Chapter 8
Three years. One thousand and ninety–five days. He counted the days behind the iron bars, carving one mark after another into the wall with his nails.
The day of his early release, he rushed straight to Cleveland Medical Center, the electronic ankle bracelet still attached to his
ankle.
“Ms. Cohen was transferred a long time ago,” Nurse Judith said coldly. She had aged considerably, but the hatred in her eyes hadn’t diminished one bit.
“Where did she go? Please, tell me…” He
lunged toward her, grabbing her sleeve like a drowning man.
1/9
“Get away!” She threw a letter at his feet. “Mr. Cohen left this for you. Don’t come back, you murderer.“.
The envelope had yellowed with age. The note inside was brief:
“Never look for her again. This is our final act of mercy”
“You ruined her life with your own hands, now stop pretending to care.”
He crouched in front of the hospital all night, like a statue. By morning, his phone rang:
Transfer reminder: $2,800 received.
It was from the janitor job. The smell of formaldehyde from the morgue lingered in the air, turning his stomach.
2/9
The computer screen was still open:
Round–trip ticket to New Zealand: $12,000.
Bank balance: $3,200.
Salary to be paid in 28 days.
Shaking, he stubbed out his cigarette, unwilling to even discard the butt. From that moment on, he swore off both smoking and drinking. Every penny he saved was Diana’s lifeline.
A month later, his phone vibrated non–stop:
“Your transfer of $3,000 has been received in New Zealand…”
“Your transfer of $2,800 has been received in New Zealand…”
3/9
“Your transfer of $2,900 has been received in
New Zealand…”
No one knew which hospital she was in. But not a single cent could be missed. This was the only way he could prove he was still alive.
In the library, he began to study relentlessly:
*“Introduction to Human Anatomy“* the pages crinkled from constant use.
*“Nursing Skills Training“* underlined with every possible note.
*“Key Points for Healthcare Assistant Exams,”* memorized until it became second
nature.
The cigarette pack in his pocket was replaced with a vocabulary notebook, and
4/9
he memorized words until his tongue ached. At night, he sneaked into the abandoned operating room to practice: turning patients, sanitizing, bandaging… until his hands were blistered.
Five years passed in this way.
“Mr. Roffe, you passed the caregiver certification exam.” His hand trembled as the proctor handed him the certificate. Full marks. He’d broken the record.
A nurse passing by whispered, “I heard Mr. Cohen’s daughter is reportedly cured… in Auckland…”
He turned sharply, nearly snapping his neck.
The next day, while the airline confirmed his flight, his phone rang. It was Mr. Cohen’s voice.
5/9
The old man’s voice had aged so much: “She woke up, at Auckland City Hospital. But… she’s lost her memory. She’ll never remember you. This is God’s greatest mercy. Please, don’t disturb her new life. I beg you…”
He drank until dawn at the bar, the first and last time in five years.
When he woke from the hangover, he returned to the library:
*“Overview of New Zealand’s Healthcare System“*
*“Beginner’s Guide to Maori“*
*“Medical Terminology for Caregivers“*
*“Advanced Nursing Skills“*
6/9
Every month, his transfers continued without fail:
“Your transfer of $3,000 has been received in New Zealand…”
“Your transfer of $3,100 has been received in New Zealand…”
“Your transfer of $2,900 has been received in New Zealand…”
One autumn day, the hospital received a letter from New Zealand:
“Thank you for your continued transfers, but she has…”
“Please stop sending money immediately.”
“If you
you send any more, we will be forced to contact the authorities.”
7/9
He ripped the letter into shreds and tossed it into the shredder. The next morning, the message appeared again:
“Your transfer of $3,000 has been received in New Zealand…”
From then on, he became the best male caregiver at Cleveland Medical Center. Every day, he showed up on time in the ICU, gently cleaning the bodies of the comatose, carefully massaging their limbs, and softly speaking to them.
“This caregiver is really patient” the intern doctor remarked.
“It’s a shame he’s an ex–con,” the head nurse sighed.
“I heard it was all for a woman…”
8/9
Chapter 8
No one knew, he treated every patient as if they were me.
For atonement, for longing, for a wound that could never heal.
Life went on, just like the migratory birds outside the window, year after year, flying toward distant New Zealand.
