The Islands of Dr. Thomas by Francoise Enguehard

converted into a “hospice,” as nursing homes were called here. “What kind of a doctor was he?” she wondered. A little later, on a brand new page of her notebook, she would let her imagination guide her towards the answer.
    â€œThe doctor is on his way, Mrs. Gautier,” whispered Sister Hélène. “He’ll explain it to you.”
    Thérèse Gautier, her face hidden in her handkerchief, between two sobs, whispered: “Is he gonna save my Louis, at least? Eh, Sister, is he gonna save him?”
    At that very moment, Doctor Thomas enters the small waiting room and sits on the wooden bench next to Mrs. Gautier.
    â€œMister Gautier is a lucky man. What at first looked like tuberculosis is simply an acute bronchitis. I’ll save your husband, Mrs. Gautier,” the doctor said quickly and gently, “but you’re going to have to take good care of him,” he said, taking her hand in his. “Otherwise...I’m not responsible for what happens.”
    â€œThank you! Oh thank you, Doctor!” cries Thérèse, “I’ll take good care of him, for sure. You’ll see.”
    But that is exactly what worries the doctor. “For months I’ve been trying to get through to these mothers that they are killing their husbands and children by overheating their houses, never letting in the fresh air, keeping them in the kitchen for hours near the coal stove until they are turning scarlet!” he had complained, again and again, to his wife.
    â€œYour husband needs to rest for a few weeks. Then he should go outside, Mrs. Gautier—dressed warmly of course! He has to get some fresh air. It’s very important.”
    â€œBut Doctor, that’s how he caught cold!”
    â€œOn the contrary! He is having trouble breathing and his lungs are tired because he has been sitting at home in the heat, doing nothing. He needs fresh air and exercise,” the doctor adds, trying to sound authoritative, but is just barely convincing. “If you want him to be able to go back to his fishing in the spring, you’ll have to listen to me on this one…”
    He feels his instructions carry some weight. The work argument is more persuasive than all his theories about fresh air and exercise, which he knows confuses his patients and their families. According to an old local saying that people would not stop repeating to him, a draft that is not strong enough to blow out a candle is still strong enough to kill a man.
    Mrs. Gautier stands up.
    â€œCan I go and see him?” she asks.
    â€œCertainly. We’ll keep him here a few more days and then he can go home. Go ahead.”
    After Mrs. Gautier leaves, Doctor Thomas goes back to his office. He thinks about the numerous patients upstairs in the sanatorium, fighting their disease, alone, away from their loved ones. Some days he observes the patients who are still strong enough to stand at the window, to “watch life go by,” as they say, or wait for a member of their family to come by and from the street shout the latest news from their child, their mother, their grandfather.
    He feels desperately inadequate in his struggles against the disease which he fights without much success most of the time. “Such misery! On the sea, on the land, in their homes...everywhere, illness and accidents afflict these poor souls. I see nothing but suffering, from morning to night.”
    All the trusting expressions on the faces of his patients and their families affect him deeply. “They look at me as though I can do anything. And I know so little...”
    â€œDoctor, Doctor, come quickly! Marie-Marthe Puchuluteguy is about to deliver her baby,” explains Sister Hélène, utterly flustered. “It’s a breech birth...” she adds, with a worried look.
    One day, Émilie studied and then put aside the photographs taken at sea or onboard fishing boats. A sailor’s daughter, she