“It is not true. It is just that there is no time to say how good you are. There is so much to do.”
We had reached the shore.
“I shall come with you to the hospital,” said Philippe Lablanche.
“Oh, there is no need to,” I told him.
“We shall be all right now.”
“I should not consider my mission complete if I did not. And I will tell you this: I have business in the hospital. Many of our men are there. There are duties. I come now and then.”
“Then we may see you again,” said Henrietta.
“I shall hope so. In fact, I shall make sure that we meet again.”
We climbed the slope. The hospital lay before us, looking almost romantic in the darkness without the pitiless sun showing us its crumbling decay. Now it could well be the sultan’s palace.
“We are so grateful to you,” said Henrietta.
“You have been so gracious and kind … not making us feel that we are a pair of fools. Hasn’t he, Anna?”
“Indeed he has. Thank you. Monsieur Lablanche.”
“It has been my great pleasure to escort you.”
He was holding my hand and smiling at me. Then he took Henrietta’s hand. She gave him one of her dazzling smiles.
“Thank you. Thank you,” she said.
He was still holding her hand.
“Goodbye,” she said.
“No … not goodbye. I come here often. I shall seek you out. It is au revoir. That is a much nicer way of saying farewell … for the moment.”
“Indeed it is,” replied Henrietta.
“Come along,” I said.
“Let’s hope we have not caused too much trouble by being late.”
We went into the hospital. In a few minutes we should be on duty. And that, I thought, is the end of that little adventure. But I could not stop thinking of Dr. Adair and wondering about him.
I glanced at Henrietta. I was sure she was doing the same.
We talked about it afterwards as, side by side, we washed sheets in the enormous tub, sleeves rolled up, arms plunged deep in the greying water.
“Do you know,” said Henrietta, “I believe he has a harem in that place. I believe he lives like a sultan. When we went into that room I was waiting for him to clap his hands and say:
“Take them away; bathe them in asses’ milk; encircle their anklets with jewels; perfume them with the scents of Araby and send them to my couch.”
“I believe he is capable of anything.”
“I am sure he is. But, Anna, isn’t he the most fascinating creature you ever met?”
“He is the strangest. I detest him.”
“I wonder about him. He just walks out of the hospital when he has had enough of it and goes to his harem. Who else would think of such a thing? I’d like to see them, wouldn’t you?”
“Who?”
“The harem women, of course. I imagine them … black-eyed and luscious. That black stuff they put round their eyes makes them very enticing. There is something about those women in yashmaks. Imagine withholding yourself from the world because your lord and master commands you to. You can see there is one aim in their lives: to be attractive to men. Wouldn’t it have been amusing if we had been dragged to his harem and to confront him there and say, ” Dr. Adair, I presume. “
“Your imagination always runs away with your common sense. I don’t suppose there was a harem. I believe people gather in places like that to take drugs. You can imagine them all lying’ about on divans smoking hookahs.”
“You’re worse than I am! I much prefer the harem. But what an interesting man. I never met a more fascinating one.”
She talked of him continually.
Winter was with us. Icy winds blew across the land and it was impossible to keep the patients warm. Always we were in need. Since we had arrived, Miss Nightingale’s organization, persistence and common sense had made a great deal of difference, but there was still not enough.
Eliza was now working in what was called the invalids’ kitchen, which had been installed by Miss Nightingale. She herself had brought with her and paid for herself arrowroot and meat essences, which she wanted for the very sick. Eliza’s strength was useful in lifting the heavy pans; and I think the work was more suited to her than actual nursing.
Ethel had changed. She looked happier. I discovered the reason why one day when I saw her tending one of the wounded. It was something in the manner in which she smoothed his sheets, the smile about her lips; and I saw in his response that there was some understanding between them.
She was gentle, quiet, some might think ineffectual, but that frailty and helplessness had an allure, even to a man lying on a sickbed who must be feeling rather helpless himself.
One day when I was in the kitchen helping to prepare food for one of the very sick men, Eliza said to me: “Have you noticed Ethel?”
“Yes,” I answered, “I have.”
“She’s in love.”
“With that man.”
“That’s it. I wish this war was over. Only hope he don’t get cured enough to be sent out again. Not a chance in ‘ell of him coming back if he goes out there again.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Usual. Bullet in the chest. They thought he was a goner when he was brought in, like so many of them, poor devils. But he’s come through?
If you ask me it’s love what’s carrying him along. “
“So he is in love with Ethel?”
“They was both smitten at the same time. Cupid, ain’t he? Well, he got a direct hit on them two.”
“It’s charming. She looks so different… so pretty.”
“True. She does. Wonderful what a bit of love can do. Do you know, since Cupid struck, he’s been getting better. So has she. She worried me at times. Remember that time on deck? I bet you do. Something we would none of us forget in a hurry. She would have done it, you know.
They’ve got a lot of guts, them little ‘uns. She’d have gone right over if you hadn’t stopped her. “
“I felt that, too.”
“Well, she didn’t. Do you know, I reckon if she comes out of this all right and she’s got him to look after, I reckon that would just about be a bit of all right for Ethel.”
“Do you think he would marry her?”
“It’s what he’s said. He’s got a little farm out in the country somewhere. Shares it with his brother. Brother’s keeping it nice and warm till he gets back. Just the ticket for our Eth. Gawd ‘elp us. I pray that poor fellow don’t get well enough to be sent out again … just well enough when the right time comes to be sent home … and back to that little old farm with our Ethel.”
“Eliza,” I said, ‘you are a very good woman. “
“What! You going stark raving mad or something? It’s what this place does to you.”
“I’ll tell you what this place does to you. It makes you see things and people more clearly.”
“I’d be pleased to see little Ethel settled. It’s what she wants. The idea of her going back to that pigsty of a room, stitching away. It gives me the creeps. She wouldn’t be there more than two years.”
“We wouldn’t let her do that.”
“Who do you mean we?”
“You. Me.”
“What’s it got to do with you?”
“As much as it has with you.”
She looked at me through narrowed eyes and laughed.
“You know what you said about me a little while ago?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’ll return the compliment.”
“Thanks.”
As I was about to move away she said: “And I’ll tell you another whose got it as bad as Ethel.”
“Got what?”
“Love.”
“Oh?”
“Henrietta.”
“Henrietta? But with whom?”
“I dunno. You tell me. Someone. You can see it in her face. And let me tell you something else. It was when you came back from that late night out… when you got lost.”