Chapter Thirty One - Cave

Shelter and warmth, that was what she needed, and food. She was shivering, and she was paler than he'd ever seen, pinched and grey and she kept coughing thinly. Shelter, warmth and food. He had none of them. He took off the thick fur lined leather aviators jacket and dressed her in it, pulling her arms through it, like dressing a broken doll. He buttoned it, turned up the collar. Something seemed important, trivial yet vital. The blue stone was in her hand. He uncurled the tight fist on her chest and put the cord around her neck, tying a tight knot. He looked at the stone and was shocked, it was pale grey, and a weak mist swirled slowly there. It looked like ice, someone dreaming of ice. He tucked it into her torn shirt and buttoned up the ruined garment as best he could. He didn't know how he knew but he just knew that the best place for the stone was on her breast, against her heart.

"I'm going to find shelter, put you down somewhere, then go back to the aircraft. Everything we have is on it."
"Don't…"
"I'll be fine, first you need to be safe."
"…go."
"Come on, up you come."

He slipped his arms under her shoulders and knees and lifted, he almost toppled over backwards. He had expected her to weigh the same as she had at the stream, that first morning when he took her to bathe. But she weighed much less, a lot less. He looked at the ground, a wide irregular red-brown stain marked where she'd lain, the size of it made him feel weak. Pints of blood had come out of her.

He walked through the forest, north. He staggered for a mile or so unsure what he was seeking, a hollow tree maybe, a depression in the ground he could cover over with branches. Anything for protection, concealment. The ground continued to rise. He listened to the forest sounds, birds, trees rustling, the breeze. He strained his ears but could hear nothing mechanical, no flying machines. Through the trees ahead was a slope, a cliff, overhung with ivy and creepers. As he approached he saw it was high, a broken off slab of hill, as old as the rocks around it. He could see the top and the highest branches of the tall oaks and ash only just reached up there. Too steep to climb, he wondered which way to turn.

"Paetsu…"
"Shush, it's alright, I'll find a place soon."
"Urun…"(1)
"What?"

She lifted her left hand a little and pointed to his right.

"Urun…"

The arm flopped down, weak as her crumpled voice. Without questioning he went the way she had pointed. A half mile along the cliff he came to the cave. It was both wide and high, big enough to drive a wagon into. The curved top was over hung with ivy. He went cautiously in. The floor sloped, to the right on the lower side years of leaves and rubbish and mosses had collected. He went in a few yards behind a tangle of bushes that grew at the entrance near the light. It quickly became dark here and he could see no end to the cave. Often wild animals would live in caves, boar, wolves, maybe even a bear. He stood a few minutes listening, sniffing but he could hear nothing at all and smelled only the dank leaf mould. Turning he lay her down in the soft mossy hollow against the downhill wall.

"Sheeta, I'm going back to the aircraft. I'll be back as fast as I can."
"Paetsu…"
"Shhh."

He kissed her forehead.

"I love you. I'll be straight back. Trust me."

--I--
---o-o-oOo-o-o---
I I

He went back the way they had come and stopped at the place she had fallen. He picked up the rifle and took the dead boy-soldier's ammunition belt. He thought of taking his coat but it was soaked in blood. Looking at the boys pale face, a look of sadness on it, Pazu reached out with one hand and closed the boy's eyes. He lowered his head.

"I'm sorry. I had no choice. I think you're sorry too. I know you didn't mean to shoot her. Look. I don't hate you, you were just doing what you were trained to do. I just did what I had to. Sorry, this wasn't how we were meant to meet."

He picked up the soldier's rifle, stripped the ammunition from it and threw it far into the undergrowth. Slinging the ammunition belt over his shoulder and checking the other rifle was loaded, he went back to the aircraft, on the way collecting the poncho from behind a tree where Sheeta had dropped it.

The aircraft still stood in the clearing, upended on its nose. He wondered if they might still be here, watching, waiting for him to come back. There was only one way to find out. He climbed onto the plane's wing and bounced down into the cockpit. Her clothing bag, the knapsack and the blanket were all on the floor. Nothing had been touched.

--I--
---o-o-oOo-o-o---
I I

She lived. Just. Pazu afterwards felt an inkling of how close it had been. Not just from her condition, but from the stone. Sheeta became coherent on the third day and strong enough to move on the fourth. The stone didn't regain it's colour for a whole day and the smoky core wasn't calm for another day and a half. She had said it took three days to calm after the spell of destruction. A spell powerful enough to destroy Laputa. Bringing her back from the brink of death had taken almost the same amount of power. For three days and four nights Pazu kept vigil in the cave. He dragged branches across the entrance to make it difficult for an intruder to get in. He kept one of the guns with him all the time. He brought in a supply of firewood and although he wasn't sure what was good and what wasn't, he picked small white mushrooms, berries and some herbs. He also picked grasses and some broad leafed plants. He simply trusted instinct and what he had learned from her. He smiled at this, even when she was unconscious he followed her lead. The knapsack contained the last vegetables from the farm's garden. He built up a fire, poured their water in a pan and added all the vegetables, the white mushrooms and the plants he'd picked. He kept this broth going all the time, topping up the water and adding whatever he found to it. He found a spring along the cliff a half mile away and would walk the mile there and back several times a day, collecting water, washing clothes, washing himself.

At first she would only drink water, then she began to accept the broth in small amounts. Pazu ate and drank almost nothing, he gave it all to her, he didn't care how much hard work it was, he just wanted her to live. She was too weak to move and would use the toilet where she lay. He didn't mind. He undressed her and warmed water on the fire and washed her, her most intimate places. He would go out and bring in fresh leaves and grasses for her bed each time she soiled it. He took off her bloody shirt and vest and lifted them. There was a huge hole in the back of the shirt, seeing that hole, one he could put the palm of his hand through, he realized how close it had been. If the soldier had raised his gun barrel an inch he would have shot her in the head and killed her instantly.

Looking down at her naked form, he found the cleanest piece of clothing they had, the shirt he'd slept in at the farm, and pouring warm water on her, he bathed her. The bullet hole was gone, and her back, under the thick crust of dried blood, was perfect. He washed her chest carefully, she was so soft there, so pretty, he touched her gently, he didn't want to hurt her or damage anything. He didn't know if these soft places would damage, so he just touched lightly. During these baths, or when he cleaned her after the toilet, he felt none of the powerful guilty urges he had felt before. He was filled only with a burning desire to help, to serve her, to make her well. And one afternoon, it came to him, why he was doing this. He knelt and stopped washing and simply looked. He put the palm of one hand to her cheek.

"I love you. Sheeta, I love you. So… well, just don't die. Please."

He would take their clothes to the spring and beat the dirt out of them, dry them on a branch by the fire. When she was well enough to sit up and eat and drink he flooded over with questions, but held back until she was better. One morning, four days after the plane crash, he was sleeping. As usual she had the poncho and the blanket, he wore the jacket and lay curled into a ball. There was movement beside him. He half opened his eyes. She was there, close, she lifted his arm and came under it and let the arm down across herself. She kissed his face.

"Thank you."

He hugged her and drifted back to sleep.

--I--
---o-o-oOo-o-o---
I I

"Who is he?"
"Who?"
"This prince, this Foo-moan-heer, person."
"Paetsu Fuhmonhir? How do you know about him?"

It was the morning of day four (or it might have been day five, you know he wasn't sure, the days had become a blur). They were sat by the fire. Breakfast had been the vegetable broth, except now it was only boiled mushrooms and herbs and the broad flat leaves he'd found. Afterwards he brewed tea, a ritual they had come to see as their 'talking time'. Holding her tin mug, she leaned against the wall of the cave, poncho and blanket around her. He sat on a log he had brought in a couple of days ago. He had looked at her earlier and noticed her lips were pink, for the first time in days they had colour, instead of just a slightly darker grey than her face. She still looked very unwell and very thin.

"You said his name when you were… after you… were shot."
"I did? I don't remember."

Sheeta watched the fire.

"So who is he?"
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22 – 23 March 2007

(1) Urun : right. For the sake of completeness, left is "lehn".

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