Putrapur, Andhra Pradesh, India
May 15, 1939
9:30 p.m.
Liebe Josef,
How are you? Where are you? I wish I knew. I wonder continually.
Today I am in a small village called Putrapur; the day after tomorrow I move on to Sihar. I would try and tell you precisely where they are but I am not really sure myself. All I know is that I have already traveled far into the dusty heart of this vast country and keep moving still. I have had no news of my parents since I left Hyderabad. My father said it must be that way.
I never linger anywhere long even though the people beg me to stay. They are so poor, Josef. Within minutes of my arrival, they form queues of illness and injury that would make me weep if I was not so busy treating it all. Where do they all come from?
It makes me feel like I too am climbing a mountain alone, a mountain of pain and disease. It is as big as Mount Everest. You told me once that when you climb you just take one step at a time, put one foot in front of another. I try to do the same but I have no sight of any summit. I too feel like Sisyphus …
It is so hot here tonight. I wish I could lie next to you on the cold, cold ground where you are. Do you sleep on snow and ice now?
It is so dry here tonight. I wish I could walk with you in the green, fresh hills of Elmau. I would like to drink from the cool spring you told me you used to visit with your family. Will we go there together one day?
It is so sad here. I wish I could sit with you on the deck of the Gneisenau and laugh as we once did. Will I ever laugh again?
I am a person of questions with no answers.
I never have any answers.
I need you.
I can’t do this alone …
Tears began to fall onto the paper.
The black ink they met dissolved and ran across the page.
Putting her pen to one side, Magda tore the note from her journal and crunched it into a ball in her hand. Holding it tightly, she stepped from the small hut out into the roar of the insects.
In the night shadows she could see the people already gathered for the next day’s clinic. Walking through them she felt their patient suffering and let it smother her own.
Stopping at the embers of a dying cooking fire, she dropped the paper in. It briefly flared yellow.
The people began to stir, seeing Magda’s face illuminated by the flames. Realizing who she was, they reached out to her.
Wiping her eyes, she turned back from the fire. There was work to do.
Just put one foot in front of the other …