"M--A," he spelled. Then, after an incredibly long time of patient
puzzling, "M--A--MA. Oui, MA. Y a bon!" and embraced the whole ward in
one wide white grin before turning to the next syllable, "M--A--N." Once
more the puzzled frown on the black face, once more the whispered hints
from neighbouring beds, once more the triumph of perseverance,
"M--A--N--MAN!" He was just enjoying his success and chanting his
pidgin-French paean of happiness, "Y a bon! Y a bon!" when Soeur
Antoinette paused by his bed. "Tres bien, Sidi," she said, "mais il faut
les mettre ensemble," and with her white finger she guided his black one
back to the first syllable.
Here was difficulty indeed! He knew all right that M--A--N was MAN, but
what was M--A? And when, after intense effort, he re-discovered that
M--A spelled MA, it was only to find that he had forgotten what M--A--N
spelled. At last the other wounded could contain themselves no longer,
and the ward was filled with laughing shouts of "Maman!" in which
Samedou joined most happily.
Presently the English nurse passed the negro's bed, and he at once
turned to another branch of learning. "Good morning," he said, and, when
she smiled back a greeting to him, he added, "T'ank you," and looked
proudly round him at his fellow-patients as who should say, "See how we
understand one another, she and I!"
During a sojourn of many months in the hospital Samedou invariably met
the sufferings he was called upon to endure with an uncomplaining
fortitude, which might have seemed due to insensibility had not the
staff had ample proof that his silence was the silence of a fine
courage.
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