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.’‘The New Caledonian in this camp?’‘Yeah, the one who actually died.You don’t remember? He ate a packet of rat poison from the kitchen.Someone found him the next morning.This was back in February, I think.’‘It must have been before I arrived.’I was unfamiliar with the nuances of treating a suicidal patient.Although suicide was common in Japan, failed attempts were rarely treated in hospital.It was usually a private affair.‘Powell, the medical assistant, is looking after Stan because Dr Ashton is out of town,’ McCubbin said.‘Then I remembered you were a doctor.From Broome, is that right?’ He peered at me.One of his eyes wobbled outwards.A triangle of sand-coloured hair was visible on his forehead beneath the peak of his military cap.He was younger than most of the other officers, some of whom were veterans of the First World War.‘I worked at a Japanese hospital in Broome for several years, until I was interned.’‘There was a Japanese hospital in Broome? Just for the Japanese?’‘Not just for the Japanese—we treated others, of course: Malays, Manilamen, the local Aborigines and sometimes the Britishers.’‘They brought you all the way out from Japan to work in Broome? Christ, you must be good.’‘To be honest, the salary was only modest.But I was still young, with little experience.And I wanted a change.’He nodded.‘Now there’s something I can relate to,’ he said.‘Wanting a change.That’s why I joined the army when I was eighteen.I grew up in Victoria.A town called Charlton.Couldn’t wait to get out, see the world, do my bit for my country.I was posted in Egypt for a few months, that’s how I got this bung eye.’ He pointed at his lazy eye, and pulled his scarf aside to reveal a purple-red scar that ran from his nose to his cheekbone.McCubbin continued talking about his injury, and the horrific wounds he saw while a patient at a hospital in Cairo.I nodded but didn’t say anything.I was anxious to get to the infirmary as soon as possible.The wind lulled, and the silence amplified the sound of our footsteps.Our strides were out of rhythm; his long, loping gait kept a steady pace against my staccato steps.Here and there stubborn weeds were growing; they held drops of dew that shone like glass beads under the floodlights.Before long, we reached the birdcage gate, then continued along the road to HQ.Inside the army hospital, Johnny was leaning over Stan’s bed, but when he saw me he stood up.We locked eyes.Lieutenant Powell, the medical assistant, touched his fingers to Stan’s neck to take his pulse.Then he stepped back to allow me to inspect the patient.Stan’s eyes were closed.He cradled his right wrist to his chest, the elbow still bandaged from his prior wound.The front of his shirt was splattered with blood.‘Stan,’ I whispered.His eyelids flickered open.He stared at me with glassy eyes, then turned his head aside.I gently lifted his arm and eased away the blood-soaked wad of gauze.A shard of glass was lodged in his wrist.Blood caked the edge of the wound at one end, forming a bridge between skin and glass; at the other end, bright red blood bubbled.I quickly replaced the gauze.‘What do you think?’ Powell asked.If I had been at the hospital in Broome, I would have made preparations for surgery straight away.But at camp, I wasn’t sure.‘He has severed a peripheral artery.It is deep, but a clot has started to form.If I try to remove the glass, he could lose a lot more blood.I think it is too dangerous to operate here.He should go to the hospital in Barmera.In the meantime, I’ll dress the wound.’Johnny snorted.‘Some doctor you are.’‘Pardon?’‘That’s all you’re doing, dressing the wound? Stan could die in the next few minutes and all you want to do is slap a bandage on him? Oh, but I forgot: you’re the reason he’s in here.’McCubbin had been standing near the entrance to the ward so quietly I’d almost forgotten he was there.He stepped towards us now.‘Cut it out, Johnny.We don’t need another scene from you.’‘What? It’s true,’ Johnny said.‘Stan was different after he went to the infirmary.Said the doc thought he was lying about what happened in the mess hall.After that he didn’t want to talk to anyone.And then tonight he goes missing and turns up on the floor of the shower block with his wrist cut up.’The air in the ward was heavy.I opened my mouth, then closed it.I glanced at Stan, but he was still turned away from me.McCubbin checked his watch.‘How about we quit fighting and take him into town.I’ll get a truck from HQ.Sound okay?’I nodded, glad for the suggestion.Lieutenant Powell and I began to dress Stan’s wound.All the while, I was aware of Johnny’s presence nearby, like a shadow that fell over me.Hours later—long after we had moved Stan into the truck and I had returned to camp—I lay awake in bed, unable to forget what Johnny had said.The materials to build sleeping huts finally arrived, and not a moment too soon.The temperature had dipped sharply in recent weeks.At night, once the sun sank below the horizon, we huddled in our tents with the canvas closed, playing hanafuda and shogi until it was time to sleep.In the morning, frost coated the tent ropes in lines of crystal beads.Building the fifteen huts required a major camp reshuffle.Although there were several dozen trained carpenters and shipbuilders in the population, dozens more men were needed to complete the task.Able-bodied men were asked to work at the rate of a shilling a day, to be paid for from the profits of the canteen.At the infirmary, I was sorry to lose Shiobara to the hut-building project.He had been an attentive orderly.Hayashi, Yamada’s friend from Sumatra who’d moved into our tent, agreed to start working at the infirmary in his place.Although training Hayashi kept me busy during the long shifts, whenever I was cutting the hard loaves of bread or washing the patients’ dishes, I found myself thinking of Stan.The operation had been successful, we’d heard, and he was recovering in hospital.The news brought me great relief, and I felt vindicated in my decision to send him to Barmera, where he was no doubt receiving very good care.But I couldn’t shake the feeling I was to blame for Stan’s attempt to take his life.As much as I tried to convince myself no one could have known the extent of his despair, the incident continued to weigh on me.There was no one I could turn to for advice.My closest friend at camp, Harada, was far too ill to listen to my troubles.Lying in bed at night, I turned over the possibilities in my mind.Could Yamada have been the one who hurt Stan? It seemed ridiculous [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.’‘The New Caledonian in this camp?’‘Yeah, the one who actually died.You don’t remember? He ate a packet of rat poison from the kitchen.Someone found him the next morning.This was back in February, I think.’‘It must have been before I arrived.’I was unfamiliar with the nuances of treating a suicidal patient.Although suicide was common in Japan, failed attempts were rarely treated in hospital.It was usually a private affair.‘Powell, the medical assistant, is looking after Stan because Dr Ashton is out of town,’ McCubbin said.‘Then I remembered you were a doctor.From Broome, is that right?’ He peered at me.One of his eyes wobbled outwards.A triangle of sand-coloured hair was visible on his forehead beneath the peak of his military cap.He was younger than most of the other officers, some of whom were veterans of the First World War.‘I worked at a Japanese hospital in Broome for several years, until I was interned.’‘There was a Japanese hospital in Broome? Just for the Japanese?’‘Not just for the Japanese—we treated others, of course: Malays, Manilamen, the local Aborigines and sometimes the Britishers.’‘They brought you all the way out from Japan to work in Broome? Christ, you must be good.’‘To be honest, the salary was only modest.But I was still young, with little experience.And I wanted a change.’He nodded.‘Now there’s something I can relate to,’ he said.‘Wanting a change.That’s why I joined the army when I was eighteen.I grew up in Victoria.A town called Charlton.Couldn’t wait to get out, see the world, do my bit for my country.I was posted in Egypt for a few months, that’s how I got this bung eye.’ He pointed at his lazy eye, and pulled his scarf aside to reveal a purple-red scar that ran from his nose to his cheekbone.McCubbin continued talking about his injury, and the horrific wounds he saw while a patient at a hospital in Cairo.I nodded but didn’t say anything.I was anxious to get to the infirmary as soon as possible.The wind lulled, and the silence amplified the sound of our footsteps.Our strides were out of rhythm; his long, loping gait kept a steady pace against my staccato steps.Here and there stubborn weeds were growing; they held drops of dew that shone like glass beads under the floodlights.Before long, we reached the birdcage gate, then continued along the road to HQ.Inside the army hospital, Johnny was leaning over Stan’s bed, but when he saw me he stood up.We locked eyes.Lieutenant Powell, the medical assistant, touched his fingers to Stan’s neck to take his pulse.Then he stepped back to allow me to inspect the patient.Stan’s eyes were closed.He cradled his right wrist to his chest, the elbow still bandaged from his prior wound.The front of his shirt was splattered with blood.‘Stan,’ I whispered.His eyelids flickered open.He stared at me with glassy eyes, then turned his head aside.I gently lifted his arm and eased away the blood-soaked wad of gauze.A shard of glass was lodged in his wrist.Blood caked the edge of the wound at one end, forming a bridge between skin and glass; at the other end, bright red blood bubbled.I quickly replaced the gauze.‘What do you think?’ Powell asked.If I had been at the hospital in Broome, I would have made preparations for surgery straight away.But at camp, I wasn’t sure.‘He has severed a peripheral artery.It is deep, but a clot has started to form.If I try to remove the glass, he could lose a lot more blood.I think it is too dangerous to operate here.He should go to the hospital in Barmera.In the meantime, I’ll dress the wound.’Johnny snorted.‘Some doctor you are.’‘Pardon?’‘That’s all you’re doing, dressing the wound? Stan could die in the next few minutes and all you want to do is slap a bandage on him? Oh, but I forgot: you’re the reason he’s in here.’McCubbin had been standing near the entrance to the ward so quietly I’d almost forgotten he was there.He stepped towards us now.‘Cut it out, Johnny.We don’t need another scene from you.’‘What? It’s true,’ Johnny said.‘Stan was different after he went to the infirmary.Said the doc thought he was lying about what happened in the mess hall.After that he didn’t want to talk to anyone.And then tonight he goes missing and turns up on the floor of the shower block with his wrist cut up.’The air in the ward was heavy.I opened my mouth, then closed it.I glanced at Stan, but he was still turned away from me.McCubbin checked his watch.‘How about we quit fighting and take him into town.I’ll get a truck from HQ.Sound okay?’I nodded, glad for the suggestion.Lieutenant Powell and I began to dress Stan’s wound.All the while, I was aware of Johnny’s presence nearby, like a shadow that fell over me.Hours later—long after we had moved Stan into the truck and I had returned to camp—I lay awake in bed, unable to forget what Johnny had said.The materials to build sleeping huts finally arrived, and not a moment too soon.The temperature had dipped sharply in recent weeks.At night, once the sun sank below the horizon, we huddled in our tents with the canvas closed, playing hanafuda and shogi until it was time to sleep.In the morning, frost coated the tent ropes in lines of crystal beads.Building the fifteen huts required a major camp reshuffle.Although there were several dozen trained carpenters and shipbuilders in the population, dozens more men were needed to complete the task.Able-bodied men were asked to work at the rate of a shilling a day, to be paid for from the profits of the canteen.At the infirmary, I was sorry to lose Shiobara to the hut-building project.He had been an attentive orderly.Hayashi, Yamada’s friend from Sumatra who’d moved into our tent, agreed to start working at the infirmary in his place.Although training Hayashi kept me busy during the long shifts, whenever I was cutting the hard loaves of bread or washing the patients’ dishes, I found myself thinking of Stan.The operation had been successful, we’d heard, and he was recovering in hospital.The news brought me great relief, and I felt vindicated in my decision to send him to Barmera, where he was no doubt receiving very good care.But I couldn’t shake the feeling I was to blame for Stan’s attempt to take his life.As much as I tried to convince myself no one could have known the extent of his despair, the incident continued to weigh on me.There was no one I could turn to for advice.My closest friend at camp, Harada, was far too ill to listen to my troubles.Lying in bed at night, I turned over the possibilities in my mind.Could Yamada have been the one who hurt Stan? It seemed ridiculous [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]