At the Customs. Clearance through the Customs.

we don't know whatit comes from. My wife has given her things, you know, like 'people do, but it don't do no good.⁴ And there's been a lot of sickness around. So we thought you'd better look her over and tell us what is the matter (must be: what the matter was).

As doctors often do I took a trial shot⁵ at it as a point of departure. Has she had a sore throat?

Both parents answered me together, No... No, she says, her throat don't hurt her. ⁶

Does your throat hurt you? added the mother to the child. But the little girl's expression didn't change nor did she move her eyes from my face. Have you looked?

I tried to, said the mother, but I couldn't see.

As it happens we had been having a number of cases of diphtheria in the school to which this child went during that month and we were all, quite apparently, thinking of that, though no one had as yet spoken of the thing.

Well, I said, suppose we take a look at the throat first. I smiled in my best professional⁷ manner and asking for the child's first name I said, come on, Mathilda, open your mouth and let's take a look at your throat. Nothing doing.⁸

Aw,⁹ come on, I coaxed (persuaded by gentleness), just open your mouth wide and let me take a look. Look, I said opening both hands wide, I haven't anything in my hands. Just open up and let me see.

Such a nice man, put in the mother. Look how kind he is to you. Come on, do what he tells you to. He won't hurt you.

At that I ground my teeth in disgust. If only they wouldn't use the word "hurt" I might be able to get somewhere.¹⁰ But I did not allow myself to be hurried or disturbed but speak­ing quietly and slowly I approached the child again.

As I moved my chair a little nearer suddenly with one catlike movement both her hands clawed instinctively for my eyes and she almost reached them too. In fact she knocked my glasses flying and they fell, though unbroken, several feet away from me on the kitchen floor.

Both the mother and father almost turned themselves inside out in embarrassment and apology. You bad girl, """said the mother, taking her and shaking her by one arm. Look what you've done. The nice man...

For heaven's sake, I broke in. Don't call me a nice man to her. I'm here to look at her throat on the chance that she might have diphtheria and possibly die of it. But that's noth-

-ing to her. Look here, I said to the child, we're going to look at your throat. You're old enough to understand what I'm saying. Will you open it now by yourself or shall we have to open it for you?

Not a move. Even her expression hadn't changed. Her breaths however were coming faster and faster. Then the bat­tle began. I had to do it. I had to have a throat culture for her own protection. But first I told the parents that it was en­tirely up to them. I explained the danger but said that I would not insist on a throat examination so long as they would take the responsibility.

If you don't do what the doctor says you'll have to go to the hospital, the mother admonished her severely.

Oh yeah? ¹¹ I had to smile to myself. After all, I had already fallen in love with the savage brat,¹² the parents were contemptible to me. In the ensuing struggle they grew more and more abject (ab- away, + ject – jacere- throw, willful disregard) crushed, exhausted while she surely rose to magnificent' heights of insane fury of effort bred of her terror of me.

The father tried his best, and he was a big man but the fact that she was his daughter, his shame at her behaviour and his dread of hurting her made him release her just at the crit­ical times when I had almost achieved success, till I want­ed to kill] him. But his dread also that she might have diphtheria made him tell me to go on, go on though he himself was almost fainting, while the mother moved back and forth behind us raising and lowering her hands in an agony of appre­hension.

"Put her in front of you on your lap, I ordered, and hold both her wrists.

But as soon as he did the child let out a scream. Don't, you're hurting me. Let go of my hands. Let them go I tell you. Then she shrieked terrifyingly, hysterically. Stop it! Stop it! You're killing me!

Come on now, hold her, I said.

Then I grasped the child's head with my left hand and tried to get the wooden tongue depressor between her teeth. She fought, with clenched teeth, desperately! But now I also had grown furious — at a child. I tried to hold myself down but I couldn't. I know how to expose a throat for in­spection. And I did my best. When finally I got the wooden spatula behind the last teeth and just the point of it into the mouth cavity, she opened up for an instant but before I could see anything she came down again and gripping the wooden

blade between her molars (резцы) she reduced it to splinters before I could get it out again.

Aren't you ashamed, the mother yelled at her. Aren't you ashamed to act like that in front of the doctor?

Get me a smooth-handled spoon of some sort, I told the mother. We're going through with this.¹³ The child's mouth was already bleeding. Her tongue was cut and she was scream­ing in wild hysterical shrieks. Perhaps I should have desist­ed and come back in an hour or more. No doubt it would have been better. But I have seen at least two children lying dead in bed of neglect in such cases, and feeling that I must get a diagnosis now or never I went at it again.

The damned little brat must be protected against her own idiocy, one says to one's self at such times. Others must be protected against her. It is a social necessity.

In a final assault I overpowered the child's neck and jaws. I forced the heavy silver spoon back of her teeth and down her throat till she gagged (кляп). And there it was—both tonsils (lymphoid organs) covered with membrane. She had fought valiantly (power+courage+strong) to keep me from knowing her secret.