Greatcoat

 

Ismail woke up in a hospital. He had been placed in the corridor with a shattered head. Struggling to remember what had happened, he silently began to observe what was going on around him. The place was overcrowded with workers who had been no luckier than he was. The old man recalled his home and the muzzle of a horse — his old beloved friend. In the darkness, familiar eyes of wife, outlined with kohl, flashed before him — and suddenly the pain in his head pulled him back into the crowded hospital corridor.

 

“He’s as good as dead. Let him stay here — help those who need it more,” the old man suddenly heard a nurse say behind him.

 

An unpleasant smell pierced deep into his nostrils, and he began to feel as though he was slipping away from this world. Yet a fierce will to live still held him there. People rushed past. Some were being carried in on stretchers, others were already being taken away. No one paid attention to another gravely ill man.

 

“Help…” the granddad suddenly groaned.

 

Everyone kept hurrying about their business. Sleep was overtaking him again. It felt as though if he closed his eyes, he would never wake up.

 

Suddenly, he felt a sharp tug on the iron handle of the bed. Turning his gaze, he saw the edge of a military greatcoat caught on it. A slightly grey-haired man of Slavic appearance sharply pulled his green coat free and fixed his eyes on the dying man.

 

“Ismail?! You?!” the man exclaimed.

 

It was the very commander who had once helped the old man find work at the stables — they had even become friends. Now he held the position of chief doctor and was making his usual daily rounds.

 

“What’s wrong with him? Why is he lying in the corridor?” the doctor asked his subordinate.

 

“He’s already a dead man!” the young orderly replied.

 

“Do everything to save him — or tomorrow you’ll be the dead one!”