The fire crackled gently at my feet as I stared deeply into the flames. The vibrant colors pirouetted in furious circles; reds, oranges and yellows entwining in their captivating dance. I tried to focus on the warmth on my face in an attempt to stop the worry. The effort went unrewarded.
Everyone was asleep except for my father, my uncle and I, but I hadn't actually seen either of them since they had banished me from the tent. In bringing the man to my father, I had been certain his life would be spared. However, as time ticked by I was beginning to wonder if my father was truly the invincible man I had always seen him as. In my gut, I knew that if the masked man died, so would some of the adoration I still harbored for my father.
I leapt to my feet at the sound of fabric swishing against fabric. Turning, I found myself looking at a somewhat frazzled version of my father. When he saw me, a dark emotion flickered behind his eyes before he sighed and it disappeared.
"Alyona, you should be asleep."
"Is he alright, Papa?"
"It was difficult, but I found the bullet. It is still possible for an infection to develop over the next few days but if he survives those he should live."
I paused at the mention of time. "But Papa! Are we not leaving for home tomorrow?"
My father nodded and I felt a lump form in my throat. I glanced back to the tent and felt tears threaten my eyes. Knowing that it would be wrong of me to ask my father to take on this man as more than a temporary responsibility, I blinked them back.
His palm came up to cradle my jaw, turning my face back to him. Looking into my eyes, I felt how much he loved me. He didn't need to say it, I knew and would always know. We had a connection that few others could even begin to understand.
"Okay Sweetie. If he makes it through the night, we may take him with us. I just worry about you Alya. Your heart is in the right place but you trust too easily. You know nothing about this man!"
"I do not care who he is. No man should have to die alone and in pain. I love you Papa. Thank you." Papa kissed my forehead and turned to go back to the tent. My hand on his shoulder stopped his progress.
"I'll take first watch."
For a moment he looked like he was going to protest but then nodded his head, walking back towards his own bed, leaving me to tend to the injured man. My feet moved slowly towards the tent, not certain what condition I would find the man in and even less sure what I would feel seeing him again.
Shaking with nervousness, I slowly peeled back the curtain blocking him from view. His form was stretched out on the cot in the corner, covered by a thick blanket up to his chin. Steadily, his chest rose and fell with each breath. This gave me a flash of hope as I lowered myself to a cushion beside him. Folding my legs underneath me, I sat and began cleaning up the tools my father had left out. A kettle of hot water sat within reaching distance and so I used some of its contents to clean off the scalpel and other unidentifiable tools before placing them back in his medical bag.
With that finished, I couldn't help but turn my attention back to the man before me. It was clear that he was more comfortable now that the bullet was no longer lodged in his chest but there was still quite a bit of blood and sweat coating his skin. Taking a bowl and filling it with the remaining luke-warm water from the kettle, I found a clean cloth and began wiping the grime from his body. I tried to ignore the feel of his hard muscles beneath my palm but found the task difficult. Imagining the horror of his face and the strength of his body painted a fairly detailed image of what type of man this was. I shivered involuntarily at the strength he must have when conscious.
At the feel of my touch, the man stirred, groaning from the pain that I imagined still tore through his body.
"Christine…" he breathed, a desperation in his voice that made my heart constrict. "S'il vous plait, Christine! Ne me laisses pas seul!" His hand flexed, the fingers seeming to be searching for something. I hesitated but the tone of his voice eliminated my fear and I reached forward, grabbing his hand in mine.
His fingers wrapped around my own in a strong embrace.
"Take it easy." I murmured, "I'm watching over you. You'll be alright."
Easing his hand from mine, I moved about the room, filling the kettle with water and leaving the tent to place it over the fire outside. From my father's bag, I pulled out lavender, poppy and St John's wort and began to mash them, making a balm for his wound. He was quiet as I moved around the tent and I wondered absently if maybe the sounds were soothing him. Once I had finished with the ointment, I moved over beside him, laying my palm on his firm chest and gently removing the dressing my father had placed over his open wound. It looked terrible, the red fleshy part of the muscle clear for anyone to see. It seemed cruel to leave such a wound open but closing it would only expedite an infection.
The man hissed as I touched the tender area, but it was a necessary cruelty and so I simply hushed him before applying the salve.
His eyes flew open, fire crackling in their depths. I jumped at the sight but stayed where I was, knowing he was too weak to do any real harm. After a few moments of blindly looking around, he squeezed them shut again. "Christine, Tu me manques tellement que ça fait mal. Je ne sais pas cesser de vous aimer. Je devrai apprendre," he groaned.
I didn't need to understand French to understand the agony this man was in. My heart constricted, knowing that there was little I could do to help his pain. It would take some time before the balm would give him relief. Looking around me, I found the bottle of brandy my father must have used while he removed the bullet. Lifting the bottle to the man's lips, I urged him to drink a good portion of what was left. As he quieted a little, I felt a sigh of relief move through my body.
Again, I took his hand in mine, gently stroking the back with my thumb. Having little else I could do, I began to sing:
"Dark eyes, burning eyes
Passionate and splendid eyes
How I love you, How I fear you
Verily, I saw you at a sinister hour
Dark eyes, flaming eyes
They implore me into faraway lands
Where love reigns, where peace reigns
Where there is no suffering, where war is forbidden
Dark eyes, burning eyes
Passionate and splendid eyes
I love you so, I fear you so
Verily, I saw you at a sinister hour"
The song itself made my heart constrict, the melody haunting and the words painful. Chancing a glance at the injured man, I saw his breathing had calmed and his distorted face was noticeably more relaxed. I closed my eyes over the sensation and continued.
"If I hadn't met you, I wouldn't be suffering so
I would have lived my life smiling
You have ruined me, dark eyes
You have taken my happiness away forever
Dark eyes, burning eyes
Passionate and splendid eyes
I love you so, I fear you so
Verily, I saw you at a sinister hour"
By the time the song was finished, I knew he was asleep. Leaving behind all pain, physical and emotional, to be dealt with at a later time. I rearranged myself beside his cot, covering myself with a heavy burgundy blanket and snuggling in to watch over his peaceful slumber.