Give me another chance, the girl begged again, pulling a dainty handkerchief from the tiny pocket of her coat and wiping her nose in one smooth motion. The handkerchief was white, edged with a soft skyblue trim and dotted with little flowers in the corners.
Andrew thought, How touching. How strange that I feel such pity for her tears, even though I cannot stand a womans sobbing.
None of that, he replied brightly. Try again next year, love. In the meantime, would you like to work as a ward attendant at the hospital? The work is dirty and hard, but youll get to see everything from the inside the white coats, the gleaming instruments, the spotless corridors bathed in sunlight. Imagine yourself striding through, halfgodlike, nodding to patients who look at you with pleading, humbled eyes. Isnt that a dream? He leaned closer under the girls navy cap, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. You have so many freckles, Blythe! The sun must have kissed you all over.
A sudden, boisterous laugh escaped him, as if the freckles themselves were a chorus of sunshine. He thought of his wifes birthday, the promised weekend at the cottage where pike and perch swam in the pond, of the bees in their hives buzzing protest, and of his own absurd habit of chatting with insects as if they were old schoolmates.
Blythe lifted her head, squinting. The professor is laughing This feels wrong, terribly wrong. Ive prepared so carefully, but Ive muddled everything, my hands trembling over the ticket, afraid to meet the panels eyes.
He cleared his throat. Forgive me, Blythe, you are a most beautiful young lady, Andrew confessed, his cheeks flushing. Shall we get some icecream? Its scorching today! He tugged at his shirt collar, clutching his wellworn leather briefcase. No need for grand gestures. Im not inviting you to a fancy restaurant or the Royal Ballet; just a simple cone. Here, take some money. He fished a crumpled note from the pocket of his woollen coat, the fabric slightly frayed at the cuffs. Buy one for yourself and one for me. Ill wait on the bench. He gestured vaguely toward a nearby bench.
Blythe shrugged and asked, What flavour would you like?
Anything, but quickly. Otherwise the spot where I stand will stay damp, and youll never become a ward attendant. He chuckled as Blythe shuffled toward the icecream stall on her dainty, slender legs.
What a child you are, truly a child! he murmured, shaking his head. How did such a thing find its way onto my head?
Settling on the bench, Andrew pulled another handkerchief from his jacket pocket. This one was massive, a garish bluegreen check, hideously out of place. He dabbed his forehead and wiped his neck, grimacing. Disgusting, he muttered. Its awful to be sweaty, tired, and old. Its awful to feel greatness beside a freckled, delicate girl. Not because I want to flirtno, God forbid! I love my wife more than life itself; I never look at students that way. It pains me that my own years have slipped by, leaving me to watch the bright, bold lives of girls like Blythe, stubborn and certain. They will have futures I can no longer claim.
He watched Blythe return, clutching a wrapped icecream in a paper cone. Why are you studying me so closely? he asked. Heres your vanilla, I brought it for you.
What about you? she asked, eyes widening. You said two should have it. Youre not listening! He widened his eyes until they resembled a pike about to be caught in a pond. Nothing! Youre told what to do, yet you do nothing! You hear commands and ignore them!
Blythes bright cap fluttered as she sprinted back to the stall, bought a second scoop, and plopped down beside his briefcase. Eat, Andrew commanded, and then farewell. I have many chores, a wife to drive to the cottage, luggage to load, bundles to haul. Eat! Where will you go now?
She dabbed a corner of her mouth with a finger, shrugged. The icecream was cloyingly sweet, overly richmore for drinking than for chewing.
Dont you know where you are? Andrew snapped, stamping a foot. Youre somewhere, arent you?
Just staying with my aunt for a while, Blythe replied. Family is arriving from the north, and Ill have to leave. The flat isnt exactly a palace.
Will you go home then? Where do you live? he asked, finishing his cone.
Doesnt matter. Just let me have another exam. I beg you! Blythe pleaded. I could tell you three stories, four I just got confused and
Enough, he snapped, pointing a finger. You cant have a mind full of knots and expect to work. You might cut a spleen instead of an appendix! Thats unimaginable!
Can you really mistake one organ for another? Blythe gasped. Its all different Want another cone? Two?
She grabbed his wrist; he jerked away, huffing. I dont want it. I wouldnt advise you to overindulge. Goodby, Blythe Kraslington. I must go; my wife awaits. Come back next year, if you wish. He rose, tipped his hat, and strode down the park aisle without a glance back. Blythe, in her redandwhite cap, sighed sadly and remained seated, slipping a tiny suitcaseno bigger than a childs toyinto the bushes.
Its its really over, she whispered, her frecklesspotted nose trembling. Theyll laugh at me at home. No one believed Id become a doctor.
In the small town of Ashford, split by a winding road into bustling townhouses on one side and sleepy cottages with jaunty gables on the other, no one truly believed that the sprightly, grasshopperlike Blythe would ever earn a medical degree and stroll the local infirmary in a crisp white coat, directing the seasoned nursessome nearing sixty.
The Ashford infirmary was a ramshackle threestorey building, its walls mottled with yellowgreen mould and flaking plaster. The chief surgeon, Dr. Nicholas Firth, was a sourlooking man with a reddened, swollen nose, blue veins spidering his cheeks, and deep bags under his eyes. He rarely left his office, refusing to hire any modern staff, always in a foul mood. Blythe, determined, had prepared for his entrance exam, only to fail biology and genetics.
Andrew had vanished from sight, while Blythe lingered on the bench, still clutching her icecream stick. Now Im thirsty, she mused, pulling the suitcase from the shrub, looking toward the bus stop. She imagined catching the early train, fearing the dark streets of the village.
She recalled the stories her chatty grandmother used to tellof demons and forest spiritsso every rustle of leaves seemed haunted. The night soundscreaking fences, snapping branches, clucking chickens, a distant roosters cry, barking dogsmade her shiver beneath her blanket. In the next room, her grandfathers snoring rattled like a storm, his murmurs oddly soothing.
Her grandfather had passed two days later from pneumonia, and Dr. Firth, instead of injections, prescribed endless poultices. The family watched the old mans wrinkles smooth out, his hands unclench, as his breath faded.
A nurse named Tamara entered, sighing, Hes done for. The dark road from the station to her home remained the sameovergrown hedges, abandoned brick cottages, whispers of unseen things. Blythe, suitcase in hand, sobbed softly.
The marks werent enough, my dear, the professor seemed to say in her mind. Come back next year. She wondered why Andrew, the professor, never believed in her. She had hoped to be the best.
A lanky boy named Vinnie appeared, strolling up, bending to pick up her suitcase. Blythe flinched, then recognized him. What are you doing here? You didnt think Id get in, did you? she snapped. Give it back, Ill carry it myself!
Take it easy, love, Vinnie muttered. Ive been rooting for you, you know? Aunt called, said you were coming back, so I came to meet you. He paused, then embraced her tightly, his arms warm, his cheek pressed to hers. She let out a childish, bitter cry, then, trembling, she pressed her thin hands to his chest and sobbed.
He kissed her, a clumsy but earnest peck, and whispered, Im glad youre back. If youd stayed, Id have come to you. Blythe nodded, a small smile forming.
A sudden howl of sparrows rattled the window. Andrew, now older, his woollen coat a little frayed, snatched a list from Nadine, the admissions clerk, and began scanning it frantically.
Karasova, Carver, Karlington Oh, dear God, the surnames! he muttered, his bony finger flicking over the columns. You looking for anyone in particular? Nadine, pulling off her glasses, blew on the lenses and dabbed her nose with a blueedged handkerchief identical to Blythes.
Where did you get that? Andrew demanded sharply.
Bought it at the market. There were yellow flowers, but I like this one better. She tucked the kerchief into her bag, blushing.
Nothing! he snapped. Kuklov, Kolb, Kostova Good God, where is she?
Nurse, Nadine stammered, her belly protruding slightly. Im pregnant, you know. She sucked on an apple, a nervous habit.
No, she didnt come! Ive wasted my nerves on my wife, Ta for her! She never arrived! I called the dean, begged for a spot out of the competition, he refused, saying there were no places. All the students are restless; you, Nadine, dont trust them, okay?
Nadine nodded, eyes watery.
Andrew stood before the wall of lists, his spectacles slipping down his nose, his face a portrait of irritation. Looking for a protégé? laughed Dr. Felicity Hart, a sharptongued senior lecturer. Not everyone gets lucky.
Not looking for anyone! he shouted, shaking his hand free from her grasp and marching toward the icecream trolley.
He bought a large vanilla cone, sat on the same bench, and ate slowly. Alright then, he said, thats how it should be. I have a pike in the pond and perch, and my wifes birthday is tomorrow He wondered why, among all the failures, Blythes name lingered. She had offered nothing in returnonly a promise to study hard. Pure, naïve, and oddly beautiful.
Later, his wife, the brightspirit Tawho loved barbecues, guitars, and footballwatched him from the garden. The evening turned sour when Andrew suddenly went pale, clutching his chest, his breath shallow. Friends and relatives swarmed, shouting for a doctor. The old village medical book offered only poultices; no one had a real remedy.
The local ambulance, a battered van, screeched to the infirmary. Inside, the corridors smelled of disinfectant and stale air. The night nurse, Tamara, tried to calm the panicking crowd. Wheres the emergency ward? shouted an impatient neighbour.
Dr. Firth emerged, hair dishevelled, a faint smell of whisky on his breath. Quiet down! Im not a miracle worker! he barked, though his eyes softened when he saw Andrews frail form.
Andrew lay on a cold, bare cot, the dawn barely slipping through the grimy windows. He tried to reach for his wifes hand, but his limbs failed. He whispered her name, Ta, before his eyes closed.
The door opened, and a slender woman in a blue coat entered, a headscarf tucked under her chin. She adjusted the scarf, approached the sleeping professor, and gently lifted his chin. Water, please, she said softly, pouring a cup.
Firth? Andrews speckled nose twitched. Is that you?
Yes, Professor, she replied, smiling. Dr. Nicholas Firth says there was no heart attack, something else. Here, drink. He sipped, colour returning faintly to his cheeks.
Blythe? Youre here? he murmured, astonished. Ive been looking for you for two years in the admission lists, and now
She placed a finger to her lips, silencing him. Ill come back next year, I promise. Ive worked as a ward attendant, learned a lot, and now I aim to be a doctor. I want to change things here.
Or youll end up like Dr. Firth, he chuckled darkly. A nightmare.
She adjusted the blanket, tucking him in. I once thought the same, Professor. I wanted to push him out, change everything. But now I see hes also tired, wanting to improve but lacking the strength.
Tamara, the nurse, burst out laughing. You look like a wizard, Professoronly a beard would suit you!
Andrew, halfawake, managed a weak grin. Youre right, I do look like a…
The conversation drifted as the night deepened, the infirmarys old lights flickering. Outside, the garden overgrown with weeds whispered in the wind, and a lone figureBlythewalked back toward the bench, suitcase in hand, the nights cold seeping into her bones.
She whispered to the empty air, Its over. Ill come back next year. The dream faded, the parks shadows swaying like curtains, and the strange, surreal world held its breath, waiting for the next impossible sunrise.
