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show this: it was necessary to preserve the distance between
the hospital patient and the staff. When he had finished his
examination he went on to other beds.
Thorpe Athelny’s illness was not grave, and, though re-
maining very yellow, he soon felt much better: he stayed in
bed only because the physician thought he should be kept
under observation till certain reactions became normal.
One day, on entering the ward, Philip noticed that Athelny,
pencil in hand, was reading a book. He put it down when
Philip came to his bed.
‘May I see what you’re reading?’ asked Philip, who could
never pass a book without looking at it.
Philip took it up and saw that it was a volume of Spanish
verse, the poems of San Juan de la Cruz, and as he opened it
a sheet of paper fell out. Philip picked it up and noticed that
verse was written upon it.
‘You’re not going to tell me you’ve been occupying your
leisure in writing poetry? That’s a most improper proceed-
ing in a hospital patient.’
‘I was trying to do some translations. D’you know Span-
ish?’
‘No.’
‘Well, you know all about San Juan de la Cruz, don’t
you?’
‘I don’t indeed.’
‘He was one of the Spanish mystics. He’s one of the best
poets they’ve ever had. I thought it would be worth while
translating him into English.’
‘May I look at your translation?’