Tatiana and Alexander: A Novel(136)

Don't feel so good, Pasha's mouth moved. By morning his mouth was cracked and bleeding. Alexander unbandaged his leg. It looked the same as yesterday. More green than yellow. He disinfected it, and poured sulfa powder on it, and then he diluted the sulfa in some rain-water and made Pasha drink it, and Pasha did, and then threw up and Alexander cursed and yelled, and Pasha mouthed, I been wet too long, Alexander. I think I was cold and wet too long.

It was just above freezing. The rain was turning to sleet. Alexander wrapped Pasha in his trench coat. Pasha was burning. Alexander took his trench coat off Pasha.

When it stopped raining, he built another fire and dried all of Pasha's clothes and gave him a smoke and a small drink of whisky out of their flask. Shaking, Pasha drank the whisky.

"What are we going to do?" asked Ouspensky.

"Why do you have to talk so much?" snapped Alexander.

They decided to walk on.

Pasha tried, he tried to put one foot in front of the other, he tried to move his arms across his body to help propel him forward, but his shaking knees kept buckling. I'm going to rest a bit, mouthed Pasha, and then he said, I'll be all right. He sat down on the ground. Alexander held him up, stood him up, raised him up, then lifted him and threw him on his back.

"Captain--" Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"One more word, Ouspensky, and with my bare hands--"

"Understood."

They walked, Alexander carrying Pasha all the gray morning. Alexander lowered him, gave him a drink of rain, raised him, carried him all the gray afternoon. Lowered him, gave him a drink of whisky, stuffed a piece of bread into his mouth, raised him, carried him.

Somewhere on a dirt road in south-east Saxony, Pasha felt heavier and heavier. Alexander thought he was getting tired. It was the end of the day. They broke camp, sat by the fire. Alexander went ice fishing in the pond by the woods. Caught one perch, cooked it in water. He made Pasha drink the fish broth with some diluted sulfa powder, and then he and Ouspensky divided the fish and ate it, head and all.

Ouspensky slept. Alexander smoked. And sat holding the ice rag against Pasha's burning head. Then Pasha was cold, and Alexander covered him up with two trench coats, and took the coat from Ouspensky for Pasha.

No one spoke anymore, not even to mouth the words.

Next morning, Pasha, his eyes swollen with fever, shook his head, as if to say, leave me. And Alexander shook his, and lifted Pasha and carried him. There was no sun, it was February in central Germany. The slate sky was meters above their heads. Alexander knew they couldn't stop and ask for help--they spoke no German without Pasha. He also knew that the Saxony police had no doubt been notified about three escapees and was looking for precisely three men, masquerading as Germans yet not speaking a word of German.

They couldn't get too far with a sick Pasha. He had to get better. They found a small barn and waited out the cold morning covered by hay. Sitting, listening to Pasha's breaking-up breathing, watching Pasha's struggle and his inflamed face was too much for Alexander. He got up. "We have to go. We have to keep moving."

"Can I have a word with you?" Ouspensky said.

"Absolutely not," said Alexander.

"Outside the barn, for a moment."

"I said no."

Ouspensky glanced at Pasha, whose eyes were closed. He seemed unconscious.

"Captain, he is getting worse."

"All right, Dr. Ouspensky, thank you, that will be all."

"What are we going to do?"

"We're going to continue. We just need to find a Red Cross convoy."

"There weren't any Red Cross personnel in Colditz or Catowice. What makes you think there will be some here?" Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"Maybe Red Cross. Maybe Americans."

"Have the Americans gotten this far?"

"Ouspensky, like you, I've been in prison these last four months. How the f*ck should I know how far the Americans have gotten? I think probably yes, they're here somewhere. Didn't you hear war planes headed to Dresden?"

"Captain--"

"Not another word about this, Lieutenant. Let's go."

"Go where? He needs help."

"And we have to get him help. Help isn't going to come to us in a barn."

He picked up Pasha and flung him on his back. Pasha could not hold on.

Alexander barely saw the road in front of him. It took all his effort to continue walking. Every hour he stopped and gave Pasha a drink, and pressed a cold rag against Pasha's head, and wrapped him tighter in two coats, and walked on again, without his own coat.

Ouspensky walked by his side.

Alexander heard Ouspensky's voice. "Captain," he called. "Captain."

"What?" He did not look sideways, as if he could. He continued walking. Ouspensky came up in front, crossed Alexander's path, made him stop. "What, Lieutenant?"

Ouspensky placed his hand on Alexander. "Captain. I'm sorry. He is dead."

Alexander moved him aside with his hand. "Get out of my way."

"He is dead, Captain. Please, let's not do this any longer."

"Ouspensky!" He took a deep breath and lowered his voice. "He is not dead. He is unconscious. Now, we have only a few hours of daylight left. Let's not waste it by standing in the middle of the road."