Chapter 12
Hands seized her. Bodies pressed against her. Her clothes were torn and cast away, and she found herself violated. Faceless figures passed before her, invaded her. Their laughter echoed just beyond her reach. Her screams were suffocated, and she gasped for air, clawing and struggling for freedom…
Elphaba gasped, drawing in the moist, night air in heaving breaths. She sat up, realizing she was trembling. Her body ached as though she'd slept with her muscles tightly clenched, as if ready for battle. She brought her hands to her face in an attempt to stop the trembling.
It was a scenario that had repeated itself many times over the past several weeks.
The night with the book had made her feel so victorious, so free. She had felt she could simply cast off her demons and run.. And then the nightmares began, as if the toothless stranger had stirred up the pool of her emotions and brought her greatest fears to the surface. For several weeks she had been going about in a stupor, sleeping very little in effort to rid herself of her paralyzing dreams. She carried out the tasks assigned to her with little enthusiasm, feeling more like a slave than a revolutionary.
"Another one?" Malky questioned from the shadows.
Elphaba simply nodded.
"We all have our demons," He continued, plopping down beside her.
She didn't respond. Her breathing slowed, the trembling eased. Yet she stared vacantly out into the hazy night, looking defeated.
Malky waited for a long moment before speaking.
"You know…..I am not surprised by much…" He opened the door for confession, for her to spill her horrendous secret like the refuse it was.
Instead, she mused, "I cannot win this. I cannot overpower it nor will it away. I am truly haunted….truly scarred…." The last part was almost a whisper, so that Malky questioned whether or not he'd heard her correctly.
He thought for a moment, and then postulated, "Healing is not an upward climb on a smooth hill. It's a treacherous road, uneven and broken, with just as many valleys as mountains. When we find ourselves in yet another valley, it's hard to see that, although we have fallen, we have moved forward…..if only by a measure…" The Cat trailed off, seeming lost in his own ponderings, perhaps gaining something from his own wisdom.
Elphaba turned sharply. She felt stung, but not negatively. He'd hit the proverbial nail on its head. She rubbed her eyes now, perhaps understanding her misery, yet not enjoying it any more.
"What brought you out of it?" Elphaba asked, in spite of herself. "How have you healed?"
"Time," Malky answered, "and confession," He paused, "Telling the wind is better than telling no one."
Elphaba snorted, because the idea of confession seemed preposterous. Still, the memory of the release she felt in proclaiming she was not a whore swept over her. To make such a claim meant admitting something had indeed happened. She had admitted, unknowingly, that it had been real, and she had claimed some power over it, over her destiny.
"Perhaps your grief is different than mine. Healing from death would be entirely different…" Elphaba threw out her words, with little confidence.
Malky looked at her for a moment, trying to read her expression. "All tragedy is, in effect, a death. There is the death of a person, the death of youth, or of an idea. The death of a dream, or of innocence. Every crime or affliction kills something within us. All suffering is grief, in a way."
Elphaba could not shake off the truth in his words. She did grieve. She grieved the loss of so many things, of what had been unwillingly taken from her. It was indeed a loss. She had been so hollow, at first, so numb. Now the emptiness seemed to be filling with fear, anger and so many other things she could not name. It all threatened to explode, to spill from her without her consent. Deep within her, she knew Malky was right. Like a splinter, whose presence stirs up infection and pain, it would have to come out, eventually. Her hands began to tremble, as she considered her words. She opened her mouth, wanting to confess what Hadrick had done to her, what he had forced her to become.
Instead, she found herself leaning over the side of the bridge, vomiting into the darkness below.
Then, she slumped back onto the stone, drained. Malky approached, finding her crumpled in a heap of black fabric and glistening black hair. She turned her face up toward the moon, and the light reflected off her features, casting them in an opalescent, emerald glow against the ebony backdrop she had created.
"Come," Malky commanded softly, "You need sleep. Confession will come, when there has been enough time…."
Elphaba followed, too weak to argue. She curled up on the cloak and fell into a heavy sleep. A dreamless sleep.
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As several more weeks slipped past, the nightmares eased slightly. Elphaba attributed it to the fact that even the beginnings of confession could be cathartic. She attempted, if futilely, to tell Malky just a piece of her story. Each attempt ended the same way, with her losing whatever she'd eaten over the side of the bridge. Yet she slept better, after each try. She supposed it could have just been the fatigue of it all, but she refused to give in that easily.
Her greatest step forward in dealing with her grief was unspoken, but it had been a milestone just the same. It had happened on a muggy evening after another failed attempt at talking to the Malky. For the first time, even if only in her mind, she allowed herself to use the word for what had been done to her.
Rape.
The word cemented itself in her mind, unwelcome, yet taking root just the same. What had been done to her had a name. Perhaps it didn't make her feel better, but it made her feel less out of control. The horror seemed contained, somehow, in that one word. It was still hideous, agonizing and bitter, but it wasn't all of her anymore. She was starting to put it in its place. Slowly.
Elphaba was lost in these thoughts when she noticed a figure stumbling toward the bridge. It was late summer, and rain pelted both the bridge and the water below. The pent up heat of summer seemed to be released by the drenching rain, rising from the bridge trusses as steam. Elphaba peered through its murkiness, suddenly on alert. She seized the broom, ready to flee. And then she recognized Nyalana.
The dark-skinned girl stumbled into the hollows of the bridge, obviously wounded. Elphaba seized her, taking her weight into her arms and nearly collapsing. She carefully laid her on the stone floor, looking for an obvious injury.
"I….wasn't….followed…" Was all Nyalana could utter.
"Malky," Elphaba snapped, knowing he would be there, "Bandages, cloth, ointment, if there is any."
The Cat understood and ran swiftly, in search of what could be stolen.
Her proximity to another person forgotten in the moment, Elphaba scoured Nyalana's body with her eyes. There was blood, and it seemed to originate from her right side. She tore the garments away from the Winkie girl's arm and right side, where necessary. She couldn't help but preserve her friend's modesty.
There was a large gash deep into the flesh of the right arm, and an equally menacing looking wound just under the ribcage. Elphaba tore a few strips from her dress, only furthering its tattered appearance. She wrapped these tightly around Nyalana's arm and ribcage, stemming the flow of blood.
Time seemed to stand still as she watched the blood saturate the fabric and stain her hands. Red on green. For a moment, she flashed back, remembering her own blood on her hands, and then she shook it off, putting the memory in its place. There was a life to save. This time, she could make good.
Malky returned, panting and exhausted from carrying such a large load. He had managed to pilfer some quality bandages, soaked in antiseptic. He dropped them in Elphaba's lap, and set to licking himself to rid his mouth of the taste.
She unwound the blood-soaked fabric and cast it aside. Painstakingly, she wrapped the bandages around the wounds, and followed with more strips, torn from her dress. She supposed she would be finding patches for that, later.
The sun moved, the hours passed and Elphaba sat, hunched and very still, waiting. She wasn't sure what she was waiting for, but she did not move. Nyalana's breathing slowed, her heart rate calmed. The blood stopped flowing. Elphaba supposed she was either healing, or dying. She didn't have enough training to know which it was.
"Malky," She called as the sun began to set, "I need thread, and a good needle," She looked up at him imploringly, and he scampered off, in spite of his exhaustion.
As darkness fell, the Cat returned, dropping a good spool of thread and a needle at Elphaba's feet. She smiled slightly, gratefully, as he curled wearily into a ball.
Then she set to work. With the Winkie girl lying deathly still, Elphaba willed up everything she'd ever learned in Life Sciences, and began stitching. She sewed the layers of skin and muscle together delicately, trying not to restart the flow of blood. It was agonizing, and lasted well into the night.
After the last stitch, she rewrapped the wounds in bandages and fabric, and collapsed onto the cloak. She could hear Nyalana's slow, yet even breathing beside her. What would have been too close for comfort was necessary as she listened for any change, any indication of a turn for worse.
As dawn broke, after hours of no change, Elphaba's eyes fell shut in exhaustion. Both women slept, side by side, soldiers in the same army.
Malky awoke, and peered down from above, willing healing for both of them.