One
Thehospitalsmelledtooclean.
After spending months camping on the front lines during the wettest, coldest part of the year, Alex never thought he would find himself missing the smell of mud and musty sweat and bedding that had gone too long between washes. He never would have guessed that he would be craving the aroma of smoky campfires and whatever excuse for dinner rations Harrison had managed to burn yet again. He even found himself longing for the pungent, clinging scent of the metal polish that had to be dutifully rubbed onto their blades every week to protect them from the near-constant rain.
All of those things he missed, not because he missed the war, but because they would mean he was anywhere buthere.
The sheets were too starched, the linens were too bleached. The sharp smells of alcohol and lye soap hung in the air, burning his nose with cleanliness. Everything was white–from the smart, jaunty caps worn by the hospital orderlies to the nurses’ aprons to the doctors’ jackets. Even the sheets that covered the beds, lined up in two even, straight rows, were white. The beds could be partitioned off by curtains hanging from rods between each bed, giving the illusion of privacy. They were, unsurprisingly, also white.
In Alex’s opinion, white was an impractical color for a place that saw as much blood and filth as an army hospital. When the men were brought in from the front lines, wounded and covered in mud, it would take just as much manpower to clean the sheets as it did to clean up the patients.
Alex scowled at the thick layer of bandages wrapped around his leg and the matching set covering his right hand and forearm, leaving his fingers visible but as immobile as if he were wearing a mitten. His earlier attempt at making a circuit around the courtyard outside had aggravated the wound on his knee, and some of the stitches had popped. At least, that’s what he suspected had happened, given the bright circle of red that was slowly spreading in stark contrast to the white bandages.
Another reason why white was a bad idea: it made every injury look so much worse than it actually was.
“What do we have here, Private Monde?” the nurse on duty asked, shaking her pretty dark curls and giving him a pointed look. She approached his bed and began to gently unroll the wrappings, revealing the ugly, mangled limb beneath. A hunting knife in the hands of a desperate man could do a lot more damage than one might think.
The nurse tsked at him as she assessed the reopened wound. “You’ll never heal if you continue to push yourself beyond your limits. You need rest, Private Monde.”
Alex sucked in a sharp breath as she touched the tender area around the stitches. “What I need is to get out of here,” he grumbled to himself. He had hated every minute of the war, but at least there his days had a purpose.
“Which you won’t do if you don’t follow my instructions,” the nurse responded cheerfully. She pulled a cart over and selected a bottle of alcohol and a small square of cloth.
“All I’ll get from following your instructions, Nurse Julia, is a flabby stomach and weakened muscles.” Alex crossed his arms and grit his teeth as Julia dabbed at the open wound with the alcohol-soaked cloth.
“And what you’ll get from not following them is a longer stay and more chances for me to sew you up.” Julia retorted. She handed him a thick strip of leather, which he dutifully shoved between his teeth. “Now hold still.”
Alex bit down on the leather and breathed through the pain, doing his best to ignore the uncomfortable pulling of the needle. Julia was quick and efficient, and he felt a little sorry for his harsh words earlier. He knew she was only doing her job, but he was just so angry and frustrated and she had unfortunately been the recipient of all his negative emotions.
“Thanks,” he said gruffly as the nurse tied off the thread and snipped it off. Julia just hummed in response as she rewrapped his leg.
“There,” she said, giving his thigh a gentle pat as soon as it was done. “That should keep you until the next time you disregard my instructions.”
He grunted as she fluffed the pillows behind him and helped him lay down. Julia tucked the crisp white sheets around him and patted him on the shoulder. “And don’t worry,” she said, giving him a saucy wink as she squeezed his shoulder. “There’s far too much muscle here for it to disappear in just a few weeks. Now get some rest, Private Monde. The solstice is tomorrow and I’m sure you want to be bright and cheery for your visitors.”
Alex said nothing in response and watched with a dour expression as Julia sauntered away, giving her smiles and laughs away freely to the other men as she passed. They all brightened as she looked their way, flirting outrageously or asking questions about the plans for the winter solstice celebration that would be occurring on the morrow.
He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, letting out a long-suffering sigh. “Cheery” was a word that would rarely have been used to describe him before the war. Now that the fighting was over?
It wasn’t even in his vocabulary.
The room was full of the sounds of merry voices and laughter. A steady stream of visitors arrived once the sun went down and the doors to their hospital wing were finally open. The recovering soldiers met their friends and families with hugs and happy tears and received a heroes’ greeting in return, if the amount of back-slapping and hand-shaking that happened were any indication. Orderlies and nurses bustled about as the unlikely but cheerful hosts, offering refreshments and ensuring that their charges did not over-exert themselves.
Plates of cookies and cakes and other festive sweets were passed around, and many of the guests held steaming mugs of chocolate or tea. Spirits were high as gifts were exchanged, and the noise in the room grew to overwhelming proportions.
Alex sat in his bed, sullenly obedient, while nursing a glass of water. A plate of cookies and candies sat untouched on his bedside table. One of the orderlies had brought it to him, no doubt thinking he would like to participate in the festivities. But Alex had never understood the draw of sweets; they made his teeth hurt and his stomach ache. And besides, what was the point in eating something with absolutely no nutritional value?
And what was the point in celebrating when there was no one to celebrate with? His family were all gone, early casualties of the war that had encompassed the last three years of his life. His hometown had been one of the first to be affected by the border skirmishes when the Brisians had started their bloody campaign. In one night, he had lost everything–father, mother, brothers. The only reason Alex himself remained unscathed was that he had been away attending university at the time. The guilt that he had not been there, that he had instead been studying and pursuing something as ridiculous as music while his family was facing the wrath of the enemy wrapped around his heart in a vice-like grip. He had enlisted the moment he received the news, determined that if he could not protect his family, he could at least ensure others did not suffer the same fate.
Every winter solstice since then had been spent alone, the silence of absence ringing louder than the celebratory singing and the bitter taste of grief overpowering the customary sweets. If his comrades wanted to spend the night laughing and singing and making merry, that was their choice. As for him, he couldn’t find a reason to celebrate.
He had already felt too much. Fought too much. Seen too much.
With a frustrated growl, Alex flung aside his sheets and swung his legs around. Julia was going to give him an earful, but at that moment he didn’t really care. He grabbed his red uniform jacket from where it hung on a hook near his bed, checking the pockets to make sure all the contents were in place before shoving his arms through the sleeves and hobbling to the exit doors. He made eye contact with a few of the guests as he passed but none stopped him, no doubt intimidated by the dark-eyed, scowling soldier.
The brisk bite of the winter wind was a shock to his system, but Alex embraced the chill. It gave him something to think about other than the families and warmth inside. His steps were slow and uneven as he favored his right leg; as much as he gave the nurses grief he didn’treallywant to be stitched up again. A narrow path led around the side of the recovery wing and to a small courtyard that sat nestled in between it, the general hospital, the surgeon’s offices, and the attached kitchen and laundry facilities.
It was a pleasant space, with neatly trimmed landscaping and enough small trees to afford a feeling of relative privacy. A few stone benches sat at intervals along the path that wound around and through it. Alex had seen many of his fellow patients taken for walks on that very path as they progressed through their convalescence, and he himself had been wheeled out in a chair to sit under the trees.
