A Bend in the Stars

by Rachel Barenbaum

  Miri grabbed his hand and began to run.

  II

  The Jewish hospital loomed three stories tall with an arched ribbon of marble roped over the entrance. Juxtaposed to the slums, the gray building looked grand. A cobbled walkway led to the paupers’ entrance, and Miri couldn’t drag Sasha to the door fast enough. She had his uninjured arm around her shoulders. He leaned on her, harder, with every step. He was bleeding dangerously. What had he done? Miri burst through the iron door. The smell of blood and sweat—of hospital—curled over her. “I need help,” she said. Her voice echoed. The waiting room was cavernous. A woman in a white nurse’s uniform and head scarf came up on the other side of Sasha and put her hand around his waist to help. She looked exhausted and ancient. “I need a suture kit,” Miri said. “He’s losing too much blood. And a cot. Do you have a cot? If you don’t, the floor is fine.”

  “Yes, child, I can help. Please, stay calm,” the woman said. Her Yiddish was warm with the same accent as Babushka’s. She stood on her tiptoes, peeled the top of Sasha’s shirt back so the cut was exposed. The edges looked raw. Blood tangled down his tunic to his chest. “If I ask how this happened, will you tell me the truth?”

  “We don’t have time for this,” Miri said. “You’re a nurse? Or a surgeon?”

  “I can find you help, but you must stay calm.”

  “Calm? He can’t wait. Look at the blood,” Miri said. “I’m a doctor, a surgeon. I can take care of him. I just need supplies.”

  “You’re a surgeon?”

  “Yes.” It was the first time she’d said it in a long time, and the words took her by surprise as much as they did the nurse in front of her. She realized she’d never told Sasha, either, but he was too far gone to react.

  “Even if that’s true, I can’t let you walk into my hospital and work without references.”

  “I’ll pay,” Miri said. “I can even stitch him here, in the waiting room. I just need supplies.” The nurse hesitated. “Please?”

  “Where did you study?”

  “I told you, we don’t have time for questions. My patient needs help. Now.” To Miri it seemed that the nurse thought through their case for an hour, but it was more likely a matter of seconds. “Please,” Miri said. “Please.”

  “He’s more than a patient, child, isn’t he?” the nurse asked. Finally, she nodded. “I’ll take you to a cot.”

  “Thank you.”

  A dozen faces blurred past as Miri and the nurse dragged Sasha through a side door and into a long, narrow men’s ward. Like Kovno’s paupers’ clinic, beds were packed head to foot, row after row, with barely enough room to stand between them. But unlike Kovno, all the sheets were crisp and white, and the room was flooded with natural sunshine. And instead of clay dust layering every corner, this hospital was tinged with the smell of sugar. The nurse pointed to a cot at the end of the room. “A surgeon will come.”

  “I told you, I’m a surgeon. I only need room to work. And supplies.” The nurse was suspicious, and Miri could see she was sharp. She bent down to look at Sasha.

  “Sir,” the nurse said. “Sir, do you trust this woman?”

  “Yes,” Sasha mumbled.

  “Do you want her to stitch your wound? You understand she says she’s a surgeon?”

  Sasha’s eyes were rolling in his head, but he managed to speak. “Yes.”

  The nurse stood. “I’ll fetch bandages and supplies.”

  “Thank you,” Miri said.

  “And I’ll watch you. Closely.”

  “That’s fine. Just hurry.”

  The nurse scurried between beds. Miri eased Sasha out of his tunic and took a closer look at the wound. The edges were thick but clean. His knife had been sharp. She grabbed a bandage from a stack on a shelf near her and applied pressure. “You shouldn’t have done this.” Was she crying?

  “You. Can fix me,” Sasha said. It looked as if he was trying to smile. She held the wound tighter. “You are better. Than him.”

  “Than Yuri?” She shook her head. “Shhh. You need to keep your strength.” She felt his forehead and cheeks, looking for fever, but he was cool. It was too early for infection anyway. He needed blood. Would they be able to offer a transfusion? It was a new technique, but this was Tessler’s hospital. The nurse returned with a tray that included gut for stitching, a needle, and a syringe. “Boiled water, and bandages. And I need soap. Doesn’t Dr. Tessler require clean hands for his doctors?”

  The nurse paused. “You know Dr. Tessler?”

  “Every surgeon worth his salt has read about Dr. Tessler.”

  The nurse handed Miri a syringe half-filled with morphine. “Our supplies are low, but this should do.” Miri flicked the glass tube, pumped out an air bubble, and inserted the needle in Sasha’s arm. He mumbled. His head lolled to the side.

  The nurse brought a bowl of steaming water and soap. As Miri scrubbed her hands and dunked a pile of cloths in the water to wash the wound, Sasha mumbled something.

  “What’s that?” the nurse asked. She stood behind Miri, watching over her shoulder.

  “Nothing. The morphine,” Miri said.

  “Husband. The farmer said husband,” Sasha managed.

  “Husband, you say?” Miri heard the nurse’s tone relax into a smile. “I suspected as much. You’re newlyweds, then?”

  “Newlyweds?” Miri was speechless. She dug into the wound to spill carbolic onto the slashed flesh. He moaned. “I’m sorry, Sasha,” Miri whispered to him. She wiped away more blood. Podil was filthy and she didn’t want to risk infection. The man in the bed opposite Sasha sat up. One of his eyes was covered with a bandage. She hadn’t seen him when they came in. He’d been buried under his sheet but now he was exposed, watching. Was he Okhrana? There was no way to know. Even the nurse could be an informant.

  “Back to your own business,” the nurse said to the man. She moved to the other side to block his view. There she stood between the sun and Sasha, in silhouette, and Miri saw this nurse was small and perhaps not as old as she seemed when they’d first met. Miri threaded the needle and then pulled the two sides of the gash together.

  The nurse leaned close so her forehead almost touched Miri’s. “No respectable Russian woman walks into a hospital holding a man so close who isn’t her husband.”

  Miri finished the next stitch. “Do you have the ability to transfuse him?” she asked.

  “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “The transfusion, can we perform a transfusion?” Miri asked again.

  “Answer me, child. You’re married? Even in times of war we have standards.”

  “Of course.” Miri had no choice. The nurse was telling her that if she said no, they’d have to leave.

  The nurse nodded, satisfied, then said, “He hasn’t lost enough blood to warrant a transfusion.”

  “Look at him. He’s pale. He’s mumbling.”

  “Morphine. Your relationship is clouding your judgment. He’ll be fine. We don’t want to waste care.” Miri finished a knot, snipped the end. Three stitches. Then ten more. The blood slowed to a trickle, and she began to wind a bandage around the wound.

  “Here, let me wrap that so you can rest. You look exhausted.” The nurse reached for the snake of bandage, and Miri realized she was grateful for the help. She let the nurse finish while she sat to the side and held Sasha’s hand. “Your stitches are impressive. Precise,” the nurse said as she worked. “I can see you’re well schooled.” She tucked off the end. Miri slid a finger under the dressing to test the tension and then covered Sasha with a blanket. His cheeks were tinged just a touch pink now, and he’d fallen asleep. Miri stood. She realized her back was sore. She stretched, reached up for the ceiling, and for the first time since they’d lain together in the hayloft, she let her shoulders drop.

  “Come. We need to talk,” the nurse said.

  III

  I said let him go.” Vanya’s eyes were too swollen to see, but he recognized the voice.

  “Yuri!” V
anya tried to yell, but the pain from his broken ribs was so intense he lost focus. Still the terror kept him conscious. He was hanging by his wrists, on a rope strung over a rafter in the barn. His blood was everywhere. He could smell it. Taste it. And he was cold, colder than he’d ever been. Was it morning? Night? The pain of losing his fingernails was nothing compared to the screaming he now felt in his shoulders and wrists. “Help,” Vanya managed.

  “Listen to him,” another voice said. Dima. “The doctor’s killed for less.”

  “Your doctor has never hurt a fly,” Vadim or Stepan said, laughing.

  The laughter was cut short. There was a scuffle. Wood cracked. The thump of a body hitting the floor. A bloodcurdling scream. “That’s my warning,” Yuri said. He was out of breath. “You come after us and I’ll take the other eye, too.”

  Vanya felt them cut the ropes. Dima slung him over his shoulder. Pain, everywhere, was so intense the world went black.

  IV

  Come, we’ll talk and your husband will rest,” the nurse said. The word hit Miri hard every time. But what else could she have said in that moment? When the news spread to Yuri, if he was in the hospital, she’d explain. And he’d understand. He knew her heart.

  “I can’t leave him,” Miri said. She realized she’d locked her fingers through Sasha’s, sitting there at his bedside. With her other hand, she ran a finger over his cheek, over the spot where he had a dimple when he smiled. Then she brushed her hair back from her face. She’d wound it into a loose braid the way Babushka used to do Miri’s hair, the way Miri liked to wear it before she’d started at the hospital and Yuri had warned her to keep it in a tight bun.

  “Please, you also need to rest.”

  The nurse pried her loose and led Miri back down through the ward. They passed a man who cried in his sleep. Another hid under his sheet and shook so hard the bed rattled. These were the familiar sounds of a hospital, and Miri felt herself begin to relax, despite everything. This was a world she knew. At the end of the hall, they went down a narrow passage and into a small kitchen where the smell of sugar was stronger. The room was filled with shadows from the late day sun. Through the window, she made out a lonesome tree backed by a field of cockeyed houses. Miri sat at a table that took up most of the room while the nurse set out teacups and dried apricots. The china was swirled with flowers, like Babushka’s from Odessa.

  The nurse got to work lighting the stove. She balanced a teapot on the burner. “A newly married Jewish surgeon?” Now with the nurse’s suspicions seemingly gone, Miri saw her eyes were brown and warm. Unlike most, she had all her teeth. Despite being well groomed, however, she looked as if she could sleep for days.

  “You’re from Odessa?” Miri asked.

  The nurse smiled. “The Odessa accent is distinct.”

  “My grandmother was there as a child.”

  “What’s her name? Perhaps I knew her.”

  “I doubt it,” Miri said. She sat up straighter, remembered to keep her guard up. The hospital might feel like home, but the czar had eyes everywhere. Ironic to think that thoughts of Odessa might lull her to safety.

  “Then your name,” the nurse said. “What’s your name?”

  “Miri. Miriam Pe-trov.” She tripped over the last two syllables not because she thought it might give them away; Sasha Petrov was a common enough name that it wouldn’t raise suspicion. Likely there was at least one other already in the hospital. No, she tripped over the syllables because she was taking the name. His name.

  “Dr. Petrov. I’m nurse Anya Tessler.” She bowed her head.

  “Tessler?”

  “My husband.”

  “My God,” Miri muttered. “Can I see him?”

  “No, child.” She leaned closer and put a hand over Miri’s. “He’s with the czar, called up as a personal physician. He was escorted on a private train, given a retinue of guards. They never let him out of sight.” The pot rumbled. Steam shot through the spout. Anya filled their cups and added a dollop of jam to each, just as Babushka would have done.

  “He allows you to work? Even though you’re married?” Miri asked.

  “There are husbands who understand the world is changing. Your husband must be of the same mind.” Anya took a long, slow sip of her tea. There was no mistaking her emphasis on the word. “Now, tell me. You’re filthy. Your Sasha has a knife wound. You came here with nothing. And yet you’re a skilled surgeon. I can see as plain as anyone there’s trouble behind you. Where are you headed?”

  “Here,” Miri said. The answer was the simplest of all. “We were headed here.”

  “And after your husband recovers?”

  Miri stared down at her tea. “If you need me to pay, I’ll find money.” She stood up and walked to the window. Below, a horse pulled a gilded hansom cab up under the hospital’s porte cochere, the entrance reserved for the rich.

  “Was the marriage forbidden?”

  “No,” Miri said. “That’s not it.”

  “Where’s your ring?”

  “I don’t have one. I couldn’t…”

  “It’s okay. I understand.” She paused. “I have a proposal. It’s unorthodox but in times of war, conventions can cloud our way. Can you work for me?” Anya asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The czar has my husband. He’s claimed our other surgeons for his army. We’re short. I need help or the hospital will be shut down. And I saw your work. You’ve been trained.”

  “There are no other surgeons in this hospital?” Yuri wasn’t here?

  “Only one. Dr. Orlen. A sweet man. And a skilled surgeon. Too old even for the czar. I know I’m lucky to have him here, but he’s not enough. If you stay and work, I won’t charge you for your husband’s care. And I’ll provide room and board. But I can’t afford a salary.”

  Miri paced the length of the room. Yuri wasn’t there. Sasha was wounded and they had no money, no food. They needed safety, to stay away from the Okhrana and even Zubov now. And she needed a base she could use to look for Vanya and Yuri. “I can’t promise to stay for long,” she said. She needed to find Vanya quickly, before he started the long journey to Peter. “Maybe only a week.”

  “I’ll take what you can give.”

  “And I’ll only work during the day. I’ll need my nights free.” Yes, that could work. She could search at night. It would be better that way, easier to hide. Especially for Sasha, who would surely help as soon as he could and would want to keep his face hidden.

  “As I said, I’ll take what you can give. I have one room to spare.” When Miri avoided Anya’s gaze, she continued. “I see you’re hiding something. I won’t ask more, not now. I need your help. Perhaps you need mine more than you’re willing to admit. At least we’ve come to an arrangement.”

  “Without my credentials or records?”

  “I know not to ask. You wouldn’t be here, not like this, if you had them. I will choose to trust you, so long as you prove yourself. You’re not the only woman who’s desperate in Russia.”

  Miri nodded her thanks. And in truth she felt grateful. Then Anya took Miri up to the third floor to show her to her room. It was tucked into the back, down a slim hallway. It was small with one narrow cot. A hearth was set into the corner. A tangle of wood lay next to it. The window looked out on the paupers’ entrance. Beyond that, a line of wagons, piled high with beets, wobbled over the cobblestones on their way to the factory gates. Anya handed Miri a skeleton key. “When your husband is better, in a night or two, you can bring him up here with you.” She smiled.

  “And what will Sasha do, once he’s healed? Before he returns to his unit, I mean.” Because of course Anya would expect him to be serving the czar. He’d come wearing a uniform; he was otherwise strong. “While he’s still recovering. Surely he can’t sit in this room all day.”

  Anya hesitated. “I meant to ask earlier. Sasha Petrov. Is his family from Kiev?”

  “No. No, certainly not.”

  “Petrov? I’m sure I
know the name.”

  “Perhaps you’re confusing his family with another.”

  “Either way, is he a surgeon like you?”

  “No. But he can read and write.”

  “Then he’ll work at the front of the hospital. He can take names, organize the ledger and records until he’s well enough to return. Do you think that would suit him?”

  Miri nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Good. Then we’re settled.” Anya made her way to the door. “I’ll let you rest.”

  “Wait,” Miri said. “Was the sun out yesterday? Around lunch?”

  “The sun?” Anya looked confused. “Oh, you’re referring to the eclipse. Are you superstitious?” Miri shook her head. “I assumed not. It was gray and rainy all day. It did get darker, but only for ten minutes or so. I was helping a patient and needed to call for lights, but with all those clouds there wasn’t much of a difference. In any case, don’t let the eclipse, or the weather, trouble you. Rest.”

  Miri closed the door behind Anya and leaned against the frame. Poor, poor Vanya. Everything he had risked to reach this eclipse—for nothing. His life’s work wasted. And yet, she felt sure they’d find another way out of Russia, as long as she could get to him before Kir. As long as Sasha could recover before Zubov hunted them down. Oh, what a mess they were all in.

  V

  When Vanya woke up, he couldn’t see. His eyes were swollen shut. Every piece of his body was in so much pain it hurt to breathe, to think. But, he realized, he was alive. He smelled onions frying. And he heard voices. Yuri and Dima were talking. They’d survived.

  “Clay took everything?” Yuri asked. The last time Vanya had seen Clay, the coward was covered in blood, too beaten to move.