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earindle

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II

Friday, April 4th, 7.48am. Kenninsburg Hospital.

The cocoon of silence in the hospital ward gradually breaks, and morning nurses spread all arms so as to help patients with their morning necessities. Trolleys and footsteps form the first rustle of the day, and then the buzzing of conversations between nurses and doctors and patients greeting one another. It is the first shift of the day though interns have been here for a few hours. There is a low symphony yet the chorus is sweet and intensifies as more and more patients wake up and the sound of doors opening and closing joins this early orchestra. You can now listen to the high pitch of strings from the gossiping of each ward, and the deep tenors of the first TVs being turned on. The swish-swish of robes can be heard, and the clap-clap of water, too as a shower of percussions flows from the bathrooms. Laughs lighten the atmosphere and soften this melody. Yet in the halls of gravely ill patients, there is no orchestra, and the few human beings who pass stay silent, so silent they appear to be shadows. The ward doors are firmly closed, and dark shrouds any remnants of life, with only a light bulb or two to lead to the exit. It is in this shallow hall that the passengers of the Ford Focus and the Mini Cooper were led through and laid on beds, machines and tubes keeping them, or what was left of them, alive.

A nurse enters room 219 and checks the machines. In the bed the young girl of the Mini-Cooper seems to be sleeping peacefully. She wakes up at the sound of curtains being drawn back yet recoils as sunlight hits her eyes. The nurse quickly but without a word checks the girl’s body temperature then helps her in an upright position. She then leaves the room without having once acknowledged her presence to the girl, and comes back with a trolley, some ten minutes later, containing a meagre breakfast. She takes out a portable table and places it on the girl’s lap with the breakfast tray. She nods to the girl and leaves once more. Sophie, as such is her name inscribed on a board at the end of her bed, will not touch her food. Since the accident, she has lost her appetite and any other want or craving. She just stares for hours out of the window, and when the sun sets, goes to sleep. Psychiatrists and psychologists have been sent to her ward but she never spoke once to any of them. At first the nurse in charge of her would come in with a smile and try to chat with her but she has abandoned any hope and now only considers the girl as a loss of time. No one came to visit Sophie for the simple reason that she has no living relative. Yet she wished someone would have sent her a bouquet of flowers, someone she thought loved her …

Sophie has to stay in this ward because she does not feed herself, and because the doctors think the accident may have turned her ‘nuts’. Every now and then, the nurse would find her sitting on the window seal, the machines turned off and the tubes disconnected from her body. So now the window is barred and Sophie is somewhat ‘tied’ to the bed. She recalls attempts of ‘escape’ and with a sigh understands that the only way she can leave is by eating and talking to the medical staff. She looks down at the bowl of cereal swimming in milk, heavily picks up the spoon, and slowly but surely, starts eating. The cereal loops, soaked with milk, have lost their taste, and the coffee is bitter, yet she finishes it to the last crumb and sip. When the nurse comes back she is astonished to find the tray empty and looks all over the small room to see if Sophie hasn’t thrown it all away. Realising that she ate it all she smiles. Well someone has come to her senses, heh ? Sophie smiles back yet is unable to respond.

A few hours later, a doctor enters the ward, a smile stretching all the way up to his hears. Sophie looks at him inquisitively, but he only takes a chair and sits by her bed. I’m very proud of you, Miss Merryton. You have proven to the entire staff that you do not need psychological aid anymore and that you have grown to the accident. We feared you succumbed to an aftershock, like depression, or a want to die. Sophie, who had been staring blankly at the doctor started at the mention of death ; She had thought about it at first but when she found out that she came out of the accident with only broken bones, she quickly pushed the idea out of her mind. No, why she had refused to eat or communicate was for another reason. As the doctor continued his speech, Sophie turned to her thoughts. Her life had always been uneventful, or at least, no unpredictable event had crossed it. She had been an only child and both her parents had died of old age a few years ago. She had been a somewhat good student throughout her education and had even gone to university to study medicine. She had ended up as a nurse in Fillworth hospital, a few miles away from Kenninsburg where she lived all by herself. She had had several boyfriends in her teenage years and student years, but never any serious relationship. All of her friends had gone away to the capital and they had lost touch. Now she was alone but she didn’t mind it because she had her patients and they gave her enough social. Working as a nurse, she had a routine, and in her case, a night routine. She used Highway 15 daily because it wasn’t crowded and she enjoyed the peacefulness of the countryside. She had expected to be a nurse for the rest of her life, with nothing to stand in her way. Perhaps she would get married, perhaps she would get children, grandchildren, but that’s the way things went. The thought of an accident had never crossed her mind, and definitely not one that could have cost her her life. Therefore, after she had regained consciousness, she thought her life was doomed because an unpredicted event had come upon it. But the thread had not been cut and her life was continuing on, perhaps in another direction. She looks at the doctor again and softly steps out of her reverie. I feel much better, sir, she utters in half-whisper. The doctor nods and pats her hand. I am glad, extremely glad. He puts the chair back and turns to leave.

Oh, all right. Sophie sounds disappointed but does not inquire more as from the doctor’s tone she knows he won’t answer. The doctor leaves and closes the door behind him. Sophie turns her eyes towards the window and gazes outside. It’s a sunny day, without a cloud in sight. She imagines that it must be warm and that flowers are blooming in this early spring. She can’t see any trees but her imagination is full of them. Forgetting once more her question, she dozes off.