Chapter 16d05
Chapter 16 (Draft 05)
The oxygen tank next to Bezuhov's bed was hissing in the dark while the old man dreamed. He was reliving a time in his early twenties, an ambitious youth looking to prove his value to his superiors. It was wintertime in Moscow before the war, and the young man was peering around a corner at five other men standing in a circle under a flickering streetlamp. The wind howled down the dark street, causing him to fall into the shadows in response. He peered out again to see two of the men moving away. Bezuhov smiled; he was so eager in those days.
He sprinted back into the alley as a dog in one of the apartments above him started to bark. He rounded the corner and continued to run until he entered another alleyway. The wind howled again as he turned north once more and toward the lighted street ahead. Reaching the end, he peered out to see the two men approaching his position. The young Bezuhov looked across the street to see his comrades in a parked truck, waiting for his signal. He gave the slightest wave and the truck's lights flashed in response. The two men coming toward him were huddled together against the biting wind and were whispering as they passed by without seeing him standing there.
When their backs were moving away, Bezuhov stepped in behind and raised a sock full of bolts. The blow was quick and smashed into the skull of one of the men with a dull but fatal thud. The man yelped and then crumbled as the truck began moving toward them.
The other man watched his friend fall before turning to see the cause. He saw the young man coming at him with the sock and caught his arm before he could deliver another blow. They fell to the ground together and the defending man began to scream.
"Помощь! Убийство! Убийство! Помощь!" ("Help! Murder! Murder! Help!")
The truck screeched to a halt as the pair rolled in the dirt and two more men jumped out to grab the screamer.
"Помощь! Убийство! Правительство убивает нас! Кто - то помогает!" ("Help! Murder! The government is murdering us! Somebody help!")
The man was immediately silenced with a blow to the jaw and then dragged to the back of the truck. The doors were opened and the man was quickly thrown inside.
"Ждите!" ("Wait,") Bezuhov whispered. He looked down at the dead man still bleeding in the street. He bent down to push body over and removed his coat and shoes. Throwing them into the back of the truck, he said, ("It should look like a robbery.")
The doors were closed and the truck sped away before anybody in the surrounding buildings gathered enough courage to look outside. Nobody saw a thing.
When the kidnapped man slowly opened his eyes an hour later, he could hear a woman crying through the stone wall next to him. He jumped into full consciousness when the woman suddenly screamed. As his eyes began to clear, he could already feel the huge lump on the top of his head throbbing in pain. His jaw was very sore, maybe broken, and his mouth was full of blood. A few seconds later he realized some of his front teeth were missing. The man was alone and startled to find his body tied to a chair. The woman next door screamed again.
"закрытый, сука!" (Shut up, bitch!) shouted a voice in reply.
The man listened carefully while trying to summon his last memory. Although his first thought was to call out, to scream for help, he began to understand the situation through the confusion and decided to remain quiet. He recalled his meeting with the others, his comrades working against the atrocities of the newly formed government. Then he remembered his friend being hit in the back of the head and falling to the ground.
"Vikenti?" he whispered, struggling to look behind him. Where was his friend?
The woman next door was crying; it sounded like she was being raped. The man tried to set her torture aside to focus on his own problems.
A small hatch within the door in front of him opened and two eyes could be seen peering through the gap. The hatch slammed shut and he could hear several voices rumbling on the other side. He heard someone laughing even as the woman next door cried out again. The man braced himself for his captor's entry and the inevitable mauling to come.
Hours went by and as much as he could tell without a window to know for certain, an entire night as well. The lights in his prison room were eventually shut off.
He was left there in the dark for two more days, without food or water, to piss where he sat, diverted from his misery only by the occasional rape and beating of the woman next door.
After three days, the door opened and the dim light from the hallway hit him like a knife through his skull. The lights in the room were flipped on and then there was the sound of rumbling and bumping furniture being moved about before the door was closed again.
It took the man a full ten minutes to keep his eyes open in the light without pain. And when he could see again, he found a young man sitting across from him behind a desk. A metal pitcher and a cup sat on the edge closest to him. He recognized the man as the attacker who had struck his friend. He tried to speak, but his mouth was too dry, his jaw too sore. His jailer saw him struggling.
"Хотят пить Вы, comrad?" ("Are you thirsty, comrade?") Bezuhov stood to pour some water from the pitcher and then came forward.
("Drink!")
He tipped the cup into the man's mouth and watched him gulping eagerly. Then the young jailer stepped around the back of the chair and cut the knots binding the man's hands. The prisoner yelled out in pain as his arms moved forward.
("Sorry about that, comrade,") Bezuhov said blandly, returning to his desk and to his paperwork.
The man slowly worked his arms forward over the next few minutes, but when he finally tried to stand, he collapsed. Bezuhov immediately stood and walked over to help him to his feet again.
("Why do you help me? Are you being kind in the hope I will give you information I do not have? When they arrested me last year, I told them I didn't know anything.")
After insuring the man could finally stand on his own, Bezuhov returned to his desk. ("You misunderstand why I'm here, comrade Motova", the youth said, "I do not have any questions for you.")
("Then why am I here?")
("I do not know. I have been assigned to you in case there is something you wish to tell us. My superiors seem to think you are very important in understanding the things moving against us in the city. They want to know how we might work together to help our future country.")
("But I don't know anything.")
There was another loud whine coming from the room next to them and Bezuhov turned to smile at the wall.
("Sorry about the noise. The resident whore is being fed again.")
("What has she done?")
Bezuhov shrugged. ("Your feelings for the woman are touching. Would you like a go at her?")
The man felt sick. He fell forward to cover his face. ("Monstrous.")
His jailor shrugged again. ("Suit yourself, but she's really is quite good. You don't know what you're missing.")
The man turned away in frustration. ("How long must I stay here?")
("I don't know, comrade Motova. Perhaps when you finally have something to tell us?")
The man thought. ("Can I… have something to eat?")
Bezuhov opened a desk draw and pulled out an apple. He tossed it to the man who devoured it entirely in seconds.
After licking the juice from his hands, the man finally looked up. ("Thank you, comrade.")
There was no response and for the next four hours nothing more was said. The man walked around his cell while Bezuhov sat behind his desk doing his paperwork. Finally, in what the man could only guess was the end of the work day, Bezuhov stood to leave.
("I have to go to the bathroom,") said Motova, hopefully.
Almost at the door, Bezuhov stopped, turned, and approached the man lazily. Without warning, he suddenly hit Motova in the center of his face with his fist. The man crumbled to the floor in shock. Holding his face and looking up, he could see the truer, inner soul of his jailor standing over him; the devil's son.
Bezuhov looked angry and eager to deliver more pain. ("I suppose you expect me to wipe your ass for you too, yes?") he screamed. He kicked the man in the side of the ribs, which hurt and surprised him more than the punch that crushed his nose. Bezuhov opened the dungeon door and reached into the hallway to grab a metal bucket. He then threw it down hard at Motova on the floor.
("Shit your brains in that, comrade!")
The door was slammed with a bang and the lights were turned off again There was only blackness once more. The man could hear another door opening in the hallway outside and soon the woman next door was screaming again.
Bezuhov finally awoke from his dream to find three of his doctors leaning over him.
("Get away from me,") he growled, as he worked one of the buttons on the side of the bed to raise his head. The bald, muscled man came forward.
("Well?") Bezuhov barked.
("The FBI is talking to the local police within the station right now.")
Bezuhov smirked. ("This Detective Coleman is most admirable in his capabilities. The files he pulled from the Homeland Security database must have been more informative than we initially thought. Have them deleted immediately.")
The muscled man nodded.
("Do we know if Mrs. Carmichael has decided to enter the university?")
("Not yet, sir. We should know by morning.")
Bezuhov looked contemptuously at his man.
("We have targeted the Dietz woman in the event Carmichael refuses to comply.")
Bezuhov thought again of the screaming woman next to Motova's cell. ("Good, I don't want us wasting more than a day if the old woman decides badly.")
The moon was bright outside, shining through Ethan's bedroom window like an explosion frozen in time. He was still awake and thinking about Sally. He closed his eyes and remembered their fall to the floor together. He cringed when he recalled her embarrassment after the kiss and then again after telling her he was in love with her. Maybe he had gone too far again in the kitchen that night by openly sharing his feelings to her once more. It would seem he just couldn't stop himself from repeating his message of caring and love for her, however covertly, despite his promise to abstain. He thought about the choice Sally had to make before the morning. Would she go to the hospital and give up whatever life she might have left to her if Doctor Howard failed to find a cure? Would she decide to accept her fate and refuse to go to the hospital? And what would she do with the remaining time given to her, living her life as a younger woman? He wondered. Would she consider spending whatever time she had left with him?
Ethan rolled over to stare at the wall that divided their two rooms. Was Sally still awake? Was she still praying to God for the wisdom she sought? Ethan frowned. What would she ask of God at a time like this?
There was a very light tap on his bedroom door and Ethan immediately bolted upright.
"Yes?"
The door slowly clicked and opened barely a crack. "Ethan?" came a whispered voice. "Are you awake?"
"Yes, Sally, come in. I'm wide awake."
The door opened a bit more, enough for Sally to poke her face through the crack.
"I'm sorry to wake you, dear, but I was hoping…"
Ethan grabbed his robe from the bottom of his bed and threw it over his shoulders. He leapt up and almost ran to the door, ignoring the stiff pain in his leg. Sally was standing there in the hallway in her robe, looking up at him. Once more the man was stunned by her blue eyes, even through the darkness surrounding them.
"I'm awake, Sally. In fact I can't sleep. Please — come in." He opened the door fully and motioned her to step inside. She hesitated to think and then looked down the hallway toward the room where Kari and Robert were sleeping.
"For just a moment, then," she whispered. "I'm sorry for keeping you up, but I really need to talk to you."
"Please, Sally. There was no possibility of my sleeping tonight." He closed the door behind them.
She turned and smiled at his ability to stand on his own. "You move pretty fast for one still in healing," she whispered.
Ethan smiled back. "All thanks to your excellent care. Please… sit," he said, motioning her toward the bed as he pulled a chair in from the wall. He could see she was embarrassed at seeing his open chest through the gap in his robe. He quickly turned to cover himself before sitting in front of her. The moon shining through the window was painting her face ever so perfectly in the softest blue.
"So," he started, "have you decided what you're going to do in the morning?"
She looked up at him. "Ethan…" She hesitated.
"Yes?"
"I wanted to talk to you about what you said to me in the kitchen tonight." She looked at him skeptically. "Tell me what you meant when you said… you wanted me to live on… and be with you."
Ethan was suddenly frightened.
"I guess I should apologize for saying what I did, given my promise not to embarrass you with my feelings." He decided to risk her discomfort more. "But Sally… I'm totally and completely in love with you."
She tilted her head to the side disbelievingly, but he suddenly found himself emboldened.
"I know you don't believe me, or you won't allow yourself believe me, but I hope you know me well enough by now to realize I'm not a man who willingly throws his feelings about without thought. I've lived my entire life believing I would never find somebody to love… and that was all right. I had accepted this reality. I had my work, my books and then my store. I was content and happy with my life."
He leaned forward to take her hand. "But then I met you and, even before we knew about your condition, all of that changed for me."
Sally finally spoke. "But Ethan, I'm just so… you know… old."
Ethan smiled gratefully. "Yes, the last I heard… you are ninety-three. But… that doesn't tell me how you feel about me."
She frowned.
"Sally… when I kissed you, I think you felt something for me as well." He could see her embarrassment returning.
"I… you…" her head fell. "I'm so ashamed of myself."
Ethan came forward again. "But why, Sally? Why?"
She stared at him in a way he had never seen. She seemed to be struggling with something in her soul as she searched for the words to respond.
"You… are such a beautiful man, Ethan. Any woman, despite her age, couldn't possibly stop themselves from being attracted to you once they came to really know you." She looked down again. "I suppose I'm no different. But I too had accepted my life before I met you and I was looking forward to seeing God. I didn't ask for any of this to happen to me."
"I know that, Sally. You've told us many times you've lived a life fulfilled. You…" he stopped to frown, "what's the matter?"
She was looking at him again in a way that truly startled him. Her face was suddenly filled with loathing.
"I lied."
Sally was shaking her head, and it was then that Ethan began to realize the loathing she was displaying was something focused inward.
"Sally, what do you mean?"
She shook her head again and covered her face with her hands, her shame deepening. Ethan stood and then sat next to her on the bed. He reached out and gently took her into his arms. He could feel her stiffen and then softened against him.
"Sally?"
"When I told you Sam… was a good man."
He released her and then bent down to look into her eyes. "Sam? You… you mean your husband, Sam?"
She nodded. "It wasn't that he was a bad man… he was a very good provider, but…" she hesitated again. "He wasn't a very good father to our daughter or a husband to me. He was always working and we never did anything together as a family." She looked at him again, her lips quivering. "I… I never loved him."
Ethan was surprised. "But the two of you were married… for more than thirty years."
"Yes, I know. I've never admitted this to anybody before, not even to myself until tonight."
He stared into her eyes. "I don't understand, Sally. At a time like this, with everything you have to decide, with Sam being gone so long now, why would you suffer with this now?"
She slowly reached out to take his hand. "I don't think I've ever been in love with a man… not ever."
Ethan frowned at her. "Sally, love comes in many forms. Certainly, your love of poetry has showed you…"
"No, Ethan, never."
"Not even after all your years together, you never learned to… you know… in all that time?"
She grimaced and then shook her head. The look on her face tore at Ethan's heart. This beautiful woman, encompassing the soul of an angel, had never been in love? The thought of it saddened him more deeply than he could ever remember. His lowered his gaze and shook his head.
Sally drew in a deep breath. "But… I think… I do love you… Ethan Dodge."
Ethan looked at her in surprise and the crushing pressure in his chest was suddenly away as his heart was lifted high. She was looking down at his hand in hers and then began to stroke it admiringly. Ethan saw his own hand shaking as he raised it to cup her chin.
"Sally… I never want to forget this moment for the rest of my days… please… tell me again."
Sally looked into his eyes, tears running down the soft glow on her face.
"I love you, Ethan. As much as I've ever known how to love anybody, you have taken my heart a hundred times beyond. You told me once… that you…"
"I love you, Sally," he interrupted her. "I loved you when you were old: I loved you when you were angry and when you were afraid. I love you… and I know now that I'll love you for the rest of my life."
Sally covered her face and started to cry and Ethan reached out to hold her again.
"You've made me the happiest man in the world right now, Sally. Your problems are my problems now. We'll work through this together, whatever you decide you have to do."
"Oh, Ethan. This isn't fair to you…"
"What do you mean?"
"It isn't fair for you to worry about me. If I go to the university, I'll probably die there."
"No you won't."
She frowned. "How do you know?"
"Because I won't let that happen. If they find out they can't stop this, and you decide you want to leave, I'll take you home. You won't end your life in that place, Sally. I promise you."
She pursed her lips and smiled at him, lovingly stroking his face with her shaking hand.
He kissed her on the palm and said, "Remember the words of Middlemas?" She frowned at him. "Middlemas said, 'Love, like a river, will cut a new path whenever it meets an obstacle.' They're just obstacles to us, Sally, but no matter what happens it will not change the way I feel about you."
She smiled and then leaned into him to whisper, "Remember the words of David Levesque."
Ethan thought and then smiled. "'You know you are in love when you see the world in her eyes, and her eyes everywhere in the world.' Levesque was exactly right, Sally." He looked down at her lips. They were so smooth and beautiful. He looked up to find Sally's eyes were already closed as she came forward. They kissed, softly at first, and then more intensely in the moon's glow. He laid her back on his bed and slid his lips down the side of her neck.
"Ethan…" she moaned.
He stopped to look down at her. She looked afraid.
"Are… you sure?" she asked him.
He smiled again and pushed her auburn hair to the side.
"I love you, Sally Carmichael. Of that I am very sure. I pray you grow old again… but this time with me." He kissed her again and she moved to wrap her arms around him.
The soft blue glow,
The lovers' words that then did flow,
Their lips closer and closer
Until, locked in the throes
Of a passionate embrace,
He decided to express his feelings,
To keep her safe.
He whispered softly,
His words like music to her ears,
"I love you,"
And her response the same,
Heard like the gentle breeze,
"And I, love you, forever,"
That was the night they promised
To be together through everything,
Each to care for the other when old and gray.
A lovers' pack
The mostly likely to last.
-Krista J. Mikula-
17
