Gleb stepped out of the train and onto the little station's open platform at the back of the small crowd. The platform was slippery with rain, but the sky was beginning to clear and the setting sun shone directly in his face. He squinted forward, trying to walk with a hunch to disguise his height and also not run into anyone. The one was very uncomfortable on his already cramped back and the other was impossible in the crowd, small though it was.
Being bumped and jostled only served to make his temper shorter. As he approached the stairs that led off the platform, Gleb was pushed to its very edge by a small, bald Frenchman who was apparently determined to get off the platform before everyone else. As he tried to regain his balance, the man next to him was jolted by a porter and bumped into him. Gleb was pushed off the platform. The drop was nearly a meter and as he stepped down his foot landed in a deep hole. The ground was slippery and the jerk caused him to fall sideways, his head narrowly missing the platform's edge, and causing his trapped ankle to twist.
There was an audible snap and Gleb bit back a cry and quickly rolled over to take the pressure off his ankle. He lay for a moment, his face in a wince, then sat up and pulled his foot from the hole, gasping a little at the pain. He looked at his ankle with a sinking heart.
It was twisted in such a way that he knew it was broken. Even in his pain, however, he felt the panic rising up. He couldn't afford to break his ankle! He needed to get out of the country. If he couldn't walk, then he couldn't travel, and if he couldn't travel, then he would be caught and killed!
He forced himself to push the thoughts aside and focus on the present. How was he supposed to get out of the place where he had fallen? He glanced up at the platform and saw a young women keeling on the edge looking at him, her expression concerned.
"Oh, monsieur, sommes-vous blessé?"she asked.
It took Gleb a moment to translate her words to himself, and then formulate a French response.
"Oui, je le pense," he answered, gritting his teeth. The pain from his ankle made it hard to focus.
"Oh, non!" She sat on the platform's edge and slipped down beside him. She knelt down and began to examine his ankle. As she touched it, he flinched and swore in Russian under his breath. The girl looked up surprised.
"Parlez-vous russe?" she asked.
Gleb frowned, annoyed with himself for his slip. He debated denying it but dismissed the idea. His accent would soon give him away anyway.
"Yes," he said in Russian. "Do you?"
The girl sat back on her heels and smiled.
"Indeed I do," she replied. "My mother is Russian and we speak it at home.
"Oh really?" He meant for his tone to be conversational but it sounded rather strained which only served to remind the girl of the matter at hand.
"I'm afraid your ankle is broken," she said. "It looks pretty bad. Let me help you get up and you can pull yourself back onto the platform."
Not knowing what else to do, Gleb nodded. She took his hands and helped him up. His foot bumped a tussock as he did so and he smothered another oath, sitting down quickly on the edge of the platform. He clenched his teeth, staring off into the distance.
"Where were you figuring on heading?" the girl asked after a moment. Gleb shrugged then winced.
"I don't know," he said. "I've never been in this part of the country before. Do you know of any good inns in the area?"
The girl's face blossomed into a smile.
"I'll say," she chirped, "my parents own one and a very good one at that: L'Auberge du Miroir."
"How far away is this Auberge du Miroir?" Gleb asked dubiously as another wave of pain flooded his ankle.
"Oh, not far," the girl frowned down at his foot, "but I'll have to splint that with something. This isn't going to be comfortable for you, I'm afraid."
You don't say so! Gleb thought to himself, but he only raised his eyebrows in agreement. The girl searched around in the bushes that grew near the platform. She soon found two stout sticks that she broke to size with her knee. Walking back to the platform, she opened her bag which she had left there and, after some rummaging, took out what appeared to be a roll of linen bandages.
"My mother has always said that you should carry some kind of medical kit with you when you travel. Now I see why," she added and Gleb nodded.
"Your mother is a wise woman," he said. She smiled.
"She is indeed. She's the best mother in all of France. Oh, I'm Elena Dassin, by the way."
"Gleb Vaganov," he responded immediately and then mentally recoiled. He had just given his name, his real name, to a total stranger! Of all the stupid…! His inner self-berating ceased abruptly as he heard her saying, "I'll have to put the splint on outside your shoe. I dare not take it off. Now don't attack me," with a hesitant smile, "this is going to hurt."
For the next two minutes, Gleb was so focused on his ankle that he had no time to think of the matter and by the time that Elena had finished her skillfully-made ankle splint, he was in too much pain to care. Who would have thought that a simple broken ankle could hurt like this! He kept his teeth clenched, grasping the edge of the platform with white-knuckled hands and pretended that he was under the eyes of his military superiors.
When Elena had finished, she surveyed her handiwork and then looked up anxiously at his face. He had not made a sound, but she could tell by the tension there that it had not been comfortable for him. She shuddered to think of what the setting would be like but pushed the thought resolutely aside. She let him sit for a few minutes in silence and then tentatively suggested that they try to head for the inn. He sighed and nodded.
"Yes, it's getting late," he observed looking around at the fading light.
Elena climbed up onto the platform and picked up her satchel.
"Is this your luggage?" she asked, pointing to where he had dropped his bag when he fell.
He managed a nod and reached out his hand for it. She gave it to him then held out both her hands.
"Let me help you stand," she said.
Using her as a support, he dragged himself upright, frowning at the pain it caused him. Still, he was able to stand on one leg if he used her shoulders as a support. He hopped and then winced.
By the time that they had left the station and gone perhaps twenty-five meters into the town, Gleb was sweating. His ankle was pulsing and every hop jarred it worse than the one before. He muttered to himself every now and then and Elena, glancing upward at his tense face, felt bad for him. He was bearing it bravely, but she could see that his foot hurt badly. She looked back toward the street and her heart sank. It was true that the inn was not far from the station in normal circumstances. It was also true that acting as a crutch for a tall, heavy man to whom every step is painful were not normal circumstances.
Gleb could never say afterwards how they made it to L'Auberge du Miroir, except that they did. As it was, it was dark by the time they reached it.
Elena brought him to a back door which opened onto a busy kitchen filled with people. As soon as the door was opened, however, everyone was clustered around, talking and exclaiming in an excited combination of Russian and French that made Gleb's tired head spin. Elena led him to a chair and he sat there in daze while she gave a brief but concise explanation of the circumstances. The doctor was sent for immediately. When he arrived and Gleb had been helped to a room, she stood by and assisted to doctor with capable hands throughout the painful procedure that followed.
-xxxx-
The doctor took his leave after some final instructions and went out, closing the door behind him. Gleb lay back on the pillow. If he was honest with himself, he felt sick to his stomach. He had not made a sound while the doctor was at work, but his face was pale and drawn.
Elena looked at him from where she stood by the door. He lay there like he had no strength left and his eyes were closed.
She walked to the bedside. I can't imagine what that was like for him. It was no easy setting, having to reposition the bones twice like that, she thought to herself. Without really meaning to, she reached out and touched his shoulder comfortingly as if he was one of her siblings. He opened his eyes in surprise and she stepped back, embarrassed at her own impulsiveness. Gleb saw her expression and gave a weak smile.
"Thank you," he said simply. Elena smiled back uncertainly.
"I'll be nearby. If you need anything just call," she said, her voice a little unsteady. She turned and left, leaving the door slightly ajar so that she could hear if he called.
Outside in the hall, Elena took a deep breath, leaning against the wall to steady herself. As someone who was deeply empathetic, she found it very difficult to cause even necessary pain to someone. She had kept up a calm façade while the doctor was there, forcing herself to focus on the job at hand, and had done whatever he had told her to do. Now that it was all over, however, she was shaking like a leaf. She gave herself a few moments then ran her hand over her rumpled hair and headed down the stairs.
Gleb felt like a sick child. Tiredness from the strain of the past few days came crashing down on him, drowning him in exhaustion. Gleb closed his eyes and fell into a dead sleep.
...
Blessez-vous? - Are you hurt?
Oui, je le pense. – Yes, I think so.
Parlez-vous russe? – Do you speak Russian?
L'Auberge du Miroir – The Mirror Inn
A/N - Updated version! The more I reread the older chapters, the more I see that needs fixing. :l Cheers!