Judith sat in her office, blowing on her hands. She could cope with the other shortages in the hospital but the lack of coal made her miserable. She was drawing up a nurses’ training program for dealing with displaced people, but, as she reread the program, she wondered whether UNRRA would supply the psychologists she had recommended. Probably not. She would have to include a psychological component in her program to give nurses an insight into the problems of survivors and suggest strategies for preparing them for life outside the hospital.
Now that a small contingent of nurses had finally arrived from England, the hospital was filled with the cheery descant of English voices. It was a relief to know that she could entrust the care of the patients to well-trained women, some of whom she had taught herself. The number of acute cases had decreased and although there were still far too many cases of gastroenteritis and pulmonary tuberculosis, she had more time now to talk to the patients.
During her ward rounds, Judith sensed their restlessness as attempts to find a country that would accept them ended in one rejection after another. Affluent Western countries didn’t want to admit displaced and dispossessed people who had lost everyone and everything. It was a bloody disgrace. Where was the humanity? The governments were willing to go to war but not to pick up the pieces afterwards.
As she hurried out of the hospital for her daily stroll, she passed Elzunia spooning soup into the mouth of an old woman whose hands shook so violently that she couldn’t feed herself. Ever since the girl had talked about her life, Judith’s admiration for her had grown. If anyone deserved to find happiness, it was Elzunia.
This was her favourite time of day, just before sunset, when she set off for her daily stroll to the woods. Twigs snapped and leaves rustled under her feet as she walked along the rough track. The day was coming to an end and only the twittering and whistling of birds as they flitted back to their nests broke the silence. The trees almost obscured the sky and the forest seemed to be alive and watching her.
As soon as Judith came to the small clearing, she felt her mind unwinding like a skein of wool loosened from a tight spindle. The bluebells had withered but new plants had sprung up. Under their leaves she found small blue-black berries that stained her fingers like ink, but tasted gritty, sharp and sweet.
She was sitting on a grassy hummock, picking berries and listening to the birds when a ray of sunlight shone so brightly into her eyes that she had to look away. She turned her head in the direction of a stand of birches some distance away. Depending on the angle of her vision, their knobbly trunks leaned towards each other or pulled away, fusing design and disorder into an artistic whole. The wonderful anarchy of life, she chuckled to herself as she headed back to the hospital.
Judith was finishing her paperwork for the day when the sister in charge of Intensive Care knocked on her door. Kathleen was one of the nurses she had trained in London, a cheerful Irish girl who spoke so fast that she sometimes had trouble following her.
‘One of the locals just brought a fellow in. He found him unconscious in the forest. Someone didn’t like him, judging by the state he’s in. He’s got some broken ribs and the bruises on his body look like they were made by a boot. And his face! I’ve never seen such a mess in all me born days. He’s still unconscious.’
Judith put down her pen. ‘What did the doctor say?’
‘Doctor thinks he’ll pull through but it looks like some of his broken ribs have perforated the lungs, so he’ll need a lot of nursing. I once had a case like that in London —’
‘Do we know who he is? Any papers on him?’
Kathleen shook her head. ‘No papers at all. I got the girls to go through all his pockets, the ones in his jacket and his trousers and that —’
Judith nodded impatiently. Kathleen always gave the impression of having all the time in the world to chat and drink endless cups of tea. ‘So we’ll have to wait until he’s conscious to find out who he is,’ Judith said.
Kathleen nodded. ‘That’s right, so it is. Because the way he looks now, not even his own ma would recognise him.’
There was no stopping the girl. Judith drummed her fingers on the desk until she rose to leave. She was at the door when, to Judith’s annoyance, she turned around.
‘I almost forgot,’ she said. ‘We did find something on him when they brought him in.’
She put her hand into her apron pocket and held out a slim silver cigarette case.