Karina

I raise the lift halfway and peek inside. Mark might have taken a detour through our basement, so I didn’t raise the lift all the way.

But there's Gromov, sitting, leaning against the support, in the exact same position I left him in the garage. And I don’t like this one bit.

"Hold on," I warn him, just in case, and lift the platform higher.

Gromov doesn’t move, so I squat next to him. His head is tilted back, eyes shut.

"Hey," I shake his shoulder gently, "Mark, did you fall asleep?"

He struggles to open his eyes, a hazy veil covering them, trying to focus on me. And I can feel the heat radiating from him, even through the fabric.

Fever. The boy’s got a fever, and judging by his looks, he needs medical help right now.

I understand everything. The boss and Baldy didn’t exactly appeal to me either. And I’ve had very different dreams, some quite bold. But I never dreamt of Gromov dying in my arms in my garage.

I rush to the van, circle behind the house, and drive up to the lift.

"Mark, I have to take you to the hospital. Urgently," I try to lift him, but he suddenly shoves my hands away.

"No."

"But you have a fever," I argue.

"Give me some fever reducer. Don’t you have any medicine at home?"

Again, he offends me and my family with his disbelief.

"We do, but that’s not going to solve the problem."

"You’re not taking me to the hospital," he grits his teeth in anger, and I give in.

"Fine. If you don’t want the hospital, let’s go see Uncle Andronik."

"Where?"

"He’s our neighbor. Well, 'neighbor' in the loose sense, he lives in the village, not far, just two kilometers from here. We consider all the villagers our neighbors."

"Is he a doctor?"

"Yes, but not practicing."

"Are you sure he won’t talk?"

Mark speaks haltingly, with difficulty, a wheezing sound from his chest, his breathing heavy and irregular. It seems he doesn’t realize just how bad things are.

The worst isn't that Uncle Andronik won’t keep quiet. There's a ninety percent chance that he simply can’t talk. Especially at this hour. If we had gone to see him in the morning, maybe we would have stood a chance. But now, it's all very ghostly.

"Uncle Andronik likes to drink," I explain to Mark with a sigh, "that’s why he was fired from his job. And he was a wonderful doctor, the whole village still consults him. I took our cat there, a long time ago, like three years. He cured it."

"But is he a vet?" Mark asks, not understanding.

"Why a vet? He’s a very good doctor, and a good doctor can treat a person, a cat, a dog, and even cure a goat. He cured Aunt Selena."

Mark blinks, not understanding, drops his hand, and closes his eyes again, and I realize our negotiations have dragged on too long. I open the door, grab Mark by the arm, and try to pull him.

"You’ll get a hernia," he whispers with his eyes closed, "I’ll do it myself."

He leans on his healthy leg, clutches with his hands, and I literally shove him into the car. I pull out the first-aid kit, there’s a blister pack of fever reducers. I shove a pill between Gromov’s teeth and give him water to drink. I start the engine.

"You haven’t explained why you think Andronik will keep quiet," Mark doesn’t let up. Regardless of what I say, his resilience and vitality impress me.

Or is it the fever reducer starting to work? Then he must have a crazy metabolism.

I don’t answer, not because I don’t want to talk, but because we’ve already arrived. I park the car by the fence, enter through the small gate. It’s not locked. And I’m sure that everything in the house is open too. But I knock on the door anyway.

"Uncle Andronik! Uncle Andronik!"

And I feel immense joy when I hear dragging footsteps behind the door. He’s not sleeping!

"What do you want, Karo?" The door swings open suddenly, and Uncle Andronik’s battered, slightly stooped, but huge figure appears. "Why are you shouting?"

His eyes are cloudy but conscious, smelling of alcohol, which means he drank again non-stop to sleep, and maybe even while sleeping. I'm lucky that our neighbor is still standing.

"Kalimera, Uncle Andronik. I hit a dog," I blurt out hastily, "can you help, Kyrie?"

And I blink as honestly as I can. Andronik looks at me as if digesting the words, nods his head, and says:

"Let's go," he motions with his hand and turns toward the hallway, but I grab his sleeve.

"Not there, kyrie. To the car."