XVII

Miri headed down to the cellar with a pot of boiled bandages and her doctor’s bag. “Your babushka. She wants me to leave,” Sasha said. He’d managed to light the candles in one of the sconces and sat under a blanket on the cot. His tunic hung from a nail on one of the posts.

“Not yet. She said you can stay while I help you. Stay the night.”

“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” Sasha said.

“I could still hang for it.” She paused. “And I feel the guilt.” The guilt for killing the drunk. And Anatoly.

“You must move forward.” It was something Babushka would say. Look to tomorrow. Always tomorrow. Miri lit a taper for the other candles and the hearth. As she bent down to arrange kindling, she flinched at the sight of the torn diagrams of the spleen.

Fire caught in the grate. The wood was dry, and as it burned it released a sweet smell. Miri walked around the room lighting candles, all the while keeping her eyes on the soldier. In the growing flames, she saw him for the first time clearly. He was ragged and filthy. His eyes were so dark they were as black as his hair, but they were bright. A scar ran from his nose to his ear, cutting through thick stubble. One of his cheeks dimpled when he pressed his lips together.

She pulled a bench over to the hearth and asked Sasha to come and sit next to her. He tried to get up but his knees buckled from either exhaustion or blood loss, or both. She reached an arm under his, and as she put her hand on his waist, her fingers wrapped over his bare skin, too late for her to pull the blanket between them. She startled at the touch.

“What is it? Am I too heavy?” he asked.

“No.” The soldier groaned as she helped him to the bench. Slowly, tentatively, she slipped the blanket off his shoulders. Dried streaks of blood pointed down his arm and reminded her of Anatoly’s leg. Had that only been a few hours earlier? She started to unravel the bandage she’d tied at the river. It was blood soaked and stiff. He bristled with pain as she slipped the knot out. “I only have a small dose of morphine. Would you like it?”

“No. The pain will keep me awake. I can check your work.” He tried to smile.

She didn’t return the grin as she picked up the tweezers. Stitches were simple enough, she told herself. She’d made thousands before. There was no reason to be scared that she’d kill him, too. But she was. She reached for a boiled bandage and began wiping away the dirt and blood smeared around the wound, picking out gravel stuck below the surface. Sasha clenched his teeth. “I need to see your entire shoulder,” she said. With Yuri there, she wouldn’t have hesitated to pull the blanket down further, but here, alone, it was different. She cleared her throat. “The blanket. I need you to remove the blanket.”

Sasha eased it down until his chest was bare. He shivered. His skin was smooth, but bruised. He’d been kicked in the ribs. He bore a tapestry of scars only a fighter could have earned. The largest one ran across his chest. It had come from a shallow cut. Under the stink of river water, Miri caught the same smell of sweat, of him, she’d caught earlier. She touched him with her fingertips and he flinched. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“Just never had a woman ask me to take such a close look before.” It was a hint of flirtation, a jab at humor, and it made Miri relax just a bit.

“I don’t believe that.” She smiled and felt him relax, too. She set to cleaning the wound. As she worked, memories from the river, Anatoly, and even Yuri fell away. All she saw was her patient, someone who needed her care. Pushing deeper under his skin, she found sand and realized she needed to keep him distracted from the coming pain. “Tell me about the scar on your chest.”

“It’s a knife wound. Fighting is a good way to earn extra kopecks.” She nodded.

“The pain’s about to get worse.” Out of carbolic, she dipped the bandage in vodka. “How did you get into the river?”

“When did universities begin allowing women?” Miri squeezed a soaked bandage over the wound so alcohol spilled into the gash. Bubbles gurgled up. Ash fell from the log in the fire.

“One woman a year joins the Kovno Medical Academy. I was the first Jewish woman.”

“Good. It’s competitive. I’m in the best hands.”

Miri smiled. “Tell me about the name on your coat. Grekov.”

“I lied to you.” At his words, Miri jerked her hands to the side, jabbing the tweezers at a painful angle. “Aye,” Sasha yelped.

“You lied?”

His explanation came in bursts between pauses he took to manage the pain. “I wasn’t thrown into the river. I jumped. I was wrestling. With Grekov. He’s my captain. A Russian.” Still wary, Miri went back to work. Sasha squeezed his eyes shut. “Grekov. The famous fool. That’s why he was given a Jewish unit. It was a wager. Grekov challenged the great General Radkievich to Durak. You know it?”

“Of course. The loser’s left with all the cards.”

“Right. There was no way to win. Victory meant death. Loss gave him Jews. Command of us Jews. Ah!”

Miri held up a blood-soaked pebble in her tweezers. She threw it into the fire. “Why do you have his coat?”

“We were on the train. Cattle cars. Jewish transport. We wrestle, to pass time. Never with Grekov. Tonight was different. ‘Fight me or die,’ he said. Drunk. Aye, that hurts!”

Miri paused. His face was paler than when she’d started. “Do you want the morphine?”

“No.” He pointed to the bottle of vodka Miri was using to sterilize the tweezers. She nodded and he took a long drink. “I let Grekov win. But he challenged me again and again. Told me to fight harder. Drunker Grekov got, worse he wrestled.” Sasha took another swig from the bottle. “Then, I won. Grekov stood. ‘Bullet or beating?’ he asked.

“He whipped his gun across my face.” Sasha pointed to a spot below his chin. Under his dark stubble Miri made out the beginnings of a purple bloom. The icy river must have held back the swelling. Miri threaded her needle and without warning eased it under his skin. It always hurt more when patients knew it was coming. Sasha jumped.

“Go on,” she said, waiting for him to be still again. “Grekov?”

“Toe-to-toe. We stood toe-to-toe,” Sasha said. “Same height but he’s thin, no strength. The coat. It was hanging on the side. Next to the door.”

Sasha stopped. He looked spent but Miri wasn’t done. She needed him to keep talking, to keep him from focusing on the stitches. “How did you fall from the train?” she asked.

“I didn’t fall. He punched me under the ribs. I pretended it hurt. He yelled, ‘Open the door.’ He poked his gun at my chest.” Sasha put a hand in the middle of his sternum. Small, springy hairs went flat under his palm. “We were crossing a field and he wanted me to jump. But I’d die there. No cushion. Then I saw the river.” Sasha stopped. He seemed to be organizing his thoughts while Miri tied off another stitch. “The river. I might survive the river. I held a strap hung from the side and taunted him. To buy time. ‘You think you could push me out of this train?’ Grekov landed a punch. Harder than I thought. He used his gun. See.” He pointed to the bruise on his ribs. “I got up when the train was close to the water. Grekov yelled, pulled out his knife.” Sasha forgot about his wound. He tried to lift his arms, to gesture with the story, but then grabbed his shoulder. “Ouf!”

“Try not to move,” Miri said. She began winding a bandage across the wound.

“I ducked. But his blade hit.” He pointed to the wound.

“Not a good strike.”

“No. He can’t fight. I didn’t even feel it, not at first. I lost my grip on that strap. Reached for it, but this coat came away instead. I lost my balance. Had no choice but to push off. Jump toward the river.” He closed his eyes. Tears tangled down his cheek. “I knew I had to hit the water with my feet in order to survive. Maybe the coat helped slow my fall. I don’t know. And then I swam. You found me.” He took her hand and looked up into her face. “Thank you.”

“You will heal.”

“Perhaps. But that boy, the one who died? He was lucky to have you, too. Maybe you underestimate yourself, Miriam Davydovna Abramov.” How long did they sit there with the soldier holding her hand?

Eventually, Baba knocked on the floor above, breaking the moment. “I’m going to bed,” she said.

“Good night.” Miri’s startled reply came quicker than it should, and she could hear Baba hesitating. “We’re fine,” Miri tried again, steadying her voice. Then the floorboards creaked as Baba made her way toward the stairs.

Embarrassed, Miri reached for her doctor’s bag. She missed, knocked it to the floor. All her supplies spilled. Sasha got down on his knees to help gather what he could with one hand. “I’m engaged,” she said. The words came before she thought about what she was saying or why.

“Of course.” He smiled calmly, held out a rolled bandage and her stethoscope. Miri piled them back into her bag. “Tell me about your fiancé.”

“He’s kind. A doctor.” Sasha looked at the hearth. The logs were embers now. “You should rest,” Miri said.

“Tell me about the medical books. The ripped papers you put in the grate. Why is your work here?”

“You can read?”

“You think because I’m dressed in rags that I have no education?”

“No,” Miri lied, ashamed. Didn’t her own brother prove appearances didn’t represent ability? She was about to apologize, when Sasha smiled.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’d come to the same conclusion if I found me washed up on a beach. But I can read. My father taught me.” Sasha groaned and stood. He pointed himself toward the cot. Miri put an arm around his waist to keep him from falling. This time she made sure the blanket was between her hand and his skin. He was even slower now than he’d been when they started. His steps were heavier.

“My brother loves to read, too,” Miri said.

“Where is he? Was he conscripted?”

She shook her head. “He volunteered. So he could choose his post.”

“What’s his name?”

“Ivan Davydovich Abramov. Vanya. Have you met him?” It wasn’t likely. But still.

“No. I can’t think of any Vanya Abramov.”

“He’s run to Riga.”

“For love?”

“Love?” Miri almost laughed as she eased Sasha onto the cot. “I guess in a sense. Vanya went to Riga for his love of science. To observe an eclipse.”

“An eclipse? What is there to see in the dark?”

“A bend in the stars,” Miri said.

There was a long pause between them. “He’s missing?”

“Not yet.”

“But you’re worried. I can see that.” He bit his lip, looked to be working through a stab of pain as he tried to settle. “I can find him. Help him come home to you. It would be a way to repay you for all you’ve done.”

“You’ve already paid your debt. Coming back for that drunk was enough.”

“No, I never should have left without being sure you were safe. And now you’re risking your life, and your grandmother’s, by hiding me. Did your fiancé offer to find him? Is he gone, too?”

“He left with my brother. They’re together. Serving in Riga.”

“I see. It’s good they have each other. They’re lucky.”

“Yes,” Miri said, hoping Vanya saw it that way. She added a log to the fire and settled on the bench to make a sling for her patient. By the time she’d finished, Sasha was in as deep a sleep as she’d seen. She crept upstairs, and for the first time since Vanya left, she didn’t go to her brother’s room. She went to her own room and slept.