For Justice, Understanding and Humanity. Helmut Lauschke
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you were hit with your beautiful face
what more frequently hit older and injured people.
Your dreams became inevitably shocked
when they hurried ahead and have seen
what came from the darkness without any light.
You called for your father
loud and then soft, so you have called
who saw you and was on the way
when he got torn loudly to pieces.
You have squatted down
with your hands against your eyes.
You were afraid and you were right
and has learnt to shed your tears
which could not stop.
The arm was the next without being pertly
it was taken from you for some reason
that you couldn’t find in your dream
because there was a corner in the darkness
without brightening by a single spark of light.
What should I say?
There was something hidden in the arm’s bone
that did not look good, because it was bad.
That is that I cut off the bad from you
what was in your right arm.
It is a case if one likes to help
but is unable to do so without a compromise.
When you come back from your dream
and will remember where it was
you will be sad what I didn’t want to be
maybe, you will be angry with me
what I can understand.
You were a young and beautiful girl
to whom it had happened with the arm
which you have used to play and write
to carry the container with water
or put the bucket with water on your head
or gave the goat a smack.
Now the arm is cut off
and you will never get it again.
Poor little girl, what will be
when you wake up?
I put the picture of the girl into my mind as she was trying to fly with the left wing, but dropped as a falling angel and was about to break the flapping wing. It was the picture of the pity and sadness when she raised up the left arm, but where the right arm had to be, there was not more than a short and ugly stub.
I left the table and took again a seat on the step outside of the verandah door and lit up a cigarette. The convoy of the five Elands with the long ninety-millimetre barrels took the sharp left curve in front of the flat to leave the village for the nightly field patrol. The heavy vehicles left a sandy cloud behind and the nose smelt the dry-bitter stuff what was tasted on the tongue as well. The moon was nearly round like a baker’s face and the round face kept silent as it had lost its speech. I looked at the Southern Cross and understood the deadly silence in that ‘rural’ area of an unknown light years’ distance. After this night observation and night reflection I pulled off the clothes and went to bed. I wished that the ten-year-old girl didn’t meet me in my dream.
I woke up bathed in sweat when the cocks crowed the morning of the new day. A missile whizzed through the dream and tore off my right arm. The cold sweat was related to the ‘fact’ that I could not continue the work as a surgeon. I felt myself useless and saw the fundament of my existence falling to pieces. It were the crowing cocks which saved my life and gave me the existence back by pulling me out of the dream what was a hard battle. It brought me back the right arm what I was unable to do to the girl. I stood under the shower when I asked myself the question, if I had tried in this dream to put a new arm on the girl. I felt ashamed that I didn’t try it. I was in the expectation of the new day and drank the cup of instant coffee with the chicory supplement and two teaspoons of sugar to fight the tiredness after the dramatic missile dream. I put on the sandals in the verandah and left the flat without looking at the paper with the writings of the previous evening.
There were no dogs straying around and no cats jumping in the roadside ditches. On my walk to the hospital I looked at the small shelters packed and surrounded with layers of sandbags on the sides of the houses, but no dog lay in front of the shelter entrances and no cat lay on top of the sandbag hills. I showed my permit to the guard at the checkpoint who responded with a long yawn. The gatekeeper put the whole egg into his mouth and rubbed the shells into the sand. His mouth was full that he was unable to say a word of greeting when I passed the hospital gate and did greet him. There were two new patients in the intensive care unit who were operated in the night by Dr Tabani, the one because of an intestinal obstruction and the other because of a spleen rupture after a traffic accident. Since the beds in the unit were occupied, Tabani had transferred two patients to the general wards, the man with the missing arm and missing leg to the orthopaedic male ward and the man after reconstructive surgery of the face to the surgical ward. The man after laparotomy with removal of the spleen and bowel resection was in stable condition. I removed the drains and completed the records and wished the nurses a good day and left the ward.
The girl in the children’s ward after the right arm amputation who gave me the dramatic missile dream at night, lay on the back and slept. The swollen eyelids and the salt crusts of her dried-up tears had taken away her innocence. The child’s face had become features of an adult and of sadness. The pain about the loss of freedom and a hopeful future had weighted heavily her life. Temperature and pulse had risen in correspondence with the increased adrenalin distribution what was triggered by the pain responding hypothalamic centre. I pulled the sheet from the right shoulder and saw the dark blood spot on the bandage. The girl’s heart beats knocked strongly against the chest under the grey hospital shirt that I understood these beats as her resistance to a life, she didn’t want. I stroke her hair and put the sheet back over her right shoulder and completed the record.
The nurse with the heart for children changed the finger dressings on the right hand of the much younger girl after separation of the long fingers from the common skin bridges on the dorsal and the volar side due to the syndactyly. The skin grafts showed a good tendency to heal in and doctor and nurse put on the new dressings and a hand bandage. After all the children had been seen and the records were updated, I asked the nurse, if the children received the milk on a daily basis. The nurse looked astonished at me. When I asked about the condition of the toilets, the nurse smiled and asked, if I still believed in a miracle. I understood and said that I will bring up these points in the morning meeting, and left the children’s ward for a short round through the other wards.
I met on the way to the morning meeting the new black colleague who was a specialist surgeon and on the way to the superintendent’s office as well. The colleague said that he liked to have a conversation with me. I knew of the wish and waited for its realization. We entered the office and the black specialist took a seat on an upholstered chair next to the black paediatrician on the window side under the rattling air conditioners. I took my seat on a hard chair on the opposite side next to Dr Ruth, the hard-working black colleague in charge of the gynaecology department. The matrons arrived late and brought their chairs from the secretary’s office. The superintendent opened the meeting with ‘good morning!’ and introduced the new colleague to the attendees of the meeting. Dr Nestor said that the new colleague is the principal of the Lutheran mission hospital in Onandjokwe and will come twice per week to the Oshakati hospital to do the major surgical operations and should be in charge of the surgical wards.
The Superintendent expressed his hope that the presence of this new colleague would be a relief for the doctors of the surgical