Harry’s bed seemed to have gone. Perhaps the men in his dream were real. Maybe they took it away.
At times the doctor came.
He was sure of that because on each occasion the same procedure was followed. There was none of the exhausting unpredictable extravagance of his dreams.
The old man would come in through the door, opening it wide, unlike That Woman, who slipped through the merest crack. The doctor would put down his bag near the foot of the bed. Then the doctor would bend over him. Once his face was quite close, Rud could make out the features clearly: the brilliant eyes behind thick spectacles, the wiry grizzled eyebrows.
‘Feeling a little better today, hey?’ But the touch of the hand that rested on his forehead was gentle, the grip that took hold of his wrist, feeling for the pu
