"...the door all the time. The patient, of course, was not supposed to open his own door. That thought infuriated him further, and although in pain, now balancing on his left foot while holding onto the wall and trying hard to comfort his badly smarting toe, he began swearing and shouting at Strelski, too.
<br>“Open it! Open it! Damn you, Cossack... You’ve got the keys, you fool!”
<br>It took several wrong keys before the door yielded and Konyev rushed into the room with Strelski right behind
<br>him. Volkov was sitting on his bed, disoriented, stunned by the racket.
<br>Konyev, feeling somewhat relieved, managed his best bedside manner approach. “Good evening, Comrade Colonel,” he greeted the patient. “And how are we doing this evening? Feeling any better?”
<br>“I feel terrible,” Volkov barked back.
<br>“Well, well, that’s quite normal in your situation. Now,” continued Konyev, while visually examining his patient,
<br>“you realize, you are a very lucky man? Yes, my dear friend, you are one lucky fellow.”
<br>Volkov looked at Konyev in sheer misery. “Why am I here? What happened to me? Was I in a car accident? And
<br>where’s my damn wife? Didn’t you call her?”
<br>“You’re fine, you’re really fine. I mean, you’re very sick, but you’re in good hands...."