THE LONG HALLWAY CHAPTER 2

When I finished reading, the Aide led me through the ward. Most of the men didn’t acknowledge us – no words, no eye contact. Their silence felt heavy, as though it had settled over the room long before I arrived.

One small elderly man stood out. He was neatly dressed in brown leather high-top shoes, brown twill pants, a muted plaid shirt, and a brown heather sweater. His eyes were bright, alert. He motioned for me to come closer, repeating “Come heah. Come heah.” His accent sounded Eastern European. He introduced himself as Yanko Damyanoff.

I wanted to linger, but the Aide hurried me along. After we met the last of the patients, she returned to her paperwork and other responsibilities, and I remained on the ward, taking in the physical space.

The room was long and bright, lined with metal-frame beds in four rows of ten. Two rows ran down the center of the room, almost side by side. The others hugged the walls beneath tall windows that stretched nearly the length of the long room. Sunlight poured in from the acres of hospital grounds – fields, trees, and farmland as far as you could see – peaceful and serene. One patient approached me, gestured toward the landscape, and announced that he was king of all the land we could see.

I was unsure how to respond. I nodded.