Page 16 of Hearts Held
I hear a young man wailing in pain, bringing back memories of the cries from the battlefield. Shaking my head lightly, I fight the ghosts that haunt me and focus on my mission.
We walk up the steps into a three-story brick town house. On my left are wooden steps leading to the second story, then a small hallway leading to akitchen as an opening on the right turns into a vast living room with gaudy curtains, golden lamps, large paintings and a stone fireplace centered within the room. On a green velvet couch sits a young boy who looks vaguely familiar.
Bobby, noticing my questioned look, leans over to state, “It’s our boy Clint, wash boy from the Den.”
I raise my eyebrows as I stalk toward him, placing my large bag on the matching velvet chair. The poor boy tries to muffle his scream as his tear-streaked face gazes upon me. He’s holding a mangled hand in the air. His fingers are splayed in every which way.
My heart aches as I set my bag down and immediately pull out some medications.
A woman appears from the hallway.
She’s older, disgruntled, with wrinkles and heavy makeup, and smoking a cigarette with her arms crossed. She wears a light blue button-up long-sleeved shirt with an accompanying long skirt. She has no sense of care on her face, only judgment seeps from her pores.
Bobby walks over to her and politely says, “Hi, Mum,” then kisses the cheek of the thin cigarette-puffing lady as he asks, “What happened?”
She makes an annoyed sound as she glares between Clint and I. “He was a fucking idiot and got caught, so he got what he deserved.”
Wow, appears she has no sense of motherly care or affection toward a poor boy who clearly needs help at the moment.
The boy bites down on his bottom lip, the action causing the flesh to split. He muffles another loud cry as his nostrils flare. Bobby replies to his mother’s cold statement, “Mum, that’s not helpin’.”
She rolls her eyes at his comment as I explain each action I perform for Clint’s aid. I administer a shot of pain medication in his upper arm, then begin assessing the hand closer, carefully angling my body to get a better look at its state rather than moving him around and causing more pain before the medication hits him.
Bloody hell, I have to reset his fingers—and splint them too.
The top of his hand is split, nearly three to four inches across. Luckily no tendons are poking through, but it needs stitching as well.
Bobby comes over and crouches next to me.
Islowly discuss my findings with them, and Clint swallows hard as Bobby shakes his head.
“Are you all right with me doing all of that, sweetheart?” I ask tenderly to Clint.
He bravely nods his head.
“I’ll wait till the pain medications kick in, okay? I really do think you should see a proper physician though. I’ve only done this a handful of times in the war,” I remark, then begin digging out the supplies I need.
“No other docs,” the boy mutters between his clenched teeth. “All the men say you’re the best.”
Bobby’s mom loudly says, “Just do it now and get out of mah house. He deserves the pain. The dumb bloke was on a small mission to see where the Italians were starting to post up, but instead got caught. Can’t trust anyone to do their goddamn job!” She takes a long drag of her cigarette as I study the young boy. He has to be…maybe sixteen? A symbol peeks out from below his tattered shirt—the snake emblem burnt into his flesh. I swallow my disdain for that mark. Each time I see it, my reservoir of resentment grows and grows. I think today is the day I give someone a piece of my mind regarding that godforsaken emblem, as well as utilizing boys as child soldiers to do their bidding.
I shake my head in disapproval.
“What’s that for?” Bobby’s mom points at me with her middle finger. “Why you shakin’ your head?”
I swallow and simply state, “He’s just so young.” She doesn’t need to know my complete thoughts on the matter. It would probably ruffle her feathers to hear my opinions anyway, no matter what the subject was. She seems like a miserable swot.
The woman storms further into the room and spits back at me, “Mind ya fucking business and do your bloody job, whore.”
“LOUISA!” Bobby’s head snaps to her as he stands, then yells at his mother. “You don’t talk to the massage girls in that manner and you definitely won’t talk to our nurse like that!”
His state exudes fiery frustration as she eyes him up and down then scoffs in his face. Without a word, she removes herself from the room as I finish up taking care ofClint.
Bobby is angrier at her words than I am, probably because I was prepared for her to make a derogatory statement, considering her spiteful demeanor.
The pain medications have quickly set in, so I take the initiative and set his poor phalanges back into place. He will need an X-ray and physicians to follow up to make sure they are aligned correctly.
Bobby comes to kneel next to me. “I’m sorry about that, baby, my mom is—” He pauses then lets out a large breath. “My mother is a cunt.”
