Chapter 5 -2

"what you mean?" "After my mother's accident, my father was obsessed with protecting me, which is understandable. He didn't let me go to school, and asked someone to come to the house to teach me. You can imagine what kind of security checks his men have made on those poor guys . “As far as my social life is concerned,” she added jokingly, “some people might think it’s cool to have a movie theater in your home that’s stocked with popcorn. But every weekend it’s just you and Those same three or four kids in the audience, it's not a good thing. I didn't realize until I was 14 years old that the least important thing in watching a movie is what happened on the screen. I wanted to be with other people, almost Want to die."

"How did you manage to leave in the end? Did you also do it with the help of His Excellency Nico?" "No kidding," she scolded, "but the truth is, he's been encouraging me to study abroad. But I can't leave him until he's fully recovered." How strange, parental instincts come from a child. "In the end I decided that if I wanted to get him back into human society one day, I'd have to leave. I mean, I thought if I let him live on his own, he'd have to start looking for other people. "Anyway, England is the only country where the security measures satisfy him. Of course, it has to be a Catholic school. So that's pretty much all that's left of St. Bartholomew's in Wiltshire.

"I was very happy there, although it took me a while to get used to the religious stuff. Besides meeting my best friend Sarah and learning every sport in the world, I was treated wonderfully there. Education. But the only thing I pray for every morning and night is that next visit day Dad comes with a lovely lady on his arm.” Then she added thoughtfully: “But he never did. "It meant I had to spend the summer with him in Italy. I couldn't bear the idea of ​​him living alone. I didn't get the chance to meet many people my own age, but I spent a lot of quality time with my dad. I know , he enjoyed taking me to the factory with him. I made him very proud. In fact, that seemed to be the only time when he stopped being reticent and really came alive. When he introduced me to everyone, his face He has a rare smile on his face. I also like going to the factory. The workers seem to really like him."

This was confirmed by an article I read recently in Le Monde.Her father, the article says, was one of the first industrialists in northern Italy to provide low-cost housing for his workers from the south who would otherwise have had to leave their families behind. "But what I remember most are the weekends we spent together in a small hotel in the remote forests of Tuscany. It was a resort for the non-flashy and tacky Italian upper class in Milan and Turin." "If so, the place must be really small," I joked. She laughed. "That's right, Matthew, that's why this place is so special. Despite the plain name, the 'Inn' is actually very laid back and classy. At night, they serve dinner in the garden, which is filled with the scent of jasmine. Anyway, for me as a teenager To my children, the men were all tanned and handsome in their white linen suits, but none of them looked as good-looking as my father. The women wore the most fashionable yet unobtrusive clothes. There was a 3 A small band of people accompanied the dance."

"Piano, drums and violin, right?" "Yes, my musician friend." She smiled. "I thought the violin would bring romance." "Indeed," she nodded, "but sadly, it's not the case for a fifteen-year-old girl and her father." Probably not, I thought to myself. "Every summer I keep wishing that we'd meet someone Dad likes." I was strangely moved by the thought of teenage girl Sylvia dancing around the ballroom with her father, cautiously scanning the tables from table to table, looking for a suitable widow. “One evening there were two ladies sitting at the table next to us, the younger one was very dark, attractive and very age appropriate. They were so close to us that I could notice that she was not wearing a wedding dress on her hand. rings. They seemed to be looking our way all through dinner and talking in low tones. Just before the coffee was brought, the older one stood up, kissed the other, said goodnight, and left went."

"Hey, this is getting interesting. Who took the initiative next?" "Of course it was me. I had a sudden headache, said I was sorry I was afraid I had to go, and insisted that Papa stay through dinner. "As I was leaving the restaurant, I looked back and saw my father reaching for his cigarette case. He was clearly in no hurry. This was a moment I'd been waiting for so long. I couldn't sleep or read a book .I stayed at the window for at least an hour, craning my neck to see the dining room, to see if they were dancing. I even woke up the next morning fantasizing about her having breakfast with us on Dad's deck. She wasn't there. But he was in a great mood, so I figured he must have made plans for lunch. I couldn't wait that long, so I just asked him what he thought of the beautiful brunette sitting nearby the night before. Sample."

She paused, shaking her head dejectedly. "Don't tell me," I guessed, "that he likes blondes." "No, you fool, he didn't notice her at all." "I think I've talked too much, huh?" said Sylvia apologetically.It was almost one o'clock in the morning, and we were standing in the empty lobby of Holy Flea's Nest (another nickname I gave to the damn place we lived). "Not at all," I said sincerely, "how else can you know a person?" "But knowing isn't synonymous with liking," she ventured. "Sylvia, it can't mean anything else to you."

We kissed each other goodnight on the cheek, and she took the elevator back to her room.I, a hard-won American, climbed the creaking stairs to my 10th-floor attic (at least that's how it felt then) for my daily exercise routine.I wondered as I crawled—unless I got too intoxicated with hope—that her last apparently innocuous remark had a meaning.Nico hasn't won her over yet.I still have a chance. The next evening, after finishing the last item on our agenda at Flor's Café, a thorough study of the pathogenesis, development, and treatment of schistosomiasis, a common blood-borne disease caused by exposure to contaminated water, A bottle of dry white wine was ordered, and a ritual we'd all been familiar with by this point began: reopening the family's mental album.

We talked about some of the things that drew us to medical careers in the first place. "Honestly," said Sylvia, "I can't remember a time when I wasn't more or less thinking about being a doctor. I mean, I think it started as early as George." "Who is George?" She arched her back towards the table.This is always the case when she tells me the secrets of her heart.Tonight, thanks to the cut of her jumper, I couldn't avoid glancing at her beautiful breasts as she told me about Giorgio Wangzuto. "He was my first 'boyfriend'. We were both 7 years old. He was thin, dark-eyed, round and big, much smaller than us. When get out of class was over, other boys ran Running around and messing around, he always sat alone. I went over to keep him company.

"But he can never come to my house to play. It turns out that he has to go to the hospital for dialysis every day after school." She took a deep breath. "Hell, it's still so hard to talk about it after all this time. Obviously he won't live long. My dad offered to pay for him to go to America to get a new kidney. I'm so proud. I think dad would do anything. Can't fail." She paused, then said, "They operated on him at Boston General. He never woke up." Sylvia lowered her head. "This incident has been very disturbing to my father. But think of Mrs. Rizzuto. If we hadn't intervened, her son might have lived for six months, or even a year. And the thing is, medical science is only make the end come sooner."

I was silent for a few seconds, then said softly, "So you decided to be a doctor." "Not consciously, but I must have felt it. In any case, Sarah's father, a professor of medicine at Cambridge University, was the clinical director of a hospice. He allowed us to follow behind. "John Conrad is just amazing. I mean, when he's with a patient, he makes the patient feel like they're the most important person in the world. He listens to each patient with their troubles, and always Find the right words to encourage everyone. "There was an 8-year-old boy there. Although he was very weak, he could still try to laugh when he heard the doctor's jokes. "I suddenly found myself wishing George had died in such a caring and human place. I made up my mind that day on the way back to St. Barts." "I can imagine your father's reaction." "You can't really imagine it. Although he was obviously taken aback, he seemed to accept my decision. It was only later that he started to fight back. Naturally, his first move was self-blame." "Parents love it." "Anyway, after this trick didn't work, he tried to dissuade me by saying how hard it is to study medicine." "Tell me, doctor," I smiled, "did he describe the three-day shift and no sleep?" "Painfully detailed. But I argued that if anyone else could stand it, so could I. And then it was—buying. He suggested that we set up something like the Ford Foundation to contribute to all sorts of worthy medical I admit I was tempted. But, after a whole summer of fruitless discussions, he gave up. When he kissed me goodbye, he whispered to me that the most important thing in the world Just let me do what makes me happy." "Anyway," I said tentatively, "isn't it really a matter of what you did before you married Nico?" "God," she said, looking at me with feigned anger, "you're worse than my dad. Why are you so sure I love him? Did I say I loved him?" "Anyway, it would be a big asset merger." I avoided answering directly. "I can't deny that," she admitted grudgingly. "So have you set a date?" I suddenly felt that I didn't want to hear the answer to this question. "The truth is," she said with a mischievous laugh, "the last two fathers suggested it be the last weekend in August." "You mean just this August?" She nodded. "Of course, now they have to push back." I started breathing again. I finally understood the particular reason for her desire to join the international medical team. Not only was she able to work with sick children, but she was able to stay away from Nico Rinaldi and all the pressures of the family. "Tell me, Sylvia, did your decision to go to Africa happen to have something to do with not being able to attend your own wedding?" She tried to suppress her laugh, but failed. "I actually did explain that I needed time and space to think about it." "What about their attitude?" "They have no choice. I am like Dad, but I am also like Mom. She will also maintain her independence. So now, Mr. Questioning Reporter, have your questions been answered?" No, I said to myself.I just remembered a whole new set of questions. chapter eight At 5 o'clock on the last day of the training class, François lit a cigarette and said something from the bottom of his heart. "Okay, the official induction is over, and as you'll see when you get there, it's not much of a preparation. Every day in the field is learning, and we're here to do our best to equip you with the skills to handle any The state of mind of a crisis that may arise, and often times you encounter crises that we have not been able to prepare you for. I just want to say sorry to those who have been unfairly blamed by me, and to those who have not. The person I blamed unfairly said - don't worry, it will be your turn when you get there." There was a soft laugh.Beneath his irascible exterior hides a shy, lovable person, I imagine. "Well, good luck to everyone," he said finally, adding something I never expected to hear from him: "I have nothing more to say." We set off next evening, as planned, so that we could spend the greater part of the day doing whatever we wanted to do in Paris. In the morning, Sylvia and I went to the Rodin Museum and then, for the last time, to the International Medical Corps. We had to sign various documents including bank power of attorney, health insurance under malpractice, and life insurance to benefit the next of kin.If I die, I nominate Zeitz and Mama to get five thousand dollars each. We separated in the afternoon and each went to buy gifts for our families.I sent my mom and Malcolm a gold "antique" brass clock as a belated wedding present, and bought some really cute baby clothes for my newly pregnant sister-in-law at Little Ones. On the way back to the hotel, I passed the "Voice of the Masters" and went in for a final inspection.Naturally I bought 3 cassettes before I walked out the door, one of which I had them wrap in gift paper for Sylvia. I paced nervously up and down outside the big car.It's too late, if you don't start, you will miss the plane.I kept looking at my watch, wondering what might have happened to her. "Hey, Matthew," growled François, "get in the car. Don't worry, she can afford a car anyway, even if we don't wait for her." I felt that this was neither reassuring nor funny, but I obeyed. As soon as I sat down, Sylvia appeared on the top of the steps, still following the shadow. She was simply stunning in a baggy jumper, skinny jeans, and black leather boots.She sat down next to me and patted my hand to reassure me. "I'm sorry. But they just won't put down the phone." I thought it best not to ask who they were she was referring to. When we were stuck in a sea of ​​cars at the Etoile Square, François said loudly: "Take a good look, children, you can see more cars from the car windows now than there are cars in all of Eritrea." The eternally faithful Nino occupied the last row of seats exclusively.When my eyes met his, I waved warmly to him to come and sit with us.But he acted like he didn't see me.He's still at work and doesn't intend to make any gestures of closeness. At Roissy-Charles de Gaulle, her watchdog continued to watch over her at a cautious distance as we threw our luggage on the trolley and began pushing it toward the door.His mission officially ended when we reached passport control.Finally, he came over to Sylvia and me.He switches feet unnaturally, eyes mostly on his shoes, and says goodbye to us. "I wish Mademoiselle D'Alessandro a good trip. I'm sorry I won't be there to take care of her. But..." He paused, embarrassed to say no more. "You're lovely," she replied warmly. "Thank you for everything. Best wishes to your wife and little daughter. Go back." He gave me a squinting look, as if to say, I'm counting on you, sir, don't mess it up.Then he turned around and walked slowly down the passage. "Will you miss him?" I asked in a low voice. "No." She replied flatly. I took her by the hand and hurriedly joined others in the duty-free shop, doing last-minute shopping for essentials like cognac and scotch.Maurice Hermans struggles with a 2-litre bottle of Dutch schnapps. "Did you know that a Dutch medical professor first brewed this gin from red pine nuts?" he said a little sheepishly. "Looks like you've got enough gin to heal all of Eritrea." I thought it was funny. "Hey, it's on sale right now, I figured it might be useful if the pilot ran out of gas." Then all 11 of us waited near the gate, chatting casually, trying not to show our nervousness. Finally, Ethiopian Airlines Flight 224 to Asmara started boarding.François stood at the door of the cabin like a sergeant in charge of drills to ensure that all his well-trained medical commando members boarded the plane without incident.Naturally, he made a caustic comment on Morris' oversized bottle of gin: "That stuff is ridiculous, and you're so naive, Dr. Hermans. A decent wine like wine." He even criticized my backpack, which had a rectangular bag sticking out. "Please tell me, Dr. Shearer, what is this? A large bar of Hershey's?" "Sorry to disappoint you, François," I replied, "this is my keyboard. I told you so." "Oh," he remembered, "I'm looking forward to not hearing it." Sylvia and I were like two frustrated salesmen pushing our way down the narrow, crowded aisle to our seats. She grinned at me as we buckled up. "What are you laughing at?" I asked. "No laughing," she replied, "I'm just full of... all kinds of emotions." "Filled with all sorts of emotions".This also describes my mood.Also I can't explain everything clearly. I reached into my pocket, took out the box and handed it to her. "For that fancy Japanese tape recorder of yours." "Thank you. Is it 'Best of Shearer'?" "Much better than that." By then she had opened the wrapping paper and saw that what I had bought her was Gluck's 18th-century classic Orfeo and Eurydice. ① Gluck (1714-1787), the main German opera composer in the 18th century.It has a great influence on the development of music theater in France, Italy, Britain, Austria, Sweden and other countries. "I've never heard of it," she admitted. "Well, there's the most perfect musical expression of lover's longing in it." She handed me the tape recorder. "Help me find this passage." I put my headphones on, fast-forwarded there, and handed her the tape recorder.She closed her eyes and enjoyed "What Am I To Do Without Eurydice?" " Halfway through I heard her grab my arm and say, "Matthew, what am I going to do without you?" I leaned over and kissed her.Long, tender, sensual. Suddenly, with a bang, the plane left the ground and rose into the evening sky. I had naively thought that I would be temporarily spared the reprimand of my boss during the flight, but I underestimated his dedication. As dinner began to be served on board, a familiar voice came over the loudspeaker. "I'm Dr. Peltier. I would like to remind all passengers - especially those in my group - not to forget to take their malaria prevention medicine. Thank you all. Bon Appetit." We arrived in Asmara at 1am.Because of the excitement, no one is sleepy. I still clearly remember my first impression of black Africa, that is - black.As soon as the plane landed, the lights on the runway went out, and seeing only the flash of eyes and teeth breaking the darkness on the airport from time to time, it felt a little eerie. Customs went through the motions and we all piled into the back of a wheezing van followed by 3 other vintage trucks pulling our belongings.Sylvia fell asleep on my shoulder during the nearly two hours of painful jolting in the convoy. We finally reached Adisuma and its run-down compound of rectangular huts with corrugated iron roofs.This will be our home for the foreseeable future. François took me aside while some local workers were unloading our luggage. "Matthew, I'm arranging accommodation. As a matter of fact, I want to know where you plan to spend the night." I replied honestly: "Look, François, I can't answer you right now. Can we arrange something casually for now?" He shrugged, muttered something about "American Puritans," and walked away. So I was assigned to live with Gilles Nagler the first night.He was a stocky, serious-looking Frenchman with wire-rimmed spectacles. We unpacked by candlelight because the original diesel generator only powered the operating room and other medical areas. Gilles was startled when he noticed the big thing I hadn't opened. "What's that?" He made no secret of his concern. "Piano," I replied. "No, seriously, don't talk nonsense." "I'm not kidding. It's just a keyboard with nothing else." "Oh, so you mean it doesn't make a sound?" "Sound? Put that away, Gilles. It's music, anyway, and it's only in my head." "I'll warn you, though," he admonishes me, pulling half a dozen binoculars out of his bag, "I'm a clean freak. Hope you keep this place clean." "Don't be nervous. You don't have to be so careful, and I'm not one to throw things around the room." I couldn't help but glance at his optics a few times, making him feel the need to explain. "If you're wondering," he said with some pride, "I tell you I'm an observer of the habits of wild birds." "I have no doubts about it," I remarked, before crawling into bed trying to get as much sleep as possible. "If I'm particularly lucky, I can see the bald ibis in the north." "Sounds good. Good night." I don't know how long I slept, but I remember getting up at dawn.The room was already damp and uncomfortable and getting worse by the minute. I went to the window to get my first glimpse of Eritrea in the daytime and was amazed by what I saw. "God." I gasped. My roommate woke up suddenly, fumbled to find the glasses, jumped out of bed and asked, "What's the matter? What happened?" "It's all right," I said, "but I think there might be a big rock concert here tonight." "Are you crazy?" "Uh," I continued to joke with him, "there seems to be a large crowd of fans waiting in line. I can't imagine what else they are waiting for. But Marta seems to be sending out the program list there." Gilles watched in amazement at the sight before him: the seemingly endless line of people -- emaciated, dusty, and obviously sick -- gathered from the clinic's gate as far as he could see. "Christ," he gasped, "don't they know we don't start until seven?" "They don't all have Rolexes and Gilles. Anyway, I reckon we'll have a busy day." ① Rolex and Gilles watches, expensive brand-name watches. "That's right, Shearer. Looks like Marta's starting to sort patients. I've got to get my morning two cups of coffee. Then we can start early." He's a little nervous, but obviously dedicated. As we quickly dressed and shaved (with cold water), Gilles couldn't help but talk about birds.How he wished during our "stay" to catch a glimpse of the fat crane and - I kid you not - the brown carp and other winged marvels.On the way to the "canteen" he kept talking.The mess hall was quite large compared to the shed we lived in, a barn-like wooden building that had obviously been built hastily. Most of the other people were already sitting at the long table that was a little bit down, including Sylvia.She waved to me and said she had reserved a seat for me. On the other side of the wall was what served as a kitchen, with a wood-burning stove and some four-marked steel pots.We were told to rest assured that the local cooks had basic hygiene knowledge and double boiled everything before serving it to us.As to whether there are any other instructions for them, that will have to wait and see. Breakfast is served on a counter: papaya, banana and feta cheese, served with rubber-like rolls made from local grains.The coffee pot looked like it had been made into a cooking oil drum (and it was).I sat down next to Sylvia. "How are you feeling, Sylvia?" "Scary. What about you?" "Well, I'd say my main mood is impatience. I want to get outside and get to work. After all, that's what we're here for, aren't we?" She nodded. As I gobbled it up, I looked around at the faces of the people around me and felt that they were expressing the same eagerness that I did. Only Sylvia seemed restrained. "What's wrong?" I asked. She shook her head. "My mind suddenly went blank about the signs and symptoms of schistosomiasis." "Come on," I said, putting my arm around her shoulders, "you could have memorized that night at Café Flor. You're stressing yourself out for no reason. Besides, the symptoms of these diseases are like those of the times. It's as obvious as a neon billboard in the plaza. Trust me, you can't miss it." She forced a smile, remembering that she hadn't introduced me to the young man from Tigray Province who was sitting opposite her and was talking to her just now. "By the way, Matthew, his name is Yohanes. I'm lucky that he's going to be my nurse, and he speaks the best English of all the people around." Hearing such praise, the young man smiled all over his face. "Doctor, you must be wrong," he said, "I'm not that strong in language." From what I've heard, I agree with him in the hope that he at least translates the medical questions properly to the patient - especially conveying the patient's responses. "Hey," I noticed suddenly, "where's the big guy? Don't tell me he's still sleeping in." "Are you kidding?" Denise broke in suddenly. "François and Maurice have been in the operating room since we arrived last night. There were some guerrillas with bad gunshot wounds when we arrived." Waiting there, they don't want to risk making them wait until morning." "They did a good job," I said.I stood up and said to the group, "Let's be inspired by their example and go bite the bullet." (Unfortunate use of this phrase, reflecting my own nervousness.) When we were about to disperse, Marta said loudly: "Remember, there is no formal lunch, and the food is here. Come and eat if you think you can walk away. Dinner at 7:30, 9:00 The whole team will. Take my word for it, it's going to be a tense day." "I trust her," I whispered to Sylvia as we walked out into the scorching sun toward the "clinic building" (the shed). When I kissed her forehead before we broke up, she grabbed my hand tightly and said, "If I can't make up my mind, can I talk to you?" "Of course—but you won't be in doubt." In the next 2 minutes and 30 seconds, I went to my "luxury" consulting room, put on a white coat, washed my hands, and diagnosed the first tuberculosis patient without even using a stethoscope. For a while, I thought about Sylvia's display of stage fright, which was so out of character for her. The little girl's lung infection was so obvious I could hear the damage in her lungs from her breathing. Since then I have lost track of time. In the 3 hours since, I have seen a much broader range of rare conditions than I have seen in all of my medical experience.I think I've encountered every disease that Jean-Michel Gottlieb has discussed that has been "claimed to be eradicated," including leprosy. My nurse's name was Ada, and she was a seasoned veteran.She is not at all "divine" like the famous heroine of the opera. She is small and powerful.I admit that at first I thought her attitude towards patients was a bit too fierce, but I soon realized that it was the result of her years of experience, because those patients who pushed and fucked desperately pushed forward, as long as she yelled, Sometimes just push it twice and you will be obedient. At the same time, she also helped me start learning Ethiopian.The first word I learned was "thank you" that would satisfy any doctor. By the end of the first day I also learned to ask where the pain was and understand how long the patient had been sick.I can also say "you're welcome" when the patient thanks me gratefully. I was so busy stopping to drink the mandatory liter of water that I realized I was drenched in sweat. For some reason, I remembered the interview in Paris and François' ridiculous questions, which now seemed light-years ago.He asked if I would miss the enjoyments of the civilized world like TV and McDonald's.In retrospect, he didn't mention air conditioning. The only concessions to human comfort of this kind are to be found only in the operating room (perhaps that's why that cunning Frenchman occupies the place). The medical district is scheduled to get cooling equipment "in the near future", which translates accurately to never. While I was enjoying the free time I had given myself, I suddenly thought of Sylvia. I let Ada deal with the patient first, and I took a short nap.I really can't bring myself to mention the word food, because almost all the patients are on the verge of starvation. At this time, the sun was in the midday position, a ball of fire - the beginning of the three hours of the day when the staff were forbidden to go out except for very short distances.And even very short distances are allowed only in extreme necessity. Of course the patients had no choice but to sit in the hot sun, covered as much as possible by rags, and suffer in silent resignation—at least most of them—waiting for their turn to receive advice from a different They were examined by male and female doctors in white coats from all over the world. Mothers sat motionless like brown statues, nursing their crying babies, while flies buzzed mercilessly around them.The old man, who was as thin as a layer of paper, stood silently on the side with his waist bent by the years. Many of them came here on foot for more than half a day and were prepared to wait as long as they needed.That meant they slept right where the queues stood, receiving only water, a token bowl of porridge and the reassuring words of "better luck next time". I just have to look at their faces - which I try not to do - and it hurts. There was chaos in Sylvia's consulting room when I arrived.People yelled, yelled, pushed.It was immediately apparent to me that, despite Yohannes' eloquence, he lacked Ida's ability to deal with the harder-hitting patients slamming in. My attention was immediately drawn to the cries and curses of a woman in pain.Then I saw Denise stitching up a jagged wound on the abdomen of a crying female patient, and several volunteers pressed her hard. "What the hell are you doing?" I asked Denise. "Can't you just give her some lidocaine?" "No," she hissed through gritted teeth, "it ran out a few minutes ago." "Then I'll get you some," I yelled. She stared at me with anger in her eyes. "No, you stupid American bastard. Leave me alone. Do you think I'm happy to do it?" "Where's Sylvia?" I asked softly. "I don't know, probably at the beauty salon." Denise snapped, "If you find her, tell her to come back and help." Suddenly, her tone turned into a helpless plea. "Excuse me, Matt, I'm getting overwhelmed." You could tell she was about to cry.Obviously, for some incomprehensible reason, Sylvia left her post without permission.What happened?I hurried to the cafeteria and almost bumped into François as I entered. ①Matt, Matthew's nickname. You could tell from his unshaven face that he was in a bad mood.He had obviously just come out of the operating room. "If you were looking for that girl of yours who told you she was having the longest work break in history," he said disgustedly, "I should have known. But D'Alessandro's bribes were dirty, There's no way to ignore it. I guess it's all too much for her pampered sensibilities." "What are you talking about?" "She didn't know that when she applied, her father wanted to give us 1 million..." "If you accept her?" "No, if we turned her down. That made me hire her in a huff. Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do, and so do you." Without saying a word, he rushed out angrily. I saw Sylvia sitting at the far end of the table, resting her head on her hands, staring mournfully at the coffee cup.I tried desperately to suppress my anger, but I couldn't help feeling disappointed and—yes, embarrassed.For her, but also for me. 但当我走近她时，我提醒自己，既然弗朗索瓦肯定已经训了她一顿，她现在最不需要的就是又一番指责。显然她正经历着自信危机，需要得到二些支持。 “你好，西尔维亚，”我柔声说，“想谈谈吗？” She shook her head. “说说吧，这样你会觉得好些。” 她沉默了片刻，然后说： “马修，我觉得自己太可耻了。过去这些个月里我对自己想干什么非常自信，然而我一看到这些孩子心就碎了，人就垮了。” 啊，原来这样。她失去了做医生的超脱。难道她没有意识到现在不是应该被这样的同情心摆布的时候吗？ “我应该更冷酷点儿。”她责备自己。 “如果你更冷酷点儿，你就不是你了。”我温柔地说。 “那就说勇敢点吧。这些人简直是生活在地狱里，可我即使是作为一个局外人来面对他们都做不到。” “别说了，”我命令道，“弗朗索瓦第一天要求太高了。对了，你按时喝水了吗？” 她避开了我的目光。 再责备她也没有意义了。我只是走过去，给她拿了2升瓶装水。“现在喝掉一瓶，今天剩下的时间里别再忘了喝水。至于别的一切，我只有两个字要说。” “什么？”她急切地看着我。 “长大。” 不知因为什么，她笑了起来。 10分钟以后，当我们终于离开食堂时，她得到了足够的鼓励去面对最严重的医学挑战。 刚出门口，她用双臂搂着我说：“谢谢，马修。” 然后她吻了我，其热烈的程度使我们在飞机上的拥抱显得就像只是友好地啄了一口。 这可不是平常的一天。 在处理游击队员的枪伤之外，我诊断和治疗的病人自己都数不清了。如果不是我们正好在那里，许多病人就会死去。 此外，我们的到来使至少十几名沙眼病儿免遭失明。这种暗中作祟的眼部炎症总是在卫生条件最差的情况下肆虐，使他们失去视力。但及时涂用强力霉素（多么容易——谁能想像生活中没有抗生素？）就能完全治愈。 我永远不会忘记我在那天治疗的最后一位沙眼病人。他是个叫做达威特的聪明的小男孩，在好几个小时的等待中学会了一两个英文单词。他喜欢用各种各样的声调叫我“医三”，每叫一次就咯咯笑个没完。他的情况已经很严重了，但角膜或结膜还没有开始结痴，使用一段时间强力霉素就会使情况好转，不会造成永久性的损害。 但是我们手头没有药膏了。我让艾达向达威特的母亲解释，要她第二天早上再带达威特来一趟。 第二天，哪儿也找不到这母子二人。 而且，哪儿也找不到一管强力霉素。在我留在非洲的那段时间里，只要我们一进药，我一直在寻找这个小男孩，想把他从终生失明的命运中解救出来。我再也没有能够找到他。 我认为最好的医生，是那些既记住了自己的成功，同时也记住了自己的失败的医生。这会给他们必要的谦虚精神。这就是为什么一想到厄立特里亚，我就想到那些我没有能够拯救的人，想到小达威特。 还想到西尔维亚。