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They walk into the room where volunteers have unloaded Eric’s supplies—dozens of brown cardboard boxes, each the weight a healthy young person can heft, each labeled with a code. The boxes contain essential drugs, instruments, surgical supplies, and plenty of bandages. Eric explains to the doctors that the contents of each kit are written in their language and that they should open all the boxes, remove the supplies from the polystyrene chips, and sort like items for their convenience. Looking at their exhausted, passive faces, he fears they won’t do it. The patient, knee propped up on a folded blanket, remains still, silent. Ejub stares at the leg as he works, face impassive, deepening the incision, bowing flesh with his scalpel as if playing a violin. The world has constricted to the leg, the leg and the job he has to do, like a piece of wood he needs to whittle into shape. He reaches his orange brick apartment building and enters the door on the west side. He goes to sleep in his marriage bed. Like every night for three months since the fighting started, no matter where he sleeps or for how long, he dreams about the wife and son he sent away for safety. The primary task of the medical professional is to preserve health and save life.—Regulations in Time of Armed Conflict, World Medical Association, 1956, 1957, 1983
