The Sweetest Dream

'When the other doctor left I am afraid there was stealing.'

‘I see. '

'Yes, I am afraid that was the position.'

Sylvia understood that she was hearing his 'I am afraid' as it must have sounded long ago, when it was new made. He was using the words as a statement of apology. Long ago, when they said, I am afraid, did they then expect a blow or a reprimand?

What a lucky thing she had brought a new stethoscope, and some basic medicines. ‘Is there a lock for this door?'

‘I am afraid I don't know. ' Aaron made the motions ofhunting around, as if the lock might be found in the dust. ‘And yes, here it is,' he cried, finding it tucked into the thatch of the shed.

‘And the key?'

He hunted again, but the key was too much to ask.

She was not going to trust her little store to a shed without a lock. While she stood, indecisive, thinking that she did not understand anything around her, that she needed a key, let alone the shed, Aaron said, ‘And look, doctor, I am afraid things are not good here – look.' He pushed the bricks of the shed on the back wall, and they fell out. A patch had been carefully freed of their mortar, so that quite a large hole was possible: anyone could come in there.

She made a quick tour of her patients, lying about here and there, but it was sometimes hard to tell them from their friends or relatives who were with them. A dislocated shoulder. She put it back there and then, told the young man to stay and rest, not to use it for a bit, but he staggered off into the bush. Some cuts – festering. Another malaria, or she thought so. A leg swollen up like a bolster, the skin seemingly about to burst. She went back to her room, returned with a lancet, soap, a bandage, a basin got from Rebecca, and, squatting, lanced the leg, from which large amounts of pus soaked into the dust, making, no doubt, a fine new source of infection. This patient was groaning with gratitude; a young woman whose two children sat near her, one sucking at the breast, though he seemed to be at least four years old, the other clinging to her neck. Rebecca bandaged the leg, hoping to keep some of the dust out, told the woman not to do too much, although this was probably absurd, and examined a pregnant woman, near her time. The baby was in the wrong position.

She collected her instruments, and the basin and said she had to talk to Father McGuire. She asked Aaron what he and the malaria patient planned to eat. He said that perhaps Rebecca would be kind to them and give them some sadza.

Sylvia found Father McGuire at the table in the front room, eating his lunch. He was a large man, in a shabby robe, with a generous crop of white hair, dark sympathetic eyes, and an air of jovial welcome.

Sylvia was urged to join him in a little tinned herring – brought by her, and she did; and then, urged again, ate an orange.

Rebecca stood watching, and said that they were saying down in the hospital that Sylvia could not be a doctor, she was too small and thin.

'Shall I show them my certificates?’ said Sylvia.

'I'd show them the weight of my hand,' said Father McGuire. ‘What impertinence is this I am hearing?'

‘I must have a shed that locks,’ said Sylvia. ‘I can't carry everything down and back several times a day. '

‘I will tell the builder to mend the hole in the shed. '

‘And a lock? A key?'

'And now that is not so easy. I'll have to see if we have one. I could ask Aaron to go across to the Pynes and ask for a lock and a key. '

He was lighting a cigarette, and offered one to Sylvia. She had smoked, hardly at all, ever, but now she was grateful for it.

‘Ah, yes, ' he said. ‘You've had a long day. It is always the same the first day from home. Our day starts at half-past five and it ends – at least mine does – at nine. And you'll be ready for your bed then, no matter what you think now, with your London ways. '

'I'm ready now,' said Sylvia.

'And then you should have a little nap, as I will now.'

'But what about those people down there? May I have a mug, at least, to give them some water?'

‘You may. That at least we can do. We have mugs. '

Sylvia slept half an hour, and was woken by Rebecca with tea. Had Rebecca slept? She smiled when Sylvia asked. Had Aaron and his friend had something to eat? Doctor Sylvia must not worry about them, she smiled.

Sylvia went back down to the assemblage of sheds, shelters and shady trees where the sick lay about waiting. A lot more had come, having heard there was a doctor. There were quite a few cripples now, without a leg or an arm, old wounds never properly stitched or cleaned. These were the wounded from the war, which had after all ended quite recently. She thought they had come creeping to the 'hospital' because here, at least, their condition was validated, was defined. They were war wounded, and entitled to pills – painkillers, aspirins, ointment, anything really, these very young men, no more than boys some of them, they were the heroes of the war, and they were owed something. But Sylvia had so few pills, and was being parsimonious. So they got mugs of water, and sympathetic enquiries. 'How did you lose that leg?' 'The bomb went off when I sat down.' 'I'm so sorry, that was bad luck. ' 'Yes, that was too much bad luck. ' 'And what happened to your foot?' 'A rock fell from the kopje, all the way down, and on to a landmine and I was there. ' 'I am so sorry. It must have hurt a lot. ' 'Yes, and I screamed and my comrades they made me be quiet, because the enemy was not far. '

Late that afternoon, when the sun was low and yellow, there appeared a very tall, very thin, angry-faced stooping man who said he was Joshua, and his job was to help her.

‘Are you a nurse? Have you trained?'

‘No, I have no training. But I work here all the time. '

' Then, where were you earlier?' asked Sylvia, wanting information, not intending a rebuke.

But he said, intending insolence, a formal insolence, like the words Damn you, 'Why should I be here when there was no doctor?'

He was under the influence of something. No, not alcohol -what then? Yes, she smelled marijuana.

‘What have you been smoking?' 'Dagga. ' 'Does it grow here?' 'Yes, it grows everywhere.' 'If you are going to work with me, then I can't have you smoking dagga. '

Swaying from foot to foot, arms dangling, he growled out, ‘I did not expect to work today. '

‘When did the other doctor leave?' 'A long time ago. A year now. ' 'What do the sick people do when it rains?' 'If there is no room for them under the roofs, they get wet. They are black people, that's good enough for them. ' 'But you have a black government now, so things will change. '

‘Yes, ' he said, or snarled. ‘Yes, now everything will change and we will have the good things too. '

' Joshua,’ she remarked, smiling, ' if we are going to work together then we shall have to try and get on. '

Now there did appear a kind of smile. ‘Yes, it would be a good thing if we – got on. '

‘I take it you didn't get on with the one who left. By the way, was he a white doctor or a black doctor?'

' A black doctor. Well, perhaps not a real doctor. But he drank too much. He was a skellum. ' 'A what?' 'A bad man. Not like you. ' 'I hope that at least I won't drink too much. ' 'And I hope so too, doctor. ' 'My name is Sylvia. ' 'Doctor Sylvia. '

He was still stooping and swaying, and now his face was set in a scowl. This was as if he had decided: Now I must show antagonism.

' Doctor Sylvia is going up to Father McGuire,’ she said. ' He told me to be there when it got dark, for supper. '

‘And I hope Doctor Sylvia will enjoy her supper. ' He went off on a path into the bush, laughing. Then she heard him singing. A rousing song, she thought: it was a revolutionary song from the war, insulting to all whites.