Chapter Fifteen

Hansen turned the watch over and over in his hand. Once again, he was overcome by the sadness of it all. Why? Why did it always come down to this? He looked at the clock. It was a new one. The old clock had gone missing and the general staff at the hospital thought it was unusual. Who would steal a normal everyday cheap clock off the wall? They put it down to a weird patient who had come and gone. The new one was better. Hansen liked it a lot better. It was plastic, but its face was not scratched and the fake gold trim made it look more expensive than it was. He watched the second hand. He held his breath for ten seconds. The second hand moved and ticked and Hansen counted under his breath. TEN! He let his breath out. He looked down at the watch. It was a metal watch. It had belonged to one of the boys in the ward. Now, it was in Hansen's hand, as he sadly turned it over and over. He looked at the face of it. Like the other watches, it had an hour hand, a minute hand and a second hand. The second hand ticked away, oblivious to the world around it. Every second the same as the one before. No shorter, no longer. Consistent, unchanging. Hansen liked seconds. Hansen liked time. He opened the draw. The draw was empty. Now, it contained the metal watch. A boys watch. A watch that ticked. The ticking somehow made Hansen feel more at ease. Still, the sadness remained. Why did it always come down to this? Why could life not be more consistent like the ticking of the watch? He shut the draw. He tried not to think about the watch. He had watches at home. Hundreds of watches. He liked watches. He liked clocks. He did not like the digital ones though. He only liked the ones which had second hands. The ones which ticked. The ticking soothed him. It reminded him of something consistent. It was something to contrast against the fragile nature of the world. The world was too dynamic. It changed too often. People come, and people go, and there was always someone dying. Dying of something. He was a doctor. He tried to help, he tried to stem the flow of human suffering. If only he could make sure that another person could survive for one more day. Give some consistency to other peoples lives. They could come to the hospital and their loved one would still be there. Still waiting for their visit. The watch made him sad. It always came back to this. Why? He placed his head in his hands and stared at the clock. He counted off a minute. The second hand counting his anguish. Every second was another second of his failure. Slowly, removing another second from his life. Another second from another persons life. He wondered how many people were dying in that very minute he was slowly counting off second by second. The second hand reached the twelve again, and the minute had passed. He reached for the draw. He looked down at his hand. Should he open the draw? Of course he would. He always did. He opened it. He looked at the watch. Then he slammed the draw in frustration. He gritted his teeth and locked the draw. Coffee! He would go for some coffee! He picked the mug up from his desk. He was not sure whose mug it was. He never used his own mug at work. He did not even have his own mug. He always used someone else's. At home, he had lots of mugs. Lots of clocks and lots of watches. This was not his mug. It was obviously a girls mug. It was white with red roses on it. He got to the kitchen area. Nurse Jane had seen him from the nurses station and hurried to the kitchen so she could be there the same time as him. 'You have my mug,' she said as she entered. 'Sorry?' 'My mug. The one with the roses. It's mine.' 'Oh,' Hansen was a little perplexed. 'I thought I bought you the Garfield one.' 'Yes, yes. I still have that one. I took it home. I thought it was a little ... special.' 'Special?' Jane blushed and looked down, one hand touched her heart. How much had she given away? Would he realise how much of a crush she had on him? 'It was such a nice mug. I liked it, and, you know. It was mine, so I took it home. I brought this other one. The one with the roses on it. I thought no one else would use it.' 'Oh, sorry. I was just using it. I don't have my own. I just use which ever is in the kitchen at the time.' 'That's Okay,' she lied. 'I don't mind you using it, but there seems to be a coffee mug thief working here. That's why I took the other one home. This one is just a cheap mug.' He sheepishly smiled and handed her her mug back. He took one of the other mugs from the shelf. A plain white mug with nothing on it. 'Oh, you don't want to use that mug!' exclaimed Jane. 'That's sister Agnes' mug. You might catch something.' 'Oh!' he laughed. 'I might start babbling incessantly if I use this one. Ja?' 'Ja! I mean yes!' she laughed a little. They both looked at each other smiling. Something melted inside her. If only he knew. 'I will try this one then,' he said taking a bright orange mug. It had, 'So many men, so few bullets written on it.' 'Looks good, Ja?' he said to her. 'Yeah! I think that one is Sam's. She's nice enough. Only thing you can catch from her is niceness I suspect.' 'Sounds good. I can always do with some niceness.' 'Oh Doctor, you are plenty nice already.' 'Plenty nice?' 'Very nice. You're a nice person,' she touched his hand again. This time he looked a little uncomfortable. 'I have to return to working. Bye,' he managed a slight smile as he left. 'Oh, no!' thought Jane, 'I've offended him!'