The Jason Green series Box Set

by Gordon Wallis

  “What do you want? Everyone is sleeping here!” she hissed with genuine malice.

  “I would like to go to the toilet please” I said evenly.

  “Ahhhhhh!” she exclaimed in annoyance as she shuffled her gargantuan frame towards the shelves to my left.

  When she finally reached the shelf, she removed an ancient dented bedpan and tossed it carelessly on to the mosquito net near my hip.

  “There! Go!” she grunted and I smelt the unmistakeable sour aroma of home brewed beer, on her breath.

  “No!” I said firmly. “I want crutches. Get me some crutches please and hurry.”

  She stared at me unsteadily through bloodshot eyes that were set deep into her distended and enraged face. Eventually she snorted indignantly and shuffled off again to the shelving unit to my left. She returned with a battered set of aluminium crutches. The tops had long since lost their padding and were bound with filthy strips of bandage and fixed with bicycle tyre inner tube.

  “Mmmm!” she said as she held them out far enough to ensure I would have to stretch to the point of nearly falling out of the bed to reach them.

  As I reached, I noticed the name tag pinned to her mountainous chest. 'Sister Anna Chimene' She stood there, duck footed and watched with great pleasure as I slowly swung my legs from the bed and positioned myself to stand with the crutches. The rush of blood to my leg caused it to come alive with a furious burning pain and my shoulder throbbed and ached deeply as I slowly stood up. With the sweat pouring from every pore I made the sluggish journey towards the door on the opposite side of the room. I felt her contemptuous glare as I pushed the door open with my right hand.

  “Is there a light in here?” I shouted in annoyance.

  “No lights!” came the reply.

  It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the darkness but eventually I made out the shape of the toilet. With great relief I stood and relieved myself unsteadily with the crutches still under my arms. It was on my return that I took the fall. The rubber at the base of the right crutch was worn and the metal slid on the tile beneath. I broke the fall with my right arm and managed to keep my injured leg raised but the wind was knocked out of me and I groaned as I turned on to my back on the floor.

  “Fucking hell!” I growled when I got my breath back.

  I opened my eyes to see the woman's body shuddering with mirth as she held a podgy hand to her mouth to stifle her amusement.

  “Do you think this is a fucking joke?” I shouted as I slowly brought myself to a standing position using the good crutch.

  She made a loud clucking sound and sucked air through her teeth in annoyance as she began to waddle towards me.

  “No, no you just stay there thank you,” I whispered through gritted teeth.

  My body was soaked with sweat and I was panting heavily by the time I finally parted the mosquito net and lay down.

  “There is a bottle of morphine up there,” I said with my eyes closed. “I would like some now please. I am in great pain.”

  I opened my eyes to see the huge woman heaving herself towards the shelf to my left. I heard her rustling through the contents of a steel tray.

  “There is nothing,” she replied loudly.

  “What? Look again! Read the file at the bottom of the bed. There are at least three doses left. It was written down by the previous nurse.”

  “I said there is nothing! Look!” she bellowed as she tilted the tray towards me.

  Sure enough, the bottle was gone...and I was in no doubt as to who had taken it.

  “You stole it. I know you did” I whispered.

  “Hehe!” she laughed again. “I am not the one!”

  Fucking thieving bitch! I closed my eyes as the huge woman shuffled towards the door and turned the lights off. I heard her shoes scraping the tiles as she made her way down the corridor. Her feet never leaving the ground as she went. I spent the next five hours in abject misery riding the waves of fevered agony from my leg and shoulder. The night was sweltering and dead still and the pain that emanated from my left leg seemed to concentrate in the very bones and travel up to my groin where it swirled constantly like fire. The sound of the cicadas was amplified in my brain and I lay fully conscious with my eyes screwed up tightly. To say it was the lowest point in my life would be an understatement and during the crescendos of anguish I focussed my anger on one thing and one thing only. Dixon Mayuni.

  It was 8.00am. when I heard the door open. I opened my eyes and the daylight startled me briefly. I turned to see the nurse from the previous day, Sister Mercy Chavunduka, frowning at me as she drew the mosquito net from around the bed.

  “What happened Mr Green?” she said with concern.

  “There was a nurse here last night. She was drunk and I'm sure she stole the morphine,” I whispered.

  “Ahh!” she exclaimed loudly as she rummaged in the tray near the bed.

  “Listen Mercy,” I said. “That old man from Chirundu is coming back here this morning and will be bringing my cash and belongings. Please go and get something for the pain. Some Morphine. Explain to the pharmacy that it will be paid for in full this morning. I am not going anywhere as you know.”

  She touched my forehead with the back of her hand as she mopped the sweat from my face and neck.

  “This is terrible.” she said shaking her head. “You are burning up. Okay, let me go now.”

  She returned ten minutes later with fresh syringes and an identical bottle to the one from the previous day. I watched in desperation as she removed the needle and drew the clear liquid from the bottle. The pin prick in my arm was an immediate respite from the horrors of the previous hours. Instantly the room cooled down and the colours softened. The dreadful ache in the core of my lower body dissipated and I felt serenity return to my world. Sister Mercy busied herself around me humming to herself as I drifted off into a deep dreamless sleep.

  I awoke at 11.00am. to the sound of Andrew talking to the doctor outside the room. Both he and the doctor entered the room together.

  “Jesus!” said Andrew “Looks like you had a rough night.”

  “I've had better,” I said.

  The doctor took my temperature and removed the bandages from my wounds. I gritted my teeth as he pulled the long bloody cotton plugs from the holes in my foot and shoulder with glittering steel forceps. Sister Mercy assisted him as the wounds were re-dressed. I waited till both of them had left the room before I spoke.

  “Andrew you have to get me out of here. This place is a fucking hell hole. I have international health insurance. They will fly me to Johannesburg or wherever. I can't stay here.”

  “Hmm, I know,” he said as he took a seat near the window.

  “I'll speak to the doctor again. In the meantime, I have brought your bags and wallet. I've also organized a secure trunk and a padlock. I hear there was an unfortunate incident last night.”

  “More than fucking unfortunate,” I replied.

  Andrew pulled the wallet from my bag and handed it to me. I extracted my BUPA global healthcare card and handed it to him.

  “Call the number on this card and explain what has happened. They will evacuate me. Please Andrew,” I said.

  “Okay,” he grunted as he stood once again “Let me see what I can do.”

  As he left, the doctor and Sister Mercy walked back into the room.

  “Time to change your dressings, Mr Green,” she said cheerfully.

  I gritted my teeth as they went about the work of swabbing the stitches and replacing the cotton plugs into the open wounds from the spike and the bullet. Finally, the doctor left and once again I was given the shot of morphine, I craved by Sister Mercy.

  “Sleep now” she said gently as she wiped the sweat from my forehead.

  Once again, the soothing waves of relief washed around me...and I drifted into a hallucinatory but happy stupor. I came to at around 3.00pm that afternoon as Andrew and the doctor walked through the door. The heat of the day was easing and I could he
ar the children playing soccer in the distance through the window.

  “Good afternoon Mr Green,” said the doctor as he removed his spectacles. “Mr Andrew from Chirundu has arranged for you to be evacuated to a private clinic in Lusaka, Zambia, but I have told them you must remain here for another two nights at least. Your injuries are such that it would be unwise to move you until then.”

  I looked at Andrew with wide eyes. He responded by shaking his head and opening his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

  “Two more nights,” I said out loud.

  “That is correct Mr Green,” said the doctor. “We will do our best to make you as comfortable as possible,”

  “Well you can start by firing that drunken thieving bitch of a nurse from last night” I said quietly.

  “We have reported that Jason,” said Andrew. “You won’t be seeing her again.”

  The door opened and Sister Mercy walked in carrying a steel trunk with a latch on the front.

  “This is for your belongings Mr Green,” she said as she placed it near the bed to my right.

  “And here are your padlock and keys,” handing me a sealed package.

  Andrew busied himself placing my belongings in the trunk as I opened the packet that contained the lock. I kept my wallet and the three keys at my side and handed the lock to Andrew.

  “What about your wallet?” said Andrew.

  “I'll keep it with me for now,” I replied.

  Andrew locked the trunk and stood up as the doctor and Sister Mercy left the room.

  “Well Jason,” he said “It looks like you'll be leaving here Tuesday morning. I'll be here at 8.00 am. sharp with your computer and your hard drive. I'm sorry I couldn't get you out faster, but you know... Doctor's orders.”

  The prospects of another two nights in there was daunting to say the least.

  “I appreciate everything you've done Andrew,” I said as I shook his hand. “Thank you.”

  The two police officers from the previous day arrived as Andrew left. This time they were a little humbler and both removed their caps and introduced themselves before taking seats near the window to my right. The interview lasted an hour and I was as vague as possible telling them that I was simply a tourist who was interested in the bird life of the Zambezi Valley and that the men who had attacked me had come on a boat from the Zambian side. The fact that I was immobile and unable to pinpoint the exact location was clearly frustrating them, but I kept the story as simple as possible and promised to assist them further after my recovery. This eventually, seemed to satisfy them and they left after I was made to sign a hand written statement on a tatty piece of newsprint. By then the pain and itching had returned and I called for Sister Mercy to administer some more morphine. She walked into the room carrying a tray of food that turned out to be exactly the same stew and rice as the previous day.

  “You will have nothing until you eat Mr Green,” she said sternly as she handed me the food.

  This time I finished all the food and she beamed at me as I handed her the empty tray.

  “Ah! You are hungry today,” she said in her strong Shona accent.

  “Listen Mercy,” I said quietly “This might sound unusual, but I would like you to get me some more drugs for the pain. I would hate for what happened last night to repeat itself and I really don't want to run out either.”

  She immediately looked towards the door nervously.

  “I have cash and everything will be kept safely in the trunk. How much is each bottle of morphine?” I asked.

  “Forty dollars,” she replied.

  “Here.” I said as I removed five crisp $100.00 bills from my wallet. “Get me ten bottles and you keep the change”

  “Mr Green,” she said as she stared at the money in my hand.

  “Mercy, please. I really don't want to run out and I will return any that is not used”

  She shook her head as she took the cash.

  “Okay Mr Green, but this is not our normal procedure.”

  “I know, I know, but trust me and it will be safe,” I said.

  It was a blatant lie. Without realising it I was starting to show the traits of a drug addict. Such was the pain and my craving for its relief.

  “Oh, Mercy,” I said as she turned to make her way to the door. “Get a bunch of syringes as well.”

  Finally, I was left alone staring out at the orange light of the afternoon. I watched as an African Hornbill landed in a nearby Mopani tree, its curved beak bright yellow against the grey and silver bark of the tree.

  I sighed as I stared at it in silence. What a mess Green. What a fucking mess. Mercy returned ten minutes later with a brown paper bag containing the ten bottles and a handful of syringes. I leant over the right- hand side of the bed and locked it all away safely before pocketing the keys. By then the pain had returned in earnest and the injection, when it came, was a truly blessed relief and I retreated into my private world of quiet blissful stupor. I was awakened an hour later by the sound of a branch snapping nearby. With the morphine still coursing through my veins I opened my eyelids slowly to see an Elephant had walked under a large Mopani tree nearby. I knew that they were plentiful around the town of Kariba and were free to roam wherever they chose so it came as no great surprise to see one right outside the government hospital. I stared at it in drugged fascination as it moved slowly on the dusty sun-baked ground. Its juvenile tusks were only half a metre long, but it stood huge against the tree in the orange light. At one stage it turned its head and in my drug-addled mind I was sure it was looking at me with its big hazel eye. So many people are trying to kill you I thought as I drifted back to sleep.

  It was dark by the time I awoke and the corridor outside the room was quiet. I called for a nurse hoping not to see Sister Anna Chimene from the previous night. Thankfully there was a different nurse on duty and although she was morose and silent, she administered the shot of morphine quickly and left me in peace. It was 3.00am. when I next woke up and the room was hot, dark and quiet. I pulled the keys from my pocket and leant over the right-hand side of the bed to access the trunk. It opened on the first attempt and I rummaged through my bag and retrieved my head torch.

  I strapped it to my head and turned it on. Next, I pulled out the bag of morphine and syringes. I lay back and stared at one of the bottles turning it slowly in my hand. The burning itch and aching had returned by then and I glanced briefly at the door as I weighed up my options. I removed a needle from one of the sealed packs and placed it on one of the new syringes. Slowly and carefully I drew ten millilitres of the clear fluid from the rubber top of the bottle. I depressed the plunger till I saw a fine squirt of the liquid in the torch light. I adjusted the torch and looked for a vein on my left arm. The process was quickly over and I managed to get the trunk and its contents locked away safely before the familiar waves of calm washed over me and I drifted away once again.

  It was daylight when I woke up and Mercy had returned to work. For the first time in days I felt hungry and I managed to eat a breakfast of boiled eggs and toast with tea. I spent the day in a vicious cycle of acute discomfort and appeasement with every dose of the drug. The doctor made his rounds and expressed satisfaction with the state of my wounds. Even the change of dressings was manageable and before I knew it, it was dinner time albeit with exactly the same stew and rice as the previous days. That night I dosed myself three times with the morphine and I felt no guilt whatsoever.

  Instead there was a feeling of smug satisfaction that I had enough of a stash of the drug to last for weeks. I had no idea that I had become a true addict. Andrew arrived as promised the following morning and brought my laptop and the hard drive with him. I unlocked the trunk and keeping the paper bag of syringes and morphine hidden, I placed them in my bag. We spent the next hour in quiet conversation as we waited for the vehicle from the private clinic in Lusaka to arrive. It was 9.00am. sharp when the medics from Mercer Clinic in Lusaka arrived. They were dressed in immaculate white uniforms and
were quietly efficient in their preparations. The local doctor came in and officially signed me over to the two medics who had brought in a modern stretcher from their vehicle. I gave my passport to them so they could take care of the border crossing into Zambia.

  “Well Andrew,” I said. “Looks like I'm out of here. Thank you for everything. You saved my life.”

  “Take care of yourself Jason,” he said as he shook my hand.

  At that moment Sister Mercy walked into the room.

  “Time for your injection before you go Mr Green.”

  I sat up and was helped on to the new stretcher as she prepared the shot. She administered it with a knowing look on her face.

  “You were very kind Mercy. Thank you,” I said as the drug took effect.

  “Hmm,” she said. “Wishing you the best Mr Green.”

  Before I knew it the stretcher was moving and the sight of the ancient stained ceiling tiles blurred my vision as I was moved from the room through the darkened corridors towards the exit. The bright sunlight blinded me as the stretcher left the building and I lifted my left arm to shade my eyes from the glare. The ambulance was a brand new and shiny import from the UK. It was fitted with state-of -the-art medical equipment and the two medics wasted no time in tilting the back of the mattress and turning on the air conditioning to make me comfortable. My bags were brought in and I made a point of securing the one that contained the hard drive and the morphine nearby. One of the medics attached a fresh drip to the cannula insertion in my arm. Soon enough, the engine was started and we were off. The road to the border post at the Kariba dam wall was winding and it took twenty minutes to get there. As we drove, I stared in a state of drugged lethargy, out of a gap in the window at the massive lake that stretched out below the road. The exit procedures at the border post were taken care of quickly by the medics.