The War Of The End Of The World - Mario Vargas Llosa [215]
“A medical corpsman?” Souza Ferreiro wheels around, and on catching sight of him a sour look comes over his face.
“I’ve told you already—there aren’t any medical corpsmen,” Captain de Castro shouts at him, pushing the nearsighted journalist forward. “They’re all with the battalions down below. Let this fellow help you.”
The nervousness of the two of them is contagious, and he feels like screaming, like stamping his feet.
“The projectiles must be removed or infection will be the end of him in no time,” Dr. Souza Ferreiro whines, looking all about as though awaiting a miracle.
“Do the impossible,” the captain says as he leaves. “I can’t abandon my post, I’m in command, I must send word to Colonel Tamarindo to take…” He goes out of the tent without finishing the sentence.
“Roll up your sleeves and rub yourself with this disinfectant,” the doctor roars.
He obeys as fast as he can in the daze that has come over him, and a moment later he finds himself kneeling on the ground soaking bandages with spurts of ether—a smell that brings back memories of carnival balls at Politeama—which he then places over Colonel Moreira César’s nose and mouth to keep him asleep while the doctor operates. “Don’t tremble, don’t be an idiot, keep the ether over his nose,” the doctor barks at him twice. He concentrates on his task—opening the flacon, wetting the cloth, placing it over that fine-drawn nose, those lips that are contorted in a grimace of interminable agony—and he thinks of the pain that this little man must be feeling as Dr. Souza Ferreiro bends over his belly as though he were about to sniff it or lick it. Every so often he takes a quick glance, despite himself, at the spatters of blood on the doctor’s hands and smock and uniform, the blanket on the bed, and his own pants. How much blood inside such a small body! The smell of ether dizzies him and makes him retch. He thinks: “I’ve nothing to throw up.” He thinks: “Why is it I’m not hungry or thirsty?” The wounded man’s eyes remain closed, but from time to time he stirs and then the doctor grumbles: “More ether, more ether.” But the last of the little flacons is almost empty now and he says so, feeling guilty.
Orderlies enter, bringing steaming basins in which the doctor washes lancets, needles, sutures, scissors, with just one hand. Several times, as he applies the ether-soaked bandages, he hears Dr. Souza Ferreiro talking to himself, dirty words, insults, imprecations, curses on his own mother for ever having borne him. He becomes more and more drowsy and the doctor reprimands him severely: “Don’t be an idiot, this is no time to be napping.” He stammers an apology and the next time they bring the basin he begs them to get him a drink of water.
He notes that they are no longer alone in the tent: the shadow that brings a canteen to his lips is Captain Olímpio de Castro. Colonel Tamarindo and Major Cunha Matos are there too, their backs leaning against the canvas, their faces grief-stricken, their uniforms in tatters. “More ether?” he says, and feels stupid, for the flacon has been empty for some time now. Dr. Souza Ferreiro bandages Moreira César and is now covering him with the blanket. He thinks in astonishment: “It’s nighttime already.” There are shadows round about them and someone hangs a lantern on one of the tent poles.
“How is he?” Colonel Tamarindo says in a low voice.
“His belly is ripped to shreds.” The doctor sighs. “I’m very much afraid that…”
As he rolls down his shirtsleeves, the nearsighted journalist thinks: “If it was dawn, noon, just a moment ago, how is it possible for time to go by that fast?”
“I doubt that he’ll even come to,” Souza Ferreiro adds.
As though in answer to him, Colonel Moreira César begins to stir. All of them move to his bedside. Are his bandages comfortable? He blinks. The nearsighted journalist imagines him seeing silhouettes, hearing sounds, trying to understand, to remember, and he himself remembers, like something from another life, certain awakenings after a night’s peace induced by opium. The colonel’s return to reality must