“It’s all right, darling. I did say I hadn’t been working with the patients. That’s correct,” he says, reaching for the ironhandle on the door. He pulls it open and waves me forward. “Go on.”
Otto releases my hand to close the umbrella and steps inside after me. Sweltering sticky air clings to our skin as we walk over unfinished wooden floor panels, between matching walls, and beneath ceilings with dark beams crisscrossing in every direction. The stench of ammonia is the only familiarity in this setting. Nothing about this vacant space reminds me of a medical ward. An icy chill spreads up my arms.
A distressing moan echoes between the corridor walls and I can’t tell how near or far from the source we are. “Oh my goodness. Whoever that is sounds to be suffering horribly. Is someone helping them?” I ask, peeking into dark windows as we pass closed doors.
Otto takes my hand back into his, caressing the pad of his thumb over my knuckles. “I’m sure someone is tending to them, and I know you’re going to do so well here. You’re the most brilliant nurse I know, and with the prettiest eyes, I might add. I can’t think of anyone more qualified than you.” Otto has a way of charming me, even if I’m overwhelmed with fear at the moment.
“I’m not a nurse.” The reminder isn’t necessary, but the words arise.
“Yes, but we both know how you spend your days. You and those medical books—well, they’ve gone right to your head, in fact.” Otto’s tease comes along with a belly laugh, but the humor is at my expense. I don’t think he takes me as seriously as he once did, back when we were at university.
Another wailing moan carries down the hallway toward us. It isn’t an unusual sound to hear in an infirmary, but no one wants to hear another person suffering.
Otto stops in front of a wooden door and my heart thumps in my chest as he pushes against the slab to reveal what’s waiting on the other side. Before he steps forward, he pauses and peersdown at me but doesn’t make direct eye contact. “There are patients in here, but we’ll be continuing on to the lab where I work. Don’t look at any of them. It will give them a reason to talk to you. We shouldn’t converse. I know that goes against your good nature, but these men are still criminals, even if they aren’t the dangerous kind.”
“I understand,” I say. But I’m not sure I do.
Men line the walls: some are standing, others are sitting on the floor, heads hanging between bent knees. Most are wearing filthy yellowing-white prisoner uniforms with dark blue stripes.There’s a damp, sweet smell in the air, forcing my throat to tighten as we continue forward. Our steps feel slow and unhurried, as if we’re trekking through thick sand.
“Help,” someone groans. “Please, miss. Help us.”
“Ignore them. They do this to everyone who walks through that door,” Otto mumbles beneath his breath.
I wish I could close my eyes or pinch my nose to avoid the stench of what must be a mixture of body odor and sickness, but I’m not that type of person. That would be rude and disrespectful, even to a criminal.
I do my best to block out the cries for help as we near the next door, but a distinct sound yanks me to a firm stop.
“A rare honeybee,”I hear.
Groggily and softly spoken, those familiar words strike me like a punch to the gut.A rare honeybee…the world couldn’t survive without them.I’d never forget that fact.I search for where the words came from. There are so many men, and they all look alike. My free hand flares to my chest and my breath catches in my throat as I search, knowing those precise words were meant for me to hear. I was sure there wasn’t a single person here that I could possibly know. Not under these circumstances, but I must be wrong.
Otto stops alongside me, inspecting the area for whoever spoke out, confirming he heard the words too.He wouldn’t understand the meaning, though.
“Dr. Berger,” another voice calls. Otto is addressed formally with a commanding inflection. “Might I have a word with you?”
“Yes, of course,” Otto replies. “Go on and wait over by the office door ahead. I’ll only be a moment.” He’s leaving me here, in the middle of an enclosed area filled with ill, desperate criminals…and the person who spokethosewords. I clutch my hands to my stomach knowing I can’t move any closer toward the office door yet.
From the corner of my eye, I see an inmate lift his limp arm, holding his palm toward me. I want to screw my eyes shut, to close off my ears.
But then I hear, “Is it really you?”
Unable to resist, I twist my neck slightly to the left, toward the man holding out his arm, and step in closer, his words pulling me over. My blood runs cold as I come to a stop in front of him, my brown leather day shoes scuffing against the dirty floor. He has no body hair, is malnourished, and pale. His eyes are heavy as if he hasn’t slept in weeks, and…
Bile rises from my stomach, burning through my insides as I notice a small but prominent dent on the bridge of his nose.A dent along the bridge of his nose…that I know happened when he tripped on a knot-riddled log, landing face first in a pile of splintered wood, requiring eight sutures.
I shake my head furiously as my stomach drops. I’m mistaken. He wouldn’t be here. Hecouldn’tbe here. With my eyes shut tightly, I pray that when I open them again, I’ll see that my mind has been playing tricks on me.
But I know it’s not.
Those eyes…I would recognize them anywhere—even here, in a place like this. My breaths become frantic, and my lungsstruggle to inhale. A whimper rattles deep in my throat as tears burn at the back of my eyes. He looks close to death.
“No, no—” I whisper. The sensation of his name flickers across my tongue, a relic of nostalgia that sears in my brain.
“You’re here,” he utters, his voice dry and scratchy.
My brain catches up with what I’m seeing, and I hold a finger to my lips, signaling him to stay silent. A heavy wave of dizziness hits me, but I glance over my shoulder to find Otto still having a private conversation out of view.
I swallow against the thickness in my throat, keeping myself still so no one will notice our encounter.
