The Way We Were by Sinéad Moriarty Page B

of the question.’ Declan half smiled, but Ben could see his hands were shaking.
    ‘I’m pretty sure it didn’t come with the suture kits. But I’m confident it’s a left haemopneumothorax.’
    Declan nodded. He’d heard it too.
    Ben, now fully concentrated, felt with his fingers for the dip between the boy’s fifth and sixth ribs. Declan, anticipating his needs, handed Ben a syringe of local anaesthetic, which Ben injected between the boy’s ribs.
    The boy’s eyes snapped open and he cried out in pain. The leader came rushing in as the guards raised their Kalashnikovs. Ben raised his hand. ‘Stop. Your son felt pain when the needle passed through the pleura – the membrane that lines the chest here.’ Ben pointed to the exact spot. ‘Now look.’
Ben pointed to the dark blood that was being sucked back into the syringe. ‘Everything is under control. I need peace in my theatre, please.’
    The leader spoke to his son, and left.
    ‘Good thing he’s not here for this bit,’ Declan said, handing Ben a scalpel.
    Ben cut through skin and muscle and the wound bubbled air. Declan handed him a tube, which Ben carefully inserted into the hole, then stitched it to the skin to prevent it being dislodged.
    ‘Here it comes!’ Declan said, as blood gushed out. The boy cried out in pain and coughed.
    Again, his father came charging in and stared at the blood. His face fearful, he glared at Ben.
    ‘STOP!’ Ben shouted. Then he guided the man to his son’s side and indicated that he should lean towards his son’s chest. ‘Listen to your son’s breathing.’
    The leader did so. With every gasp the boy was breathing more easily as the pressure left his chest. Declan connected the chest drain to a tube and then, using the bowl half filled with water, he placed the end of the tube in it to act as a simple one-way valve. With each exhalation, air and blood bubbled out of the submerged end of the tube and the lung started, little by little, to expand.
    Ben peeled off his gloves and set them aside so they could be washed and reused.
    ‘Your son will be fine. He needs antibiotics and painkillers. The lung will reinflate, then the drain can be removed. I’ll show you how to do it. Then I want to leave.’
    The leader smiled. ‘Thank you for helping my son, but you will not be leaving until I am sure he is well. I also have more injured soldiers I need you to treat, Doctor. You’re not going anywhere.’
    ‘We had a deal. I save your son and you let me go,’ Ben said, trying to stop his fear showing in his voice.
    The leader laughed. ‘I made no deal with you. You will stay here until I say you can go. You will stay here until I don’t need you.’
    Rage ripped through him. ‘Fine. I have no intention of operating on anyone else. I helped your son and now I’m leaving.’
    The leader put his big hand on Ben’s chest, preventing him from moving past. He shouted some words to the two soldiers. One grabbed Declan and put his gun to Declan’s head.
    ‘If you refuse to help me, Doctor, I’m afraid your friend will have to die.’
    ‘You bastard,’ Ben cursed. ‘Let him go.’
    The leader ordered his man to stand down. Declan moved aside, white and shaking.
    ‘War is hard. We do what we have to do to survive,’ the leader said.
    ‘What war?’ Ben asked. ‘Eritrea is independent. Who are you fighting?’
    The leader’s eyes narrowed. ‘The Ethiopian scum who killed my parents and my brother. They say the land is on their side of the border, but it’s my land and I won’t stop until I get it back.’
    ‘Once we’ve helped those soldiers out there, I want your word that you’ll return us to Asmara.’ Ben was desperate to get reassurances.
    The leader laughed again. ‘I spent a year in London studying English before I was called home when my village was attacked. You English are obsessed with your “word”. Words mean nothing. Promises mean nothing. The only thing that matters is family and