Chapter 7
For all her wishing, willing and wanting, her body refused to cooperate. The days seemed to drag by, pulling themselves unwillingly into weeks. To Elphaba, the room seemed to get smaller, and whiter, if that was possible. The nurses came and went, their prying eyes nearly bursting with curiosity as they brought in trays of food or medicine. None of them spoke. They seemed to look upon her as one would view a zoo exhibit. They stared, yet they dared not speak. Perhaps they thought her incapable of responding. Elphaba didn't dare to guess at the rumors that must be circulating. Yet amidst all that was driving her mad, there was one anomaly.
Dr. Weilhemm.
It was a strange, Gilikinese name that was unfamiliar to her. Yet his presence felt like a calm in the nastiest of storms. On days wrought with anxiety over nosy visitors and suffocating walls, his entrance into her room seemed to calm the very atmosphere. She breathed more slowly. She hurt less.
Elphaba couldn't say exactly why. There were too many emotions flowing and twisting just below her surface to allow her even a little exploration. She would not ask if this was trust, or kindness. She did not allow herself either one. But she did remember when it began.
A particularly drab afternoon, perhaps three days after Frederick's heated exit, Dr. Weilhemm had entered silently. He looked her over carefully, and then left. He returned a moment later with a printed calendar, large and most likely expensive. It was well put together, on good stock off an upscale press. He hung it carefully on the wall, removed a fresh pen from his pocket and marked off days until he reached the eighteenth. March the eighteenth. He left without a word.
Each day thereafter he had marked off a day, without fail and without comment. It was no great gesture really, no lasting bond between two people. What struck her was that somehow he knew she needed a concept of time. As little interaction as they'd had, with her having spent most of it in a coma, he knew. To lay there for days on end with no concept of time would have driven her mad, and it seemed to matter to him that she not go mad. It was a gesture of respect, something that now seemed so foreign that responding to it was like speaking a different tongue.
It was on her mind when he entered that morning. As usual, he made his mark, making today April first. Then Dr. Weilhemm spoke.
"I think you should try to sit up today," He let the words sink in, watching her calmly.
"I would very much like that," Elphaba stated, keeping her anticipation in check.
"I need you to know, this will hurt," He didn't mince words, "but healing is painful sometimes. Yet it is healing, none the less."
She stared at him for a moment, wondering where he found his words. Every so often in a straightforward, unemotional sort of way, he spoke to her very soul. In spite of herself, it calmed her. She met his eyes and simply nodded.
The doctor left the room and returned with a quiet young nurse, who also seemed to be a first-year maunt. Perhaps out of youth, or something in her religion, she was less curious. She took in Elphaba without much surprise, and waited for instruction.
Dr. Weilhemm crossed to the bedside, and instructed the young maunt to sit on the bed. She took one of Elphaba's hands in each of hers. The doctor carefully positioned his hands behind her back.
Elphaba's heart pounded. So much human contact was unusual and unnerving. She was so at their mercy, so vulnerable. Yet it was the only choice she had, surrender to their assistance or become a cripple. And then, in his strange way of knowing, the doctor spoke calmly, "Take a deep breath. Take your time. We're on your time. When you're ready, try to pull yourself up."
It was all she needed. Her future in her own hands, literally. She clasped the maunt's hands tightly and pulled, her thin arms shaking from the effort. The doctor lifted at the same time. He shifted and rearranged the bedding so that within a moment, when she could no longer hold herself, she found herself reclining upright.
The pain was intense, shooting up and down her spine, seeming to radiate down her legs. Yet she was sitting. Elphaba closed her eyes for a moment and allowed the pain at least to settle, to become more dull and bearable.
"I want you to sit for as a long as you can. It's time for lunch, which you'll be able to eat on your own today. See if you can endure that long." The doctor instructed, "You are strong. This pain is healing." He met her eyes for a moment, and then left with the young maunt trailing behind.
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Elphaba met this new challenge head on, as it seemed to fit her. It was a struggle. It was work. It was pain and it had to be met head on. It was as familiar to her as lying immobile had been alien. Each day, three times a day, she pulled herself up, growing stronger, clenching her teeth, hurting, yet hurting less. She was fed by the feeling of control, the knowledge that each step forward was hers to make. Each step a step towards freedom.
Not one for much introspection, she couldn't help but acknowledge that she was a creature wildly in need of freedom. Confinement withered her, beat her down and seemed to contradict her very makeup. Like a great phoenix, she could not be caged. She needed the wind in her face, the dewy scent of fresh morning air. In a slightly irrational way, she thought perhaps flight would have better suited her, if the Unnamed God had seen fit to have made her a Bird instead. Flight was the one daydream she allowed herself, as it got her through the pain. On the insides of eyelids squeezed tightly shut, she could see herself in crisp detail. The wind whipping through her long black hair, her face aglow with a rosy greenness only she could achieve. Defying the laws of nature, defying gravity itself, she imagined casting herself onto the wind, rolling and soaring with it. Flying. Free of the very world itself.
I don't suppose flight is something I can hope to achieve, She told herself wryly. Her protesting body reminded her she was altogether human. Green, but very human.
She was interrupted from her daydreams by the young maunt, still silent and methodic in her actions. She had come every day since the first time Elphaba had sat up, and she seemed to have replaced the nosy nurses with all their staring and mumbling. She offered her hands, and Elphaba silent took them and raised herself to sit. It was easier now.
"I am to remove the bandages today," Her voice was surprisingly clear. Her pointed finger indicated the swathes of fabric that covered Elphaba's head.
Elphaba simply nodded, and the girl began to work. Her fingers were nimble and kind, maneuvering the fabric gently. It took her several minutes to remove all of it. She collected it in a bowl, and then, without question, began to probe Elphaba's head. Startled at first, Elphaba found her touch soothing, and not unkind. The young maunt seemed to be searching, testing. After a few moments, she seemed satisfied.
Without seeking permission or explanation, she left and returned with a basin and a brush. The basin was filled with water.
Elphaba pulled away, snapping, "I cannot abide-"
"I know," Was all the girl would say. She worked the brush gently through the snarls of ebony hair. She took her time with each mat, each knot, until they brushed smooth. She then worked the water and soap through the strands, keeping the water away from Elphaba's scalp, she scrubbed and rinsed and toweled until the hair shone like an inky black river, running fresh and thick and new.
As the girl pulled her hair back over the bed to dry, Elphaba couldn't help asking, "Were you raised as a maunt?" Something about this girl sparked her curiosity.
"No," Was her simply stated answer. She was silent for a moment, then continued. "I was homeless, sold into prostitution by very poor parents. The mauntery saved me, quite literally. But you need not feel pity. I have peace."
Sweet Oz, the irony was so thick, so real it nearly slapped her in the face. Elphaba was momentarily shaken. Yet she was still Elphaba and she said nothing in return. She watched the girl more closely, with her squared shoulders, her purposeful hands, her steady eyes.
"Did Dr. Weilhemm ask for you, for me?" Elphaba asked directly.
"Yes."
The young girl was nearly out the door when Elphaba threw out one word, "Fae."
"Pardon?"
"Tell him my name is Fae," She explained, meeting the girl's eyes.
With a simple nod, she was gone.
If she had understood the significance of the gesture, she made no indication. Elphaba let out a long breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. A familiar burning feeling of panic began to well up in her at the wall she'd just let down, yet under the panic, there was something more.
Hope, She identified it.
Hope is dangerous, She told herself, Hope is easily dashed.
Yet hope was cathartic, and brought her a deep sleep that night.
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Elphaba found it hard to admit, but hope was also healing. In the weeks that followed, her recovery hit its stride. The brace was removed, and she could sit on her own. The pain had become a dull ache, finding its center at the small of her back. Yet it was tolerable. Her head had healed nicely, a tribute to the knowledge of Dr. Weilhemm. Elphaba would occasionally finger the place on the back of her skull where the hair was growing back, the only physical reminder of the injury and its treatment. Still not able to voice her gratitude, she silently thanked the doctor for not taking all of her hair, and for making the wound invisible under her black tresses.
Eliana came daily to brush her hair, to bring food and help her move and grow stronger. Elphaba had finally asked her name, feeling she owed it to her not to know her simply as The Maunt. After what she had shared, so freely, it seemed right. They had an unspoken sisterhood, a bond that had no name. To a stranger, they seemed merely civil to each other. Yet it was there, a silent cord connecting them. Elphaba couldn't say that it was trust, because she wasn't sure she even trusted herself. It wasn't enough to draw out even a word of the atrocities inflicted upon her. It was simply a calm. A feeling of walking shoulder to shoulder with someone, not speaking, ready to part at any moment, yet together for a time.
Perhaps it was because of this that Elphaba was grateful Eliana was there this particular morning.
Eliana had managed to find a bottle of oil, lavender scented and of quite excellent quality. Elphaba was struggling with words of thanks when she heard a commotion in the hall. It sounded altogether like war might be breaking out. Wordlessly, they both seemed to expect to be ambushed by a foreign army where they sat. This, for Elphaba, was nearly the truth.
The door burst open and the room was flooded with men and women carrying cameras like neither girl had ever seen. Mostly were dressed smartly and made hurried notes with freshly-nibbed pens. They all seemed to speak at once, forming one giant, cacophonous voice that pelted Elphaba with questions and accusations. The scent of sulfur filled the room as flashbulbs snapped and were reloaded.
"Will you testify?"
"Were you kept as a slave?"
"Were you employed by the Bison?'
"Do you know he was in direct violation of the Code of Order?"
"You know that Animals are not permitted to have servants of any kind!"
"Do you wish to see justice served against this cruel, uncivilized Animal?"
"Animals should be seen and hot heard!"
"Do you agree that Animals are a sub-race that should be contained?"
"Do you believe the Bison should hang for his crimes?"
"Are you grateful to Sir Peirory, Assistant Head of the Animal Rehabilitation Agency, for delivering you from your confinement?"
At this last statement, Elphaba's trembling overcame her. She caught a glimpse of Dr. Weilhemm entering the room, out of breath, as she realized she was hyperventilating. Burning anxiety shot through her, overwhelmed her, and the world slowly went dark, the sea of faces swimming around her.
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The darkness enveloped her, muffling the voices. Yet they swirled around her, like moving shadows on the other side of a screen. She felt strong, sturdy arms steady her, followed by the coolness of linens.
Breathe, It was a vague command.
Breathe, She tried to follow it.
Breathe, She drew deep, slow breaths.
"Breathe," The words found a voice. Dr. Weilhemm's face came into focus above her. Eliana pressed a cool cloth to her forehead.
When Dr. Weilhemm saw that Elphaba's eyes had focused on him, that her breathing had slowed to a steady rate, he turned, just in time to catch a flashbulb square in the face.
"Enough!" It was the first time Elphaba had seen him show any emotion. He set his mouth in a thin line and pressed the camera away from his face. Not angrily, but with finality.
"That is quite enough! This young woman has been through quite enough! Her injuries are quite severe. This is not an argument over property or a discussion of the intricacies of law. This is a person's fate, in so many ways. You will leave this room now, lest each of you be tried for trespassing. Not one of you has permission to be here." With that he looked them up and down, not leaving room for argument or opinion.
They filed out slowly, the doctor's very presence driving them from the small room.
It wasn't until the last person had left and Dr. Weilhemm stood to leave that Elphaba realized she was clutching his hand. Her knuckles had nearly lost all their emerald color. She released it suddenly, her fingers tingling. Their eyes met, and once again, there was the understanding. He left her alone with Eliana, who continued to press the cool cloth against her forehead.
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It was a great trick, Elphaba had to admit.
Throughout that afternoon, Eliana hung the cloth out the small window, catching the cool breeze that blew heartily several stories above the street. She then pressed it against Elphaba's head, calming her. By the time the sun set in a blaze of crimson and tangerine, her body felt calm. Yet her mind was reeling, racing like a wild, thundering stallion at the implications of the day. Her cover was blown. Her face plastered on every rag in the Emerald City. How could she deny her own identity? After all, she was green. This curse forced solitude upon her, and made her a spectacle who could not hide.
Elphaba finally waved Eliana away, daring to lift the corner of her mouth in an almost-smile. Still, the young maunt sat in the chair, not offensively, but in silent companionship. Someday, when she could think of it more objectively, Elphaba would remember her as surprisingly astute, or sensitive. Almost as though Eliana could look through the thick shield around Elphaba's heart and see needs even she could not identify. Or perhaps it was because she knew, perhaps because she had the same scars. Elphaba would not allow herself to explore that thought.
She was still staring at the ceiling when the stars poked their way through the thick, black night. The room seemed to be closing in on her, as though her recovery was making her bigger, and the tiny cell no longer fit. She was getting stronger, perhaps even strong enough to run. And yet now, like a chain around her ankle, there was the press. How fitting that just as she was strong enough to run, she would be running into a lion's den.
Almost soundlessly, the door clicked open. Doctor Weilhemm entered swiftly, pushing the door nearly shut. By the sliver of light from the door, he looked eerily resolute. The clock ticked, and Elphaba knew something was about to change.
"Help her get dressed. Quickly," He addressed Eliana, handing her something dark. The door shut behind him.
Without question, the maunt approached Elphaba. In her hands was a dress, solid black and well made. The bodice was thick and soft, meant to last for seasons. The skirt draped beautifully, offering warmth, modesty, and yet was clearly feminine. It was made for work, for weather, and for a woman.
"There isn't time to ask. Some things are meant to be pondered later," Eliana spoke, her voice both soft and firm. She held out the dress.
She turned her back and Elphaba dressed quickly. She was stiff and a little unsteady, but her body obeyed her. She stood and slipped her feet into her boots, which now seemed so foreign. Eliana signaled, and the doctor slipped back in. He gestured for them to follow.
They made their way down one winding hallway after another, with Elphaba testing herself each step of the way. She was winded, her stamina clearly depleted, yet she was moving. They seemed to be traveling downward, the hallways becoming ever smaller, the light dimmer. The last leg of the journey was in darkness. They stopped, and all was still. None spoke for several moments.
"This is where we part," The doctor whispered, his voice still quite commanding.
Elphaba searched his face for a moment, her sharp eyes reading his expression.
"As I understand it," He began, "my patient passed away last night, perhaps taking a turn for the worse because of the undue stress caused by the press. It's unfortunate she will not be able to comment on the matter of the Bison."
Their eyes met, and volumes passed between them. Elphaba turned to Eliana, who wrapped the green girl in a sudden embrace. Elphaba stiffened, but did not withdraw.
"Here," Dr. Weilhemm unclasped the cloak from around his neck and draped it over her shoulders. It was a heavy, solid garment, rich ebony with a deep, jade green lining. It was large, but it suited her height. "It suits you," He finished.
Elphaba fingered the thick fabric, unwilling to argue. It did suit her. In an impulsive moment, she pressed her hand against his arm, gripping his shoulder, implying things she did not have words to express.
Before she breezed out the door, she turned suddenly to Eliana.
"I have been where you've been. I have the same scars. My sister."
She left the words hanging there behind her, in the empty space where she had stood.
When the world would call her wicked, it's how Eliana would remember her. A whirl of black and emerald, a sister who would not be kept down, a person who wholly deserved to live.