HER HANDS #10

Installment 10

Chapter 5

Scenes 41- 44

In the morning Mother Clothilde joined her staff in the dining hall for breakfast. The nurses and aides coming off the twelve hour shift were pale, haggard. They were in poor sprits; they jostled and glared icily at each other and at the women arriving for the next shift. Considering the foul temperament on display, the nun thought it best to ask how the shift had gone, especially in front of the others coming on. She didn’t want the one group of women to be upsetting the others, and yet there clearly were events or circumstances that may need to be addressed. She called the night shift charge nurse to her, and explained she wanted to discuss how the previous shift had gone, “Away from the others.”

In the hallway, the chief administrator learned there had been a great deal of commotion when one of the soldiers began masturbating shortly after midnight. Then several began as well. Some were discreet but a number of the men, perhaps five, were on full display. A few of the nurses and aides became quite distressed, a couple began wailing. The two old village men who were supposed to be on duty for protection were of no use whatsoever. The staff drew back from the wounded, and remained separate. Some of the other wounded woke up and became agitated. It seemed to the charge nurse that the situation was certain to go completely out of control. The staff clumped together against the most distant wall, as far away from the soldiers as possible. The two old villagers stood between the women and the wounded. Eventually, the masturbating men finished and settled down, as did the others. Some slept, others were awake the entire night.

The nurses didn’t clean any of the men, nor took any of them to the latrine for the remainder of the shift. A couple women had fetched pails of water to douse the masturbating men but the charge nurse had forbidden it. “Who knows what havoc that could have wreaked! What rage may have ensued!” The old villagers would not have been able to protect the women. The mother superior nodded gravely. “How long had the disruption lasted?” Over an hour.

The charge nurse concluded. “Some of the men later soiled themselves and the staff refused to wash them and change their clothing or bedding.”

The mother superior had been upset by the report but was incredulous that there were men now lying in their own filth. She would not allow such conduct by her charges: they were not to shirk their duties. There was a great deal wrong, a great deal to take up with the SSA, not least of which was stationing an adequate security detail. She would not allow her staff to be placed in danger.

Mother Clothilde marched into the dining hall, where from her distance she observed a great clamor among the women; both the women from the shift just ended and those about to begin. Voices were raised. Bodies, seated or standing, were restless, agitated. In the midst of the tumult were three women, seemingly calm. The nun identified the women: Sarah, Cecile and Sister Claire. Sister Claire was speaking. As she slowly approached the women, the nun decided she would have the night shift return to the ward and clean all the soiled men they had deserted. The agitation among the women was diminishing as she drew near.

When the mother superior reached the tables of women, they all turned to her. She cleared her throat, lest there be any doubt as to the consternation she felt and intended to convey. “I have been informed that there has been a grave failure in the performance of duties this past shift.” Mother Clothilde looked from one woman to the next, all of them completely still. She continued, “I understand there are men who have soiled themselves and have not been attended to.” Her voice hardened. “Who have been left in their own filth.” Each of the women from the night shift cast their eyes down. The women who were to start their shift showed no surprise as they had been apprised of the situation by their colleagues.

The mother superior did not register the sets of responses, being steeped in her outrage. Firmly, “Those who were on duty last night shall report back immediately and attend to those men who require bathing and changes of clothes and bedding.” No one moved in the instant that followed. “Immediately.” The nun commanded,

One person stirred, Sarah. She slowly raised her hand. She was compelled to; she could not have willed what was to follow. She had heard the night shift nurses’ account of the men’s mayhem, the women’s terror and disgust, the helplessness, the exhaustion. The madness that had overwhelmed the nurses. She, Sister Claire (Joan), Cecile had listened to the accounts and, along with their shift mates about to begin work, felt warned, prepared but more deeply felt a wellspring of empathy for their sisters.

That shared empathy compelled Sarah to raise her hand, her thoughts forming as it rose. Thrown by the nurses’ inapt response to her command, Mother Clothilde now faced this hand held aloft. Before the nun could muster a response, Sarah spoke, softly, yet all could hear her in the dining hall’s silence. “Sister, may I?”

Her superior nodded, an involuntary reaction.

“We have heard much of what happened last night. Those of us set to begin are aware of the condition that the men are in. We have heard what the others have been through. Because of what they have endured I would like to offer my service to attend to these men. I believe I am joined by the rest of us coming on shift in making this offer. She turned to Joan, seated beside her, then Cecile. They and the rest of the women voiced their assents.

Joan (Sister Claire) added. “Of course, Mother, there has been a dereliction of duty, we appreciate that. However, a greater harm may ensue. We are fresh and prepared. We may be most capable to serve in this time of need.” Joan’s voice had grown stronger, clearer as she spoke. A muffled chorus of agreement rose gently from the women of both shifts. Joan squeezed Sarah’s knee under the table, and Sarah nearly laughed through a crack in her fervent resolve.

Mother Clothilde had the breath stolen from her. More than a dozen faces were turned up at her. The charge nurse from the night shift expressed her appreciation for the kindness of her comrades. The charge nurse for the day shift replied that her nurses and aides were more than willing to help. The group of women clasped each other; arms around shoulders, hands patting hands, and the like. Joan squeezed Sarah’s knee and Sarah gave her a sideways glance and a smile.

The mother superior witnessed the group’s moment of camaraderie, not certain what had just happened or, more accurately, what the implication of this exchange was for the future of her corps. The lozenge of worry sat bitter on her tongue. She spoke. “Very well then. Your offer of service is accepted and clearly appreciated by your fellow nurses, myself and, most importantly, the men who are suffering. For France, I thank you. Now you who have just gotten off duty, eat well and get your rest.” With her statement to the young women just delivered, Mother Clothilde resolved to herself to bring to the SSA the issues of the previous night.

The young women beginning day shift entered the ward bearing the graphic accounts of their co-workers. Each tentatively approached the men expecting immediate debauched behavior. But the wounded men were placid. Most were lying in their cots, some seeming to be asleep. A few sat or stood, rocking in place, eyes shut or staring off to an impossible distance. The reek of feces filled the room.

Sarah surmised. It is the night that unleashes their inner furies. She did not consider the reported behavior to be depravity. However she acknowledged the notion that most persons would, even her fellow nurses. She couldn’t. She then realized that her heart was glowing temperately: these men, their pain, their need, their common thread. Yes, that. Thread from what to what? It didn’t matter. It bound them together. Her heart, through which they enter her, and from whence she departs.

Enough of that, she dismissed, there were practical matters to attend to; the physical acts of caring. As she approached Bernard and Joseph, she caught a glimpse of Joan out of the corner of her eye. Sarah turned to see her fully. Joan was still, gazing intently at Sarah. What was the look on her face? Sarah couldn’t say. It wasn’t joy or playfulness; it was more serious. It wasn’t desire or longing; it was lighter. It was almost confusion. The word would be wonder or awe, but these words didn’t make sense to Sarah for her friend to hold those feelings for her. Yet Joan did, as she witnessed the moment that had just passed when Sarah understood her heart briefly and physically manifested that instant of knowledge with a subtle radiance that Joan witnessed.

“Bernard, bon jour.” Sarah discretely sniffed for the smell of shit from this man. There was none she could detect. He lay before her with his eyes shut, unmoving. She touched Bernard’s shoulder. The shriek of artillery shells in his mind softened slightly. There was a glimmer, it was her touch. He opened his eyes, she was there.

“Bon jour, Bernard. You are safe here.” He heard the words. The violence wracking him had abated enough that he could hear this woman, see her roughly as she was. “Would you care for some cool water? Fresh from the well.” He could understand her words. He was able to respond. He nodded. He felt the cool comfort on his lips. His body not a shattering onslaught, allowing. His damnation receded, allowing. He saw a room surrounding him, saw men in cots, women among them. He remained aware in various degrees through his bathing, snatches returning through that morning.

Sarah could not rouse Joseph as she had Bernard. He remained coiled in his cot, his arms wrapped around his tortured head being gnawed at by innumerable sharp toothed rats, breathing the foul gas of his excrement. Yet in a small way he sensed her. He felt forces move him to and fro as his linens were removed, as his clothes left him, as water touched him. He was not in danger. The voracious rats subsided yet still remained. He felt the freshly laundered sheet against his face and rats retreated another step from him, a distance that provided him blessed relief.

The morning progressed in the hall with the young women bathing, feeding, taking the men to lavatory, dressing wounds, administering medications. Some nurses strolled a bit with those who were able. Sarah strolled with Bernard. He painfully smiled at the movement.

On two occasions Sarah caught Joan looking at her. She needed to ask why, it felt peculiar. Does a kiss do that to a person, she wondered. Yet her gazes didn’t seem to accompany that memory. Again, Sarah couldn’t name it, and besides there was her work she needed to focus on, as did Joan. She would ask about it surreptitiously during the noon meal.

During lapses in providing direct care, Sarah wrote detailed notes of her observations of the men’s condition, their responses to interactions, their movements, however slight. Others followed Sarah’s lead. From the distant hall entrance, Mother Clothilde quietly observed the developing flow of care.

* * *

The noon hour arrived quickly. It always did, with the morning being so busy. The rich scent of lamb stew enticed Sarah when she reached the dining hall doors. The aroma was glorious. She thanked the Lord for this moment of blessing and the blessing that would soon be ladled into her bowl. Sarah stopped at the entrance and let that thought set before she joined the other nurses and aides.

Sarah, seated, was raising the first spoonful of her meal to her eager mouth when Joan slid into the bench beside her and chirped “Hello!”

Sarah gulped the broth, thick with potatoes, carrots, onion and a bit of meat – ahh it was good! “Mmph” she replied and waved her spoon in celebration.

“That good, eh?” Joan was dipping the coarse bread into the stew as Sarah chewed rapidly – she had to know. “Why were you looking at me like you were this morning? Several times I caught you with the most unusual expression as you looked at me.”

Joan’s mouth was filled with sodden bread when Sarah spoke and replied with her own “Mmph.” Sarah sipped at a spoonful of broth as her friend worked the bread down her throat. Finally, “What expression?”

“I don’t know, I can’t describe it, like you were observing a strange beast with something akin to wonder.”

Joan then understood what Sarah must have been referring to. She blushed and looked into her bowl, into its depths briefly. She whispered. “You were beautiful as you tended to the men. More than beautiful. There was a light that shone from you!”

The whispered words landed softly in Sarah’s mind. With no effort to understand she knew, in a greater sense, what her friend was recounting. She could only nod in reply. They looked into each other’s eyes, searching for…. what?

Joan spoke. “What is it you do?” A breath. “Who are you?” What the nun did not ask, Has God sent you? Are you an angel… or a saint? Blessed in some manner? These questions nascent.

Sarah did not flinch, nor shrink from the questions. Her mind did not sputter. She simply said, “I don’t know. I’m just…a nurses’ aide in a horrible war.”

Joan leaned back – her mind had been riveted to Sarah, her body in concert. She thought, Yes, that is all. What else can be said. A woman such as this. For now her thirst was quenched. Joan smiled. Sarah smiled unevenly in return, now flustered by the intensity of her friend’s interest so vaguely expressed. She had disturbed Joan somehow – why? No answer, true or false, came to Sarah. She took her friend’s hand under the table. “We should eat. We’ll soon be called back.”

Joan nodded, relished Sarah’s touch as she said, “Don’t let anyone, including me with my questions and affection, interfere with your healing work.”

Sarah nodded, not grasping Joan’s point. The nun discerned her incomprehension, responded, “Just care for these men as you do. Promise.” Joan wisely refrained from adding It’s important. Instead, a breath, and “Promise?”

That Sarah could do. “Yes, of course.” Her accompanying smile was uncompromised.

Both women in that moment wanted to tell the other “I love you” as both hearts glowed, full. Sarah squeezed Joan’s hand before removing hers. They smiled, they ate, together.