Chapter 3

THE games, story books, and bricks to build houses, which she had got as presents, helped to pass the long weary winter nights. She also tried to pass the time by writing letters to companions who were with her in the orphanage, and to relatives whom she had never met. But very seldom did she get a reply. In those years people did not relish getting letters from a sanatorium.

Every morning as a nurse went around handing out letters to the patients, Kathleen watched eagerly to see if there was any letter for her, and a look of disappointment came into her eyes when she found that there was none. Even one letter would have meant so much to her.

However, one Saturday when I went to see her she was delighted because she had got a letter from some of her relatives to tell her they were calling to see her on a certain day. This cheered her a great deal, and she looked forward to meeting them. But on the appointed day they failed to appear, although she watched out for them all that afternoon. Soon afterwards another letter arrived explaining why they were unable to come, and they mentioned another date on which they would call.

After disappointing her a few times they finally did arrive, and I was with her on the same evening, after they had departed. I noticed that she seemed to be unusually depressed and, after a little coaxing, she told me that two of her relatives had been to see her, but they only spent a short time with her. She was only a stranger to them, and besides they found it difficult to understand her Scotch accent. Then they spent the rest of the time with another patient whom they knew from their neighbourhood, and, she added, "They went away without coming in to say goodbye, and they did not bring me even a sweet”. (1)

While she had been telling me about it tears had been gathering in her eyes, tears she had tried to hold back, but they flowed down her cheeks one by one until she was in a violent fit of crying.

There is something heartbreaking in watching a child of twelve crying bitterly, but it was not the sobbing and the crying that was the most heartbreaking. It was the crushed and pitiful look in the tear-stained eyes. At last she realised that nobody wanted her and that she was to suffer on alone and friendless in the hospital.

It would be useless to encourage her to stop crying and anyway a good cry would relieve her pent-up emotions. When the tears stopped and the sobbing had subsided I told her I would look after her always, and help her, and come out often to see her. Somehow I felt glad that I could have her to myself without having to share her affection with anybody else. I noticed that she had been trying to dry her tears with the top of the sheet. I asked her for her handkerchief so that I could dry her eyes.

"I haven't any handkerchiefs" she replied. “I haven't anybody to get me things I want badly”. I got a towel and dried her eyes, but I couldn’t do much with her cheeks as they were all stained and grubby from her tears.

I bought her some handkerchiefs and other little things she wanted, and her grandmother who lived alone, and who was rather old and feeble, and who was really fond of her, sent her a pair of blue bedroom slippers into which she slipped her bare feet whenever she got up.

Note: The numbers in the text refer to the endnotes, which may be read later.