right?"
"I—I think so. Just a little dizzy for a moment."
She was light and vulnerable-feeling in his arms. Oliver put a hand to her forehead. He found it hot and dry to his touch.
"You're feverish," he said.
She leaned against him. "Your hand feels so nice and cool."
"Can you walk all right?"
"Oh, yes, if I can lean on you a little."
"My pleasure. Come on, and I'll take you up to the ad building. There's a dispensary there."
"No, really, I think I'll be all right in a minute," she said.
"I'll be the judge of that. Did I tell you that I'm a doctor?"
"No, you didn't A medical doctor?"
He smiled down at her. "Not exactly, but I can at least get you an aspirin."
"You're the doctor," she said weakly.
Behind them, the leopard growled softly as they started away.
Irena let herself be led through the trees and up the grassy slope to the administration building. Oliver took her into the small dispensary and persuaded her to lie down on the couch. He soaked a cloth under cold running water, wrung it out, and laid it gently across her forehead.
"No kidding," she said, "I don't want to be any trouble to you."
"Hush. If I can find a thermometer, I'll take your temperature and we'll see if we ought to call a genuine doctor for you."
He took a bottle of pills from a shelf, shook two into his hand, and gave them to her with a plastic cup of water.
"In the meantime, take these."
"I don't much believe in medicine."
"It's only aspirin."
"I don't need it. Really, I feel all right now."
Irena took the damp cloth from her forehead and sat up. She smiled at him.
"See? Good ae new."
Oliver looked at her suspiciously. "You sure didn't seem all right a few minutes ago." He came over and put his hand on her forehead again. Her skin was smooth and cool under his fingers. "That's funny. You were burning up when I brought you in here. Now you feel normal to me."
"I have a peculiar metabolism," she said. "Doctors have told me I don't have the same kind of reactions that other people do."
"A medical marvel," he said.
"In a way. I don't like doctors. I'm glad you're not a real one."
"But I am a real one," he told her, a little defensively. "I just happen to be a doctor of zoology instead of medicine."
"Well, that's all right, I suppose."
"Thanks."
"You're not mad at me?"
"No," he said, chuckling, "but somebody ought to be, for the chances you take. Can I get you anything?"
"Well ..." She looked around the dispensary. "I don't suppose there's anything to eat around here. Suddenly I'm starving."
"Not unless you'd like a nice mash of meal worms and crickets."
She made a face.
"Or horsemeat tartare?"
"Yuck."
"I'll tell you what, I'm about to close up shop for the night, and I'm kind of hungry myself. Why don't you come with me?"
"I'd like that," she said.
Oliver blinked in surprise. He had expected her to be coy about it while they went through the usual thrust and parry of making a first date. She really did react differently.
"Good," he said. "There's a little steak house not far from here where I stop sometimes."
"I try to stay away from meat," she said.
"Right." He appraised her for a moment, wondering if she was going to turn out to be one of those health food freaks. A displaced flower child—natural childbirth, save the whales, no nukes, and all that.
"What about seafood?" he ventured.
"I love it."
"Wonderful." He breathed an inner sigh of relief. "There are almost as many fish houses in New Orleans as Dixieland bands. Let's go."
When they left the zoo, Oliver saw to it that they did not walk past the black leopard.
Chapter 11
The Little Napoleon Fish House on Toulouse Street was not advertised in the tourist guides. Little attention was paid to atmosphere. However, it was well known to the local people who appreciated good food at a reasonable price and did not need frills.
The Little Napoleon had an oyster bar where a cheerful black man cracked open the shells with hands that moved faster than the eye
"I—I think so. Just a little dizzy for a moment."
She was light and vulnerable-feeling in his arms. Oliver put a hand to her forehead. He found it hot and dry to his touch.
"You're feverish," he said.
She leaned against him. "Your hand feels so nice and cool."
"Can you walk all right?"
"Oh, yes, if I can lean on you a little."
"My pleasure. Come on, and I'll take you up to the ad building. There's a dispensary there."
"No, really, I think I'll be all right in a minute," she said.
"I'll be the judge of that. Did I tell you that I'm a doctor?"
"No, you didn't A medical doctor?"
He smiled down at her. "Not exactly, but I can at least get you an aspirin."
"You're the doctor," she said weakly.
Behind them, the leopard growled softly as they started away.
Irena let herself be led through the trees and up the grassy slope to the administration building. Oliver took her into the small dispensary and persuaded her to lie down on the couch. He soaked a cloth under cold running water, wrung it out, and laid it gently across her forehead.
"No kidding," she said, "I don't want to be any trouble to you."
"Hush. If I can find a thermometer, I'll take your temperature and we'll see if we ought to call a genuine doctor for you."
He took a bottle of pills from a shelf, shook two into his hand, and gave them to her with a plastic cup of water.
"In the meantime, take these."
"I don't much believe in medicine."
"It's only aspirin."
"I don't need it. Really, I feel all right now."
Irena took the damp cloth from her forehead and sat up. She smiled at him.
"See? Good ae new."
Oliver looked at her suspiciously. "You sure didn't seem all right a few minutes ago." He came over and put his hand on her forehead again. Her skin was smooth and cool under his fingers. "That's funny. You were burning up when I brought you in here. Now you feel normal to me."
"I have a peculiar metabolism," she said. "Doctors have told me I don't have the same kind of reactions that other people do."
"A medical marvel," he said.
"In a way. I don't like doctors. I'm glad you're not a real one."
"But I am a real one," he told her, a little defensively. "I just happen to be a doctor of zoology instead of medicine."
"Well, that's all right, I suppose."
"Thanks."
"You're not mad at me?"
"No," he said, chuckling, "but somebody ought to be, for the chances you take. Can I get you anything?"
"Well ..." She looked around the dispensary. "I don't suppose there's anything to eat around here. Suddenly I'm starving."
"Not unless you'd like a nice mash of meal worms and crickets."
She made a face.
"Or horsemeat tartare?"
"Yuck."
"I'll tell you what, I'm about to close up shop for the night, and I'm kind of hungry myself. Why don't you come with me?"
"I'd like that," she said.
Oliver blinked in surprise. He had expected her to be coy about it while they went through the usual thrust and parry of making a first date. She really did react differently.
"Good," he said. "There's a little steak house not far from here where I stop sometimes."
"I try to stay away from meat," she said.
"Right." He appraised her for a moment, wondering if she was going to turn out to be one of those health food freaks. A displaced flower child—natural childbirth, save the whales, no nukes, and all that.
"What about seafood?" he ventured.
"I love it."
"Wonderful." He breathed an inner sigh of relief. "There are almost as many fish houses in New Orleans as Dixieland bands. Let's go."
When they left the zoo, Oliver saw to it that they did not walk past the black leopard.
Chapter 11
The Little Napoleon Fish House on Toulouse Street was not advertised in the tourist guides. Little attention was paid to atmosphere. However, it was well known to the local people who appreciated good food at a reasonable price and did not need frills.
The Little Napoleon had an oyster bar where a cheerful black man cracked open the shells with hands that moved faster than the eye
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