here was a light.
   Not bright, but dull, muted and yellow.
   I opened my eyes.
   I was looking at a lightbulb suspended above my head, a white pan collar around it, a tiny chain hanging down, but otherwise naked. It wasn't all that bright. I could see the filament in side the clear glass, glowing an orange-red hot.
   I think I stared at the bulb for a full minute, trying to remember what happened, but my mind seem completely blank.
   Really blank. I couldn't seem to recall any details of anything. Only the light, it's orangey filament seemed to be everything I knew.
   Suddenly a new thought occurred to me: Where the hell am I?
   I turned my head slightly and a wave of nausea ran through my body, my vision swam and a dizziness, like being on a ship, pass through my head. I closed my eyes and I could still see the afterimage of the glowing filament swirling around the darkness.
   The wave started to passed and I realized I was clutching a blanket at my side. Actually, I seemed to be in a bed of some kind. It didn't seem all that comfortable and the blanket was coarse, like wool.
   I know wool, I thought.
   I turned again and the combined nausea and dizziness came again, but passed more quickly. Or maybe I knew it was going to happen and it just seemed that way.
   My eyes adjusted from the bright light to the darkened room.
   I could make out another bed next to me, a cot really. And a figure laying in the bed. His hair matted down on his head, his arm over the dark grey or green blanket, encased in a swath of gauze up to his neck. What looked like rubber tubes came out of the wrapping at his shoulder and a pair of scissors clamped them off, folding them up against the bandages.
   Beyond him, there appeared to be more beds, more people, more bandages. A few lights, similar to the one over my head, dangling from the sloped ceiling on long cords. Brown wooden beams ran down the sides and held the ceiling up, like an unfinished roof. There was a single beam running the length of the room directly at the end of the row of cots, about six feet off the ground. Some yellow curtains hung down from some of them. Others had cords holding up the end of cots, elevating them.
   Hospital? What's a hospital?
   An image coalesced in my head of a bodies, dressed in white gowns suspended from the ceiling on wires.
   Wait, that's a movie.
   Another image of a sitting in a darkened theater swam into my brain.
   Isn't that a movie?
   There was movement to my right.
   I turned slightly, the dizziness comes, but I can see the bandaged man jerking his arm, convulsing. He started groaning and the rubber tubes flipped around like little tentacles.
   Another figure from down the far side of the room starts walking up towards me. Or the man. The figure was blurry, but clearly dressed in some kind of white robe. Blue arms, it looked a little bit like a short order cook.
   Short order cook, floated around my brain.
   The figure became a woman, the white apron covered her entire torso and she wore a similarly white headdress. There was a small, embroidered red cross over her left shoulder.
   She quickly touched the man and said something that sounded like gibberish to me, but it was soothing in tone and the man groaned, but stopped convulsing. She repeated whatever she was saying, stroking his head, her arm across his chest, holding him down.
   I couldn't understand her. I could hear it, but it failed to connect to anything that made sense. But I felt like I should know it. At least know what I wasn't supposed to understand, there was some strange familiarity to it..
   I opened my mouth to speak, and a dry, horse, crackle came out instead.
   This caught the woman's attention and she looked up from the man in the cot.
   Very quickly, she jerked her head back and, loudly, rattled off something that was clearly an order, but still in that unrecognizable language.
   Language! I found myself thinking out of nowhere. She's speaking another language. But what?
   The woman got up and walked extremely fast down from where she came, footsteps echoing loudly off the wooden floor. She was spouting off more orders and pointing back in my direction. She was clearly agitated, probably at having to repeat herself.
   Without warning there was someone on my opposite side. I felt hands on my chest and a whole body seemed to press up against me. Before I could move, I felt warm breath on my ear and a soft, female voice spoke.
   "You're name is Tom Baxter, you are an American with the Third Division. A grenade exploded and that's all you remember," the voice whispered. "Remember: Tom Baxter."
   And the pressure of the body was gone, moving away just as quickly.
   I turned to see the departing figure, a wave of nausea, but definitely less severe passed through me. A glimpse of another woman, dressed very similar to the first, moving rapidly away towards a door at the far end of the room. As she hit the door and pulled it open, she turned slightly back towards me. Her face, even in the darkness, exploded with familiarly in me. Pale skin, dark hair, dark eyes.
   I knew her, I was sure of that.
   But I couldn't connect it to anything, other than that feeling.
   My name is Tom Baxter?
   That didn't seem right, but none of this did, except that woman in the uniform. She was the only thing that seemed even remotely familiar.
   Footfalls to the other side of me and I turned to see three women, dressed very much like the first coming my way. The one that had been so surprised by me and two more, both younger than the first. All wearing the same overalls of white and blue with a big red cross stitched in middle.
   KThe older one, the said something in the same language I couldn't understand. The second gently took my wrist and felt my pulse. Then the older one said something else and as she did, she gestured to the youngest of the them.
   The girl nodded, looked at me and said, "You are the American?"
   Her voice was soft, but there was something about the way she spoke the words made them seem wrong to me.
   "Yes?" she added as I seemed to be taking a long time to answer.
   I nodded, "Yes."
   The older woman began speaking again and the girl tried to keep up.
   "Do you know your name?"
   "My name?" I was drawing a blank, and then, "Baxter. Tom Baxter?"
   I said and it was more like a question.
   The elder woman looked at me for a moment. I wondered if she knew my real name? Am I lying if I don't actually know my name? I mean, I could be Tom Baxter, couldn't I? Although, if I were a betting man, I would guess I wasn't. And I didn't get the feeling I was a betting man either.
   Finally the elder woman let out a spiel and the younger two seemed to stay attentive to it as she gestured back and forth to me and them. Each would nod as she gestured to them and it was clear she was giving orders of some kind.
   The younger girl spoke to me again, "Do you remember what happened to you, Mister Baxter?"
   I shook my head slightly, and the nausea-cum-ocean-swell came again.
   "There was a grenade," again, more like a question. "I'm with the fifth division," I added and quickly wished I hadn't. It didn't seem relevant.
   She nodded and translated for the elder. She spoke slower to her, doubtfully, I though.
   Well, I thought, I blown whatever it is I'm supposed to keep secret.
   That was almost funny.
   "You say a grenade?" she asked slowly.
   "Yes, a grenade," but her look made me add, "I think."
   The nurse gave a slight shake of the head, "But you have no injuries that resemble a grenade. No wounds, or shrapnel. When you came to us, you appeared perfectly fine. Unconscious and covered in vomit, but other wise fine," she said gesturing slightly with her hands.
   The elder nurse said something that I didn't need the girl to translate; Liar. And then something that I took probably meant he needs watching or some such.
   The three of them were staring at me intently, I felt that I was being sized up. Only the youngest didn't seem to have this expression. She seemed uncomfortable and shuffled her feet slightly.
   What seemed like a very long time of quite passed and it started to become unnerving. I think I would have betrayed myself if it weren't for the sheer fact I had no idea what secret I actually was keeping. Was I some kind of spy? For who? And what the hell am I supposed to be spying on? Where the hell am I?
   The elder spoke a quick sentence and the second girl stood up from my bed and walked down to the opposite end from which they came. The wooden floor creaking in the quite of the room.
   "Where am I?" I said and wondered if I was supposed to know that already. But the reaction from both women seemed to be more of relief, as if the more normal inquiry were the way to seize the road back to reality.
   "Ah, you are at Val-de-Grâce, just inside Paris," she said.
   Paris, my mind connected it to something and a series of images flashed into my head; buildings, people, commies?
   "Paris? Germany?" I said and suddenly both women had a look of mild horror on their faces and they quickly exchanged glances. The elder, her eye's narrowed, spoke and it was clearly something along the lines of Did he just say Paris, Germany?
   The younger nodded.
   "No monsieur, not Paris, Germany. No just yet, this still remains, Paris, France," her tone was slightly cold.
   But I caught it, "No, of course not. Must be my head," I said and rolled myself to once side.
   "Of course," she said not as cold, but certainly less warm. "From the grenade. Which has left you with a concussion, yet no shrapnel or other infirmities."
   I sighed and closed my eyes. I hoped they would think I was exhausted, and I guess I really was. But it was obvious that I was lying about something and it would only be a matter of time before it was exposed. However, not knowing why I was lying was going to be a problem.
   They'll never believe me now, I thought. How can I possibly say I've lost every shred of personal memory after stating my name, rank and what I thought happened?
   I started to wonder why I lied and the nurse that first spoke to me bubbled up in my brain.
   It's all about her. For whatever reason, I'm supposed to trust her and I can feel that I do, I thought, it came with a strong feeling of trust and security.
   I felt the nurses move away from me, their footfalls echoing off the walls and their voices, soft and quite, but accusing.
   Well, Tom Baxter, you're in something here and it feels deep. That nurse, she's the one you have to talk to, she gave you this name and she'll have at least some of the answers.
   Whoever she is, she's the key.