| OCR Text |
Show 15-2 I considered myself somewhat of an expert on therapy and wounds as Andrew and I spent much time discussing the treatment and progress of the other men, although we never discussed his own case. I could identify different kinds of wounds from the way the men were bandaged or the way they moved. The man with my mother had seemed whole. "I'm not really sure, Annie. I. didn't ask too much. Some sort of head injury, I imagine. It doesn't matter since he's almost well now. He was a superb musician, played extraordinarily well. -Perhaps you'll met him, Annie. But now, I must get to work." Mother swooped over me, kissed my forehead and left. I chewed my toast and thought. I would ask Andrew about him. Andrew would know. First^ though, I wanted to ask Grandmother about Paul's ribbons. Odd, I thought, as I scraped my dishes, how my summer days seemed to center around the hospital and the men there. I stopped scraping for a moment. Or the men who I wish were there like Uncle Paul. What if he were lying in one of those beds, or sitting out under the trees. I wondered if he would play checkers with me. He never had before. He had never had much time for me at all. I finished my work, said goodbye to Mother who hardly noticed me and crossed the hot sunny street to my grandparents' house. For the first time since he had come home, Grandfather was out in the garden, walking slowly along the rows, stopping to feel the ears of corn, or dig a bit around the carrots, or pull off a dead blossom. Grandmother was on the back porch, standing in the shadow and watching him anxiously. "Hi, Grandmother." "Hello, Annie." I turned and watched Grandfather too, both of us shading our eyes against the morning sun and the heat that moved off the ground in waves. The chickens had followed Grandfather into the garden and were clucking and pecking their way down the rows behind him. |
