by Roger Curtis
The camp was on a kind of plateau halfway up the mountain. To the north the land fell away again into yellow-green pastures. In the distance were villages, and far, far away a small town, and beyond that more mountains. ‘They’re not so aware of us up here,’ Allison said. ‘Some don’t even know we’re here. It depends a bit on whether you’re an Armenian or a Kurd.’
‘What made you come?’ Sarah asked.
‘To this camp? Simple really. My parents worked in Iraq, until the trouble began. With the Americans I mean. There’s always been trouble of other kinds. Eventually they left. By then I knew what was happening to the Kurds, what had been happening – except that we were never told. I had to come, you see. I keep looking for faces I might know.’ She sighed deeply. ‘But there are so many.’
‘And they gave you training?’
‘About as much as you had this morning. But then, it’s not much to do with medicine really, is it? Oh yes, the bullet holes and the diarrhoea. But the rest? Well it’s in the mind, isn’t it. When everyone important to you has gone, you go too, that’s how it seems to work. How it seems to me.’
‘Can we give them hope?’
Allison looked directly into Sarah’s eyes. ‘You can. You have it, whatever ‘it’ is. I could tell that from the start.’
Sarah lay still, trying to sleep, trying to fend off the encroaching images of the day. There were two that would not go away. The first, indelible, the faces as they came out of the mist: deluded winners in a gamble with death who had still to cast the dice again. The other was slowly crystallising out of the last dregs of consciousness.
She was blinking into the sunlight, admiring the glistening caps of the distant blue-green peaks. Allison was walking ahead of her between the rows of tents, then turned and was lost from sight. Beside the path a group of children was playing – some sort of hop, skip and jump – except that not all could join in. One, a girl of about nine, had her eyes fixed on the other children, who were calling to her, but the fingers of her left hand still toyed with the strings of the tent-flap behind her back. Her neck was bent, or rather the head was held to one side, at odds with the lustre of the intelligent eyes. Moving closer Sarah saw the wasting of her leg and arm on the right side.
One of the older children called out: ‘Irina, come and say hello to the new doctor.’
The girl hopped towards them like a winged bird, an unintended but perfect parody of the game she was watching. Her eyes met Sarah’s. There was familiarity there: not unkind, not critical, but gently probing.
‘Irina,’ the older child explained, ‘was wounded in the head. We think the bullet touched the side of her brain. We’re very proud of her.’
The girl performed a little bow of the head to acknowledge the praise. Her questing eyes gave way to a welcoming smile.
‘Can she speak,’ Sarah asked?
‘Irina, say something to Dr Potter.’
‘Hello, Sarah Jane Potter.’
‘Why, that’s remarkable,’ Sarah said, pleased and impressed. She bent towards the girl. ‘What have you to show me, Irina? You have some toys for me perhaps?’
The older child held back the flap of the tent. Sarah had to stoop to enter. It took her a long time to adapt to the darkness. At first, she thought there was no light at all. Then, one by one, lights like tiny candle flames flickered into life, dimly illuminating the tent. Sarah was surprised by its vastness. A small hand forced its way between her fingers and palm. On her other side the same thing happened. Staring ahead, she could see neither child.
‘Watch, Sarah Jane!’
The days sped by. If pleasure hastens time, what then was happening here, where there was little else around but pain and despair? Sarah asked herself if it were possible that such things were actually pleasing to her. Not consciously, perhaps, but indirectly, as facets of a trade that satisfied. She had seen it in magnified form in certain of her colleagues at the hospital back home. Alan Murphy for instance.
Her hand went instinctively towards her face. So positive was this train of thought that she got up from her bunk to look in the mirror. It was the first time she had examined herself in that way since she arrived at the camp.
Allison, lying on the next bunk, became alarmed. ‘Sarah, I thought you’d put that out of your mind.’
‘I have, honestly. Something from my past just confronted me.’ She grinned and flopped backwards on to her bunk with her arms behind her head. ‘It’s gone now.’
‘You’re sure you’re not working too hard?’
‘No. I love it.’
There. There it was again. What was it about the work that she loved? What right had she to take advantage of people in that way, if it was just for self-gratification? She plucked up courage to ask.
‘Do you think it’s immoral to get satisfaction from the work we do?’
‘Well, if you didn’t you wouldn’t do it; then everyone would lose. Listen. I asked my father a similar thing once. Only I was accusing him of milking the local markets for cash.’
‘What did he say?’
‘That to question one’s motives all the time was a selfish indulgence. It was much better and more honest to accept yourself as you were. Then everyone knew where they stood. If you were a villain and didn’t try to hide it at least people had a chance of avoiding you.’
‘A villain? I’m not a villain!’
Allison grinned, pleased with herself. ‘Sorry, I thought that’s what you were leading up to.’
They hadn’t heard Jazreel enter.
‘I agree with Allison,’ Jazreel said. ‘You can’t be a philosopher in a place like this. There are too many conflicting values.’ Then she turned to Allison, ‘Would you mind if I spoke to Sarah alone? About something back in England, not here. It won’t take a moment.’
When the nurse had gone she sat beside Sarah on the bunk.
‘We’ve not really had a chance to talk and tomorrow morning Nuru arrives and then in the afternoon Adnam comes to carry me off.’
‘So soon?’
‘I’m ashamed to say I deliberately didn’t tell you.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I didn’t want you to dwell on problems back home when you were getting on so well here. To be frank I considered clearing off this evening after surgery, but you would have hated me for the insult.’
Sarah knew that the opportunity to learn things – about the Massingham Foundation, Edwin, Jazreel’s baby – might never come again. It didn’t matter. They were part of something left behind by the roadside, soiled memorabilia, unworthy to be touched ever again.
‘Like me you may want to let sleeping dogs lie.’ Jazreel said quietly.
‘If I asked you, you would tell me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then that I’ve had it in my power to know is enough. Let it rest, as you say. Except…’
‘Yes?’
Sarah pulled a blanket around her shoulders to hide a shiver. ‘It was something that Ali said to me once – that you’d both visited a little village in Oxfordshire called Peverell Hessett.’
‘That’s difficult to remember, but yes, we did.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Oh, just to say goodbye to an old school chum who happened to be staying there with friends. I can’t remember their name.’
‘Does the name Sharp – Tom Sharp – mean anything to you?’
‘No, not at all. Should it?’
‘No.’
They walked out into the evening sunlight to look for Allison. There was a damp chill in the air that Sarah hadn’t noticed before. Because of it the camp had become subdued. Now people scurried around outside only if there was a purpose. The children playing were fewer and moved more slowly. It was like the effect of smoke on a hive of bees.
‘You haven’t asked me about Ali,’ Jazreel said.
‘He was devoted to you.’
‘He was obsessed with a dream.’
‘He could have been of great help.’
‘I told him long ago it could not work.’
The following morning an expectant buzz among the staff signalled the imminent arrival of Dr Nuru. In another situation flags might have been lowered and raised as one incumbent was replaced by another, except that there was no flagpole, other than the one flying the permanent red pennant of the organisation. He swept in by Land Rover about eleven while Sarah was in the theatre. He was still with Jazreel and Kempis when the rest broke for lunch.
More spectacular was the arrival of Jazreel’s fiancé. A thousand pairs of eyes had followed the serene progress of the beige Mercedes as it climbed ever upwards towards the camp. Sarah was sitting in her familiar place on the veranda when the car drew up in front. The descending dust sparkled in the sunlight. When it had settled the driver got out and walked around the car to open the rear door.
A chauffeur opening a door for a passenger in a refugee camp! Sarah wanted to scream out at the indelicacy, the sheer arrogant stupidity of it. Where was Jazreel to counter and reprimand, to strike a balance and lessen the offence? When she emerged, in a chic white dress to mid-calf and top to match, Sarah’s understanding of values was sent crashing. There was a glass of water beside her. To throw it would give her…
She found Andrew sitting beside her, riding the waves of disapprobation crashing around him and laughing openly at her. ‘It’s a pity my own entry didn’t cause even a hundredth of the impression that that’s made on you. Calm down, Sarah! Consider the situation.’
She turned on him. ‘It’s obscene!’
‘Sarah, before he gets out, listen to me. Without him and his support for Jazreel this camp wouldn’t exist, financially or politically. Lives saved, sick cured; people sent home otherwise than in coffins. So do you have the right to weigh ostentation against philanthropy?’
‘But what must they think?’ She waved her hand vaguely towards the camp. ‘These people, think?’
‘They think it’s a bloody long time since they’ve seen good clothes, still longer a Mercedes that wasn’t a politician’s. It might just remind them there’s hope yet. So bury it, Sarah. Please.’
Adnam Hussein was mounting the steps with a wide grin, a bejewelled hand extended towards her.
‘Bloody well take it,’ Andrew hissed into her ear.
‘My dear Sarah, you will not understand my pleasure in meeting you, but please accept that it is heartfelt. I have heard so much, and all of it to your very great credit.’
‘Jazreel has exaggerated.’
‘No, please don’t misunderstand me. I wasn’t referring to Jazreel. To Jazreel you are just a fellow doctor.’
Sarah wanted to ask, who then? But the warmth of the man was making an impression, and weakened her. She was pitched into that middle ground of indecision where churlish resistance was fighting sensible acceptance of undeniable fact. She took the proffered hand and returned the squeeze. Suddenly she felt good about it.
‘I’ve heard good things too – that without you this camp might not exist.’
‘Well, shall we say I enjoy manipulating people, especially lazy politicians, so that wasn’t such a hardship. What I can’t buy are people like you, with willingness to give of their skills, and themselves.’
Adnam was greeting Andrew. They obviously knew each other well. ‘Are you prepared for winter? Be honest now.’
‘As ready as we can be.’
‘That’s good. Let me know if the situation changes.’ He stepped back towards Sarah and sat beside her. ‘Now, Sarah, let me have your impressions of the camp.’ She sensed, rightly, that he was seeking praise.
‘We’re lacking basic essentials. Drugs, dressings, spares for pieces of equipment.’
‘Really. I was told you had most things.’
‘No, far from it.’
Andrew had turned away in embarrassment, knowing when it is diplomatic to milk a benefactor no further. Sarah withdrew her legs, to avoid her shins being kicked. But in this instance her judgement of the man was the keener.
‘I truly did not know that.’ He drew a gilded leather notebook from his breast pocket and opened it for her. ‘Write there what you need.’
They sat in silence while Sarah thought hard and wrote in the book. Then she handed it back to him, still open, with the sweetest smile that control of her face could command.
He snapped the book shut. ‘It will be done.’ Then he looked around for Jazreel. ‘My lady, we must go. We have a long drive before nightfall.’ For the last time he looked at Sarah, and returned her smile with a wave of his forefinger towards her face. ‘You will not always be like this, Sarah. When the time comes, remember what it means to be humble.’
The words had a familiar ring, but she couldn’t place them.
‘You bloody nearly disgraced us,’ Andrew said when the shifting plume of dust had at last settled in the valley. But by the following Wednesday Sarah had her drugs and her dressings, and enough over to give some to Andrew.
19
The door was ajar. Sarah quietly pushed at it for a better view of him before she went in. Dr Nuru sat writing at his desk with the crown of his head towards her. There was silver in the grizzled hair that fitted his reputation as a wise greybeard with considerable diplomatic skill. With the evening sunlight behind him his face was in deep shade.
Sarah made for the further of the two vacant chairs so that she could see him more clearly.
‘Good evening, Dr Nuru. You wanted to see me?’
‘No, I was looking forward to meeting you, Sarah, and that’s a different thing.’ From the quick flash of gleaming teeth Sarah deduced that he was laughing at her. ‘I guess it’s difficult to know which of us should be welcoming the other. The resident fledgling against the old migratory bird. Why don’t we just shake hands at the same time?’ He rose to take her hand.
At the same level, their eyes fell upon each other’s face. Nuru had been told all about Sarah, but Sarah knew little about African tribal markings. When she saw the deep symmetrical lines carved into his cheeks her alarm must have showed. The humour of the situation struck them at the same time.
‘This is a very exclusive club we belong to, Sarah,’ he said, grasping his lapels with mock gravity. My father had to own thousands of cattle before he could get me these. How did you get in?’
‘Oh, strictly on the recommendation of a friend – who’s been discreet enough to stay anonymous.’
‘When you’d really like to have thanked him. I know. But that’s how it goes.’
Nuru had a total disregard for the niceties of meeting a stranger; but it was balanced by a professional charm that made offence impossible. He placed a finger under Sarah’s chin and turned her face into the light. ‘Has no-one ever offered to help you?’ he asked with surprise.
‘Well, not quite offered. They tell me it’s very difficult to get a good result. Better to wait.’
‘Nonsense, I’ve been into it myself.’
‘Then why didn’t you go ahead?’
‘I’ll tell you.’ He drew his chair up to hers as if about to confide a personal secret of some magnitude. ‘Because I’ve kind of grown to like them,’ he said, peeling away from her with a loud guffaw.
In the days that followed she came to respect him as a capable doctor as well as a gifted administrator.
The influx of refugees over the mountains had dried to a trickle, giving everyone time to breathe. Aided by Adnam’s supplies the hospital actually began to flourish. The evening meal was no longer taken on the run, but offered opportunities to reflect with the others on wider issues. Profound things were said in the light of the exotic candles th
at Nuru had smuggled into the camp. One issue began to dominate all others.
A few days earlier Sarah had woken to the popping of distant gunfire, although it was only when the sounds were heard again two days later that she admitted to herself what it was. ‘It’s the army flushing out the PKK,’ Karim explained.
The shots signalled a plunge in morale within the camp. The gloom that Sarah had at first attributed to the closing weather she now realised might have another component: fear. Walking between the tents she would come upon faces that did not quite belong. Surly expressions shielded fierce prides that had not been expunged by the rigours of flight. One day Karim said, ‘The camp’s been infiltrated. It’s now only a matter of time.’
Kempis doubled the guard on the perimeter fence at night. That seemed to have little effect. The camp guards rounded up a few suspects, but had to release them when their stories were corroborated. Curiously, though, they were not seen again after these encounters. One day the tents were searched systematically, and guns were found and confiscated. Nuru said someone must have informed the government forces, because at dawn the following morning a convoy of armoured vehicles roared through the gates. Once inside the soldiers fanned out, leaving few – apart from in the hospital enclave – unmolested.
Sarah was unprepared for the brutality. The search seemed to have no purpose except to provide opportunities for physical hurt. People were clubbed, regardless of what account they gave of themselves. The soldiers, she noted, were particularly adept with the butts of their rifles. Worst of all, the children were not spared. The clinics were especially busy that afternoon.
About three the mist rolled in, its ethereal tentacles groping the tracks between the tents. The fine drizzle it contained gave it a tangible quality, so that one could almost imagine gathering it in handfuls. Inside the hospital it crept along the main corridor and seeped into the wards. It seemed to move with a purpose, as if seeking out unfinished business.