THE CINDER PATH (36 page)

him. He liked the adjutant: he had the

funniest sense of humour; it was odd though to see

him smiling because he never smiled, not when he was being funny. When he came to think of it he

had never seen the adjutant smile. But now he was

lying on his back smiling.

He was yelling again. His mouth was wide and there was

mud pouring into it, it was going down his throat.

"Take it easy. Take it easy." The

curtains were drawn round the bed, the sister was holding him, she had her arms about him, holding him, pressing

him to her. He liked the feel of her, she was his mother.

. . . Oh, not his mother, she was Nellie. . . .

Nellie. Nellie.

"It's all right, it's all right, let go now.

That's it, that's it, relax, relax. You're quite all

right."

Funny, he thought that it was she who had been

holding him. He opened his eyes, then gasped,

drawing in a great long draft of clean ward air.

There was no mud in his mouth, he was in bed.

"I... I... I'm sor ... ry."

"It's all right, it's all right. There now, go

to sleep. There now. There now."

As something sharp went into his arm he

muttered again, "I'm . . . I'm sorry."

"Bring two hot water bottles, he's

cold."

God! he was going to cry. No! no! he mustn't

cry, not that again. Oh no! no! What

was making him want to cry now? Was it because she was being so kind to him? She was usually so correct, so stiff

and starchy. Camisole Kate they called her because

she had a high bust and the nurses said she wore an

old-fashioned camisole. How old was she?

Forty? Forty-five? She was being very kind to him.

What had happened? He was going down again, but there was no mud now. Thank God! there was no mud now. .

. . And something else, something else. As a thought

struck him he tried to rise and tell her ... he

had been down into the mud again and hadn't seen Slater there. Now that was strange: for the first time he had been in the crater-and Slater hadn't been there.

H

E didn't feel at home in his new

surroundings; he was missing Pritchard and Johnson

and Thurkel. They had only three legs between them but

they had seemed so glad to be alive. The night before

he left the three of them had done a form of

tap dance in the ward, and even Riley who could only

move his head because he had very little else to move, had raised it from the pillow and laughed for the first time since coming into the ward.

And they'd all seemed sorry that he was going. That

had given him a nice feeling, a warmth inside.

Sister Layton arranged to be the last to say

good-bye to him as he entered the ambulance. Putting

her head down to him she had said softly, "Give a

thought to Camisole Kate now and again."

He had looked up into the tight smile and

murmured back, "Oh, Sister! Sister!"

They had been a great bunch, more like a family.

He didn't think he'd ever look upon the

crowd here as a family, there were so many of them, both staff and patients.

The hospital was situated in grounds. He

hadn't been allowed out in them yet but from what he could see from the window of his cubicle they were full of

shambling figures.

His companions on each side of him were

captains, one called Fraser, the other

Bartlett. They had been in and introduced themselves.

Bartlett, besides having lost an arm, was still suffering from the remnants of shellshock; and

Fraser, he supposed, was in the same boat, and

he never stopped making jokes about his artificial

foot. As far as he could gather most of those he had

seen were suffering from some kind of war shock. Was that why he had been sent here?

No! no! he hadn't been shellshocked. He

felt he had become immune to bursting shells, and

until the very last had got the idea in his head that in some odd way he was protected, and he couldn't be

blamed for that, he told himself, when men not feet

away from him had been blown to smithereens.

The contrast between the patients and the staff was striking.

Whereas all the patients seemed to amble, the staff were brisk in step, voice, and manner; another term for

it would

be hearty. They were mostly nuns and it was likely

their usual approach to illness, but it could be wearing.

He hankered for the administrations of Bannister,

Roper, and Sister Layton.

He was startled when the door was thrust open and a

small thickset nun entered.

"Ah! there you are, Major. Waiting patiently

for your breakfast, are you? Well now, what about

swinging those feet out of bed, putting on your

dressing-gown and having it at the window?

Look, it's a lovely morning, beautiful.

Look at that sun, you can believe that God's in His

heaven and all's right with the world. My name's Sister Bernard."

"dis . . Oh my God!"

"What did you say? I heard you, yes I

did. Come on." The sheets were pulled back from

him. "Oh my God!" you said.

He didn't move from the bed. Who did she think

she was talking to, a child?

"Now come on, come on. You know what the Chinese

say: A journey of a thousand miles begins but with one

little step. So come on, make it. ... There you are,

that wasn't hard, was it? ... By! you're a

length." She looked up at him, her

peasant-looking face

beaming out of the white starched frill encasing it. "And you know, you get longer lying in bed. Oh yes, you do, it

stretches you. I bet they called you Lofty ...

or was it Tich? Some go to other extremes. . . .

There you are, sit yourself down. Now that wasn't too

bad, was it? And don't look at me like that,

Major." Her face now on a level with his poked

towards him. "We're going to see a lot of each

other within the next few weeks and I can

prophesy one thing here and now, and that is at the end of it you won't have fallen for me."

Her head now went back on to her shoulders and she

let out a high gurgle that might have come from the throat of a young girl, and at this moment the door opened again and another nun entered, and the first turned towards her and said, "Oh there you are, Sister Monica. Well,

we'll get on with this bed. He insisted on getting

up, didn't you, didn't you, Major?" She

stuck her finger into his arm and all he could do was

to look from one to the other in amazement.

Sister Monica could have been the younger of the two but they were both women in their forties, and he now watched them tackling

the bed with such precision and swiftness as he had never seen before.

That done, they both stood before him and Sister

Bernard did the talking-the other one hadn't opened

her mouth-and now she said, "When I'm not at you,

Sister here will take me place. Don't be deceived

by her looks, she's worse than me, we're known

as the Toughies. At night you'll have Sister

Bridget. But don't think you'll get anywhere with

her either, she's worse than us. Well now, your

breakfast will be here in a minute, and eat it

up, every last crumb."

Simultaneously, as if they were controlled by one

mind, they both nodded at him; then Sister Bernard,

bending slightly towards him, poked her face out again

and said, "And don't go complaining to Matron about our manners and treatment because if you do we'll only get

worse and give you hell."

He sat looking towards the closed door for a

moment; then his head going back, he laughed, the

deep-sounding laughter that on rare occasions in his

life released the tension of his body. But he hadn't

been indulging in it for more than seconds when the door burst open again and the two black figures rushed in

once more.

"Now! now! now!" Sister Bernard had hold of him by the shoulders, and he put up his hands and caught her arm and patted it even while he was still shaking with his laughter, and slowly she released her hold on him.

And now as they stood watching him wiping his eyes they began to smile, and then to laugh, and Sister Bernard

turned to Sister Monica and said, "He was just

laughing . . . just laughing."

His face screwed up, his shoulders still shaking,

Charlie nodded at them, and Sister Monica, throwing

out her arm as if she were about to address a

company, exclaimed, "God's good, we're on our

way," and once again they bounced their heads towards him, then turned and went out while still laughing.

Charlie sat looking out of the window. It had been

like a pantomime. How long was it since he laughed

like that? Years, years. . . . Those two, the

Toughies . . . God's good. ... He was in His

heaven and all was right with the world, their world.

The smile slid from his face, the laughter lines

smoothed out from around his eyes. Was His heaven full

of the dead? Had He directed them into His many

mansions? How

did He manage about housing the officers and the men?

Surely after dying together they wouldn't be separated up there?

But he felt better for having laughed, his rare

explosive laugh; yet he knew it was going

to take some time before he settled down in this place, for it wasn't like a hospital at all, more like an

asylum, a place not only for broken bodies but

for broken minds. . . .

It was the following afternoon. He was sitting in a

chair near the window. Captain Bartlett had just

gone, and he was feeling exhausted with his constant

prattling bonhomie. He understood that

Bartlett had been here three months and Fraser

four, and while listening to them both he had wondered

what they were like when they had first come.

He wasn't like them, was he? Mentally he was all

right, except for, well, sort of nightmares; but

he only went into those when he felt exhausted.

He'd had a letter from Nellie this morning. She was

coming as soon as possible. If only he could see

her now, this very minute.

He closed his eyes, then opened them swiftly

again and blinked rapidly as Sister Bernard came

towards him, saying, "Let me see, are you tidy

and fit to be seen?"

Oh, he wished she wouldn't treat him as a child. He

sighed as she tucked the rug around his knees and she

came at him quickly, saying, "Stop your sighing

else I won't let her in."

"Who?" He pulled himself up from the back of the armchair.

"Your visitor."

"A visitor?"

"Her name's Chapman. She's young, and pretty.

And I'm warning you, behave yourself, no

hanky-panky."

He bit on his lip and closed his eyes

again and when he opened them Nellie was coming in through the door, and the door had been closed only a second

before they put their arms around each other.

"Oh, Nellie! Nellie! Oh, am I

glad to see you! Oh, my dearest, my dearest."

He held her away from him for a moment, then pulled

her swiftly to him, and when the kiss was ended she

laughed and said, "Look! I've got the cramp

bending over like this."

"Oh! Oh! I'm sorry. Come on, sit

down." He went to rise from the chair, and she stopped him, saying, "I'm quite able to get a chair for myself, sir."

Seated close by his side now, she looked

into his face as she said, "You're looking fine, so much better than when I last saw you. Do ... do you

feel better?"

"Oh yes, yes, much better, except"-he

gave his head an impatient shake-"I still get so

tired. I can't understand it."

"Well, you should, you above all people, it's battle fatigue."

"I suppose so... Oh! Nellie. Oh!

it's wonderful to see you." His arms went out again and pulled her close, and as her head rested

against his neck he whispered, "I dream of this all the time, you and me like this, close, closer, never parting.

And . .. and we never will, will we?" Again he pressed her from him and looked into her face, and her lips

trembled slightly as she said, "Never, Charlie.

If it lies with me, never. You know that."

"Oh! Nellie, Nellie, I wish I could

put into words how I feel about you. And you know,

recently I've thought more and more about the wasted years of our youth, I mean my youth. There you were just a few

miles from me and I never realized what I was

missing. All I want to do now is to get out of here

and back there and start all over again, just you and me ...

and oh, I told you in the letter,

didn't I, there'll be Betty. But I'll fix

her up in some place of her own soon. In the

meantime, you won't mind. . . . What is it? Why

are you looking away? I promise you, dear, it

won't be a case of Victoria over again, you

won't have to put up. ..."

"It isn't that, Charlie. It isn't that."

"Then what is it?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing really."

"It's something about Betty, isn't it?"

He watched her swallow; then she said,

"Well, I... I know how she must be feeling, for

Wetherby to drop her like that, it must have come as a

bombshell."

"Has he got someone else?"

"Yes, oh yes, and definitely, he went off

with Katie Nelson. You remember the Nelsons.