Part.2
A month flew by, followed by the second and third, 17th year, and February 18th. I got used to my new position and started to forget about my long-distance section little by little. My memory was erased by a green lamp with hissing kerosene, loneliness, snowdrifts... Ungrateful! I forgot my combat post, where I was alone, without any support, struggling with disease, on my own, like the hero of Fenimore Cooper, getting out of the most bizarre positions.
Occasionally, however, when I went to bed with a pleasant thought of how I would fall asleep now, some fragments were running through my dark consciousness. The green light, the flashing lantern... sledge squeaking... a short groan, then darkness, a deaf blizzard in the fields... Then all this was thrown sideways and failed...
"I wonder who is sitting there now in my place? Somebody sits... A young doctor like me... Well, well, I did my time. February, March, April. And, let's say, May is the end of my experience. So, at the end of May I will part with my brilliant city and return to Moscow. And if the revolution picks me up on its wing, I may have to travel... But anyway, I will never see my area again in my life... Never... The capital... Clinic... Asphalt, lights...
I thought so.
"...It's still good that I was at the station... I became a brave man... I'm not afraid... What wasn't I treating?! Really? А?.. I didn't treat mental illnesses... After all... Right, no, let me... And then the agronomist got drunk to hell... And I treated him, and it was quite unsuccessful... White fever...
What is not a mental illness? We should read psychiatry... Oh, come on... Sometime later in Moscow... And now, first of all, children's diseases... and children's illnesses... and especially this convict children's recipe... Ew, shit... If a child is ten years old, how many pyramidons can he get? 0.1 or 0.15? Forgot. And if he is three years old? Only childhood illnesses... and nothing more... rather mind-boggling accidents! Goodbye, my plot! And why do I have to think about this area so insistently tonight...?
The green fire... I'm done with it for the rest of my life... Well, that's enough... Sleep..."
- Here's a letter. They brought with them...
- Let's go here.
The nurse was standing in my front office. A coat with a shabby collar was put on top of a white robe with a mark. Snow was melting on the blue cheap envelope.
- Are you on duty in the waiting room today? - I asked, yawning.
- I.
- No one's here?
- No, it's empty.
- Ashley... (Yawning ripped my mouth off, and I said that word sloppy), someone would be brought in... you let me know here... I'll go to bed...
- Okay. Can I go to bed?
- Yes, yes. Go on.
She's gone. The door squealed, and I spanked my shoes into the bedroom, ripping the envelope off with my fingers on the way.
It had an oblong, wrinkled form with a blue stamp on it from my precinct, my hospital... An unforgettable form...
I smiled.
"I was wondering... I was thinking about the precinct all evening, and so he came to remind me of himself... A hunch..."
Under the stamp of a chemical pencil was drawn a recipe. Latin words, illegible, crossed out...
- I don't understand anything... A confusing recipe... - I mumbled and stared at the word "morphini..." What's so extraordinary about this recipe? Oh, yes... Four percent solution! Who prescribes the 4% morphine solution? Why?!
I turned over the leaf, and my yawning passed. On the back of the leaf ink, sluggish and dispersed handwriting was written:
"February 13, 1918.
Dear Pavel Illarionovich. I have now received a letter from my fellow university doctor Polyakov. He is sitting on my former Gorelovsky precinct all alone. He seems to have been ill. I consider it my duty to visit him. If I may, I will give the department to Dr. Rodovich for one day tomorrow and go to Polyakov. The man is helpless. Respecting you, Dr. Bomgard."
Return note by the chief physician:
"Dear Vladimir Mikhailovich, go,Petrov."
To be continued....