Chapter 13

Ziad didn't know much of anything for a long time after. The world interchanged between black, orange, and red. The only feelings were vague sensations of pain somewhere down below his waist.

Occasionally he heard indistinct rumbling somewhere in front of him. Not very often. His was a world of troubled deep sleep.

Ziad slept.

And then... Sensation began creeping back into the world. Thoughts became more than mere subconscious flickerings, he could differentiate sounds, and the pain came through the veil of unconsciousness more than ever before.

Very gradually, Ziad began regaining consciousness. Finally, he realized with at least a little conviction that he was indeed fully aware. He opened his eyes.

Ziad's first words were, "Ouch."

And here the interesting thought experiment is presented- If an injured young man says "ouch" in an empty room, did he make a sound?

Yes, obviously. Ziad heard it. That monosyllabic word was music to his ears. Very brief music, but it might as well have been Mozart. He decided to re-write Beethoven's 9th.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Ziad regretted them. It probably would have been prudent, he thought, to actually realize where he was before shouting out some random crap. He glanced around and breathed a sigh of relief.

He was in a hospital room, as opposed to the obviously "kidnapped and held hostage" living situation he had feared.

"Well," explained Ziad to the empty room, "I suppose that's one bright side to all of this."

"That's quite true," responded the room, "It would have been quite unfortunate if you had, for example, been taken hostage by a brutal terrorist group after that bombing on the bus."

"Did the room just reply?"

"Yes, I did. This is a free country, I can say what I want!"

"You're not sentient, Room, you can't talk!"

"Oh really? Why did you just capitalize that 'R' in 'Room', eh?"

"You're just a hallucination likely brought on by painkillers!"

"Oh, damn. It's times like these that make existential crises so frustrating."

"Oh, shut up, Room. I don't need your crap right now."

The Room ceased to exist. It was immediately replaced by a perfectly inanimate room, that failed to respond to Ziad's queries.

"Good. Rooms shouldn't speak back," said Ziad to the world.

The room didn't respond.

The door to the hospital room opened. A nurse walked in, busy with a clipboard. She stopped when she noticed Ziad was awake.

"Oh, you're awake!" she exclaimed, voice heavy with a French accent.

"Obviously," said Ziad.

"They did say you were a- what was the word?- ah yes, a smartass."

"Hey!" said Ziad indignantly, "Who's they?"

"Monsieur Bar-Dayan and Ms. Aya Koren. They were here yesterday."

The nurse performed the usual nursing duties, as Ziad sat awkwardly.

"So, what's the extent of my injuries?"

The nurse stepped back and looked him over, sighed, and said, "When they brought you in the injuries were rather extensive, due to your apparent proximity to the blast. Let's see..." she flipped through several sheets of paper on her clipboard. "Initial treatments were for partial burns across your back and legs, traumatic amputation of the left foot, ballistic penetration of multiple fragments of metal, plastic, and bone, a collapsed lung, TM rupture and middle ear damage, abdominal hemorrhaging, and concussion, as well as the standard multiple lacerations."

Ziad sat there for a while.

"Traumatic amputation... of the left foot."

"Yup."

Ziad wiggled his left foot.

"Are you absolutely certain?"

The nurse stared at Ziad's left foot. Then she flipped frantically through her papers.

"Whoops, nope. Everything except traumatic amputation of your left foot."

Ziad sighed in relief.

"Except," continued the nurse, "it was pretty close, by all accounts. You lost two toes, as well. They saved the rest, but only just. I'd avoid using that foot as much as possible after you get out, until it heals more. You probably won't be running any marathons."

"Great." said Ziad, stunned, "Two toes... That will be weird."

"Most likely," responded the nurse, "another reason you'll be here a while. Rehabilitation and all that."

"Sounds like my idea of a fun summer holiday," sighed Ziad as he slumped back into the pillow.

The nurse laughed, "It's how I spend all my holidays."

The nurse continued with her nursely duties.

"If you don't mind, what day is today?" asked Ziad, after a few minutes.

"Thursday."

"So I've been out for, what, a few days?" asked Ziad.

"Thursday- July 8th."

"Ah." Ziad slumped back into the bed. "Nearly a month?"

"That's correct."

"And I don't suppose I'll be getting out anytime soon, will I?"

"Not if I have anything to do with it. You've suffered pretty severe injuries, if you haven't noticed."

"Crap."

"I couldn't sum it up any better myself." The nurse left.

Ziad lay back, closed his eyes, and tried to sleep. Unfortunately, his body didn't want to go back to sleep after a mere five minutes in the real world.

The next few hours aren't really interesting enough to recount, unless reading detailed accounts of lying still and occasionally forcing down hospital food (which is awful the world over) have suddenly become popular.

Life became a little more interesting when Shlomi came to visit him.

As opposed to the usual situation, in which the patient is eating, talking to a doctor, sleeping peacefully, or doing some form of physical therapy when the friends and family of the bereaved arrive, Shlomi arrived when Ziad was using the necessaries. He quickly ducked back out of the room.

When Ziad had finished, Shlomi re-entered.

"Hello, Ziad."

"Hey, Shlomi. Why'd you tell that French nurse I'm a smartass?"

Shlomi chuckled, "I suppose you're alright if you can still talk like that."

"The bomb didn't remove my head, if that's what you're saying."

"A shame."

There was a brief silence between them.

"Is Aya OK?" said Ziad.

"Yeah, your stupid bravery prevented any significant damage to anything but her pride."

Ziad breathed another sigh of relief. "That's good. That's really good."

Shlomi's face darkened, "But four people died on that bus, and everyone else had at least minor injuries."

Ziad frowned, "Damn... Any particular group claiming responsibility?"

"No, but certain friends of mine say it was almost certainly Hamas, or someone affiliated with them."

The French nurse opened the door, and entered the room balancing a tray.

"Ah, bonjour Monsieur Shlomi, good to see you here."

Shlomi quickly stood up straight and greeted the nurse in fluent French, "Bonjour mademoiselle DeBlanc, how are you this fine morning?"

Nurse DeBlanc set the tray down and answered, "Fine, fine. And you?"

"Fine myself, thanks."

Ziad looked at the two of them, and then began speaking to both of them in passable Pashto. "Seriously guys? Can we keep it to maybe one language, at most two in here? You all speak English quite well."

Shlomi and Nurse DeBlanc stared at him.

"You speak Pashto?" Shlomi said softly, in Arabic. Then, to himself, muttered, "We could use another Pashto speaker at work."

"I taught myself while I was at school in England." answered Ziad in English.

Nurse DeBlanc sighed and said, in English, "I am so lost.

Ziad and Shlomi turned to her and said, in unison, "Nothing."

"Uh huh, sure."

The nurse left, leaving Shlomi and Ziad to discuss. Shlomi sat down and made himself comfortable.

"What happened with the Patils, do you know?" asked Ziad.

"They returned to England about a week ago. They were extremely worried about you, obviously, and at least one of them visited you every day until they had to leave. Apparently the father had some work-related thing he had to take care of."

"I suppose me getting blown up kind of ruined their vacation, didn't it?"

"Yeah, pretty much." said Shlomi.

"That does tend to ruin things, I guess."

"Very much so."

Shlomi leaned forward. "Your mother called a week after the victim list of the bus bombing showed up. She asked why I hadn't told her you were in town. I told her that I didn't know. I lied."

"Thank you," said Ziad. He thought for a second before continuing, "I suppose that confirms she's still here."

"That's what I was thinking." Shlomi walked to the door, cracked it open, and checked the hallway. It was empty. Then he closed and locked the door. He returned to his seat, but was clearly somewhat tense.

"I found Robert McCormack," he said softly, "He's still in Lebanon, but his tour ends next week. I've arranged a meeting, but we'll need to get you out of the hospital first."

He leaned close to Ziad's ear, "But that will be difficult, considering the amount of security here. They have all the victims of the bombing in this hospital under intense security- lots of police and some of my colleagues are in and around the hospital. Because of the dangers involved in busting you out of here, I need to know why it is so important you speak to McCormack face-to-face."

Ziad answered quietly, "Because he sent another letter later on. This one was handwritten. I didn't tell anyone about it and, as per his instructions, I burned it immediately after reading it. It said to meet him as soon as possible."

Shlomi frowned, "Why you?"

"I don't know. The weird thing is that this second letter was delivered directly by owl. It said in the letter to feed the owl, which was rather irate and clearly hungry. Which means he's either a wizard or involved in the wizarding world. In addition, he may not trust someone who works for the Israeli government, like you."

Shlomi sighed and leaned back in his chair, "I suppose that's a possibility."

He looked at his watch and stood up, "I need to be going. I'll work on a plan to get you out of here, probably the day after tomorrow."

He shook Ziad's hand, and opened the door, "Oh, and Aya Koren will probably visit later today. Her parents too. You did save her life, after all. Or at least prevent her from being as injured as you."

Shlomi waved goodbye and left Ziad alone in his hospital room. Ziad ate his food.

Aya did visit later that day, but her parents did not come.

"They do not like you," Aya said, "They think you are a bad influence."

"Most people seem to think that." said Ziad.

"If it helps, I do not think jumping on somebody to save them from an explosion is a bad influence."

"That does help a little, thanks. Also, your English has improved significantly. How is that?"

Aya smiled, "I've invited Shlomi over for dinner a lot. I convinced my parents that we should get to know our neighbors better, starting with him. Now I take care of his garden, too. I asked Shlomi to only talk to me in English, so I could learn."

"It's definitely working."

Aya looked absurdly pleased with herself, but then got more serious. "How are you feeling?"

"Like crap, but it could be a lot worse."

Aya nodded, and then reached into her bag and brought out a couple of books. "I brought the books you were reading, so you won't be as bored."

"Great, thanks!"

They talked briefly before mutually realizing that they didn't have much to talk about, as they had only known each other a few hours, without beginning a whole new line of conversation, which would take up more time than they had.

Aya left.

Ziad read.

Two days later, Shlomi came for a brief visit. He was carrying a duffel bag. Inside was an olive-drab military uniform with no insignia.

"We go tonight. When the nurse leaves you for the night, change into this uniform and wait for me."

He tucked the uniform under the cushions of his seat.

"See you tonight."

He left.

Ziad read, but found it hard to concentrate.

Author's Note:

Don't worry, Ziad will be back at Hogwarts soon enough, but first he has to clear up some loose ends.

Plus, if anyone correctly catches the movie reference, good on you.