Читать книгу Memories Of Our Days - Chiara Cesetti - Страница 10

1 Chapter VI

Rudi is in hospital

Rudi did not know how he got to the hospital. He found himself in a bed, with his shoulder all bandaged up and in pain, surrounded by other wounded soldiers.

The first impression he had when he managed to open his eyes was a feeling of sickness that was coming up to his throat from his stomach, causing him the feeling to vomit without being actually able to do it. He could not make out what was around him. He could hear every sound as if it was far away and annoying, rejected by his mind which was still under the effect of ether. Then he could hear the moans and groans of the people around him. He dreamt of being in the barricade where the mud which was stuck to their shoes would make every movement quite heavy and it was hard to move the arms too. Every movement caused an excruciating pain and the awful smell off the dead bodies which had been lying there for days, with their rotting faces and the bodies all over the place over which you would stumble at every step, gripped his stomach - God, let me out of here, let me get out of this living hell alive- he thought. His heavy eyelids were trying to open in the light of a different situation which they could not get used to. The eyes wide open were still, blank and could only see what the mind remembered. He would sink again in his terrible memories and could feel the pain in his shoulder which was becoming unbearable.

He woke up completely, covered in sweat, exhausted with the pain and his visions. He felt a cool hand on his forehead and could not say a word for a few minutes, terrified at the idea that that was his dream and it could vanish in a moment, making him go back to the terrible reality of earlier on. He slowly came around and asked without opening his eyes

-Where am I?-

-In hospital-

A man’s voice answered the question

-Why am I here?-

-You are on holidays-

Rudi did not pick up his sarcasm

-Am I sick?-

-Of course you are sick. The air at the front was bad for you so they sent you on a bonus trip. Our commanders look bad but they are nice people-

He opened his eyes

-I am thirsty-

-Wait- he answered. He snapped his fingers and said loudly

-Waitress- he said- A glass of champagne for the gentleman, please..-

A Red Cross nurse came near. Rudi started to regain awareness of the place where he had woken up. He saw the face of the girl getting closer to his and heard the words of a young woman

-How are you feeling? How can I help you?-

Before he could reply, the man beside him answered on his behalf

-The gentleman urgently needs to have a stiff drink. He asked for some best quality champagne. Quick before he gets up and walks off without paying the bill -

-Lucky you, you are always in a joking mood- the young woman answered smiling

-I am thirsty – repeated Rudi. The Red Cross nurse walked away to fetch a glass of water.

When he managed to take a good look around he saw he was in a long and narrow room, a big corridor where there were roughly arranged some beds, three or four stretchers and various mattresses on the floor. On each of them there was a wounded person. Some people were sleeping, some were moaning in an frightening half-sleep made of fear and grief, some were coughing real badly, some were awake and were looking around with their eyes open wide but they could not really see anything of what was around them.

-Welcome among the living-

The voice of the young man was not playful anymore. He went really close to Rudi who could now see him and was staring at him in silence, unwilling to believe that the nightmares he had earlier on were over.

-My name is Fosco Frizmajer- he said stretching his big and sturdy hand.

He was a tall and skinny young man, with a uniform in tatters which would look all over the place, and despite his thinness, it would dangle everywhere, it had always been too short. His bony hands were tapered with long fingers and rounded fingernails which were carefully cut. The wrists that were coming out of his shirt sleeves were bony but sturdy, as well as his shoulders which were leaning over a bit, were still strong looking though. His hair was long, blond and straight, it would fall all over his forehead which was too high and framed his face which was brightened by his lively and attentive eyes which life had not tamed yet, despite the roughness of the years of war. He was walking leaning against a crutch and the effort to get the support off one leg would make his shoulders even more bent over.

Rudi looked at him without greeting him back.

Frizmajer said laughing, while waving his hand quickly in front of his eyes

- Are you with us? Shall I come back later?-

Rudi smiled at last.

Fosco had been wounded to one knee during a battle against the Austro- Hungarians- A battle almost among relatives- he said, considering that his grandfather was born in Vienna and had moved to Milan when he was very young. He was a war correspondent for a newspaper based on a city and what would anger him was that he got a bullet even though he had never fired a bullet.

-Bloody Yugoslavians, they don’t even know how to shoot, otherwise they would have killed somebody who was more dangerous than me. This way, they got rid of a pen, not a bayonet!-

In the big room it was impossible to have a rest during the day and at night. New wounded people kept on coming from the battlefield. The young Red Cross nurses worked non-stop along with the two doctors who took turns to perform operations with makeshift means. Most of the soldiers who where taken into hospital were very young boys, mutilated by bombs or in the grip of terror that they could not controlled.

Someone would shout -Mommy- mommy- till he had some voice left. Then the shouting was replaced by a sigh, a death rattle. His cry for help was supposed to go far but instead it was collected by those young women who stroke their faces and would gently keep their hands in theirs, saying words that their mothers would have said. To reach the point that the death rattle would stop and the convulsive grip of their fingers would loosen up in the last hope to have been touched by the tender hand of their mum.

That was the other side to the barricade, here the war could be just suspended or could end for good.

A few days went by and Rudi started to feel better. The pain in his shoulder was not so bad and he started to get up and walk, even if he was quite weak still. Fosco was recovering, but his knee was not okay. If he tried to bend it, he would get shooting pains that would make him stop. The pain was so bad that he furrowed his forehead and squinted his eyes till they became slanted, hissing with rage

-Bloody Yugoslavians- lighting up a cigarette.

He smoked often, standing, leaning against his crutch. Holding the cigarette between his fingers, he would look laid-back again, pushing away the bitterness and the worry into a hidden corner of his look which was not completely invisible. He always had some cigarettes which he would offer to those who asked to take two drags.

Sitting on the same bed, Fosco and Rudi had the time to get to know each other. Rudi told him about himself, his town, his nieces and nephews showing how much you miss all that is important to you and that you take for granted. Fosco listened with the curiosity of a person who finds out about the peaceful life in the suburbs and was asking about Giulia and Giovanni, Ada and Maria as if he knew them. Then he told him about his life as a journalist, about his family who was so different, about his travels following his father who was an ambassador. Rudi listened to what his friend had to say with the curiosity of someone who opens a window onto a completely different view. The world around them was not there anymore at least for the time they were having their conversations. The war, the suffering, the terror that they could see in their friends’ eyes were pushed away by the stories they were telling which would bring them back in time, when all of this was not there. They spoke about women, how they had met them, about those ones they felt they had loved at least for a little while and about those they had made love to. Now more than ever the body of a woman, her smooth and warm skin would have fulfilled their senses. They would have recovered right after making love to her. Then, at the first moment of silence in between their thoughts and their words, reality stroke again and the smell of those bodies, the groans which were all around them would come back to life and were dragging them down forcefully to send them back to real life.