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The concert disappears, dissolving into the dark hospital room, the nurse next to me. Iām back, back in the place where there is no night and there is no day. Itās this womanās fault Iām back here. Iām suddenly filled with blinding, focused rage. I wind my right arm back and punch her in the chest. She gasps. [ŠŠ°ŃŃŠøŠ½ŠŗŠ°: _4.jpg] At the hospital Nedret meets with doctors and nurses, finds out who has come in during the night, assesses the condition of his patients, and examines them if necessary. Then, using instruments the nurses have sterilized overnight by boiling, he starts with surgeries. They take place in the operating room, which he moved upstairs, away from the busy hospital entrance, to reduce his patientsā risk of infection. The shopkeepers eye them with suspicion. Perhaps, Eric figures, theyāre being taken for spies. Then again, the owners seem more than happy to accept their German marks, hard currency being much more valuable than the rapidly inflating Yugoslav dinar. One of the men hanging around the store asks where they are from and where they are going. Srebrenica, they tell him. āYouāre going to our enemies,ā the man says. āGo and kill them.ā THE SURGEON SHOWED UP wearing gym clothes. We met in the smokefilled interior of one of Bosniaās best hotel caf?s, where, gesturing, drawing, and occasionally lifting his tall, athletic frame from his seat to underline a point, he told me the story that had made him famous. It began with his hike across twenty-five miles of enemy territory to reach the besieged eastern Bosnian town of Srebrenica. There, along with a small band of village doctors, most barely out of medical school and not one a surgeon, he ministered to the medical needs of 50,000 people. Rudimentary equipment and the lack of electricity, running water, and often anesthetics were just the beginning of the hardships.These doctors and nurses were visited by nearly every imaginable affliction of modern war.
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