The Buli's Foot

Short Story:

By A. D. Spencer

AND what is all this coming?”

Sister Collins took off her cap and ruffled her red hair as Sister Daventry joined her on the hospital steps.

They both gazed in trepidation at the procession winding up the drive way.

“Well, I wish you joy of it, and I’ll remind you of the Matron’s latest diatribe about swarms of visitors.

Now, I’m ‘orph’—but I’ll remember you at the nineteenth hole,” she added generously.

But Sister Daventry’s eyes were on the heavy, hanging litter, now at the entrance.

“Siandra Sister,” said its portly bearers. Sister gravely returned the Fijian greeting, and directed them to the native surgical ward. The Fijian nurses for once appeared immediately, their respectful and subdued behav iour confirming the Sister’s private opinion of the “devil to pay”.

The litter halted by an empty bed, and four hefty giants deftly raised the groaning, sweating figure on to it.

Willing hands placed pillows under the head, knees, and lastly, a gargan tuan foot, swathed in leaves and wrappings. The terrific groan thus produced startled even the hardened' Sister; while the Fijian nurses, over come by their tribal respect, plus their nursing knowledge, were statuettes of awe. Their immense eyes rolled at Sister in horrified query.

“It’s the Buli Nauasau,” announced the most imposing of the giants.

Sister, watch in hand, was carefully checking the pulse, while Tessa, the head Fijian nurse, with the dif fidence due to such an exalted paplaced the thermometer be tween his panting lips.

With inward relief Sister turned seriously to the spokesman. “I under stand your anxiety for the Buli; but this is a hospital and we have not much space. So, will you ask your people to wait outside until the Doc tor comes. I will call the doctor by telephone.”

THE body-guard marched out, leav ing four chosen watchers, one sitting at each leg of the bed'.

“Now, Tess, you are the senior. You take charge of the Buli. Clean up his foot and prepare it for operation. I’ll start the theatre and put a call through for Doctor.”

With eyes like saucers, the Fijian girls scattered to their work, and Sis ter Daventry resignedly tackled the phone.

“Yes, Doctor, and I think I’d better give you a hint. The escort, comprised of about a hundred Fijians, is sit ting out on the mound, waiting to hear your diagnosis.”

A comprehensive grunt, carried over the wires was the only answer.

In a short time, a spatter of gravel and grinding of brakes, followed by

the inevitable door-slam, told of the arrival of the Burra Doctor Sahib. He waved a restraining hand to the escort, and strode into the ward.

“Siandra Buli! Bula—” The Doctor’s professional cheerfulness faded be fore the portentous solemnity of pa tients and nurses. “Let’s have a look at it, Sister.”

The gentle examination reduced the Buli to the verge of fainting.

“Humph!” Another grunt.

“Foments, Sister, and give him the four-hourly chart and a special nurse.

I’ll see to the escort, and come back.”

AT eight o’clock that evening, Sis ter fought her way to the tele phone through an atmosphere almost stiff with mosquitoes and the smell of coconut oil. “Doctor, will you come and see the Buli please, and the es cort. Yes —the Buli is much worse, and the escort is still there.”

Back came the Doctor’s rumbling voice; “I can’t see anything wrong with that foot, Sister. ‘Painful to the touch.’ Humph! Well, tell Matron I’ll open it up in the morning, after what’s his name and the two hy drociles. And you’d better give him a quarter of morphia now to keep him quiet. Call me if you think he’s any worse. Good night, Sister.”

The next morning went with its routine work, the Buli being the dom inant note. The doctor had operated, making a small incision and had ord ered dressings and foments two hourly.

Lautoka looked very lovely that afternoon, with its girdle of celestial blue, flecked with lacy little white waves, while away on the outer reef great breakers formed an undulating edge like foamy chiffon. Beyond again, the Yasawas stretched, a chain of azure, seductive with dreams un dreamt, In the foreground lay little Bakana Island, like an emerald pen dant.

“Oh, God!” groaned Sister Daven try, shaken with longing for happier days, “I wish I were a fish and could swim away from all this. My after noon off, thank goodness! I’ll rout out Susy and get her to row across to Bakana. It will be a break.”

Walking down the blistering street with its Bombay and Chinese shops and hovels, Bakana seemed more like Paradise than ever. Meeting Susy was a stroke of luck. They turned together to the native village, and pulled out the old dingy.

“I’ll row, Sister,” said the young Fijian girl, “You take it easy. Things not too good, eh?”

“Oh, fair, Susy. We are very busy as usual.”

“You got the Buli up there? What’s the matter with him?”

“I don’t quite know, Susy—he’s got a sore foot. Doctor opened it this morning to see. He is pretty bad.”

“Sister, I’ll tell you something. The

Bull will die. He has been cursed— draunikau!”

Sister Daventry sat up. “What rot.

Susy! I thought you’d more sense.”

Susy rested on her oars and leaned forward! earnestly. “Don’t talk like that out here on the wai-tui (sea). I tell you he WILL die. If I tell you more you must promise to be silent.

I don’t want trouble.”

“If you tell me, I must tell Doctor, because I think you may be right.”

Susy thought for a moment. “All right. Doctor knows me very well. You make him keep my name out of it.”

“Why was he cursed?”

“Because of a woman. She’s a very bad woman in every way. She has no pity. She sees the Buli happy. She

(Continued on pase 54)

goes to his house and looks around.

There is a very fine Yaka table the Buli has given his wife as a present and peace-offering. You know the Fiji custom —if you admire a thing greatly and ask for it, it must be given. She asked for the table and the Buli in dignantly refused—so you see the re sult. The Doctor and the hospital can not save him.”

A thoughtful Sister returned to duty, to find the Buli growing steadily worse, and an atmosphere of gloomy terror over the usually sparkling Fiji girls. She screwed up her courage, and sought the Burra Doctor Sahib.

“I’ve something to say, Doctor, and I beg of you to let me down lightly.”

“Humph-rr!”

“It’s—er —the Buli. Er—er—” with a great gulp. “Susy told me he has been draunikaued”

She had expected a supercilious stare from the doctor, and got it; but it soon gave way to a look of worry.

“You know how they do it, Doctor?”

“Humph! A toenail or cigarette butt or hair is mixed with certain leaves and liquid, put in a bottle and buried where the victim usually goes—the contents of the bottle being charged with super-curses of most horrifying and mysterious effects. Something of the sort, Sister. I really thought better of you. I believe the Government is making such practices punishable by law.”

Off strode the Great One, mum bling: “The ignorance of the working class.”

“And it serves me right”, thought Daventry.

BUT over in the court house, the Doctor was coaxing and cajoling the District Magistrate. “Just the pomp and splendour of your sergeants, old boy. The might of the Govern ment, and all that.”

“All very fine, Doctor. I’ll probably get a rap over the knuckles”.

“But the Buli takes the rap, if you don’t,” said the Doctor grimly. “You know, Tn spite of our precautions y yy “Yes I do know”, interrupted the District Magistrate rudely. “In plain English, you are on the spot. Well, have things your own way, and be damned to you.”

Out to the Fijian village drove the native police, their authority and hauteur reflected in their gleaming buckles and buttons. They stated firmly to the lady they interviewed that she was to accompany them to the District Magistrate, at once. The ominous silence of the drive in no way soothed her apprehensions, which reached swooning point when she saw the District Magistrate and Doctor, the Court Babus and every available Government unit seated in solemn array. She tremblingly faced that piercing barrage of eyes.

At last the Magistrate’s deep voice rang out. “Woman!”, he said, “If the Buli dies—you will be hanged. Now go!”

She did not need to be told a second time. She reeled out.

BACK at the hospital they took the Bull to the X-Ray room, but the plate showed negative results.

“Sister, tell Matron that Dr. Ruston will be over from Ba about ten o’clock.

I’ll have to open up that foot again.

Have the bone instruments out. Gut to be done in spite of the negative.

Call me any time if you are worried about him.”

At eleven o’clock that evening, Sis ter Daventry took a long look at the patient before leaving him in Tessa’s charge for the rest of the night.

“You know, Tess, I almost believe he seems a little better, but don’t be misled. It may be the change before death. Watch him well, and call me if he gets worse.”

At daylight, an almost white-faced Tessa shook and implored the Sister: “The Buli! Oh—the Buli!”

With one roll she was out of bed and into her uniform coat, her feet in open shoes, and flying up the cem ent path to the wards. The panting Tessa was at her heels. Not a Fijian was to be seen. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw the empty bed.

“Tessa! What’s happened? Where is the Buli?”

“Gone home, Sister. He says he is all right.”

Included in the passengers on the flying-boat, VCoriolanus” which left Bris bane for Suva on May 7, were Mrs. K. L.

Currie and Messrs. W. Davill and J. J.

Thomas.

A collection of new and uncommon plants peculiar to the Campbell Islands (far southwards of New Zealand) has been received by the Christchurch City Council from an expedition now stationed in the islands. The plants are being acclimatised in the Botanic Gardens.