Description
Ward No. 6
I
In the hospital yard there stands a small lodge surrounded by a
perfect forest of burdocks, nettles, and wild hemp. Its roof is
rusty, the chimney is tumbling down, the steps at the front-door
are rotting away and overgrown with grass, and there are only traces
left of the stucco. The front of the lodge faces the hospital; at
the back it looks out into the open country, from which it is
separated by the grey hospital fence with nails on it. These nails,
with their points upwards, and the fence, and the lodge itself,
have that peculiar, desolate, God-forsaken look which is only found
in our hospital and prison buildings.
If you are not afraid of being stung by the nettles, come by the
narrow footpath that leads to the lodge, and let us see what is
going on inside. Opening the first door, we walk into the entry.
Here along the walls and by the stove every sort of hospital rubbish
lies littered about. Mattresses, old tattered dressing-gowns,
trousers, blue striped shirts, boots and shoes no good for
anything–all these remnants are piled up in heaps, mixed up and crumpled,
mouldering and giving out a sickly smell.
The porter, Nikita, an old soldier wearing rusty good-conduct
stripes, is always lying on the litter with a pipe between his
teeth. He has a grim, surly, battered-looking face, overhanging
eyebrows which give him the expression of a sheep-dog of the steppes,
and a red nose; he is short and looks thin and scraggy, but he is
of imposing deportment and his fists are vigorous. He belongs to
the class of simple-hearted, practical, and dull-witted people,
prompt in carrying out orders, who like discipline better than
anything in the world, and so are convinced that it is their duty
to beat people. He showers blows on the face, on the chest, on
Product ID: 9781776791903
Sku: 9781776791903
