Chapter Thirty-Two
The instant Miss Perkins pushes Sam through the door of the infirmary, the smell changes. He no longer breathes in Nurse Beck’s flowery perfume but fried food with a hint of pee.
Sam understands why when he sees the inmates. Inmates? Is that what he and the other prisoners are called?
The room where he finds himself has three separate seating areas and several blue flowered rugs. In the background, more than one radio is playing.
A few of the boys are teenagers. Some are in wheelchairs. One of the boys is perhaps nine or ten. He is wearing only a T-shirt and a huge diaper.
A boy about his age walks up to him. Even though his hair is combed and his face is clean, the way his eyes are sunk into his pudgy face makes him look lost.
“Daddy?” the boy asks.
Sam resents his stiff neck which won’t allow him to turn away.
A few boys in wheelchairs are scattered around the room. Miss Perkins pushes Sam past a group of boys who are piecing together puzzles on a circular rug. A big burly attendant, wearing a hairnet which covers her ears, is helping them.
Sam can’t take his eyes off the large, bright puzzle pieces. The bears, cakes and houses look like they’re designed for three-year-olds.
Miss Perkins stops in front of some purple drapes. “Your new window.” She pulls back the curtains, and sunlight floods the room.
At first, all Sam notices is the dust cloud glittering in the light.
Miss Perkins pushes him closer.
Sam gazes out on a circular drive, green grass, stone benches and a big oak tree. Without a basketball court, it isn’t as interesting as his old view. But he knows instinctively that he will be able to stare at that oak tree for years and still find a new twist in its branches or a new stain on its bark.
He might have to. He has gotten used to his body holding him prisoner. For the first time, he feels like the place where he lives is a prison, too.
I certainly hated every minute of my imprisonment more than I have ever hated any other period of my life,31† Winnie breaks in. He’s talking about when he was captured by the Boers.
I’m glad that you agree with me, Sam answers. But Winnie’s confession isn’t exactly comforting. Sam realizes it makes him uncomfortable to realize that being a prisoner was hard even for Winnie, who makes everything seem easy.
“Past that fence,” Miss Perkins is saying, “you can spot a horse.”
Sam is searching the horizon when an adult voice screams, “Ralph, no!”
Behind him, Sam listens to the footsteps. The thumps sound broad as if made by large tennis shoes.
“Ralph, put that puzzle down,” Miss Perkins scolds.
Miss Perkins probably has the kid under control, but Sam slumps anyway to protect himself.
“That’s a good boy, Ralph,” Miss Perkins says. “Let me introduce you to Sam.”
Miss Perkins pulls the big boy over to him.
Ralph cocks his head and grins. His front tooth is half gone. He wears a short-sleeved T-shirt and baggy pants without a belt. His biceps are huge, as if he lifts weights.
Sam drools, so he shouldn’t criticize, but Ralph’s mouth is like a water fountain.
Except for a few thank-yous in the clinic, Sam has not spoken to anyone for over a week. “HHHii!” he croaks.
Ralph cocks his head one way, then the other, all the while studying Sam curiously.
“Ralph is like a big, strong, four-year-old,” Miss Perkins says. “It’s going to be really…important that you make…friends with Ralph, Sam.”
Miss Perkins’ nervousness is a warning. Sam tries to smile at Ralph.
Ralph reaches over and pats his cheek.
Sam smiles harder.
Ralph pinches his cheek.
“Ralph, no,” Miss Perkins says firmly.
“Ralph, come here,” the attendant calls from the floor.
Ralph’s gaze lingers on Sam and then he turns. Sam hears the thud of his tennis shoes as he walks away.
“He’s not a bad kid,” Miss Perkins whispers. “He just doesn’t know his own strength. Now, I’ll be right back.”
Miss Perkins walks away.
Sam stares at the tree and listens. He can’t follow the background conversation. It’s a din of voices, footsteps, and radio songs.
Although he usually doesn’t have to call to him, Sam finally asks, Winnie, are you there?
No answer.
Panicked, Sam cries, Winnie? Where are you?
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† Reprinted with permission of Scribner, an imprint of Simon & Schuster Adult Publishing Group, from MY EARLY LIFE: A ROVING COMMISSION by Winston Churchill. Copyright © 1930 by Charles Scribner’s Sons; copyright renewed© 1958 by Winston Churchill. All rights reserved.