Black Spring (30 page)

When dawn came, dim and blue, she slept more peacefully, so I woke Irli and bade her sit with Lina and went down to the kitchen. There I splashed my face with cold water and made a tisane with liquorice and honey, to wake myself up: I was exhausted, but I could not see myself resting that day. The storm’s violence had abated, but it was still snowing. I realized with dismay that the doctor was unlikely to make his morning visit, and I was far from confident of my ability to nurse a delirious fever. I knocked on Tibor’s door, to tell him his wife had woken from her stupor. He was dressed when he came to the door, but he was unshaved and smelled unwashed. I thought he must have slept in his clothes, and his manner was vague and distracted.

“I thought I heard something in the night,” he said. “But then I was sure it was voices in the wind. I heard a voice, Annie, calling my name, and someone rattling my shutters . . . but who could be outside my window? I swear, it’s thirty feet up if it’s an inch.”

“No one, Mr. Tibor, for sure,” said I, my heart sinking to hear his incoherence. I wondered what I should do if my master became as mad as my mistress. “It is only the wind. It was high last night — it made the whole house shake.”

“Yes, that’s what I thought. But it called my name.”

“I’m sure it was a dream,” I said.

“It couldn’t have been. I haven’t slept a wink these past three nights,” he said. “Will she forgive me, do you think? What if she dies and leaves me unforgiven?”

“I’m sure that Mistress Lina knows there is nothing to forgive,” I said. “Now, don’t you worry yourself, sir. You need some sleep, and you need a good hot meal. I’ll get the cook to make a nice broth for now, and I’ll send Irli up with some hot water, and once you’re washed and fed, you’ll feel much better. Then you can see Mistress Lina, although I fear she has the fever.”

Poor soul, he wrung my hand and thanked me, although whether it was for the broth or for my news, I wasn’t sure.

T
ibor spent the whole morning sitting with Lina. I was sent away and took the opportunity to snatch a little rest in my own chamber, which was chill and musty from disuse. I was too tired to light a fire and simply piled all my coats on the bed and lay down fully clothed. When I woke up, it was early afternoon. The clouds were gathering again outside, and it was so dark that I thought I must have overslept. I neatened myself up hurriedly and went to Lina’s room. She was sleeping, and Irli was on duty. She told me that Tibor had only that minute gone to bed himself, but she had no opinion on the condition of either Tibor or Lina. I derived a little hope, nevertheless, from Irli’s report: it seemed a good sign that Tibor was sleeping, and Lina’s fever seemed less severe, although she still slept restlessly.

Lina woke not long after I sat down. She seemed rational but spoke with a disturbing rapidity, halting often to catch her breath. She never mentioned the wizard once, for which I was grateful; it seemed, in fact, that she had forgotten the terrible scene of three days before altogether. Instead she talked incessantly of Tibor and Damek, attempting to parse the virtues of both men.

“You’re right, Anna,” she said to me. “I should never have married Tibor. He is too gentle and good, and I fear I’ve broken him. He asked me to forgive him — me! Oh, it breaks my heart!” She paused as the tears rolled unnoticed down her cheeks. “It’s no use feeling sorry, I know that. But I’m sorry I’m going to die, and that it’s too late for anything. . . .”

Her words disturbed me: they had too much of the air of a confession for my taste, and I did not like her talk of dying. She was certainly ill and weak, but to my eyes was not beyond recovery. I said so, with more certainty in my voice than I felt. She shook her head impatiently but didn’t argue and returned to her train of thought.

“Damek is hard as a tree root. Not like Tibor, who thinks I am something else, despite everything . . . he is wrong, wrong! But both of them betray me, although they do not know it, both of them destroy me . . . Do you think either of them ever really cared for me? Or did they just love a phantom, whatever they saw when they looked at me, and forgot to love me? I wonder that, Anna, and it makes me feel so lonely . . .”

I was at a loss to answer her, as I had wondered the same thing myself, so I just stroked her hand and said nothing. She soon continued her anguished meditation. “Nothing would destroy Damek . . . not even me. But could I live with that? I am not that strong — I hunger for gentleness . . . It is like being loved by a wolf, who only knows love as a devouring . . . and yet, what am I without him? I need him. It isn’t love — it’s worse than that. What could I do? What could I do . . . ?”

She trailed off and was silent for so long that I thought she had fallen asleep. Then she struggled against her pillows and sat up. “Where is Damek?” she demanded in a voice that was suddenly preternaturally clear. “Is he dead too? Why have I not seen him for so long? If he’s dead, you must tell me, you mustn’t lie, I must know at once!”

I assured her that he was as alive as I was and was only kept away by the snowfalls, but nothing I could say would calm her fears. She became more and more agitated over the next half hour, and I saw the hectic flush heightening in her cheeks and became afraid. She clutched my hand and wept and called out for Damek and swore that if she did not die, she would kill herself so that she might join him in hell. I tried to make her lie down, but in her delirium she was too strong for me and succeeded in hauling herself out of bed and stumbling to the window. Little enough was visible outside, but she pointed and cried out that she saw Damek’s ghost walking through the snow, and then she fell to the floor. She was so weak that she could not pull herself up. I called for help, and Irli and I had just succeeded in placing her back in her bed when the cook came running into the room, out of breath, to tell me that Damek was downstairs in the kitchen and wished to speak to me.

I was astonished by the news — it was still snowing too heavily to walk safely anywhere. But I had no time to answer, for Lina overheard the whispered communication. She turned on me like a wild thing. “Damek? Here? Bring him here at once!”

“Hush now, Lina. You are too ill to see anyone!” I said.

Her nostrils whitened with rage. Fury brought back her strength, and she had swept off the bedclothes and was making for the door before I could stop her. She refused point-blank to lie down again until I had promised to fetch Damek, and such was the extremity of her agitation that I was thrown into a panic. A visit from Damek could only worsen her condition, but denying his presence was equally dangerous. And if I did admit Damek, what should I say to Tibor?

I was still hesitating when Damek himself entered the room, closely followed by the cook, who was wringing her hands helplessly, having failed to stop him from coming upstairs. He had thrown off his coat, but his hair was starred with snow, which was melting in the heat of the house, and his trousers were wet to his thighs. When he saw Lina, all the color fled from his face; then he attempted a smile, but it was more a grotesque grimace than any expression of joy. He was clearly struck forcibly by her condition. It was as if his perception wakened my own and I observed her afresh through his eyes; I saw, with a clutch of the heart, that she was a shadow of the shining termagant who had thrown Damek out of the house only a few days before. She stood holding onto the bedpost, a frail, tiny figure, her hair sadly tangled, her nightdress disordered. Her face was absolutely white except for her lips, which had a bluish tinge. When she saw Damek, she froze, and her eyes grew luminous and blurred with unshed tears.

“Lina,” he whispered, and he grasped her hand and kissed it. “What have you done to yourself? What have you done?”

Lina leaned her head on his shoulder and clasped his neck, and her shoulders shook with sobbing. I turned and hissed for the others to leave — I did not want strangers in the room, even if Damek and Lina were oblivious to their presence. I did not dare to leave myself, and yet I felt all the discomfort of staying.

“I was sure you were dead,” said Lina at last. “Did I dream it? It was too cruel, for you to die a second time! Surely I have grieved for you enough?”

“Not enough, Lina! I swear, I would wish you a lifetime of grieving, if it meant you were alive.”

“You know that I am dying.” Lina said it with indifference. “I think I do not care anymore. What good was I to anyone? But I am still afraid . . .”

Damek groaned and buried his face in her hair. “You are so cruel, Lina. You can’t die and leave me all alone. I swear, I do not pity you. You chose this, and you have killed me as surely as you killed yourself. I will never forgive you, not as long as I draw breath in this world . . .”

Lina gasped as if she were in pain, and I sprang up with a cry. Damek turned and gave me a look that set me straight back in my chair.

“You’re strong, Damek. You don’t understand what it is not to be strong enough,” said Lina. “How could you understand? And now I will die; it is too late anyway. Death came for me this morning, and Anna chased him away, but I can see him waiting in the corner . . .”

She began to cough violently, and Damek patted her back until she recovered and then lifted her up in his arms and wildly kissed her face. He was now weeping openly, and he held her so roughly that I saw his fingers imprinting bruises on her white arms, but she made no protest and simply tightened her arms about his neck.

“Death hurts so much less than birth,” she said. “Why is that so, Damek? Why does living hurt so much? Come, you must not cry like a little boy. Come, Damek, I do not think it is sad. Remember how I said I would be part of the sky and the earth, and every flower will be my face?”

“I don’t want any flowers,” said Damek brokenly. “I only want you, Lina. Only you.”

I saw with alarm that she was drooping as if she had fallen into a faint, but Damek grasped her to his breast and snarled at me when I dared to come close. I thought in truth he was a wild beast then; he was bereft of human speech, and his eyes rolled in his head as if he were in a death agony himself. Then he sat on the bed, still holding her close to him, and I feared at that moment she was dead. Damek wouldn’t listen to anything I said or permit me near her, and so violent were his responses that I became frightened and left the room.

I sat downstairs for some minutes, trying to gather my wits, but I was so worried I soon went upstairs again. Damek sat on the bed with Lina in his arms as before, but the fit of fury had passed. He looked deathly tired.

“She has fainted,” he said. It seemed a struggle even for him to speak. “Look, she still breathes . . .”

“Aye,” said I, attempting to hold in my anger. “And no thanks to you, Mr. Damek. She needs sleep and care and none of this fuss and talk of dying, if she is to see another day. I think you must go now.”

He sighed heavily and then placed Lina in her bed and tucked the blankets around her as tenderly as if she were a child. I rushed to her and checked her forehead: the skin was dry and burning, and her body was limp.

“What have you done?” I so forgot myself that I shouted. “You have killed her, you selfish fool!”

At this Damek flinched with such an expression of anguish that I was taken aback and wished I had not said those words.

“Selfish, Anna?” he said, and was silent for a time, watching me lave her brow. “She was dying already,” he said at last. “I saw it the moment I walked in this room . . . I’ve seen many people die. I know the signs.”

I shut my ears to him, although the blue shadows gathering on Lina’s face made me fear that he was right. I took her hand and felt for her pulse, which was barely perceptible, and the tears started in my eyes.

Damek touched my arm with a shyness that made me turn around in astonishment, and I looked up straight into his face. For a moment I saw there the stoic boy I once had known, who concealed beneath his impassivity unknown sufferings, and part of me relented. He was neither a beast nor a demon, only a man whose entire being was a wound. A wound may be monstrous, but that doesn’t make him who bears it inhuman.

“I’m sorry, Damek,” I said softly, and his hand tightened convulsively.

“
You
are not selfish,” he said. “You have the right to judge me, which I give no one else. You have a heart, and you have eyes to see. They are precious rare in this world, Anna, and you mind what I say, because I know. Most people might be made of stone, for all they see and feel. If I am selfish, I am not alone.”

There was a raw justice in what Damek said that I couldn’t but acknowledge, even after everything he had done. He leaned forward and stroked Lina’s hair, and then he kissed her forehead.

“I told her I was nothing without her,” he said. “She never believed me, but I only told her the truth. I was not strong; she was all my strength. If I have killed her, you can be sure I’ll be punished for it every day that I walk on the face of the earth. I am a dead man now, Anna.”

I couldn’t speak, so I merely nodded. He lightly kissed the top of my head and quietly left the room. I didn’t see him again for a very long time.