With Malysh in his arms, Leo rushed into the Second Medical Clinic, Zoya and Raisa by his side. They’d reached the hospital, hurrying along the streets, risking the patrolling tanks. Several turrets had tracked them but none had opened fire. The hospital entrance was filled with injured people, some leaning on friends and family, others lying on the floor. There was blood on the walls, blood on the floor. Searching for a doctor or nurse, Leo saw a flutter of a white coat. He pushed forward. The doctor was surrounded by patients, unable to give each more than a couple of seconds of his time, examining the wounds, issuing orders as to where they needed to be sent, ushering only the most needy into the hospital. The rest remained in the corridor.
Leo waited in the circle for the doctor’s judgment. Finally arriving at him, the doctor touched Malysh’s face, feeling his brow. The boy’s breathing had become faint. His skin was pale. Leo had used Malysh’s shirt to press against the wound, the material now soaked with blood. Removing the shirt, the doctor leaned close. His fingers touched the lip of the gash, opening it-blood seeping out. He checked the boy’s back, finding no exit wound. For the first time the doctor glanced at Leo. He said nothing, giving an almost imperceptible shake of the head. With that, he moved on.
Zoya grabbed Leo’s arm:
– Why aren’t they helping him?
Leo, a soldier, had seen injuries like this before. The blood was black: shrapnel had penetrated Malysh’s liver. On the battlefield there was no hope of survival. Conditions in this hospital were little better than that. There was nothing they could do.
– Why aren’t they treating him!
There was nothing Leo could say.
Zoya barged through the crowd, grabbing the doctor’s arm, attempting to pull him back toward Malysh. The other people scolded her. But she wouldn’t let go until eventually she was pushed back and shouted at. She tumbled to the floor, lost among their legs. Raisa lifted Zoya off the hospital floor.
– Why aren’t they helping him?
Zoya began to cry, putting her hands on Malysh’s face. She stared up at Leo, her eyes red, imploring:
– Please, Leo, please, I’ll do anything you want, I’ll be your daughter, I’ll be happy. Don’t let him die.
Malysh’s lips moved. Leo lowered his head, listening.
– Not… in… here.
Leo carried Malysh to the entrance, through the blood-soaked arrivals, out of the main doors, away from the reception area, finding a place where they could be alone. In the flowerbeds, where the plants had died back and the earth was frozen, Leo sat down, propping Malysh against his legs. Zoya sat beside him. She took hold of Malysh’s hand. Raisa remained standing, restless, pacing:
– Maybe I can find something for the pain?
Leo looked up, shaking his head. Twelve days into the conflictthere’d be nothing left in the clinic.
Malysh was calm, sleepy, his eyes shutting and opening. He regarded Raisa:
– I know that…
His voice was faint. Unable to hear, Raisa sat beside him. Malysh continued:
– Fraera lied… I know… you’re not… my mother.
– I would’ve wanted nothing more than to be your mother.
– I would have liked to… have been your son.
Malysh shut his eyes, turning his head, resting it against Zoya. She lay beside him, her head close to his, as if they were both about to go to sleep. She wrapped her arm around him, whispering:
– Did I tell you about the farm we’re going to live on?
Malysh didn’t reply. He didn’t open his eyes.
– It’s near a forest, that’s full of berries and mushrooms. There’s a river and in the summer, we’ll swim… We’re going to be very happy together.