“It’s snowing again?” I asked. She nodded. That would inhibit our progress tomorrow.
“Let’s get this over with,” said the patient.
His tolerance for pain exceeded anything I had seen. He bit the stick, not out of necessity, but in defiance.
Emilia was an attentive assistant, anticipating both my needs and his. But she appeared fatigued so I sent her back to her corner to rest. She didn’t sleep. She watched my every move.
The final piece of shrapnel was lodged deep. My knuckles disappeared as I reached inside the wound for it. I was concerned about gangrene but didn’t mention it. The pain was enough for him to contend with. I leaned down and whispered, “I think I got it all. It was deep and the wound is wide. I’m going to wake the shoemaker and have him sew it up. He’s probably got a tighter stitch.”
He spit out the stick. “No, you do it.” He paused. “Please.”
I looked at the open wound. Poet sewed a lot of leather and would seam it cleaner than I could, but if blood and flesh bothered the old man, it would only make things worse.
I sewed and dressed the wound. “So I didn’t see your papers, but I did spy cigarettes in your pocket,” I told him, wiping my hands.
“You didn’t tell me there was a fee.”
He looked up at me, eyes flickering like gas lamps. His face spoke of pain—physical pain like I had seen in the hospital but also emotional pain, like I had seen in my parents. He stared at me, his eyes slowly traveling over my face.
“There are matches in the same pocket,” he finally said.
I pulled out a cigarette and ran it through my fingers, trying to straighten it. I lit the end and sucked a grateful drag. The hot smoke warmed my cold chest. I leaned toward him and gently put the cigarette to his lips, allowing him to inhale. The glow of the tip illuminated his face. There were hints of handsome beneath the bruises and dirt.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Save the rest. They’re hard to come by,” he said, exhaling.
I stubbed the cigarette out against my shoe and returned it to his pocket. “Do you want to see the shrapnel I removed? This big piece is nearly the size of a bottle cap.” I reached over to show it to him. He grabbed my wrist.
“Don’t ever try to steal from me,” he whispered.
“What are you talking about?” I said, trying to pull away.
His grip tightened. “You saw my papers.”
“No, I didn’t. Stop, you’re hurting me.”
“You know something about me, this wound.” His voice was weak but carried concern. Or was it delirium? He mumbled for a while and then said, “Tell me something about you.” He released his grip slightly.
“You want to know something about me?” I asked.
I stared at his tired face. He waited, eyelids beginning to droop. They fluttered closed and his fingers softly released my wrist. I watched him breathe for a while, his identity papers still tucked under his torso. He wanted to know something about me. I leaned over and put my mouth to his ear. It was barely a whisper.
“I’m a murderer.”
florian
Thoughts of the nurse girl followed me through sleep and lingered after I awoke. Did I dream that I spoke with her? It made me angry. With each day that passed the threat mounted. Had they made the discovery in K?nigsberg yet? I couldn’t let a pretty girl sidetrack me.
The barn was still dark, hollow with the emptiness of the displaced people it housed. My wristwatch said it was approaching 4:00 a.m. I pulled myself to a sitting position, gritting my teeth to fight the pain. My pack was untouched, my papers still beneath me. I returned the documents to my jacket and got to my feet.
I took a couple of steps toward the barn door and the blind girl sat up, her milky eyes blinking. The nurse slept next to her, her suitcase open, pretty brown hair scalloped around her face. What did she say her name was? No, it didn’t matter. She was ugly. That’s what I told myself.
I knelt and rummaged through the nurse’s suitcase. The blind girl’s nose rose toward the roof. She rotated her head and stared straight at me. What could she see? Were her eyes frosted over like an icy window, allowing light and dark to filter through? Or was her world curtained black? My hands silently sifted through the nurse’s belongings. What was I doing? This girl had possibly saved me, saved me for a single drag of a cigarette. I told myself it wasn’t stealing. It was protection.