Denmark, January 1944

Regitze Ladekarl
Ralph’s Chicken
Published in
2 min readDec 19, 2019
Image from bentsbane.dk

They hurried down the street late in the dark afternoon. Barely anyone drove anymore, and other people had to step off and on the curb around them, and she kept looking at him for a reaction. He had his hands buried in the coat pockets, and his chin tucked into his woolen scarf.

As they reached the hospital entrance, he held the big glass door open for her, and just inside, she turned around as she pulled each finger on her leather gloves to take them off, first on the one hand then on the other.

He stepped up to the information counter with her right behind him.

“Could you please tell me which floor for the maternity ward?” he asked the clerk.

“Second floor, sir,” the clerk said.

“Thank you, sir,” she said as he was already heading for the broad set of stairs to the right in the lobby.

He went up the stairs, two steps at the time, while she followed more measuredly. They were so skilled in waiting by now; a few seconds would not make a difference. When she made it to the second floor, he stood outside the double doors to the ward, turning the brim of his hat around in his hands. He let the hat go with his right hand and placed his palm just under the little window on one of the doors and pressed it inward so she could walk through.

They both stopped at the empty nurses’ station inside.

“Can I help you?” said a nurse coming out from a room across the hall.

“Yes,” she said, “We are the Poulsen’s, you called us.”

“Ah, yes,” said the nurse, “please come with me.”

The nurse led them down the hallway to a large window on the left.

“It is the baby girl here in front,” the nurse said and pointed to an infant sleeping in a cod just inside and swaddled in a white blanket and wearing a pink hat.

“She was born at 5:15 this morning,” the nurse said, and after a moment, “I’ll be at the station when you are ready.”

There they stood while the world fell away. The winter ended, and the war ended, and the snow melted, and the barren landscape softened, and the walls crumbled, and no doors were necessary to keep hope and joy in.

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Regitze Ladekarl
Ralph’s Chicken

Regitze Ladekarl crafts universal tales from everyday lives with an honest and sharp pen.