Lunch with the Generals by Derek Hansen

Author:Derek Hansen [Hansen, Derek]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2014-09-24T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

Bromeus Hospital is the best in Bandung, though there are many who dispute the claim in favour of Rajawali. Its theatres are well equipped and it is staffed by the elite of the medical profession. But that night, as Annemieke lay on the operating table, its resources were sorely tested by the casualties of Mt Galunggung.

Besides the horrific lacerations to Annemieke’s face, broken ribs had punctured a lung, she had multiple fractures to both arms, and her nose and right cheek were so badly smashed, the sight of her right eye was threatened. She had lost a lot of blood, some of which pooled dangerously in her damaged lung, and she was badly concussed.

The surgeons who operated on her worked zealously to save her life. They put the broken child together again, set the broken bones, stitched the torn flesh, inflated the collapsed lung, and replenished her dwindling blood. They did a good job. But they were not, nor would they ever claim to be, cosmetic surgeons.

Lita’s injuries, although considerable, were less severe. Her seatbelt tore rib cartilages, and the buckle ruptured her spleen. Her hip was broken. She was also concussed and badly lacerated where the dashboard had buckled inwards and met her forehead.

Jan, too, was knocked out, but on doctor’s orders. He wanted to be with Annemieke. He wanted to be with Lita. He wanted to hold them and tell them he was sorry, and beg for forgiveness. He was distraught with guilt. He was judge and jury, convicting himself without representation by the defence, or acknowledgement of mitigating circumstance. He fought the nurses and their aides until their numbers and the searing pain of his broken shoulder took its toll. He never felt the needle that brought temporary peace to his troubled mind. They kept him under heavy sedation for three days.

It didn’t matter. They would not have let him in to see Annemieke or Lita and, even if they had, there was little to see of either beneath the swaddling of their bandages.

They took him to see Lita on the fourth day. The drugs that relieved her of her pain also held her in the twilight between sleep and reality. Her face, but for her eyes and mouth, was still mercifully hidden by dressings. Jan looked at her bare arms, swollen where they should be so slender and splashed purple with bruising where they should glow with coppery translucence.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered as tears filled his eyes. Tears for her suffering. Tears for his regrets. Tears because he couldn’t take her in his arms and find the comfort he needed—the comfort she’d always provided him. He could not even bend down to kiss her. The rigid cast holding his arm and shoulders prevented him.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispered again.

Lita reached out and took his good hand in hers and squeezed as hard as her diminished strength would allow. She locked her eyes on his and Jan drew comfort as he had so often in the past.

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