Unrecognized but strong within him was the hope that he might again
draw comfort and strength from that fountain as he had done so long
ago. He started to run, stiffly, so the toe of his boot scuffed in the
dust with each pace.
Desperately he searched through the hospital. He hurried along the
rows of stretchers examining the faces of the wounded; he saw pain and
mutilation and slow creeping death soaking like spilt red ink through
the white bandages. He heard the moan and murmur and delirious
laughter, he smelt the taint of agony induced sweat blended with the
heavy sweetness of corruption and disinfectant-and he hardly noticed
them. One face, one face only, he wanted. And he did not find it.
'Courtney. ' The medical orderly examined his list, tilting it to
catch the lamplight. 'Ah! Yes. Here it is-let's nnnsee. Yes!
He's gone already-left on the first train an hour ago ... I can't say,
sir, probably to Pietermaritzburg. They've established a big new
hospital there. I can't tell you that either, I'm afraid, but they've
got him listed here as dangerous ... that's better am critical
anyway.
Wearing his loneliness like a cloak, Garry stumbled back to his
quarters.
'Good evening, sir. ' His servant was waiting for him. Garry always
made them wait up. A new man this, they changed so fast. Never could
keep a batman more than a month.
Garrick pushed past him, and half fell against the camp bed.
'Steady on, sir. Let's get you on to the bed, sir. ' The man's voice
was insidiously servile, the voice men used towards drunks. The touch
of his hands infuriated Garry.
'Leave me.' He lashed out with a clenched fist across the man's face,
throwing him back. 'Leave me. Get out and leave me!'
The servant rubbed his bruised cheek uncertainly, backing away.
'Get out!' Garry hissed at him.
'But, sir-' 'Get out, damn you. Get out!'
The man went out and closed the tent flap softly behind him.
Garry stumbled across to it and laced it closed. Then he stood back.
Alone. They can't see me now. They can't laugh now.
They can't. Oh God, Sean!
He turned from the flap. The dummy leg caught on the rough floor and
he fell. One of the straps parted and the leg twisted under him.
On his hands and knees he crawled towards the commode across the tent,
and the leg jerked and twisted grotesquely behind him.
Kneeling beside the commode he lifted the china basin from its recess
and reached into the space below it and he found the bottle.
His fingers were too clumsy for the cork, he pulled it with his teeth
and spat it on to the floor. Then he held the bottle to his lips and
his throat jerked rhythmically as he swallowed.
A little of the brandy spilled on to his tunic and stained the ribbon
of the Victoria Cross.
He lowered the bottle and rested, panting from the sting of the liquor.
Then he drank again more slowly. The trembling of his hands stilled.
His breathing smoothed out. He reached up and took the tumbler from
