heard it once, but couldn’t remember, and now he was anxious he would make her feel worse.
She was restless, making small agitated movements and muttering something unintelligible. He reacted instinctively and reached out to touch her cheek softly.