5.
(kuule mun toive, mä haluan pois)

Sainte-Jeanne, May, 22

My Love,

I have no idea when you're going to read this, but I still want to write to you. I'm currently staying in Sainte-Jeanne, where I'm doing my student practice. I was supposed to have it in Paris, but things became complicated, and it was no longer possible. Instead, I was offered a place in Sainte-Jeanne Hospital and decided to take it. I had no possibility to inform you about it, and thus I send this letter.

I've only been here three days, yet I have no regrets about having come here. Sainte-Jeanne itself is nothing special - just a small town by a railway - but the vicinity of the hospital is simply beautiful. This facility differs a lot from Saint-Maurice Hospital, though they probably were established approximately the same time. However, Saint-Maurice is much more elegant, while this place is rather wild. At first, it served as a sanatorium, and that's why the hospital is located in a huge park, far from other places and locals. It makes me think of Saint-Grollo, a bit, with those trees and nature all around.

Every day, I speak with the patients. I forgot to mention it is a psychiatric hospital; that's why I compared it to Saint-Maurice. (But I won't mention it again, for it may stir some unpleasant memories in you). I work on the acute ward, meet different patients, and learn new things day by day. Sometimes it's upsetting, and sometimes it's funny - depending on a diagnosis. Upon coming home, I'm dead tired and unable to do more than just a short walk, and I sleep like log at night. But I really like it here, and I have a wonderful feeling that I can be of some use. Of course, a student like me can't do much, but I still try to be positive about it. I'm going to stay here one month, but it's not yet definitely decided.

Although we saw each other only last week, I already miss you very much. I want you to know that. I hope everything's all right at your end, and that you're in a good health. And that the weather in Paris is as good as here, that is: warm and sunny. Take care of yourself!

Yours

Joshua

PS. If you want, of course you can write to me. I'll be happy about hearing from you! The address is on the envelope. However, don't worry if I don't reply at once; I think about making a short trip to Esperanto. It's been a whole year since my last visit in Idealo, and I'd like to stop by some other places as well.

Josh critically regarded the result of his effort. Creating that letter, its content fitting in just one page, had taken nearly three hours. The biggest problem was making a decision as to what mood the note should be written in. He hadn't wanted to be attacking nor accusing - but, on the other hand, putting no emotion wouldn't do, either. In the end, he'd created something that resembled a message he might send at any point of their relationship... that was, at any normal point of their relationship. As if nothing had happened; as if nothing serious had occurred. As if they were still together. Well, this way wasn't right, either, for the image of Josh emerging from this letter wasn't exactly true: that Josh seemed not to care about the events of the last week at all, glossed over them, and consigned them into oblivion.

Yet, all in all, that was what he'd chosen, the lesser evil. Well, maybe it was the right way? That aiming at reconciliation, showing Alain that he still wanted him... Being patient with Alain hadn't failed him even once, so far. Sure, after every parting he'd felt as if he'd been torn in half... but he'd always managed to get himself together, and he hoped it would be the case in the future, too. Sure, he could have written something like, 'If you leave me once more, I will never want to see you again,' but it would be pointless. Especially that - which he realized more and more with every passing minute - Alain's presence mattered to him so much that he could pay any price. He knew that such attitude could bring out the worst in some people, yet he didn't consider Alain to be one of them.

Maybe it was some blindness on his part, after all; not that it would surprise him, for he'd always had a tendency to it... On the other hand, recently he'd started to slowly reach the conclusion that blindness - that particular liability to ignore some facts about another person - was probably a natural mechanism of a human psyche and could even have some important function. In that case, he should really be more forbearing towards himself and not try to always control all his feelings, thoughts, and emotions, or aiming at always acting the right way. What did it even mean: right? Correct? Faultless? But he wasn't a machine, only a living man. It simply wasn't possible to live one's life without making even one mistake. It was no use reproaching himself for every one, either.

However, he was supposed to think of Alain... No, he really didn't believe that Alain might decide at some point he could hurt Josh as much as he pleased, for Josh would always forgive him that. He knew that Alain genuinely cared about him and was concerned with his welfare... at least as long as he considered Josh someone important. And if he stopped, he would just disappear, that was all. Maybe it was the case this time, Josh didn't know. What he did know was that there were other options, and he acted upon one of them.

He put the letter inside an envelope and affixed the stamp he'd got by begging in the administrative office. Actually, he might walk to the post-box in the hall of the main building at once. Though it would be cleared no sooner than Monday... He looked at the watch; it was nearly three o'clock. The post-box by the station was probably emptied on Saturdays, too, but it would take him two hours to reach it, which was too long... He spent a moment, thinking whether such a trip to the town had any sense - he had nothing against a good walk, especially with such a wonderful weather... But he wanted to finally do some reading today... recline on the grass with a book and delve into arcana of patient work, at least theoretically. The letter should wait; he didn't even know if anyone waited for it... Besides, the post-box by the station must have been already emptied, too.

He put the letter aside and reached for a book, but holding it he became immersed in thought again. He laid his arms on the desk and rested his head on them, recalling what he'd written in the letter. He'd been staying in Sainte-Jeanne for just a few days, yet he really felt great here. It was no longer solely about the splendid nature, but about what he did here and how he was being received - which was better he could have imagined.

The last two days had been very intense. On Thursday, he'd met Dr Lenard and had begun to acquaint himself with the nurse staff. All of them had been so nice to him! Deep inside, Josh had feared they would consider him as an additional trouble, but, if anyone thought so indeed, they were good at hiding it. Dr Lenard, quite a young man, had given him the copy of the patient list, marking those that Josh could start working with. And Josh had started; the very same day, after lunch, he'd met five patients who, more or less, had opened their hearts to him... or, at least, had shared their contents with him. Josh would listen carefully, make notes, and tried not to miss any word. Sometimes he wouldn't understand a thing, sometimes he would feel completely useless; sometimes he would feel like shaking the person sitting before him. He would ask about the matters that had seemed significant. He would try to provide the patients with another viewpoint if he'd found it beneficial. He would comfort and show support, and stimulate optimism, Sometimes he would remain silent; some questions or statements would make him unable to give any response.

According to Madame Montagne's suggestion, he hadn't talked with the patients long, or so it'd seemed to him. However, the time had flown, and before he'd realized, it'd been four o'clock, while he'd yet had a paper work to do. He'd left past six, but hadn't felt bad about it. He hadn't been in a hurry, and the work had been filling him with happiness. The next day, it had been even better. On the morning report - Madame had been attending, apparently to keep an eye on him - he'd got to know Dr Beaufils, who'd cordially welcomed him in Sainte-Jeanne. She was a middle-aged woman with silvery hair and warm, gentle smile. The two psychiatrists took care of the three wards, and it was beyond Josh's comprehension how it was even possible.

He'd very quickly understood how swamped with duties every person in this hospital was. During the day shift, there were four nurses on the ward - an they were taking care of thirty patients! Just giving the medication and making sure that the patients took them, lasted over one hour, and the medication was scheduled to be given at least three times per day. Then, there were various hygiene activities by those who couldn't take care of themselves, tending to the patients in seclusion, and constant mitigation of the tension that, on such a big ward - and in this particular type of hospital - couldn't be avoided. There was simply no time for a longer conversation, even though everyone knew how crucial it was. A few words spoken by the patient's bed, a little help with writing a letter, sometimes some gesture or a compliment... was all that the staff members could afford, for there were next patients waiting. Still, they would perform their duties calmly and with patience, without any outbursts of anger or frustration... and it was only during Friday meeting that Josh had seen how the emotions were vented - in order to be able to again go out to the patients with a gentle smile and warm attitude. Apparently, that service wasn't easy.

Josh had quickly felt it himself, too. He approached his task with enthusiasm, joy, and excitement, yet he would come back home completely exhausted - while sitting by the desk or in the armchair couldn't wear him down so much, could it?! He guessed that what he'd heard from both Director and Madame Montagne - about not getting involved - had been not only a warning but also a reminding. Josh suspected that every member of the staff must have, to lesser or greater extent, be bothered by the patients' problems and suffering, no matter how often they would tell themselves they had better not. The only way out was to become completely indifferent, emotionally numb - but then, would anyone be able to actually do that job? Josh doubted it.

On the second day, there had been a queue in front of his office. Upon returning from lunch, he'd been anxious to see a whole gathering of patients who'd wished to speak with him. He'd had a difficult task to choose those few that the doctor had 'recommended' after the round; he hadn't felt like dismissing anyone just like that, only had promised to talk with everybody, but not today. Some had left politely, some had kept insisting, and some others had probably provided only a company, having no idea what had been actually happening there. In the end, Josh had left at six, again, yet with a feeling of a good work done.

However, one event filled him with embarrassment - a memory of the situation that had happened earlier, when he'd been listening to a bizarre story of a schizophrenic patient and couldn't understand a thing. A quarter past eleven precisely, a firm knocking had been heard, and the next moment the door had opened, revealing Madame Montagne wearing a stern expression. She had cast Josh a meaningful look and then, politely yet allowing no protest, had informed the patient (as abashed as Josh at that moment) that 'Mr Or would be busy until twelve.' After that, without any further comment, she'd dragged Josh out for lunch. Josh had decided that from now on he would go down for a meal even if it would be his only activity during his work day, and he planned to stick to his decision; aloud he'd promised it would never happen again.

Eating with Madame had somewhat intimidated him, but she had had mercy on him and hadn't related to the embarrassing situation at all, only - just as the previous day - had directed the conversation on Idealo. That subject wouldn't be exhausted in a day or two, and Josh supposed they would enjoy it for a longer while. Madame intentionally hadn't touched the work-related topics, while she'd been more than willing to converse about her home town. Josh had felt very quickly an urge to visit his old parts, which currently wasn't possible: the hospital absorbed him completely, both physically and mentally.

Today, he'd gone to work again - although he didn't have to work on weekends - for just three hours. He'd decided that he should use this opportunity, for it was both enjoyable for him and beneficial to others. However, he'd returned home after lunch, for he'd wanted to write this letter, and he'd been too tired to do it on weekdays, as he was to read.

He rose from the desk and grabbed the book again. During one of his walks, he'd found a wonderful spot with lots of forget-me-nots; it was perfect for reading, and he wanted to use it today. However, he didn't get far; in the corridor, he nearly bumped into Etienne. Actually, that was how their recent encounters had looked like the last two days. The nurse had been doing a night shift, so he would be in a hurry when Josh would come from work, and they would only have a short talk. They hadn't even managed to make Josh promised shopping, so he'd continued to stay on the mercy of the nurse and his supply, which made him feel guilty.

This time, however, Etienne brightened upon seeing him, as much as could be seen in this quite dark passage. "Going for a walk? So you're not bored with the place yet, are you?" he asked.

"I wanted to finally do some reading," Josh explained, waving the book. "I was too exhausted after work..."

"Don't overexert yourself," the nurse threw ironically and winced. "Reading? On Saturday? Well, don't you feel like going with me to the town?" he offered and, upon Josh's surprise, added, "I'm finished with night shift for now. I have two days off and start on day shift on Monday," he explained.

"A-ah... that's good, I think," Josh wasn't sure how to react.

"Sure it's good!" Etienne called cheerfully. "I'm going to compensate for that grind. Come with me," he insisted. "It's healthy to spend some time in a normal company, every now and then," he added mockingly. "My treat."

Josh hesitated for a moment before nodding. He had nothing against spending the afternoon with the nurse - the first person who'd treated him nicely here. He asked Etienne to wait and went back to the room to leave the book and take the letter. Soon, they were in the car, heading for the main gate and, later, for the town.

"So? Do you manage?" the nurse asked in a positive manner. "Two days isn't much, but you've probably started to realize what kind of work it is...?"

"Don't laugh at me, but I find it terribly delightful," Josh replied eagerly. "If someone had told me that I would enjoy working in an asylum so much, I wouldn't have believed. And know what? I have the impression I can be of some use... that what I do is significant... Even though I'm just a student."

Etienne nodded. "Sure it is," he agreed, and Josh felt happy. "You're of great help, really. Don't doubt it. The patients talk about you all the time," he added with a crooked smile.

"Oh," Josh said. "And... what do they talk?" he asked shyly. "I hope nothing bad...?"

"Nothing bad," the nurse assured him. "They are happy that you're here. Mrs Durand is of the opinion you helped her a lot, comforting her after that nightmare. Last night she didn't even wanted a sleeping pill; she was sure she would sleep well without it. Well, this morning she didn't complain about anything, regardless of how she'd slept."

Josh remained silent, unable to respond to such a praise. He thought the feeling of pride was going to blow him up. For a moment, he just stared at the green fields of rye waiting for the sun of early summer to colour them gold. Finally, when he could trust his voice again, he said, "I really can't understand why people won't come to work here. It a fantastic place. And a fantastic job that-"

"Would you like to do it all your life?" Etienne broke in.

Josh stopped in mid-sentence. Would he...? He mused. To tell the truth, it had been just two days... well, two and a half. And his duties didn't even resemble those of other employees... of real employees. He didn't really know a thing about this work - only that he returned home satisfied, but also dead tired. Would he be able to do it for many, many years...?

"Sorry if my statement offended you," he said quietly.

Etienne shook his head. "It didn't, I just... You're easily overwhelmed by rapture, right?" he said calmly. "When you like something, you're ecstatic at once, right? I suppose it works the other way round, too. While someone else can regard the same situation more objectively."

Josh fell silent again; he wondered how it was possible that the man, whom he didn't really know and who didn't know him, could pass such accurate judgement. Apparently, Josh was much more transparent he'd thought... But it was also true that Etienne was a psychiatric nurse.

"That's true," he replied even more quietly.

"I think that most people are scared of this place," Etienne went back to the initial topic. "Well, I mean 'scared' like in consider it to be a difficult work place: remote and with worsening staff situation. Most people, if they can choose, prefer to work in a big city, in a facility that employs the right number of workers. Here, the balance is so fragile that everything may collapse any moment," he said openly, adding, "I tell you that because you're one of us."

Those words warmed up Josh's hurt heart.

"Nice location isn't unfortunately the most important thing," Etienne went on, "and in this case it means nothing. Apart from that, work in psychiatry is hard, in a way. It's not that anyone is cut out for it; it's not that anyone can bear it. You can't really help it; you either manage or not. However, there are some issues that can be help... formal... practical issues like safety, possibility of further education, sufficient staffing, and, above all, controlled amount of work. If it's not existing, no-one's going to come here on their own will," he said matter-of-factly.

"What about you?" Josh asked. "What makes you stay here?"

"I just feel good. And I still manage the pace. As long as I'm not forced out, I'm going to stick to this place."

"Then, actually, you find that work appealing? And you decided to do it as long as you can?" Josh asked innocently.

"Yeah," Etienne replied, nodding.

"Than, why have you just reproached me for such way of thinking?" Josh demanded.

"For God's sake, I didn't reproach you," the nurse seemed to lose his patience. "You're over-sensitive. I just showed you that some people can think another way."

"Fine," Josh decided to accept the Etienne's version, especially that it was rather reasonable. "In any case, I like it here, and I hope I'll be able to say that one month from now, too," he claimed rather cockily.

"Then it will mean you're cut out for this work."

"After just one month?" Josh was surprised to hear that.

"One month in psychiatry is quite much, especially on an acute ward," Etienne explained. "How are things going with the staff?"

Josh brightened and spared a longer while on talking about how he'd been received on the ward. Well, now he was cautious about not bursting with enthusiasm like before, for he didn't want to expose himself for ironic remarks again - although he didn't believe Etienne say them out of spite. He went on and told about his contacts with the patients, the main reason for his good mood. At the same time, he wondered aloud whether he might seriously taking up clinical psychology, although he should rather wait at least one month. This time Etienne only listened to him, and Josh was mistaken if he counted on some support or encouragement. The nurse only said that he should listen to himself and base his decisions on his own will, not other people's viewpoint.

'I think you could handle that,' Josh suddenly remembered the words he'd been told long, long ago, by the man whose opinion mattered to him the most. Maybe they'd been accompanying him all those years, like a positive sign...? He didn't know.

Did Alain still think that? Did Alain still... think about him?

"Is there a post-box by the station? I have a letter to send," he said quietly.

Etienne nodded. They were already close to the town. Josh asked his companion to tell him more about Sainte-Jeanne, and his request was willingly answered. To tell the truth, there wasn't much worth mentioning here, but Etienne showed him the buildings and described their history: the town hall, the school, the library, the church. Once, Sainte-Jeanne had been only a small village, but its importance had grown with the establishment of the hospital. People willing to work in the facility had started to come here, and the settlement had expanded and been promoted to town. Construction of the railway line, which had taken place quite soon after the sanatorium had been opened, also must have contributed to that.

As they moved along, Josh realized that the best time of the town had been already gone; many tenements required a decent renovation, as did the pavements. However, people on the streets seemed happy, amongst them young ones and children, which bode well for the future.

They stopped by the station, where Josh sent his letter - the post-box was emptied daily, which pleased him - and then drove up to a small restaurant.

"It's good to taste some fine cooking once in a while," Etienne said, taking out the keys. "I'm sick of that hospital food already."

Getting out, Josh looked at him askance. "But the canteen is closed at nights," he remarked casually. "Once in a while, sure... I bet you're a regular here."

The nurse grinned, shutting the car door. They entered the restaurant, which made a very nice impression and wasn't crowded yet. As Josh had anticipated, his companion was welcomed like a good friend.

"What's new, Etienne?" came from the older man standing behind the bar, who radiated such self-confidence that he couldn't be anyone else but the owner. "Everyone's healthy?" he asked and chuckled, clearly satisfied from his joke.

"There are no healthy people; there are only undiagnosed ones," Etienne muttered and turned to Josh in order to introduce him. "This is Joshua. He's going to work one month in our place. He arrived on Wednesday."

"Good luck!" the man waved at Josh and then observed him for a moment before looking at Etienne again. "Let's hope your sisters won't be left with broken hearts. And your patients," he murmured and returned to the kitchen, but the clients had heard him and snorted.

Josh pressed his lips together and said nothing. Etienne guided him to the table by the window with the geranium. Josh took his place and fixed his eyes on the tablecloth. He felt offended - and, for some reason, embarrassed. His good mood had already vanished.

"Hey, don't bother yourself with what Rene said," the nurse had probably understand the reason behind his sudden silence.

"Madame Montagne said the same," Josh uttered, clasping his hands under the table, aware he shouldn't sulk at this age.

"As for Madame Montagne, you should bother yourself even less," Etienne added lightly. "She says that to every male person taking up employment in Sainte-Jeanne."

Josh looked up at him with hope. "Does she?"

"That's what I heard," Etienne shrugged.

Josh blinked.

"At least to those good-looking," his companion qualified. "I never heard that from her, personally. Apparently she didn't consider me to be any threat..." He winced and rubbed his chin. "Some years ago, we had some scandal here, a male nurse seduced... had an affair with a female patient... No, it must have happened even longer ago. I've been working here for ten years; that must have occurred earlier." He knitted his brows and mused.

Josh felt lighter at heart, a bit. Now he remembered that Madame had asked him whether he was familiar with some man... whose name he couldn't recollect. Maybe she had been referring to that scoundrel? That was probably so. Phew, good he learned what it was all about... "So that's why?" he asked with a relief.

"Yes. Such things shouldn't happen," Etienne said. "Though we too are only human beings... Madame just wants to better be safe than sorry."

"Well, I told her I am in a relationship and not into flirting with the patients," Josh replied, although he quickly realized it might provoke some questions he didn't feel like answering.

The nurse, however, only nodded and decided, "That's good."

"Yet, it's nothing pleasant to hear such a comment from an outsider." He still felt hurt by the greeting the owner had given him. "It's not like I can change my face. I mean..." He paused and blushed; such statement indicated he was a very conceited person, while it wasn't true, at least not in his own opinion. Etienne already cast him an amused look.

He was spared additional troubles when a waiter arrive to hand them the menu and recommended the dish of the day. Josh didn't want to appear picky, so he ordered that dish, and Etienne had the same. They didn't wait long, and the meal was brought with two glasses of wine. Etienne assured him he didn't intend to drink and drive, for he planned to visit the supermarket after the meal.

"You study psychology, right?" the nurse asked as they started eating. "Why, actually?"

"Someone suggested it to me once, and then I decided myself it was an interesting thing. In the end..."

They became immersed in the conversation.

Josh spent that afternoon very nicely. Food was tasty, and wine was acceptable, but it was the conversation with Etienne that he enjoyed the most, mostly because the experienced nurse didn't look down on him, only willingly shared his observation with him, as well as gave some useful hints for the patient work. Also, he told lots of funny anecdotes about the hospital, making Josh (who'd taken liking to his sense of humour, occasionally pretty acrid) laugh out loud. (Well, it was impossible not to laugh, for example, at one Italian tourist group that once had arrived with their coach at the hospital, in the middle of the summer night, to ask whether it had been that famous resort Saint-Jean). Etienne proved him that working in psychiatry couldn't be done when one was dead serious about it, otherwise no sentient person wouldn't stand it. Humour helped relieve the tension, make sadness lighter, and alleviate bitterness caused by every contact with those peculiar, often incurably ill people.

During the next two weeks Josh learned how to do it. He learned to appreciate the presence of male and female 'Jesuses' and other 'Messiahs', for there was something very invigorating in working with them. He learned to derive pleasure from the presence of euphoric maniacs, for no-one loved the world more than they or could build others up. He learned to laugh naturally and gently when a patient, after one month of treatment, upon the suggestion that it was high time to go home, for he didn't want to spend his whole life in a psychiatric hospital, said with terror, "Then this is a psychiatric hospital?" He learned to treat gallantly the patient staying in a telepathic contact with her husband - an Arab sheik - and rehearsing in details the long-distance conversations she had with him. He learned to politely refuse the proposal of marriage, as well as less decent ones, made by some patients. He learned to remain friendly sceptical about supernatural powers some manifested...

Of course, psychotic patients could be difficult, especially those with acute symptoms, but he was rarely allowed near them. Still, he felt helpless, being a witness of their attempts to escape, always doomed to failure; listening to their fears of non-existent persecutors and desperate screams; trying to convince them that no-one was going to hurt them here, in vain. It was a real comfort that such acute conditions used to recede quite fast, along with that nearly palpable suffering that couldn't be managed in any other way than medication. However, sometimes the symptoms - hallucinations and delusions - persisted, even though anxiety was significantly diminished, and the general level of functioning improved. Those patients kept believing that they were messengers of God or extraterrestrial creatures and had been given a mission to speak of the truth about the salvation or annihilation of humanity; or, during their walks, tried to convince Josh that they were being watched by someone who stayed invisible behind the trees.

Yet in general, what surprised him, patients with schizophrenia didn't seem to be particularly unhappy. Maybe it resulted from their lack of insight, he didn't know. In a way, they were endearing, and often much more polite than healthy people. Some were innocent like children and filled Josh with a feeling of protectiveness. Something about them evoked a deep compassion - maybe the fact they were often objects of groundless intolerance and rejection, and Josh had always been pretty sensitive to those matters. Each of them had their own story to tell, every one being fascinating - and always different. Josh listened to them with openness, understanding, sometimes even terror - and never had enough. He was a good hearer, although it didn't mean that every patients was happy to talk to him; there were some who wouldn't speak to anyone and seemed to live in another realm, as well as those who didn't really need another person to have a conversation...

Patient with depressive disorder were quite another group; they provoked him to much mixed feelings. To psychotic patients, Josh related with unconditional sympathy and never lost his patience, but working with depressive patients was as satisfying as frustrating. Maybe even more frustrating. And it touched him much, much more. People in severe depression, self-mutilating, and those after suicide attempts. It was a heterogeneous group - with old and young, men and women - yet their stories were always equally upsetting. The worst and most terrible was hopelessness, reflected in their words and gestures. Giving up on life. Lack of faith that something good could still happen. Suffering that only death could end.

Josh tried to help them - but he had the awful impression that his words lacked genuineness, and that it was obvious. He tried to talk about hope, life, and faith. He tried to inject optimism. He tried to show that it would be all right. He tried to persuade them to not surrender to despair only try to find a solution. However, it always seemed to him that they could see through him, realize that behind those words was someone who felt exactly like they did. Here and now, in Sainte-Jeanne, he became aware more than ever that he had never really got over his depression; that it was staying deep in him, entangled with his personality to the extent that made it impossible to ever separate them. And he thought, 'What right do I have to tell those people how to feel, if I'm not any better? It's a hypocrisy on my part.' After those meetings, he used to be sad and angry, frustrated and dejected. He would lose any faith in his actions, as well as all his self-confidence, that he hadn't had much of anyway. He would be distressed and couldn't focus. The feeling of failure was so acute it pained him.

Then, however, he tried to look at it from another viewpoint. 'I am just like they are; I lived through what they did. I was in the same place, in the same situation only one year ago. But since then I have experienced many good things and a lot of happiness. Every day proves to me that life is made of light and shadow, joy and sorrow. They don't know it; they see only shadow and sorrow, just like I did last year. They need help to move forward. I have to tell them there are good times ahead. That if they choose life, the chance to be happy will always accompany them. But if they give up on life, maybe they will end the pain, but will never experience any good, for everything will end.' And he would resume talking with new faith and optimism and give his best to assure them that the sun would appear from behind the clouds again, and climbing the hill, even if it required some effort, could provide with an entirely new view.

He knew he would never, as long as he lived, forget those very first patients of him and those meetings that every time turned him inside out, shocked him to the core, and left without any strength. Sometimes he felt like crying and weeping, sometimes he felt like shaking them in order to make them think in another way; sometimes he wanted to pack all of that up and return to Paris, now, the next moment, the same day - and forget about what he'd been through here. Yet he stayed, believing that even the presence of such a wretched person could be of some meaning for those suffering and hurt people, even if they didn't realize it.

There was Constance, woman in her late thirties, who told him she didn't want to live. For many months now, she'd been suffering from various physical symptoms and suspected to be seriously ill, but it only made her happy. She considered herself someone who hadn't achieved anything in her life. She was living alone, had no children nor close friends; people would always, sooner or later, disappear from her life. Her own family treated her as an oddball that couldn't be reached. Her younger sisters, successful both in private and professional life, mocked her and said she could only blame herself for that. Her parents criticised her and showed her no warmth. She had never been good-looking or fashionable, preferring domesticity over clubs and discos. She was well-educated and had a permanent office, yet she derived no pleasure from her work. She had welcomed strange symptoms with indifference and wasn't bothered with them as long as she could function. It was a neurologist that had referred her to a psychiatrist, who then had sent her straight to hospital to be treated. Herself, she doubted any effects - and, even more, any sense - of that treatment. She was of the opinion that her death was the best solution, also for people around her. She didn't believe anyone would shed a tear for her or miss her.

"Have you ever felt you're completely alone and there's no-one you can trust to confide in?" she asked calmly and resignedly, and Josh didn't know how to answer, so he remained silent.

There was Gilles, a boy even younger than he, with sad dark eyes, who had tried to kill himself after a heartbreak. Object of his feelings had been an older woman whom he'd loved with an obsessive admiration. He had written poems, had brought flowers, had adored her in every possible way. He would have done anything for her. The woman had returned his feelings and one night had fallen into his embrace, and Gilled had felt as if he'd gone to Heaven - while, in fact, he'd been taken to Hell. Afterwards, she had never spared him another glance nor spoken to him. She had discarded him like an old glove and had trampled over his feelings until there was only ash left. He'd lost all will to live, for the thought he would be able to trust another person seemed like the greatest abstract under the sun. He showed his healing wrists that would bear those scars for ever, for he'd cut with ferocity, with fury, with final determination, but his older brother had returned home early that day and had found him.

"Have you ever been in love? So much you didn't care about any obstacles, or other people's opinion, about what they might say? So strongly that when that flame were blown out, nothing was left?" Gilles asked with such emptiness in his voice that Josh thought it would take many years of happiness to fill it.

There was thirty years old Mireille, a single mother with an average face and fair locks of hair, whose only child had fell ill and died. She had accompanied him during the long illness, had stayed with him until the very end, always smiling and secretly wiping her tears. She had given her little son all love she'd had, all presence, in order to make him happy, to make him feel safe. When he'd passed away, she'd lost all her will to live. She'd taken all sleeping pills she'd had at home, yet it wasn't been enough; when the next day she'd gone to the doctor for a new prescription, she'd been sent here.

"There is no-one I can live for. No-one for whom I can wake up. I know that he won't smile to me again, and his hands will never grasp my neck. There's no greater pain for a mother than death of her child, even if she had ten of them... and I had only him... my little sweetheart that I would have given anything. Yet he left, and I'm still here. If life should be so cruel, then I don't want it," she cried her suffering out in Josh's office, and he was petrified, facing such torment.

There was fifty years old Hannah, whose husband had left to another woman, without caring about the marriage that had spanned over three decades and children they had brought up together. Hannah had lost much more than her husband, among all feeling of security and self-worth. She'd had no courage to show herself to other people, fearing their mocking comments and degrading looks. Shame had weighted on her and paralysed; uncertainty had taken all her strength. Living in a cage of her remorse and belief she'd been at a fault, had been insufferable. When she'd made her decision, she'd felt relieved. She'd turned the gas on, but the neighbours had alarmed the proper services, and she'd been discovered in her flat.

"Why am I not allowed to do it?" she asked. "Why do you want me to suffer more? What is the point? I won't stand it any longer. You don't know how it is: to feel the least worth... the most wretched person in the world," she assailed him, and Josh couldn't answer.

Their arguments would always hit the nail on the head, and disputing them seemed impossible, at least for Josh. He realized that anything he might say would have no meaning. So he kept silent and hoped for the miracle.

And the miracles happened. Here, in Sainte-Jeanne Hospital, the miracles really happened, all the time - thanks to the medication, surroundings, support, treatment as the whole. Everything. Constance slowly stopped thinking of death and instead thought about what she could do after discharge: she might talk with her parents about their behaviour towards her; she might take a pet, so that getting home wouldn't be so lonely; she might try to meet someone new, a companion to spend time together. Gilles' eyes were no longer so empty, and there was more energy to his gesture. He ate better and no longer stared at his wrists. His face stopped resembling a tragic mask, its features becoming smoother. He seemed to see more of the world again and feel interested in life anew. Mireille and Hannah found one another - two lonely women who needed to see that they weren't the only suffering people in the world, only there was someone else so very close who needed as much help and comfort: a friendly smile and a stretched hand.

Josh felt it was happening just like that - and the credit didn't really go to anyone. Maybe it was an instinct to survive, present in every person; that constant aiming at homoeostasis, able to overcome the most difficult trial. Objectively speaking, nothing had changed in those people's existence, and their problems were still there - yet they seemed to have more strength and will to cope with them, to face them. When they left the hospital, one by one, in order to return to life again, Josh felt elation that had been unknown to him before. They certainly had yet to fight many battles, but for him they already were the victors. They set a good example, and they gave him motivation, so that he could go to another people in need... They strengthened his sense of purpose and brought confidence to the words that he could say to another sufferers.

It had been two weeks since Josh's coming to Sainte-Jeanne, and June had already started. On one hand, the time had flown by; on the other hand, it seemed to him he'd been here much longer, for every day has been very intense so far. The fine weather continued, although, fortunately, it had rained, too; it was only desirable during such heat. Every time it was possible, Josh tried to take the patients outside, to the park, so that they had some change after staying on a close ward for so long, sometimes many weeks. They would walk in the shadow of the trees or, if a patient didn't feel strong enough, would simply sit down on the nearest bench and talk.

Today Josh was accompanied by Gilles, who two days ago had got a permission to go out with assistance. His discharge was coming near, and Dr Lenard was currently arranging him a place in the university hospital. They were supposed to handle his left palm, that remained somewhat paralytic due to the injury, and improve its functioning; it might need another operation to reconstruct the damaged tendons. Gilles viewed such a prospect calmly; he wanted to use his hand again and was ready to work on it. Josh talked with him every day, and this week it would always happen outside.

They were walking amongst the great trees, and Gilles' eyes - like they used during every walk - absorbed everything around as if he were seeing the world for the first time in his life. He stared at broad trunks and vividly green leaves, overgrown bushes here and there, wild flowers in the high grass... It seemed that he considered dandelions and buttercups, daisies and yarrows, lilies-of-the-valley and forget-me-nots as the greatest wonders of nature, while magpies and sparrows flying amongst the tops deserved his deep admiration.

"How are you feeling?" Josh asked like he used to, although in Gilles' case the improvement was obvious.

Gilles didn't take his eyes off a squirrel running on the branches of the old beech. "I want to leave here," he replied. "I've spent over a month here... And now I regret every day, every hour I have to be here. How am I feeling? Good. I think I've never felt so good before."

"How is your hand?"

The young man raised his left arm and tried to flex his fingers, but he succeeded only with two of them and not completely. The wounds on his wrist had almost healed, but he didn't give them much attention. "Like this."

"I'm sure they'll do something about that," Josh said, trying to comfort him. "I didn't ask you... Do you play music?"

"No. Though now I feel I'd like to try everything... Even those things that I wasn't interested before. Maybe I'll take some music lessons."

"It would motivate you extra to rehabilitation," Josh suggested carefully. "Well, everything that requires using hands will do, actually."

Gilles remained silent, staring at his wrist. "It was so stupid... Completely pointless," he said after a while. "Because of some woman..." He paused, and his lips began to tremble. He wiped his eyes with a sleeve and continued walking with his gaze fixed ahead, and Josh allowed him that silence.

"It is how life is..." he finally stated in a gentle voice. "Things just won't happen like we want them to; the first love is often the case. Sometimes you have to wait before you find that right person." He remembered Cecile had said something so wise, long ago... although right away she had added some biting remark. "You shouldn't give up, only try again."

"For now... I lost any interest in love," Gilles uttered, and there was clear disgust to his words. He shook his head, making his long hair wave in the air. "I had better occupy myself with something more sensible. I thought about going to the university. I won't make it now, but they should have another recruitment in the late summer..."

Josh decided to let the emotional topic alone. It was obvious that it was a very painful matter for the boy, and it would take a while until he managed to relate to it calmly. Such wounds healed much longer than those made by a tool; hopefully, contrary to the latter, they wouldn't leave permanent marks. He decided it was a good thing that Gilles thought about his future.

"Are you considering any special field?" he asked.

"No, not yet, but I'll think of something," Gilles replied brightly. "I only know that I don't want to go back to my home town."

"Do you have any points of interest? Something you'd like to do professionally?" Josh suggested.

Gilles mused over that. "Maybe literature, I don't really know... I'll think of something," he repeated, and it seemed the matter didn't bother him much. "There are so many things I could do. For now, I'm happy to be outside again... marvel at the nature. I feel... free. As if I got out of some cage... left some dark place where everything restricted me. Only now I feel I'm alive. I feel it with my whole body."

"And you... no longer think of death?" Josh asked in the most natural voice.

"No, not at all," Gilles answered casually, shaking his head. "That... seems like a nightmare. And I finally woke up. I don't know how I could be so stupid and try something like that. Now I feel like a fool."

Josh gave him a sympathetic look. "Well, you shouldn't," he objected. "Try to be kind to yourself. You suffered so much you didn't see any other way out... any way to bear that pain. When a person is in a difficult situation, he can make decisions he might have never made in another, better circumstances. It's very human. Suffering often obscures rational thinking..." His thought flew back to the event from one year ago and the incident with the church tower. Yes, he knew perfectly well what he said, and he did understand Gilles. "What matters the most is that everything ended well. And you can learn from your experience."

The boy nodded, his eyes following a colourful butterfly that slowly flew over the path towards the cluster of flowers nearby. "That's true."

"I think that the most important thing is to move forward," Josh went on. "We can't change our past... what we've done so far. We can only learn from our mistakes, don't you think?"

"Yes, I agree," Gilles said. "Don't you know how long I am going to stay here?" he changed the subject for more urgent, or maybe Josh's talking annoyed him already.

"I don't. It's Dr Lenard who decides about it. Well, he is certainly going to talk with you before that... Actually, don't you have the appointment tomorrow?"

"No idea."

"I think I heard something like that..." Josh said with hesitation. "In any case, he is very contended with your recovery. You may expect to be discharged rather soon." Gilles nodded again. "We all are happy because of your improvement. I heard you'd been in a very severe condition upon coming here. Only two weeks ago, when I met you for the first time, you didn't feel well, you were so depressed, so hopeless... What made you overcome that illness, can you say?" he asked cautiously. "Of course, treatment is important, but it's a person himself that makes a decision about his recovery, deep inside."

The boy folded his arms and walked in silence. "One day I just realized there's still the whole life ahead," he answered in the end. "And that I don't want to spend it in such place. I decided to get out of here. I think it gave me... motivation."

"I see."

"Have you ever thought that I might escape during such a walk?" Gilles asked unexpectedly, casting him a fleeting look.

"And where would you go? It's nearly ten kilometres to the nearest town. Nothing but fields all around," Josh replied with a smile. "You would only become tired. It's better to stay here, where you have a place to sleep and regular meals. Ah, I was about to ask you. What about your appetite?"

"All right. I eat everything I'm offered."

"Sleeping?"

"Good, I think."

"You no longer have those nightmares?"

"No... I can't remember having any recently. I sleep well the whole night."

"Are you refreshed in the morning? Or tired?"

"No, I think I have more and more energy every day," Gilles said, shaking his head. "Sometimes it's hard to stay in one place. I'd like to do something, but it's not possible here..."

"That's true," Josh agreed and looked at his watch. "Ah, it's going to upset you, but we have to go back."

Gilles nodded, and they turned back to the main building. Josh would like to talk with the boy longer - there were more things he'd like to ask about - but the next patients waited for him.

Later, as he was writing down his observation from that day in the medical history, it was with a smile that he recorded his own impressions as well as what he'd heard from the young patient.

The patient considers his suicide attempt to be a mistake. He focuses on the future and living; he thinks of starting the university studies. He is interested in his surroundings. He sleeps well, and has a normal appetite. He doesn't feel particularly fatigued. He describes his mood as good.

It corresponded with the general image that Gilles had presented during last week... no, even longer. His improvement seemed stable, and it was true that the whole staff was happy about it. His case gave hope and was a good counterweight for the patients with chronic, incurable psychoses - even though Gilles' suffering was much more difficult to bear. Apparently, there was some balance in psychiatry, and some people could be helped and recover fully - just as it had happened in Alain's case and, Josh didn't doubt it, Gilles'. Sure, no-one could tell about the future, but it concerned all people. Josh knew that depressive disorder was the most common psychiatric ailment... but today the most important was that the episode was over and Gilles' future seemed brighter, above all in his own eyes.

Josh put the pen aside and stared outside the window. Times like now made him feel the most that what he did had sense and that it was worth to try. Moreover, he suspected that in two weeks, when his practice period was over, he would very strongly consider clinical psychology as his path...

In two weeks... What would he do then? Would he decide to stay here longer, for the rest of his holidays? Or would he return to Paris? But... what should he return to? Alain hadn't contacted him... hadn't sent him any message that he would like Josh to return. The letter must have reached the place already... but it was another thing whether Alain had read it. Maybe he hadn't even come back to Paris? Maybe he would never come back again...?

Josh shook his head. Such thinking didn't help anything. Actually, the mood he'd been in during his coming to Sainte-Jeanne - that peculiar calm that everything would be fine - hadn't gone away. He suspected it was that strange belief - that he didn't want to consider as another manifestation of his blindness - had supported him during those last two weeks. That great, satisfying work too, of course... but in reality it had been the very first time without Alain that Josh could endure in such a good mood. He, who believed that life without love was a vegetation and had reacted with depression to every parting so far...

He would think of Alain every day. Even if he focused on the patients, Alain would always stay in his subconsciousness. The post-box would remind of Alain. The pigeon hole he'd got on the ward would remind of Alain. The desk in his office and the bed he slept on would remind of Alain. When he walked amongst the thicket, and the leaves tickled his face, he would remember Alain's kisses. When he took shower, he would remember Alain's touch on his skin.

No, Alain Corail was a part of him - a part of his life - and Josh didn't believe to be ever able to forget him. He missed him terribly. Sometimes he felt like boarding a train and going to Paris, in order to hurl himself in his arms... but the thought that Alain might not been there would stop him. Upon sending that letter, he'd hoped that Alain would contact him. Well, Alain wasn't someone who used to write letters... Still, Josh had hoped for some kind information, anything. But it had been already one week and a half... and it hadn't happened.

No, he didn't want to think everything was over. Not like that. Sure, it would be very Alainish: just disappear. Yet, Josh didn't accept that. He wanted some explanation... but maybe he asked too much.

He sighed. Maybe he should call him again? Alain must have answered sometimes? Or maybe he should ask Mrs Corail once more? But she would probably only shower him with more mockery, which would only worsen his mood... But there were no other options. Alain had asked not to look for him, so Josh couldn't go to the police and make a missing person report. Now, it would be peculiar. 'So, when did he go missing?' 'Last month, officer.' Yeah, he could visualize the expression of the policemen...

In fact, he had no other option than returning to Paris - hoping that Alain was there. Safe and sound. Just like always. And everything would be fine.

And, what a shame, that option seemed the most appealing to him. He couldn't explain that calm he'd related to the situation that any other day would have certainly drove him into despair. Maybe he'd really learned something during all those four years of being and not being with Alain?

Or maybe he'd lost his sense of reality and had become delusional?

He rubbed his forehead and mused, yet he wasn't able to come to any new conclusions. Alain would always leave him and then come back. For all those years, Alain had loved him... at least when they had been together - that time in high school and during last years; Josh had no doubt about it. Besides, 'to love' was a relative concept that meant different things to different people; in Alain's case, maybe it was more proper to say that he 'cared' or 'it was important to him'. Josh - and it wasn't about lack of self-criticism - didn't believe that, suddenly and without any reason, Alain would stop caring and it would stop being important to him. For there really was no reason. No matter how he regarded his actions of last month or two, he had done nothing - really, nothing! - that Alain might hate him for. The most probable was that Alain would return and apologize for something that would never occur to Josh in the first place.

Maybe that feeling had been accompanying him during his stay in Sainte-Jeanne. Oh, how he wished it were true! Perhaps it would mean that, first, his intuition was still there, and, second... that he'd really grown up. It had taken him a longer while, but if he was able to analyse things this way - constructive, not destructive - and find rationale behind them, maybe his life would be easier from now on...? If he'd reached the state of understanding that the relationship meant satisfaction of the both parts, not only one, then he'd really made progress.

It was a comforting thought, indeed: that a person's development didn't end with reaching eighteen years of age. Well, he did know that from his studies, yet it was quite another thing to learn it from experience. Life gave its lessons every day; that truism still held. Maybe, if he hadn't had Alain, he would have still dwelt in romantic - and so unrealistic! - beliefs about love, relationship, or being with another person.

Of course, all of that was based on the thought that Alain would come back. But if he didn't? How long would Josh wait for him? Not for ever, right? If Alain had left for good - what then? It wasn't something he could ponder on. Not now. And maybe he didn't have to. Maybe he should decide that, in that case, he would search for Alain - never mind the way, he would do it - and request an explanation. And everything would be concluded...

But the very thinking of it made his chest hurt. It seemed that, even if he had matured a bit, here was his limit, at least for today - and he should accept it. He didn't even feel like imagining that one day he would be ready to say goodbye to Alain.

He looked at the paperwork behind him and took the pen again. It would be good to leave before six, unless he wanted to set some new record. Certainly, Madame Montagne wouldn't be pleased if she learned about his overwork. However, he found it difficult to focus since, aroused by his previous reflection, his main thought was the desire to meet Alain...

Hear my wish, I want out (of here) - Arttu Wiskari, "Tuntematon potilas"