Via Dolorosa(83)

“Goddamn it, Myles, you’re going to make us both nuts.”

“I don’t want to lose my legs.”

“Then shut up.”

“I can’t stop thinking about them.”

“Try. Think of something else.”

“I—”

“What happened to your—”

And then the kid screamed as Nick tightened the tourniquet around his destroyed left leg. He was going to lose his legs, Nick knew.

“Shhhh,” he told the kid.

“Oh God!”

“Quiet!”

“Oh God! Oh God oh God oh shoot me in the—oh God!”

“Think of something. Think of something else.”

“Oh God!”

“Goddamn it!” Nick moaned. His single hand was covered in blood.

“Oh,” Myles Granger breathed, his voice dropping, dropping, dropping to nearly a whisper. “Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh.” He was caught in a skip.

“Oh.”

“Okay.”

“Oh.”

“Shhh, now…”

“Oh.”

“Goddamn it, kid.” But this time he said it with resignation, with pity. And self-loathing. “I’m sorry.”

“I can’t—stop—thinking—about—my legs—”

“Try.” Nick’s mind was frantic. Damn it, he couldn’t get the second tourniquet around the kid’s leg with only one hand…couldn’t…

“Can’t,” moaned Myles Granger.

“That woman in the street,” Nick said quickly, unable to come up with anything else. “The one who grabbed you. Do you remember?”

“Yes.”

“She said something to you. Do you remember?”

“Yes.”

“What was it?”

“Yes…”

“Myles…kid…stay with me…”

He realized that he hadn’t brought his eyes up to Myles’s face since he began working on the tourniquets. He did not do so now, either.

“Yes,” Myles Granger managed. “Yes…yes…yes…”

“So what did she tell you?”

“Who?”

“The woman, Myles. The woman who grabbed your arm. The woman Karuptka wanted to shoot. Don’t you remember?”

“Oh,” the kid said simply, “yeah, I remember.”

“What did she say to you?” And for an instant, Nick was certain the kid was going to confess that the strange woman had told him they were all going to die, all of them, every last one…

Myles Granger said, “ ‘Have baby. In stomach.’ ”

“What was that?”

“‘Have baby. In stomach.’ That’s what she said. ‘Have baby. In stomach.’ Just like that.”

“She was pregnant?”

“Have baby,” Myles said. “In stomach.”

“All right,” Nick said. The poor kid had been spooked by a pregnant woman. It wasn’t unusual—they all had their individual moments when the war finally registered. It could be the way the sun set behind a certain silhouette of buildings…it could be the way a wild dog scavenges for food in the sewers…it could be the way you got down to your last cigarette and stared at the empty cellophane package and realized that you wouldn’t be smoking anymore, not whenever you feel like it, not like you did back home, because you were at war and people were dying and expectant mothers begged for your help in the bombed streets and empty cigarette packs stared blindly back at you…

“Have baby,” Myles said. “In stomach.”

“God,” Nick muttered, “all right. Think of something else.”

“Baby,” said the kid. “Stomach.”

“Myles,” Nick said. It was impossible to work the bandage around the kid’s leg without moving it. And even then, with only one good hand…

“Baby. Stomach.”

“You’re going home after this, you know. Where you gonna go? What’re you gonna do?”

“See Pop.”

“See your father? That’s nice. Where is he?”

“South Carolina.”

“Oh yeah?”

“He works…he…he works at a hotel there…resort…resort hotel… on an island…”

“That sounds nice. Think about that, why don’t you?”

Myles Granger laughed, and coughed blood up on his shirt. “What do you think will happen to that baby? The one in her stomach?”

“Shit, Myles, I don’t know.” He chewed at his lower lip. Still, he would not bring his eyes to meet Myles’s. “Listen,” he said finally, “I’m gonna have to lift your leg here in a minute, so I’m gonna need you to—”

“I’m going to be haunted by that, you know.”

“Myles,” Nick began, shaking with pain, feeling the fever of the pain well up inside of himself.

“I won’t live—I won’t, I won’t, I won’t live—but if I did live—and I won’t, I won’t—but if I did live, I’m going to be haunted by that…”