A Bed for the Wretched – Chapter 4

A Bed for the Wretched – Chapter 4

That’s all Harilaos told me. He was a twenty-two-year-old young man from a mountain village in the Peloponnesus. Ten days later he was moved to another room and then transferred to a military hospital in Tirana. After that I never saw him again. But I did see others, like him, mutilated young men. Some were sent to the cemetery located a little further back from the hospital, I cheered for them when they leveled the ground above them and then I returned to my bed. New wounded arrived every day, those who recovered were transferred to other hospitals, usually to Suk. Eh... Suk... I was there too, but I will tell you about Suk another time. I used to go there; I am talking about the Partisan cemetery, yes, our cemetery, but not to bury people, but to speak to our comrades, known and unknown. I stood there leaning on my crutch and like a crazy man, talked to those underground, under the red soil. I told them about what I heard from the new wounded. I went there until it became too cold. I did that because I did not want our comrades from the battlefield to be forgotten. I stopped going not only because of the cold, but also because I had nothing to wear. One morning when I woke up, a nurse came in and gave me a piece of paper. It read: “Comrade you don’t need your overcoat or your pants. I borrowed them until I see you again. Be well and guard your underwear. Goodbye!” That was it! Two days later someone borrowed my boots. One boot was brand new, the one belonging to my severed leg, and the other one was well worn out. I was left barefoot. But that did not stop me from visiting my newcomer friends. I wrapped myself in a blanket and limped my way from room to room. I twisted cigarettes for the wounded, I gave them water, I fixed their pillows, I comforted them and I listened to them telling me their troubles. It was both interesting and painful. We were loosing the war everywhere… The first snow arrived and with it things began to freeze. There was continuous flow of wounded arriving at the hospital after the new year up until the end of January. Most had frostbite on their feet. They lost the battles for Voden and Negush and in February failed to win the battle for Lerin. New beds were set in the rooms and in the corridors and sometimes two and even three patients were laid on a single bed. It was very crowded. They move us, the old patients, into the neighboring barracks. One night the entire hospital court yard was filled with trucks and it began to snow hard as they were unloading the wounded. I came out of my cabin and got close to one of the drivers resting on the snow. “Are you wounded, comrade?” I asked. He looked at me with an exhausted look and said: “I’m tired, comrade. I haven’t slept in two nights. I am waiting for them to unload my truck so that I can leave again. Hundreds of wounded are waiting at the border freezing in the cold... We truly screwed up in Voden and Negush... We really screwed up… Do you have a cigarette? I am freezing; I can’t feel my hands or my feet... I really got tired driving up the dangerous winding road over Prenies. The snow was above my knees. Visibility was very poor with sheets of snow coming down. Every time my truck got stuck in the snow I had to offload everyone, move the truck up and carry everyone back on it. I did this all day long. Both I and the wounded had to endure it, especially the cold. And then when we passed by Prenies, eh, what can I tell you... women and old people poured out of the barracks and onto the road chasing my truck attempting to stop it. We had orders not to stop. Mothers were shouting for their children, crying and cursing. As we drove by them we splashed them with snow, but they persisted with their chase through the sleet, through the water and through the mud shouting and calling the names of their children. Someone in the truck in front of me opened the tarp slightly and tossed a handful of pieces of paper. The turbulence of the passing trucks scattered the papers all over the snow.

The women dashed for them. I can’t imagine these people going through all that snow to find a piece of paper and hoping it will say something, anything about their loved ones... I am tired of being around the dead and wounded and especially around the sorrowful, sad and crying women. Who was the mad man who put these refugees in Prenies, exactly on the road where we have to pass with the wounded every day? Who?” “Are you asking me, comrade?” I replied as I handed him a cigarette. “I am asking you, I am asking myself, I am asking everyone…” He said and asked: “And you have you been here long? I see you lost a leg…” I did not say a word. I just turned around and limbed my way towards the cabin. I could not sleep all night that night. I could not sleep at all. But it was not my first night that I could not sleep. Wounded kept arriving even after February the fifteenth but not as many as before. We truly screwed up in Lerin, we truly did... Pando my good man, one morning I went to the hospital to one of the rooms. I noticed a young woman lying in a bed set next to the door. She looked familiar but I could not place her where I knew her from. I watched her and watched her but still I could not remember where I knew her from. Then I recognized her from her eyebrows. “Kalesha!” I spoke up. She opened her eyes slightly and looked at me. She moved her long and thin eyebrows, looking more like leeches, repositioned her head to have a better look at me and tried hard to remember who I was, but without success. “Kalesha!” I said again. “Don’t you recognize me? It’s Numo”. We called her Kalesha (Brunette) and so did her co-fighters in other units. She gave me a tiny smile with a painful look on her face and whispered: “Numo, Numo... Are you alive? You are alive!”

“Well, I am not an angel, Donka, if that’s what you think? Of course I am alive!” I replied. “But we thought… Down there at Kamna…” she whispered with a broken voice. “I am so happy, Numo, to see you… And I, now, I..” she began to whimper and raised her right arm. “I lost my hand, Numo. I am now without my right hand… I was wounded at the battle in Lerin. When we were pulling out I sprained my leg and I stayed behind in the snow. I froze…” I sat beside her on her bed, took her right arm and with both my wide hands held it and began to caress it. All I could think of was the loss of her hand, her beautiful hand, her soft and gentle hand, now gone. She turned her head away from me. She did not want me to see her tears. “Donka... Kalesha....” I whispered. “Don’t worry so much. I too am without a leg but as you can see, I am alive. Didn’t you say I was alive, right?” Just at that moment the doctors entered the room. Ferents greeted me and asked: “Do you know each other? You are old friends, aren’t you? How is my girl today? Are you brave, very brave? Let us see your legs. Nurse, a little help here?” I got off the bed and stood on the side. When they were removing her bandages I closed my eyes. When I opened them what do I see… Her feet were black and over her ankles her legs were swollen and blue. Ferents tapped his fingers along the frame of the bed, sighed deeply and said something to Bogdan in Spanish. He then addressed the nurse: “Nurse, prepare the patient...” He looked at Donka’s feet again and said something in Spanish. He then stroked her face and said: “You are a brave girl... What is your name?” He asked in Spanish and Nikos immediately translated. “Donka, my name is Donka!” she replied A half an hour later I went to visit Doctor Ferents. Doctor Nikos was there too. “Dr. Ferents, what is happening with Donka’s feet?” I asked. Dr. Ferents looked at me intensely and through Dr. Nikos said: “Numo, this is war…” “And where is her braid of long hair, Dr. Ferents?” I asked. “Her braid of hair? Her hair was burnt down to her roots when she arrived, Numo. Why do you ask?” he replied. “Her braid, Dr. Ferents, was the pride of our entire company, of the entire battalion. We all envied her long hair Doctor. Before we went into battle we would say: ‘Donka… Kalesha… protect your braid...’ Her hair was long, thick and black, stretching down to her hips. She braded it into a thick braid and curled it around her head. It looked like a crown, like a wreath. Sometimes we would beg her to weave some flowers into her braid, violets, jasmine, and other flowers that grew in the wild. And not to disappoint anyone, she often did that. It brought us so much joy to watch her. We loved her and her braid. And when she combed it Dr. Ferents, and when she combed it, it was like wires, all black, but shined like black silk in the presence of the sun. And when she let it fly free, it settled on her shoulders covering her back down to her hips. When she combed it, Doctor, when she combed it and there was a bit of wind, it flattered like waves, like the waves, Dr. Ferents, in a wheat field... She never allowed a man’s hand to touch it... She was quick but gentle with her finger movements and was able to braid it in a flash. And her braid, her braid, Dr. Ferents, not only did it have the scent of young woman, but it had the aroma of the mountains and forests at dawn, the fresh morning wind, the dew on the trembling violets, and the aroma of fresh pine. It reminded us of the cold water crystal clear mountain streams, the aroma of fresh grass in the night wind, and, yes Dr. Ferents, of the smell of a freshly dug pit, of the smell of a newly built bunker, of the aroma of Ianovo flowers, of the aroma of wild strawberries and often of the smell of gunpowder... Dr. Ferents.” Dr. Ferents looked at me and, after a long silence, asked: “Numo, why are you pacing from room to room wrapped in a blanket? Haven’t you got any clothes to wear?” “No I don’t.” I replied. “If you don’t watch your clothes here someone will borrow them…

It’s the Partisan way.” “Nurse!” called out Dr. Ferents. “Take this fellow to the store room and tell them to give him a pair of pants, a blouse and an overcoat. Tell them the doctor ordered. If there are no overcoats, then a blanket will do.” “A blanket, Dr. Ferents? I don’t need a blanket. I already have this one.” “That one will stay here. Tonight, along with many others, you will be going to Suk…” he said. “To Suk?!” I enquired. “Yes, Numo to Suk. I go there sometimes, and I will see you there. Go say goodbye to your friends and then go to the trucks waiting outside. Adios amigo...” he concluded.