by Sam Clark
On the second day, she was allowed to sleep as much as she wanted. By the third day, the headache had subsided to a dull throb most of time; however, it still flared up occasionally to a mind-numbing roar. By the fourth day, the swelling in her nose had gone down enough that Doc Jones was able to set it, which hurt worse than breaking it had. She could tell James was no longer worried about her recovery because he started questioning Doc Jones’s medical credentials again, asking him where he’d gotten his degree and to see his license, something he hadn’t done at all those first few days. Doc Jones—who had received all his medical training from the militia’s former medical officer, a man who had been a podiatrist before the war—did an admirable job of ignoring James.
By the fifth day, her head felt well enough to read, and she could open both eyes far enough to actually do it. She also started to worry she was losing fitness and wanted to go for a run. She abandoned the idea when both Doc Jones and James vehemently opposed it, arguing that someone who’d suffered such a severe concussion had to wait at least another few days before trying anything beyond walking.
Each night while Czarina was laid up, Isabella came in and sat with her for twenty or thirty minutes before lights out. The first three nights Isabella just read Game of Thrones to her. On the fourth night, she did the same, but Czarina got the distinct impression that Isabella wanted to talk to her about something but didn’t know how. Isabella sat on the edge of Czarina’s bed for a minute or two before she started reading and after she finished, alternating between too much and too little eye contact, jingling her quarter necklace all the while.
On the fifth night, as Isabella once again lingered after closing the book, Czarina asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s just…”
“Come on, Isabella, my head hurts too much to drag it out of you.”
“If your head is bothering you, it can wait.” She stood up and took a step toward the common area.
“No, wait. I’m kidding. What is it, Izzy?”
Isabella blurted something so fast it sounded like one long word, and Czarina understood none of it.
“One more time, but slower.”
Isabella took a deep breath and then repeated herself. “I don’t believe them, Rina.”
“I need more information. You don’t believe who about what?”
It was then that Czarina saw James standing in the entryway to her private space. He’d been gone most of the evening—she hadn’t a clue as to where.
“Isabella, why are you bothering her with such nonsense?” James said. “It should not be dignified by speaking it aloud. How many times have I lectured you on the power of language? Say something often enough, even to deny it, and you run the risk of making it real in the minds of those who hear it. Let your sister rest in peace, girl.”
“Sorry, Pop-Pop, I just thought she should know.”
James’s expression softened. “It’s all right, Isabella. Just go get ready for bed. I think Czarina and I need to have a talk.”
“Okay,” Isabella said.
Isabella left Czarina’s area, and James turned his head to watch her go. A moment later, he turned back to look at Czarina appraisingly.
Normally, she would have waited for James to speak first, but she hated feeling like she was missing information. Especially information about herself. And that went double for when it might be negative.
“What is it, James? What does Isabella think I should know?” She couldn’t keep the nervousness from her voice and silently cursed herself for speaking at all.
James just looked at her. He began to reach a hand up toward his face, then let it drop back down. She knew he wasn’t dragging it out to be mean or play mind games, all of which increased her sense of agitation. She threw her blanket to the floor and started to push herself off her cot, which seemed to help James find his voice.
“Hold on, now, Czarina. Lie back down and promise me you will not get all worked up.”
“No, I won’t promise. Just tell me what it is, right now, and maybe I won’t. Or wait, and I definitely will get all worked up.”
“Well played, girl.” James let out a sigh, picked up her blanket and handed it back to her, then continued. “Steve and his minions are saying you were sexually assaulting Marisa, and they pulled you off of her. When they did, you went crazy and attacked Steve, and he had to defend himself.”
“What! That’s complete bullshit.” Her head started to throb at the temples. “She was a willing participant. I didn’t do anything wrong, James.” God, she wanted to scream. To vent all her anger and frustration. But she couldn’t. Carrying on like that would set her brain on fire. And even if it wouldn’t have hurt, she couldn’t let anyone see. She had to swallow it back down.
“Of course it is,” James responded with a clear, level tone that pissed her off to no end. “I know it,” he continued, “and so does everyone else with more than half a brain in their head.”
“Well, then I guess I’m fucked, because you always say you can count the people down here with more than half a brain in their head on one hand,” she snapped. GET. IT. TOGETHER. Don’t let anyone see what’s underneath.
“I do say that, largely because it is true.”
She contorted her face into a lopsided grin as she said, “Thanks. Very reassuring,” in a tone she hoped came across as light-hearted. “What does Marisa say?” There you go. Nice and easy, just like that. Everything’s fine.
“She does not say much of anything. At least not anything that makes sense. She never gives the same answer twice, and just shrugs when you point out her lack of consistency. In fact, the only consistent thing with her has been the carefree smile on her face. To use the technical term, that girl is batshit crazy. Steve’s just a garden-variety psychopath. Marisa, on the other hand, is smart, which makes her dangerous. You should stay away from that one. Or not—the crazy ones are the most fun.”
“Come on, James, I don’t want to hear that.”
“Suit yourself, girl, but I have had a long life. I know a thing or two about a thing or two, and you would be wise to listen, at least occasionally.”
“Anyway, what’s going to happen next? Am I going to be in trouble?”
“Trouble? It depends how you define trouble, girl. You are not in any formal trouble. Colonel Mueller, Major Erickson, and I have talked to all the other parties involved in the incident. The stories we heard had more holes than your running socks. It was easy enough to trip them all up and show how they contradicted one another. Fortunately, Mueller and Erickson do have some brains, and they could see what likely happened. The colonel is mortally embarrassed by the whole thing. He wants it to go away, by yesterday. He knows full well his daughter was a voluntary participant, which for a man with his small-minded beliefs is a terrifying thought. Further, if Marisa was willing, it means his son is the one who should be brought up on charges—not that that will happen. Thus, it was easy for me to get him to forego interviewing you. He doesn’t want your account on record. As if somehow that will make it easier for this to all go away.”
“Phew,” Czarina said as she let out her breath. “That’s a relief.”
“Well, girl, as I said, you are not necessarily free and clear of this incident… yet.”
“What do you mean I’m not free and clear? You just said that Colonel Mueller and Major Erickson believe me.”
“And they do, but that does not mean they will announce it the world. Furthermore, not everyone believes you. Sergeant Fegan, for instance, thinks you did it.”
“Yeah, but he sneezes and thinks it’s my fault.”
James chuckled. “True enough, but potentially problematic all the same because people talk. So now you have the good sergeant telling anyone who wants to discuss the incident his views about your guilt—and believe me, there is little anyone else is talking about. Fegan’s beliefs on the matter, however, are likely not your biggest problem. He will doubtles
sly be reined in by Mueller.”
James paused. He was obviously waiting for her to ask what her biggest problem was, or deduce it herself. She was used to this, but at the moment, she found it particularly annoying. “Well, are you gonna tell me or not?” Czarina snapped her mouth shut with a click to stop any further outburst.
James grimaced. “Sorry, girl, force of habit. Your biggest problem is that it is being talked about at all. Steve and those sycophants who are always following him around are loudly proclaiming that they stopped you from raping Marisa.
“Even if you are not punished, you will not be exonerated either. Steve is not going to stand up and say it was all a lie. I would not count on Marisa to help you either. Hence, it will always just be your word against that of four others. It will simply go away—except that it will not go away, not really. People will always wonder what really happened. And many people will believe Steve because they already believe the worst about you. I am sorry about that. None of this is your fault.
“You are who you are, Czarina, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with who you are, and you certainly should not be punished for it, but that is the way it is. So, your situation in this bunker has gone from bad to worse and may very well be untenable going forward. There is not a damned thing you can do about it, however.”
She began rubbing her hand through her hair. “What should I do, James?” She sounded so helpless and desperate, it made her sick.
“Look, Czarina, I know it seems bad, but you let me worry about it. There is nothing you can do, but that does not mean there is nothing I can do. I am working on something. For now, just lie low, and stay in our quarters. You can catch up on your reading. Plato is not going to read itself, after all. Now, I will go get some water so you can wash up for bed.”
She leaned back in her bed. All this talk of a secret plan was probably just that—talk, an effort to make her feel better—but she appreciated it all the same. “Thanks, James. Hey, where were you tonight?”
James paused briefly in Czarina’s entryway, and said without looking back, “Do you ever listen, girl? I said I was working on something.”
Oh. Maybe he isn’t just trying to make me feel better. Maybe they’re right. Maybe he is starting to lose it a bit. I better hold my shit together. Now more than ever.
TWENTY
Location: Underground
Date: 9-7-61
How the fuck did I get here? Czarina rolled from her back to her stomach but found the thin cot no more comfortable. Better yet, how do I fix it? No matter how much she wanted to deny it, James was right. Again. Say something often enough and loudly enough, and it becomes true. Especially if it was something people wanted to believe. And when you lived someplace where nothing ever happened, people wanted to believe something scandalous, just because it was different. Just think how excited she’d gotten over a dead lightbulb. The truth wasn’t going to count for much.
The worst of it was Isabella. Even she hadn’t seemed sure what to believe. As Czarina replayed their conversation in her head, it seemed to her that Isabella was trying to convince herself of Czarina’s innocence. It wasn’t hard to figure out why Isabella was confused: She spent more time each day with Steve than she did with her own sister. Czarina sat up, flipped her pillow over, and then flopped back down on her cot. What’s worse: Her not believing me, or her believing Steve? But what would happen if she didn’t believe Steve? I saw those marks he left on Marisa’s arm. What would he do to Izzy if she called him a liar?
As she thought more and more about Isabella, a new goal began to form in her head. She would never see Marisa naked. She’d failed. She had been less than a second from victory, but it had eluded her. But there was no shame in failing. Napoleon failed, but he gave it a hell of a go, and that was what was important. She had set a nearly impossible goal, went for it, came close, and failed. So what? At least she had tried. She was also sure she would never leave the bunker—another impossible goal not achieved. But she was okay with that too because she had a new goal. A new purpose. A new reason to get out of bed each morning. A new reason to live. She would make sure nobody hurt her sister. Ever. She would protect Isabella from Steve and anyone else who might hurt her.
Ugh. This means I’m probably going to have to say nice things about Jenkins.
She sighed audibly. So be it.
With her newfound resolve and sense of purpose, she finally managed to drift off to sleep.
***
Czarina jumped out of a bed with a curse as “Reveille” played over the loudspeaker. James must have let her sleep in. She scrambled to get ready double-time. As she was yanking on her shoes, James opened the divider.
“I thought I heard you up,” he said. “No need to be in such a hurry; you should still be resting.”
“I’m fine, James. I have to go.”
“Go? Go where?”
“To the cafeteria… and class.”
“If you are hungry, I will get you something and bring it back.”
“No, I’ll go.”
James looked down his glasses at her. “Czarina, we talked about this. You should wait until all the chatter dies down before going back to school.”
“I thought about this a lot last night. I have to go back sometime. And the longer I wait, the harder it will be, so I might as well go back right now and show them I’m not afraid. That I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I told you last night, I am working on something to make your life better, girl. If you would just give me some time and keep a low profile.”
“How are you possibly going to make my life better?”
James removed his glasses and began cleaning the lenses with his shirt. “I do not want to say anything until it is certain.”
She bent over to tie her shoes. “Look, whatever it is you think you’re doing, I appreciate it. I really do. But I can start to make my life better right now, by going and facing them.”
James sighed. “You are as stubborn as your mother was.” Then he nodded his head and said, “Fine, but for once, please try to behave yourself. That mouth of yours gets you into trouble as much as anything else.”
She flashed a big grin. “No promises, old-timer.”
James frowned, and she sprang up from her bed and ran from the room before he could make up his mind to cuff her on the back of the head.
As she entered the corridor leading to the cafeteria, her enthusiasm waned and her legs began to slow. A run gradually became a jog, then a walk, and before she knew it, she was standing motionless in front of the door that would take her to the cafeteria. To where Marisa would be waiting. To where Steve would be waiting. And Isabella. She reached out several times with shaky hands to pull open the door, and each time she stopped short.
Can I really do this?
Even under normal circumstances, she would have had a hard time going in after everyone else was already there. But to do it knowing what they all thought she’d done felt impossible. I have to do it. I can’t protect Isabella from Steve by standing out here. “A coward dies a thousand times, Czarina.”
She reached out with her left hand, pulled the door open, and walked into the mess hall with her spine straight and what she hoped was a look of indifference on her face.
As soon as she entered, the din of a dozen conversations decreased, as if everyone had decided, collectively, to start whispering at the same time. And although she kept her eyes forward, she could feel the gaze of every single person in the room burning a hole right through her. You’re being paranoid, Czarina.
Thankfully, she’d made it just before the food service cutoff time. Her hands were still trembling as she picked up one of the metal food trays. She squeezed it until her knuckles turned white, and finally the shaking in her hands stopped.
As she quickly made her way through the line, she couldn’t decide if it was better or worse that nobody else was in it. She was glad she didn’t have to stand around with a bunch of
people she hated. However, being gawked at by the entire room while she got her food made her feel like she was in a nightmare.
Good news, Czarina: It’s definitely not a nightmare. If it was, you’d totally be naked. Bad news, Czarina: This is your shitty everyday existence.
Mrs. Peters wouldn’t meet Czarina’s eyes as she scooped some powdered eggs onto her plate. Does she believe I did it, or is she afraid people will think she doesn’t believe it? Does it matter? Czarina mumbled, “Thanks, Mrs. Peters.”
“It’s Mrs. Erickson,” she said without looking up.
That was the first time she’d ever corrected Czarina on her name. Maybe she was trying to face reality more, too. “Right. Sorry, Mrs. Erickson.”
With her tray full, Czarina had a decision to make. The area surrounding her usual seat was deserted. It was almost like the other kids were avoiding it—as if they could somehow be turned gay by a cafeteria seat. On the one hand, it was close, and that meant a shorter walk; given how shaky she felt, that was definitely an advantage. On the other hand, it put her extremely close to where Marisa and Steve sat.
After a quick internal debate, she decided to sit where she normally would have. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. Besides, it was also close to where Isabella was sitting. With her mind made up, Czarina went and sat down to eat alone as usual.
You will keep your head up. You will look anybody in the eye who will look you in the eye. You didn’t do anything wrong.
Those few who had the misfortune of meeting her gaze looked away as quickly as possible—fearing her stare might petrify them, no doubt. For a moment, she and Marisa locked eyes. Czarina winked. At least she tried to. She wasn’t sure if it worked, since her winking eye was still a bit swollen. She was pretty sure Marisa understood it well enough, because afterward she looked away and wouldn’t meet Czarina’s eyes again. Is that remorse? Who cares, I’m not mad at her. She used me as a means to an end, just like I was using her as means to an end… although my end wouldn’t have left anybody concussed.