The Asylum Ward’s Unseen Hunger

I was haunted, and my nights were crowded with horrid dreams. The ward was filled with the sounds of moaning, yet I sought a way to escape. I looked out of my window toward the back porches at a low, uncomfortable building. The shadow of the building was mirrored on the wall while I looked at a bird that alighted near the surface of the pond. I then found other birds building their nests. An inmate of the ward ridiculed the network of the birds and their labor of love, but the sight gave me hope. I saw a line of laborers going to their homes, and my horror began to fade away.

Then I went into the ward. I saw a struggling, ragged crowd jamming into the dining room. A man stood at the side of the door and kicked the men as they became jammed in the doorway; it was like leading cattle into a car. The seats were crude benches. Beside each plate was a common iron tablespoon, and in front of the plate was a bowl of tea. The plates contained a few prunes and a piece of butterine. Some of the stronger patients grabbed an extra plate and dumped its contents upon the one in front of them. Others made wild lunges at the bread. We were obliged to spread the butterine on the bread by using the iron spoon, for neither knives nor forks were on the table.

I tasted of the prunes. They were dry and had a musty flavor. I always ate one or two until one night I found a blue, cooked worm in mine. After that, I never touched them. The butterine was foul; it always had a repulsive taste. The bread was ample in quantity, but seemed to be unsalable stuff from several city bakeries. The slop called the tea was never hot, nor did it ever taste like tea; I shall always believe it was the refuse of coffee, tea, and chocolate from the tables of the attendants and wardens. While invalids who needed nutrition were obliged to make a supper of miserable prunes, I saw seemingly robust men with bowls of hot milk, bestowed upon those patients who were in favor—those who could help around the ward.