Maybe Daniel never had needed her, just a mother for Eva, and that was the reason he had taken her into his life. But his heart belonged to the one who had died. Hana recalls how, when she moved into the manse, she found traces of Jitka everywhere: her clothes in the wardrobes, two pairs of ladies' shoes by the front door, her photograph in a frame on Daniels desk and above the child's cot a paper dove whose wings flapped in the draught. 'Jitka was already in hospital when she made that,' Daniel had explained and was at a loss what to do with the clothes and shoes, as he could hardly throw away things that reminded him of the woman he had loved. So Hana had to live for a while with the effects of the departed and for the whole time with the memory of her. Daniel never spoke about Jitka and Eva called Hana 'Mummy'. In fact, until she was eight, she had not known that her real mother was no longer alive.
Now Eva was grown up and could cope without her; so could Daniel, in fact. Who needs you, when you are not even needed by your nearest and dearest? Probably nobody — and that's a difficult realization to live with.
It's almost two o'clock and Hana quickly writes out the most urgent instructions for the afternoon shift. Feed Mr Lagrin!
A week ago they had moved a Romany youth on to the ward. Skinheads had thrown him off the cliff at Šárka. He had survived the fall but had suffered multiple fractures and concussion. This morning they had taken him off artificial feeding on the grounds that he should be able to feed himself by now. When she went on to the ward she discovered he had not touched any of his food. She asked him why.
'I cannot hold the spoon.' And he showed her how his hands were shaking.
'But we would have fed you.'
'I did ask, but the sister she told me that on her wages she would not feed me.'
Later she asked in the nurses' station who had had the nerve to say such a thing, but naturally no one owned up. But even if the nurse had owned up she couldn't throw her out, as she'd never find a replacement.
Hana needs a holiday. She feels tired out. Not so much from work as from life in general. Her life admittedly has its regular routine but there is nothing in it that she really looks forward to. It doesn't offer any enticing prospects. And the heavenly kingdom that Daniel so
often talks about with such enthusiasm has never assumed any definite form in her mind and she has never imagined what might await her beyond its gates. She is almost ashamed of the fact and feels ordinary and down-to-earth compared to Daniel. Maybe she too would be capable of elevated thoughts and deeper contemplation about God and His plans, but how can you have elevated thoughts when two nurses this month have already handed in their notice. One of them she considered the best on the ward; now she has found a job as a hotel waitress.
'And won't you be sorry to be dashing around somewhere with dishes when here you could be doing a job for which only you are qualified?'
'But they pay three times as much.'
Where will she find new nurses now, with nothing to offer them? For the time being they will just have to share out the duties among themselves and that could well cause others to leave. What will happen then she prefers not to contemplate. This is a ward where the slightest neglect or inattention means death; and it can happen that several post-operative incidents or complications can easily occur at the same time. Now she is left with only one nurse for the night shift and she won't manage everything even if she splits herself down the middle. And then there was the holiday; she probably shouldn't have listened to Daniel and taken four weeks extra leave.
It is already two thirty; Hana has finished taking stock of the medicines and is on her way to the changing room. She has not managed to account for all the analgesics and the ephedrine preparations; someone is stealing them for their own use or making some extra money by selling them. Everything comes down to money these days. Everyone wants to get rich quick and the essential things in life are ignored.
What are the essential things in life?
Faith, hope and love.
Except that faith is dying and hope is therefore also on the decline. And what people now regard as love has little in common with it. It tends to be no more than a mutual encounter of bodies and at best a few trite saccharine phrases. She doesn't know them from personal experience, but has picked them up from television serials or from listening to the girls in the nurses' station.
They often confide in Hana, perhaps on account of her motherly appearance, or because she's a pastor's wife, or simply because she's a
patient listener. She is unshockable, understanding and ready to give advice. She tends to advise patience and warn against excessive trustfulness and impulsive decisions guided by feelings rather than prudence.
Sometimes, when she sees that passion, that total surrender to expectations of love, or when she detects the unconcealable tremor in the voice, she realizes that deep down in her there is also a hidden longing or perhaps an anticipation of some vague change, some action that will carry her out of this current that sweeps her along monotonously between the same banks.
It could well be that when she is giving her young subordinates a talking-to and warning them against foolish outbursts, she is addressing and rebuking herself too. She warns others against imprudence, never having been aware of imprudence under her own roof. Thanks to her job, she has heard more about drug addiction than Daniel. In this country every other person is a drug addict without knowing it. Grandparents are used to swallowing a whole tube of tablets each day, unable to imagine life without them. They would die of anxiety at the emptiness. They don't have a god so they stuff themselves with anadin, Valium and anti-depressants. Maybe that's permissible at the end of a life, but what will happen to the ones who start it at age eighteen? Her step-daughter is at risk and Daniel is too good-hearted — naive, she'd say — to give Eva a proper talking-to, let alone punish her. He believes she'll come to her senses on her own. But how many drug addicts ever came to their senses on their own? The only outcome of such a kindly and understanding approach to child-rearing would be that Marek and Magda would end up being tempted too. Marek seems to be sensible enough but Magda is attracted by anything she sees as forbidden or sinful. Not long ago Hana found a box of matches in her school bag. 'What are you carrying matches around with you for?'
'No particular reason. In case I needed to see something when it gets dark.'
'So long as you're not thinking of smoking.'
'Oh, Mummy, whatever makes you say such a thing?'
Her astonishment did not sound in the least convincing.
Those two young criminals that Daniel was so proud of reforming, and that he spoiled more than his own children, wouldn't come into the house if Hana had her way Even if they have been baptized and they feign piety, there is no reason for them to be friendly with their children.
If only Daniel had more time for them to talk together. If only he would find a moment to tell her he loves her.
Hana leaves the hospital in a bad mood. Outside the front entrance she bumps into the journalist who has just given her a bunch of flowers and so reminded her of her first love. His name is Volek. He greets her with a rather unconventional bow. She had mentioned she was going on her holiday. It occurred to him he would probably not see her again so he would like to thank her for all the care he has received and invite her for a coffee, at least.
'No, thank you. I have to get home. My husband and children are expecting me.'
'How old are your children?'
'Twelve and fourteen.'
'You can't be serious, Matron!'
'I also have a step-daughter who is eighteen. Why do you ask?'