Thomas nodded. He had to smile. He hadn’t thought of that. He opened the door and washed his hands. Never in his life before, he felt, had he washed them with so much soap and such hot water and at such length as he did now. They were red when he dried them.
When he came out again, she was leaning on the windowsill opposite and gave him a mischievous smile. Let me see.
Unsure of himself, Thomas held out his red hands.
Turn them over. Now she unfolded her arms and touched his fingers as if to help him.
Thomas turned his hands in all directions. Okay?
Almost. It’s important for you to cut your nails as short as possible. And you must brush the nails. Get them nice and clean. In a hospital everything has to be clean, at least everything about us. You want to study?
Thomas tentatively nodded; obviously she had read his personal file.
You see, even if you don’t become a nurse but you’re maybe operating later, your hands have to be clean. Sterile. No germs. Just like they are now. Come on, she said, turning on her flat heels. Come along, she waved enticingly to him to follow her, I’ll find you a pair of scissors.
A slight aroma rose to Thomas’s nostrils. Was it egg yolk, sweet yeast, warm butter? It reminded Thomas of the cakes that Michael’s mother made. The young woman was already turning the next corner, and Thomas had to stride out to keep up with her. He had seldom noticed a woman’s neck before. The pattern where her hairline began touched him, its symmetry was breathtakingly beautiful and made him think of metal filings in a magnetic field. Her hair was pinned up under her cap with thin hairpins, and the finest of little hairs curled at the nape of her neck, shining chestnut brown in the late-winter sunlight. Her shoulders were as narrow as a young girl’s, although she must be several years older than Thomas. She had finished her training, she was in charge of the ward, at least today, when Matron was off duty.
She introduced Thomas to her colleagues in the nurses’ room. Thomas is our new auxiliary. He’ll be staying until October, she said, looking at him for confirmation and winking as she did so, as if they were accomplices. And then maybe he’ll get a place to study. The other nurses said hello, looked up from their tables of figures and their cups and nodded to him.
Marie turned round, opened a drawer, took something out and went up to Thomas. She gave him a small pair of nail scissors that she was holding in the hollow of her hand. Take them into the toilet with you, and I’ll wait for you here.
Thomas did as he was told. He cut his nails so short that the skin of two fingers was left sore, and one thumb was bleeding.
Now I’ll take you round the ward, said Marie, and Thomas followed her. Maybe he could follow this woman a good deal of the time? She seemed to know exactly where to go. First she showed him a storeroom where brooms, cleaning cloths, bowls, containers, bedpans and hot-water bottles were kept, as well as vases for flowers.
For if there’s an accident, she said, and her delicate lips sketched a smile.
An accident?
Don’t look so anxious — quick as a cat, she licked her upper lip — we don’t have a patient dying every day. I mean if something goes wrong, if a patient vomits or doesn’t make it to the toilet in time, or a bowl of soup gets spilt. Things like that. You’ll find buckets, scrubbing brushes, all you need in here.
Thomas nodded vaguely. He hadn’t thought of having to wipe up sick and other fluids. There was something glazed about the smile on Marie’s delicate lips. The way she avoided his eyes told him that she had practised smiling, just like him. She could do it on request at any time. There might not be anything more than politeness behind it.
There were nicer things in the next room, where all the cupboards were full of bedclothes. Little notices were fitted above the handles of the cupboard doors. Sheets. Hand towels. Duvet covers. Pillowcases. Draw sheets. Foot sheets. Shrouds. Molton cloths, large, medium, small. Large terry towels. Hand towels. Tea cloths. Bibs. Nappies. Large nappies. Nightshirts. The early shift makes the beds, and the used bedlinen goes in that cart, said Marie, pointing to the large cart standing in the corridor outside the laundry room. Sometimes we’ll be asking you to wheel the cart over to the main laundry.
Thomas nodded. He’d have liked to tell her that she didn’t have to smile for his benefit.
And you won’t be going into this room. Marie pointed to the next door. It’s locked. Apart from the doctors only Matron and I, that’s to say the ward sister on duty instead of Matron, have keys. There are cupboards for medicaments in here, and supplies of cellulose wadding, gauze, cotton wool, muslin bandages, plasters and so on. When the packs of those run out in the nurses’ room you must tell Matron or me.
Wasn’t she cold, with her bare arms under her white nurse’s coat? Her arms were immaculately white, but two long, thin scars aroused Thomas’s curiosity. Where did she get those scars on her arm? Had a patient scratched her, or maybe a cat?
Thomas’s stomach was grumbling. The sound was so loud that even Marie couldn’t miss hearing it. She smiled briefly and looked down. Now for the kitchen. She went ahead of him, taking small steps. Halfway there she turned to Thomas. Of course I’m just going to show you the kitchen. It’s occurred to me that you may be hungry, but there’s nothing for us to eat there. Meals for the patients are brought from the main kitchen in the cart in the morning, at midday, in the evening. They had reached the kitchen. There are two small immersion heaters here. Cans down there. And camomile, peppermint and fruit teas up there in those bags. She stretched to reach a high cupboard door. Thomas wanted to help her, but at the last moment he held back, for fear of touching her. She turned to him and looked startled, because she hadn’t noticed how close to her he was standing. Her perfume stirred an electrical impulse in him. Thomas took a step back. This time her smile was natural, and she looked at the door as if assuring herself that no one was watching them through the open doorway. She folded her arms and placed her right hand in a curiously upright position on the inside of her upper arms. Her fingertips touched the fabric of her coat under her armpits.
Sometimes the tea is served black, usually not. We don’t have any coffee for the patients. If a patient brings coffee we brew it when we have time, but that doesn’t often happen. She reached up to the top cupboard, and then closed the cupboard door again with a practised movement. He could see the outline of her panties under her white coat. Sometimes we’ll be sending you to fetch the cart with the meals, or to take it back to the kitchen later. Depending on what we have delivered, there are also fruit juices, sauerkraut and apples. But only with the doctor’s permission, not all the patients can or should drink fruit juice.
As she recited all this, she licked her upper lip now and then. It happened so quickly that Thomas had to stare at her mouth if he wasn’t to miss it.
Is something the matter? She had a very wide, large mouth, and her delicate lips were almost violet. She was probably cold. You’re staring so. Is something wrong?
Thomas heard her ask, and had to tell himself to stop staring, blink, tear his gaze away from her mouth and look back at her eyes.
No, nothing.
Tell me what I just told you.
He liked her slightly husky voice, and repeated: And up there in the bags there’s camomile, peppermint and fruit teas. Sometimes it’s served black, usually not. We don’t have any coffee for the patients. If a patient brings coffee we brew it when we have time, but that doesn’t often –
— Happen, she said, laughing with satisfaction now. That’s good. You notice everything. Her laugh disappeared as suddenly as it had come.