An Episode of Yellow Fever in Buenos Aires (1871)

"Such a drama. Those two are always trouble. We'd better not go any further inside. He's dead, and she certainly won't live much longer either. We'd better call the coroner to pack the whole lot up. That man can better tolerate the air and all those sickening substances. Those kinds of people are immune."

"My condolences for your loss, sir… madam…" The doctor took off his hat and looked at the spectacle. The young woman stretched out on the floor, a toddler pulling at her clothes and crying loudly.

"The child…" he began, but the old man wanted none of it.

"Weaklings, that's what they all are," he sniffed. "Some future the youth have. Just look at them. Weeks lying feebly in bed, a swollen body. He chose a feeble, useless woman, and then that child." He turned around and as he walked down the hallway he shouted: "Make sure they are out of the house within the hour. Maid, disinfect the place, all the furniture is to be burned, and the door to that room is to be locked…"

The doctor stood motionless, his hat still in his hand. The echo of the old man's voice died away in the corridor, followed by the slamming of a door. Silence, except for the sobbing of the toddler. The little one tugged at the young woman's skirt, the small fists clenched around the fabric.

He knelt down beside her. Her breathing was shallow. The skin beneath her eyes had turned purple, and the fingers, he lifted her hand, showed spots. He looked towards the bed where the man lay. A wax-yellow face, black vomit stains on the pillow. Yellow fever, he thought. Buenos Aires was in the grip of an outbreak; the cemeteries were filling up.

The maid shuffled forward nervously from behind the doorway. "Doctor… the master says…"

"I know what the master says," he said. Then, more softly: "It's yellow fever."

The maid swallowed. "My brother died of it in the harbour. The young mistress... has she got it too?"

"She has a fever. She looks dreadful. I suspect so."

The child had finally fallen silent. He looked up at the doctor with large, frightened eyes, his little fingers gripping the lapels of the black suit. A small, warm bundle of clammy skin in a shirt that was far too thin.

"Does the child have..." the maid said.

The doctor placed his hand on the toddler's forehead. Warm. Too warm. But no jaundice yet, nothing in the eyes. Perhaps it was just the warmth from all the crying.

"Call the coroner," he said to the maid, "but don't say anything to the old man about the fever. He'll want to burn everything, including this child."

"He already does," said the maid. "From the sitting room he shouted that the cot and the christening gown must also be burned. And that the doctor shouldn't stay too long, because… "that fellow might be infected too."

The doctor felt the child press itself even deeper against his chest.

"Tell your master that I am taking the infected linen for examination," the doctor said calmly, "and the child as a specimen. For science."

The maid looked at him, first surprised, then with something like admiration. She nodded and disappeared.

The doctor carefully closed the door to the sickroom. Then he walked outside with the child. Smoke hung over the city. In the distance another fire, another house being purged.

The little one began to whimper softly. He pulled his jacket around the child. First home, he thought, to a clean environment with peace and quiet, and some food.

He knew that the chance the child did not have the fever was small. But the chance was not zero. And for that one chance, he did not want to watch a toddler being burned with the furniture by a bitter old man. Even in plague-stricken Buenos Aires, there were still clean rooms, and people still believed in miracles.

_{Painting: An Episode of Yellow Fever in Buenos Aires (1872) - public domain
Painter: Juan Manuel Blanes
28-4-2026
The contest (Art & Writing)[https://steemit.com/hive-108800/@solperez/concurso-de-arte-y-escritura-186-y-ganadores-de-la-edicion-185-art-and-writing-contest-186-y-winners-de-la-edicion-185) is hosted by @solperez
The original text is Dutch.}