Belsen haunted my friend to the grave
A patient, an old woman with white hair, stripped of speech by dementia, followed us each shift, staying an inch behind, wanting nothing more than human presence. We let her into the staff room, where she hovered behind whoever was nearest, her tattooed number visible on her forearm. They found a young girl, Doris, who could speak some English. Malnutrition had left her mouth and face gangrenous I am aware of only one other patient, these past 30 years, who had survived the Nazi death camps. Normally sane and sensible, dusk brought confusion, dragging him backwards in time. Each sundown he began screaming and we could not console him; he
