“Nothing better to do, apprentice?” An elder appeared from behind.
“I was sent to retrieve a sweater for Darlene.”
Marie was proud of her friend. Verena didn’t lower her eyes when she talked back to the haughty elder.
“Well, don’t be wasting time. Go.”
As the elder passed them, Verena raised her fingers in an obscene gesture while whispering, “Hope Captain Callista makes your day hell.”
Marie almost choked but managed to keep quiet.
Verena winked at her. “Remember, nod to Madame—”
Marie stopped her. “I know the drill. Now run before you get in trouble.” She saw Verena hurrying upstairs, wondering if she had told the truth about fetching stuff for Darlene. Verena’s sentiments for the harpy hadn’t dimmed. If nothing else, she hadn’t missed a single occasion to be within an earshot from the elder. Marie didn’t like to see her friend suffering for someone so vain and shallow. On one of those endless Samarian nights, she even joked about them getting together if nobody else would have them in five years. Verena had smiled and said it was a good plan.
She entered the infirmary a good hour later—she had wasted time on a long shower and precious minutes she hadn’t had to comb her hair. After long, wistful looks in the mirror, she opted to tie her wispy mane out of the way in a long, elaborate braid.
“How long does it take to peel a bag of potatoes?” Madame Lana gestured for her to close the door and approach a long table full of numbered packages. “Take one and go to the men’s infirmary to help the nurses.”
Marie forgot both Chef’s and Verena’s suggestions and she did exactly what she had been told to avoid doing. “But… but I thought I was needed here. I thought I was going to finally start training as a nurse—”
“You must be kidding! Would you believe this one?” Madame Lana asked three nurses who hurried to scamper out of the way. “Tora!” The rector stormed outside as was her habit. Her minions normally ended what she started.
One of the three women came forth and gave Marie a pitiful look. “At Redfarm we never allow nurses to start training on women first. You must prove useful.”
For the second time, Marie couldn’t believe her ears. The first shock she had received once Carnia had told her she was expected in the kitchen, and now this. “But—you can’t be serious… I mean, no disrespect, but is it truly necessary I train on men?” She was so upset she had forgotten her place.
“You better thank the Heavens we’re understaffed. Otherwise I’d kick you back to the kitchen.” Tora gave her a cold stare.
Marie knew there was no way to change the situation, so she took the package the woman was not so gently pushing into her arms.
Tora rotated her index finger to let Marie know she was to turn on her heels and leave. “Three floors down, under the cellars.”
Marie did as she was told, dragging her feet down the stairs and dreading the moment she had to enter the men’s infirmary. If only Madame Carla knew… She would be so mad that one of her girls is being sent to work on men. Her mind heavy with clouded thoughts, she descended toward her destination, noticing how darker, more humid, and narrower the flight of stairs became. She could barely contain her rage when she knocked on the door, fist trembling. Madame Carla would’ve never, ever allowed this… this… Tears stinging in her eyes, she knocked a second time when nobody answered.
“Come in!” a voice called, muffled by the walls.
Marie gingerly opened the door and peered inside, not sure what to expect. The men’s infirmary looked like any other and that surprised her greatly. The space was large, illuminated by artificial light, and seemingly clean in stark contrast with the dampness of the stairs. Three rows of narrow beds lined the room, each numbered with a rectangular plaque at the foot. Several were occupied by workers either sleeping or waiting to be checked by the only woman present, who was busily moving from one bed to the other. Overall, a sense of calm pervaded the place, and that surprised Marie even more. Her attention was directed toward the thirty-something brunette with short tresses and a curvaceous body, who made a summoning sound without looking at her. Expecting directions, she walked closer to the woman who exuded an air of command.
“Don scrubs. Wear gloves. Start changing the dressings on bed one.” The brunette was busy stitching a large gash on a man’s forearm. She raised her dark eyes from the wound to give an immobile Marie a puzzled look. “You know how to do that, right?”
Marie, dazzled by the sight, shook her head slowly. The man was in pain and his face was white, but he was stoically suffering the treatment. Blood gushed from the jarred wound and the brunette swiftly cleaned it with a white cloth she immediately discarded inside a bin at her feet.
“What are you doing here, then?” The brunette’s mood was changing before Marie’s eyes.
“I thought I was going to train as a nurse?” She automatically stepped back, almost eager to be sent back to peeling potatoes.
The man under the brunette’s care moaned in pain as she threaded the needle in and out of his skin. “I’m sorry, but it’s better this way. The longer it takes the more painful it is for you.” She patted his arm in a display of tenderness Marie found out of place. “The rector sent me another useless, snotty girl,” the brunette said under her breath, but loud enough to be heard. The man smiled through thin, bloodless lips.
Marie had already reached the door and was, for once, looking longingly at the darkness of the stairs when the brunette called her back. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I thought—” Sweat freezing on her forehead, Marie understood she wasn’t getting away from that job.
“Do you want to start training or not?” The brunette gave a good look at her handiwork and applied two more stiches. “Better?” she asked the man, who nodded in response. “Good.”
“I’d like to train.” Marie couldn’t believe her eyes and her ears. The woman was so attentive to the man’s needs and he wasn’t afraid of her.
“Then you’ll train all right.” The brunette showed her the cubicle where the scrubs and the gloves were stacked in two neat piles. “You’ll learn more here than anywhere else.” She had finished with the man and gently helped him to sit on a nearby bed. “I’m Doctor Rane. But you can call me by my name. No need for formality around here. It’s going to be just you and me, anyway. What’s your name?”
“Marie.”
“Nice meeting you, Marie.” Rane removed her gloves, discarded them, and offered Marie her hand. “Today, you’ll help me with some chores to get you accustomed to what we do here. In a day or two, you’ll know if it’s for you or not.” Rane smiled a beautiful, all white-teeth smile.
Marie wondered if the doctor was temperamental or menstrual. Either way, she wasn’t sure she was going to like working with her in such a confined space.
“Come here. I’ll show you how to properly dress a wound.” Rane made a sign to join her at bed number one, where a man was soundly sleeping. “Time for your medication,” she whispered, leaning toward the blond head.
The head whispered back, “Okay.”
“What do you need me to do?” Marie saw the cart with medicines parked by the bed and remembered the bulgy envelope Tora had given her four floors up and an entire universe apart. She proffered the package to Rane, hoping she knew what to do with it.
“Thanks, we go through more first-aid kits than I can count.” She took the package from Marie and tore the seal. “Good, I needed some penicillin and I can always use the tincture of iodine. You wouldn’t believe the condition these men arrive in. Sometimes, I don’t understand the way pure breeds use them.”
Marie didn’t understand where Rane’s speech was going and didn’t want to know. She didn’t find her words appropriate, but she was smart enough to keep her thoughts to herself.
“The patient needs his wound cleaned and dressed with clean gauzes.” Rane put together what was needed for the task and then passed the tray
to Marie. “You must come close if you want to learn anything.”
Marie felt Rane’s disapproving look and hurried to join her at the head of the bed where a blond mane was slowly moving as if its owner were waking from deep sleep, although he had answered Rane a few seconds ago.
“He’s heavily sedated. Don’t worry. He isn’t going to bite.” Rane beckoned her closer still and Marie obliged fearfully, worrying she was never going to please the woman.
“What happened to him?” Marie could see bandages on his naked arms and shoulders. Someone had carefully tucked linens around the rest of his body.
Rane answered her question by gently peeling the linen down to the man’s abdomen. Then with equal gentleness, she raised the hem of his undershirt and uncovered his torso. She moved him to his right side where a bloodied bandage covered a big portion of the upper body. She removed the dressing to show what lay beneath. Two wide, angry-red marks marred his already-ruined skin. “They treat them like animals and then pretend they work again the morning after.”
Again, Marie didn’t ask who “they” were. She had already decided it was safer to let the woman mumble her heretic thoughts and pretend she hadn’t heard or understood. The aftermath of the recent whipping sickened Marie and she had to avert her gaze. She remembered how a slap she had once received on her face had stung and wondered how much a whipping that had cut the skin in two long gashes would hurt.
“Pass me the peroxide. I’m worried it’s going to get infected.” Rane pointed to a small plastic bottle on the tray she had given Marie, which she promptly opened and handed to her.
Marie didn’t expect the reaction of the transparent disinfectant once poured on the wounds. The peroxide sizzled on contact, forming white foam that engulfed the red wounds. “Good,” Rane said and Marie shivered at the same time the blond head thrashed side to side.
“Keep him in place,” Rane ordered, filling the gashes with the peroxide and dabbing at the liquid as she poured with a steady hand.
Marie applied all her weight on the man’s shoulders to stop his frenzied rocking and ended with her face close to his. She heard him swearing softly, and when his eyes fluttered open for one brief moment, she was surprised by two bright-green lights staring back at her. Dear Goddess, it’s Grant! She recoiled from the shock. The wounded back, his deep gashes… The whole picture seemed uglier than a moment earlier and she had to repress a gasp.
“Keep him down, would you?” Rane muttered something else Marie didn’t understand.
Rane shoved Marie out of the way as the doctor calmed Grant and finished dressing his wounds by herself. “What’s the problem with you? Didn’t you want to be a nurse? What do you think it means? Redecorating the patients’ rooms?” The woman was furious and her eyes shone dark and bright.
Marie felt small and useless as Rane towered over her and pushed her toward the wall by poking at her chest with a finger. “Change your attitude or get out of here and nev—” Grant moved on the bed and emitted a haunting sound that stopped Rane midsentence. Both Rane and Marie ran back to him.
“Why is he screaming?” Marie couldn’t bear to hear the piercing laments. “Can’t we do something?” Please make it stop.
“He turned on his back. That’s why he’s screaming. And yes, we can do something to help him. It’s called a strong opiate.” Rane showed her how to keep Grant on his side and then went to a cabinet where there several small bottles stood behind glass. The brunette fished a key out of one of the pockets on her vest and opened the cabinet. “Here, take one. You’ll feel better.” She placed a small blue pill between Grant’s lips and gave him some water from a plastic cup. Grant gulped down the pill the first try.
Marie waited, her breath caught somewhere in her throat. “How long does it take for the medicine to work?”
Rane shrugged. “It must dissolve in the stomach. Not soon enough.”
“Isn’t there something faster?” Marie didn’t want to look at Grant, but she couldn’t resist the urge. His face was covered in sweat and his already fair complexion had paled to a ghostly white. “There must be something.”
“Of course there is.” Rane gave her a look as if she had asked a stupid question.
“Then why didn’t you give it to him?”
“Because.”
Marie was going to ask what she had meant with that answer, but Rane made a face and then exclaimed, “You really are naïve, aren’t you?”
Marie was offended by her remark. “I’m fifteen—”
“The better, faster, safer medicines aren’t to be wasted on workers,” Rane recited. “I work with expired antibiotics and barely enough painkillers to keep them alive.” She started to caress Grant’s shoulders. “Do the same to his arms.”
“Do you want me to touch him?” Marie choked at the end.
“Yes, I want you to touch him.”
Marie mustered some courage, timidly took one of Grant’s arms in her hand, and slowly stroked it. All the while, she couldn’t stop shivering.
“The touch calms sick patients.” The woman gestured to use both hands to give the massage. “Don’t you feel better when you’re caressed?”
Marie blushed. Of course I feel better when someone caresses me! What a silly question.
“Well, you’d be surprised, but men feel better too when treated like human beings.” Rane gave her a pointed look.
Maybe she’s testing me. Marie redoubled her effort, and trying her best to ignore the way she reacted to his proximity, starting with Grant’s right hand, she massaged it with an upward motion. “Is this good?”
“Yes, it feels good,” Grant replied, surprising her. The result was that Marie dropped his arm as if it weighted a ton and jumped back at the same time. Rane rebuked her. To add insult to the injury, Grant gave her an amused look, despite the fact he was ridden with pain. “Thank you,” he said, keeping his focus on Marie.
“Try to relax now,” Rane said to Grant, and after passing a hand through his hair in a tender gesture, she moved away from his bed to check on a man two beds on the right who had just called her.
“Hi, Marie.” Grant hadn’t lowered his eyes. He was still looking at her.
Marie felt a strange tingle at his words. She hadn’t seen him since Carnia had left Redfarm, and her thoughts were scattered several directions at once. “What happened to you?”
“I got whipped.” He turned slightly on his side and grimaced in pain.
She closed the distance between them in a second, her hands reaching for him by their own volition. “Don’t move. Let me help you.”
“I can’t stay in this position for long. I think I’ve a broken rib or something.” His voice was a rattle now.
At closer scrutiny, his eyes looked red and feverish and dark circles sat under them. “Don’t talk.” She could see every word he spoke forced him to expand his thorax, pushing on the broken rib. She brought a wheeled stool closer and sat by him. “I’ll massage your shoulders. Is that okay?”
He nodded and let his head slip farther down the pillow. “Tell me something about yourself.” He sounded sleepy already.
“Me?” The question took Marie by surprise. A worker asking about a woman’s life. She saw the sickly sheen on his skin and how much it hurt him to keep talking. “I don’t like the color yellow,” she blathered, not knowing what else to say.
“You don’t like the color yellow?” His eyes, on the verge of closing a moment ago, now flashed wide open and focused on her mouth.
Or so it seemed to Marie. “I hate the color yellow.”
“But, why?” He moved his head on the pillow to better look at her.
She moved accordingly to help him avoid unnecessary movements. “My hair is yellow and I truly wish it was darker.”
“I like it.” His hand reached for one of her long locks before she understood what he intended. “It’s silky.” His fingers slid through her hair in long strokes before she had the wits to stop him.
She shivered,
then realized his hand was still under hers and she wanted to let it go, but couldn’t move. “What are you doing?”
“Wanted to touch your hair.” His voice was blurred, but the hurt was unmistakable.
She was shocked, and at the same time, she felt bad for him. “You shouldn’t take these kinds of liberties with a woman,” she murmured under her breath. As if she wanted to explain her words, she added, “I could report you.” But deep inside, she knew she wouldn’t have. As she hadn’t reported him when she had seen him for the first time stealing food from the cellars.
He surprised Marie by throwing another compliment at her. “You have pretty eyes.” His owns eyes were closing and he was trying his best to keep them open, but it was a lost battle. “You’re nice.” And with that, he finally went to sleep, leaving her angry and flustered.
Angry because she was flustered by his words. She shouldn’t have been flustered by a man’s words.
“Under opiates, they say the darnedest things. Don’t mind the boy. He’s been having the worst luck lately. In and out of this place three times already in the last two weeks.” Rane was back at Grant’s side and Marie hadn’t heard her coming. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t.” Marie lied through her teeth because she needed to feel in control again. “What happened to him?”
Rane let her have her small victory and answered her question. “He got caught, not once, but three different times, trying to escape.”
“Escaping?” Marie left the stool for Rane, who thanked her and went to check Grant’s vitals. “But to go where?” Where would a worker go once outside the farm’s walls?
“Somewhere nicer for him.” Rane was holding his right wrist between thumb and index. “Do you know how to take the pulse?”
Marie shook her head. She had seen Madame Carla check one of the girls who had fainted once, but she didn’t know what to do.
“Come here and take his other wrist.” Rane waited for Marie to take position by her and reach for Grant’s left wrist. “Yes, like that, good.” She helped Marie to find his pulse. “Gently press your finger on the bigger vein and count his heartbeats.”
Marie's Journey (Ginecean Chronicles) Page 6