Free I Am Lazarus (Peter Owen Modern Classic) by Anna Kavan

father, or, for that matter, like any sort of a father. If one thought of him in terms of the family he was more like an efficient and intolerant elder brother who would have no patience with the weaknesses of younger siblings.
    Dr. Pope came into his room after lunch, walking fast as he always did, and shut the door after him. He did not look at the painted ceiling or out of the open window through which came sunshine and the pleasant rustle of trees. Although the day was warm he wore a thick dark double-breasted suit and did not seem hot in it. He sat down at once at the desk.
    There was a pile of coloured folders in front of him. He took the top folder from the pile and opened it and began reading the typed case notes inside. He read carefully, with the easy concentration of an untroubled singlemindedness. Occasionally, if any point required consideration, he looked up from the page and stared reflectively at the blue wall over the desk where he had fastened with drawing pins a number of tables and charts. These pauses for reflection never lasted more than a few seconds; he made his decisions quickly and they were final. He went on steadily reading, holding his fountain pen and sometimes making a note on the typescript in firm, small, legible handwriting.
    Presently there was a knock and he called out, ‘Come in’.
    ‘Will you sign this pass, please, for Sergeant Hunter?’ a nurse said, coming up to the desk.
    She put a yellow slip on the desk and the doctor said, ‘Oh, yes’, and signed it impatiently and she picked it up and put a little sheaf of hand-written pages in its place and he, starting to read through these new papers with the impatience gone from his manner, said, ‘Ah, the ward reports’, in a different voice that sounded interested and eager.
    The nurse stood looking over his shoulder at the writing, most of which was her own.
    ‘Excellent. Excellent,’ Dr. Pope said after a while. He glanced up at the waiting nurse and smiled at her. She was his best nurse, he had trained her himself in his own methods, and the result was entirely satisfactory. She was an invaluable and trustworthy assistant who understood what he was trying to do, approved of his technique, and co-operated intelligently. ‘Really excellent work’, he repeated, smiling.
    She smiled back and for a moment the identical look of gratification on the two faces gave them a curious resemblance to one another, almost as if they were near relatives, although they were not really alike at all.
    ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘we're certainly getting results now. The general morale in the wards has improved enormously.’ Then her face became serious again and she said, ‘If only we could get Ward Six into line’.
    The smile simultaneously disappeared from the doctor's face and a look that was more characteristic appeared there; a look of impatience and irritation. He turned the pages in front of him and re-read one of them and the irritated expression became fixed.
    ‘Yes, I see. Ward Six again. I suppose it's that fellow Williams making a nuisance of himself as usual?’
    ‘It's impossible to do anything with him.’ The nurse's cool voice contained annoyance behind its coolness. ‘He's a bad type, I'm afraid. Obstructive and stubborn. Unfortunately some of theyoungsters and the less stable men are apt to be influenced by his talk. He's always stirring up discontent in the ward.’
    ‘These confounded trouble-makers are a menace to our whole work,’ Dr. Pope said. ‘Rebellious undesirables. I think friend Williams will have to be got rid of.’ He pulled a scribbling pad across the desk and wrote the name Williams on it, pressing more heavily on the pen than he usually did so that the strokes of the letters came very black. He underlined the name with deliberation and drew a circle round it and pushed the pad back to its place and asked in a brisker tone:
    ‘Anyone else in Six giving trouble?’
    ‘I've been rather worried about Kling