"C M Kornbluth - The Little Black Bag" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kornbluth C M)

bag and forgetfully fumbled for his key, then remembered and touched the lock. It flew open, and he
selected a bandage shears, with a blunt wafer for the lower jaw. He fitted the lower jaw under the
bandage, trying not to hurt the kid by its pressure on the infection, and began to cut. It was amazing how
easily and swiftly the shining shears snipped through the crusty rag around the wound. He hardly seemed
to be driving the shears with fingers at all. It almost seemed as though the shears were driving his fingers
instead as they scissored a clean, light line through the bandage.

Certainly have forged ahead since my time, he thought-sharper than a microtome knife. He replaced the
shears in their ioop on the extraordinarily big board that the little black bag turned into when it unfolded,
and leaned over the wound. He whistled at the ugly gash, and the violent infection which had taken
immediate root in the sickly child's thin body. Now what can he do with a thing like that? He pawed over
the contents of the little black bag, nervously. If he lanced it and let some of the pus out, the old woman
would think he'd done something for her and he'd get the two dollars. But at the clinic they'd want to
know who did it and if they got sore enough they might send a cop around. Maybe there was something
in the kit- He ran down the left edge of the card to "lymphatic" and read across to the

column under "infection." It didn't sound right at all to him; he checked again, but it still said that. In the
square to which the line and the column led were the symbols: "IV-g-3cc." He couldn't find any bottles
marked with Roman numerals, and then noticed that that was how the hypodermic needles were
designated. He lifted number IV from its loop, noting that it was fitted with a needle already and even
seemed to be charged. What a way to carry those things around! So- three cc. of whatever was in hypo
number IV ought to do something or other about infections settled in the lymphatic system-which, God
knows, this one was. What did the lower-case "g" mean, though? He studied the glass hypo and saw




letters engraved on what looked like a rotating disk at the top of the barrel. They ran from "a" to "i," and
there was an index line engraved on the barrel on the opposite side from the calibrations.

Shrugging, old Dr. Full turned the disk until "g" coincided with the index line, and lifted the hypo to eye
level. As he pressed in the plunger he did not see the tiny thread of fluid squirt from the tip of the needle.
There was a sort of dark mist for a moment about the tip. A closer inspection showed that the needle
was not even pierced at the tip. It had the usual slanting cut across the bias of the shaft, but the cut did
not expose an oval hole. Baffled, he tried pressing the plunger again. Again something appeared around
the tip and vanished. "We'll settle this," said the doctor. He slipped the needle into the skin of his forearm.
He thought at first that he had missed-that the point had glided over the top of his skin instead of catching
and slipping under it. But he saw a tiny blood-spot and realized that somehow he just hadn't felt the
puncture. Whatever was in the barrel, he decided, couldn't do him any harm if it lived up to its billing-and
if it could ever come out through a needle that had no hole. He gave himself three cc. and twitched the
needle out. There was the swelling-painless, but otherwise typical.

Dr. Full decided it was his eyes or something, and gave three cc. of "g" from hypodermic IV to the
feverish child. There was no interruption to her wailing as the needle went in and the swelling rose. But a
long instant later, she gave a final gasp and was silent.

Well, he told himself, cold with horror, you did it that time. You killed her with that stuff.

Then the child sat up and said: "Where's my mommy?"