Chaim Potok - The Chosen

I opened my right eye. A nurse in a white uniform said, 'Well, now, how are we doing, young man?' and for a long moment I stared up at her and didn't know what was happening. Then I remembered everything – and I couldn't say a word.

I saw the nurse standing over my bed and smiling down at me. She was heavily built and had a round, fleshy face and short, dark hair.

'Well, now, let's see,' she said. 'Move your head a little, just a little, and tell me how it feels.'

I moved my head from side to side on the pillow. 'It feels fine,' I said.

'That's good. Are you at all hungry?'

'Yes, ma'am.'

'That's very good.' She smiled. 'You won't need this now.'

She pushed aside the curtain that enclosed the bed. I blinked in the sudden sunlight. 'Isn't that better?'

'Yes ma'am. Thank you. Is my father here?'

'He'll be in shortly. You lie still now and rest. They'll be bringing supper in soon. You're going to be just fine.'

She went away.

I lay still for a moment, looking at the sunlight. It was coming in through tall windows in the wall opposite my bed. I could see the windows only through my right eye, and they looked blurred. I moved my head slowly to the left, not taking it off the pillow and moving it carefully so as not to disturb the thick bandage that covered my left eye. There was no pain at all in my head, and I wondered how they had got the pain to leave so quickly. That's pretty good, I thought, remembering what Mr Galanter had said about this hospital. For a moment I wondered where he was and where my father was; then I forgot them both as I watched the man who was in the bed to my left.

He looked to be in his middle thirties, and he had broad shoulders and a lean face with a square jaw and a dark stubble. His hair was black, combed flat on top of his head and parted in the middle. There were dark curls of hair on the backs of his long hands, and he wore a black patch over his right eye. His nose was flat, and a half-inch scar beneath his lower lip stood out white beneath the dark stubble. He was sitting up in the bed, playing a game of cards with himself and smiling broadly. Some cards were arranged in rows on the blanket, and he was drawing other cards from the deck he held in his hands and adding them to the rows.

He saw me looking at him.;'

'Hello, there,' he said, smiling. 'How's the old punching bag?'

I didn't understand what he meant.

'The old noggin. The head: 'Oh. It feels good: 'Lucky boy. A clop in the head is a rough business. I went four once and got clopped in the head, and it took me a month to get off my back. Lucky boy: He held a card in his hands and looked down at the rows of cards on the blanket. 'Ah, so I cheat a little. So what?' He tucked the card into a row. 'I hit the canvas so hard I rattled my toenails. That was some clop,' He drew another card and inspected it. 'Caught me with that right and clopped me real good, A whole month on my back.' He was looking at the rows of cards on the blanket. 'Here we go,'he smiled broadly, and added the card to one of the rows.

I couldn't understand most of what he was talking about, but I didn't want to be disrespectful and turn away, so I kept my head turned toward him. I looked at the black patch on his right eye. It covered the eye as well as the upper part of his cheekbone, and it was held in place by a black band that went diagonally under his right ear, around his head and across his forehead. After a few minutes of looking at him, I realized he had completely forgotten about me, and I turned my head slowly away from him and to the right.

I saw a boy of about ten or eleven. He was lying in the bed with his head on the pillow, his palms flat under his head and his elbows jutting upward. He had light blond hair and a fine face, a beautiful face, He lay there with his eyes open, staring up at the ceiling and not noticing me looking at him. Once or twice I saw his eyes blink. I turned my head away.

The people beyond the beds immediately to my right and left were blurs, and I could not make them out. Nor could I make out much of the rest of the room, except to see that, it had two long rows of beds and a wide middle aisle, and that it was clearly a hospital ward. I touched the bump on my forehead. It had receded considerably but was still very sore. I looked at the sun coming up the windows. All up and down the ward people were talking to each other, but I was not interested in what they were saying. I was looking at the sun. It seemed strange to me now that it should be so bright. The ball game had ended shortly before six o'clock. Then there had been the ride in the cab, the time in the waiting and examination rooms, and the ride up in the elevator. I couldn't remember what had happened afterwards, but it couldn't all have happened so fast that it was now still Sunday afternoon. I thought of asking the man to my left what day it was, but he seemed absorbed in his card game. The boy to my right hadn't moved at all. He lay quietly staring up at the ceiling, and I didn't want to disturb him.

I moved my wrist slowly. It still hurt. That Danny Saunders was a smart one, and I hated him. I wondered what he was thinking now. Probably gloating and bragging about the ball game to his friends. That miserable Hasid!

An orderly came slowly up the aisle, pushing a metal table piled high with food trays. There was a stir in the ward as people sat up in their beds. I watched him hand out the trays and heard the clinking of silverware. The man on my left scooped up the cards and put them on the table between our beds.

'Chop-chop,' he said, smiling at me. 'Time for the old feed bag. They don't make it like in training camp, though. Nothing like eating in training camp. Work up a sweat, eat real careful on account of watching the weight, but eat real good. What's the menu, Doc?'

The orderly grinned at him. 'Be right with you, Killer.' He was still three beds away.

The boy in the bed to my right moved his head slightly and put his hands down on top of his blanket. He blinked his eyes and lay still, staring up at the ceiling.

The orderly stopped at the foot of his bed and took a tray from the table.

'How you doing, Billy?'

The boy's eyes sought out the direction from which the orderly's voice had come.

'Fine,' he said softly, very softly, and began to sit up.

The orderly came around to the side of the bed with a tray of food, but the boy kept staring in the direction from which the orderly's voice had come I looked at the boy and saw that he was blind.

'It's chicken, Billy,' the orderly said. 'Peas and carrots, potatoes, real hot vegetable soup. and applesauce.'.

'Chicken!' the man to my left said. 'Who can do a ten-rounder on chicken?'

'You doing a ten-rounder tonight, Killer?' the orderly asked pleasantly.

'Chicken!' the man to my left said again, but he was smiling broadly.

'You all set, Billy?' the orderly asked.

'I'm fine,' the boy said. He fumbled about for the silverware, found the knife and fork, and commenced eating.

I saw the nurse come up the aisle and stop at my bed, 'Hello, young man. Are we still hungry?'

'Yes, ma'am.'

'That's good. Your father said to tell you this is a kosher hospital, and you are to eat everything.'

'Yes. ma'am. Thank you.'

'How does your head feel?'

'It feals fine, ma'am.'

'No pain?'

'No.'

'That's very good. We won't ask you to sit up, though. Not just yet. We'll raise the bed up a bit and you can lean back against the pillow.'

I saw her bend down. From the motions of her shoulders, I could see she was turning something set into the foot of the bed. I felt the bed begin to rise.

'Is that comfortable?' she asked me.

'Yes, ma'am. Thank you very much.'.

She went to the night table between my bed and the bed to my right and opened a drawer. 'Your father asked that we give you this: She was holding a small, black skullcap in her hand.