Azamat drove his car out of the hospital grounds and down the road in the direction of the bike shop. He should get back to work. That’s where he belonged. An immense feeling of despair washed over him like a wave crashing onto the shore. He wiped a tear away from his left eye and gripped the steering wheel harder. He felt totally empty inside. Bereft. Had he hoped too much? He’d been so near to having his son back in his life. So near. But now, it was like being back at square one. Back to normality. Back to how things were before and how they probably would always be. Azamat the loser. Azamat the shirker. Azamat the coward. Perhaps he deserved to have his son hate him. Who was he kidding to think he could turn things around? No, his son would grow up hating him, just like Pavel hated Papa. And one day, he too would have to pay for his mistake.
3
If I have a faith that can move mountains,
but do not have love, I am nothing.
1 Corinthians 13:2
Chapter 22
Milana
Milana paid the taxi driver and watched the car drive off down the street.
“Mama?”
“Sorry.”
She turned around, drew her keys out of her handbag and unlocked the large gate at the entrance to their home. The dog barked a greeting from his kennel, where he was chained up, but she took no notice. She and Alikhan made their way across the courtyard, up the steps and unlocked the front door. They shook off their shoes and put on their house slippers, and ended up, by force of habit, in the kitchen.
Murat’s parents were not at home. They had taken over from her at the hospital and allowed her to bring Alikhan home so he could get some sleep before school tomorrow. She’d be back again in the morning.
“Is Papa going to be okay?”
She knew her son had been thinking about that the whole drive home. She’d been wondering herself.
“I hope so, sweetie. I’m sure the doctors know what they’re doing. He’s in good hands.”
“He didn’t look good.”
“I know. It’ll take a while for him to recover, but his wounds should heal up eventually.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know. A while. Anyway, you should get to bed. You’ve got school tomorrow.”
“Do I have to go?”
“Yes, you have to go. There’s nothing you can do for Papa; you might as well be working on your education.”
I might need you. The thought that popped into her mind surprised her. If anything happened to Murat, she would need Alikhan to look after her. Thank goodness she had a son. Sons stayed with their mothers. They would be alright, wouldn’t they?
“Goodnight, Mama.”
“Goodnight, sweetie.”
She kissed him gently on the forehead and let him make his way down the corridor to his room. Poor Alikhan. What a shock it had been to see his father like that. His body bruised and battered.
She poured water into the kettle and put it on the stove to boil. She was exhausted, but she wouldn’t be able to sleep. At least not for a while. Her mind was too active, not just trying to process the events of the day, but also trying to field all the what-ifs. She gave her shoulders a little shake. No, she couldn’t think about that just yet. She had to concentrate on getting Murat better. But it hadn’t looked good. The doctor had told her they wouldn’t be able to save his left leg, and that they’d be scheduling the operation to have it amputated very soon.
If only he’d been wearing a seatbelt! There was still opposition to making this a law, but she’d long been of the opinion that it would save lives.
She thumped her fist down hard on the table and sank into the nearest chair. Sobs forced their way out of her throat, though she wouldn’t let them out freely for fear of alarming Alikhan. She had to be strong, for the both of them. And yet, she was overwhelmed by a great fear that she might actually lose Murat. All these years, she’d taken him for granted. Yes, they’d had a reasonably happy marriage, albeit devoid of real passion, but she’d never really believed that she loved him until now. She did love him! Not in the same way she’d loved Azamat all those years ago, but it was love, all the same. Why had it taken an accident like this for her to realise that?
Her ring tone started playing loudly from the depths of her handbag, startling her. She rummaged through her stuff trying to locate her phone. It was Azamat. Should she take the call? He probably wanted to know about Murat; it was only fair.
“Hello?”
“Hi. I hope I’m not calling too late.”
“No, no, it’s alright. I’m not going to sleep anytime soon. Still a bit shaken up, you know.”
“What did the doctors say?”
“It’s not good. His left leg was pretty mangled. They’ll have to amputate.”
“I’m so sorry. I hope... I hope he makes it through okay, I really do. He seems like a decent guy.”
“Yes, he his. Look, Azamat...”
“Yes?”
“I’m really grateful you took us to the hospital, thank you.”
“It was nothing.”
“But I need to focus on getting Murat better now. You probably won’t hear from me for a while. And please don’t try to contact Alikhan until, you know, until his father, I mean, Murat, until Murat gets better.”
“I understand, of course.”
Milana closed her eyes and bowed her head. “I’m sorry Azamat.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
“What I mean is, I’m sorry things didn’t work out like we wanted all those years ago, but we’ve all moved on, you know? My husband needs me now, and my place is beside him, helping him get well. And Alikhan’s place is here too.”
“I know.”
Azamat’s words were short and to the point, and she could tell from the tone of his voice that this wasn’t an easy conversation for him either.
“Goodbye, Azamat.”
“Goodbye. Milana.”
Milana hung up and then stared at the phone for a while longer.
Goodbye, Azamat.
IT WAS THREE WEEKS since the operation, and Murat had been home for two days already. He still had a lot of bruising and swelling, but Milana knew that it was the loss of his leg that was going to take him the longest time to get over. Even if the physical scars healed quickly, the emotional ones would take time and patience, on all their parts. The doctors said it would take a while for his body to adjust to the missing limb, and Murat had told her how sometimes he felt a pain or an itch in the place where his leg would have been, which was impossible. It was just his brain playing tricks on him as it tried to realign itself to the new reality.
Milana knocked on the door and then walked in with the lunch tray. She set it down on the table next to her husband, who was lying on the sofa, propped up with pillows and covered in a blanket.
“Try to eat this. Your mother made it specially. It’s your favourite.”
Murat sighed and went back to staring at the ceiling. “I just don’t feel hungry.”
“You need to get your strength back.”
“What for? So that I can be a cripple for the rest of my life?”
“It’s not that bad, Murat. You’ll soon get used to walking on crutches, and then the doctor mentioned the possibility of a prosthetic leg further down the line. That would be great, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t see that anything’s great about losing your leg.”
“Well, it’s better than losing your life.”
She didn’t mean to be sharp, but she couldn’t help it. Murat was usually so calm and positive about life, she couldn’t bear to see him wallowing in self-pity and despair. She wanted to help him snap out of it, but she didn’t know how.
He grabbed her arm just as she was turning to leave. “I’m sorry.”
Her frustration melted and she knelt down close to him, kissing his hand and then holding it close to her chest. “I know.”
“You know, one good thing’s come from this.”
“
What’s that?”
“I don’t know, but our relationship feels different. You’re treating me... differently. I like that.”
She stared at him and blinked back tears. “You don’t really know what you have until you almost lose it.” She kissed him gently on the forehead. “I love you. I want you to know that. And when you get better, we can start over again, you know. Make up for lost time.”
“I’d like that.” He smiled.
Milana frowned and pressed her hand against his forehead. “You’re looking a bit flushed. I think you might have a temperature. Do you feel okay?”
“What?” Murat turned to her, his eyes vacant.
“You look like you’re burning up. That’s strange.”
“I don’t feel very good, actually. If anything, I feel cold.” He shivered and pulled the blanket closer around his neck.
“Here, drink some more water.” Milana handed him the glass and helped guide it to his lips. “I’ll be back in a while to change your dressings, but right now I’ve got some chores to see to.”
She would keep an eye on his temperature, but hopefully it would pass soon.
Later that afternoon she returned with a bowl of clean water and some fresh bandages. Murat was asleep, so she didn’t want to disturb him, although his forehead still looked clammy. When she carefully lifted the blanket that was covering him she tried not to gasp. It was still so difficult to see the stump where his left leg had once been. She gently removed the old dressings, just as the nurses had shown her. Close to the wound, the skin was red and angry-looking. She gently dabbed around it with clean water, wiping away the pus. She wrinkled up her nose at the smell. Surely that wasn’t a good sign. It was supposed to be healing, wasn’t it? She’d keep an eye on it over the next couple of days.
Once she’d replaced the dressings, thrown away the old bandages and washed her hands, she knelt down again beside Murat. He turned to her and slowly opened his eyes.
“Hey, how are you feeling?”
“Tired,” he replied.
She looked over at the tray of food she’d left at lunchtime. “You’ve not eaten anything. I’m going to have to return another tray of untouched food to your mother, and you know how upset she gets if people don’t like her cooking.”
Murat managed a weak smile, and she kissed his hand. Probably it was normal to lose your appetite after such a traumatic experience. Still, he needed to eat.
“Is there something else you’d like to eat? What can I get you?”
It was funny how much her perspective had shifted in just a few days. It wasn’t that long ago that she was furious with her husband for not telling her he was sterile, but that didn’t seem to matter at all now. The anger had gone and been replaced with a warm glow. The future looked bright for them and Alikhan all of a sudden. Murat just had to get over his injuries, and things could go back to normal. Only, they’d be better, she’d make sure of that.
She brought the food tray back to the kitchen, squirted washing up liquid onto the sponge and started running the tap. One by one she cleared and wiped the plates, rinsing them, and then placing them on the draining board. Perhaps they could go away, just the two of them. They hadn’t really done anything together since their brief honeymoon, and she’d been pregnant then. It might be nice to take a trip somewhere, maybe to the mountains. She’d always wanted to stay in one of those new Alpine chalets near Mount Elbrus and take the chairlift up to the snowline.
She reached for another plate and realised she was humming. When was the last time she’d caught herself humming? She couldn’t remember.
THREE DAYS LATER, MURAT’S wound was still not healing well. If anything, it was looking worse, and Milana was worried about the discharge. It looked as if an infection had set in. Murat still had a raised temperature and seemed weaker and more confused. Her mother-in-law was also concerned.
“I think we should call an ambulance,” Milana said at last that afternoon, after the two women had changed the dressings again. Murat’s mother nodded and picked up the phone to dial 03. Milana hurried off to pack a few things for the hospital and change her clothes.
Sitting in the back of the ambulance, a few minutes later, Milana felt the panic rising in her chest again. It wasn’t meant to be like this. The worst was over, wasn’t it? He was supposed to be getting better now. She shuddered at the thought of being back in the hospital again. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t fair. Not when things were just working themselves out between the two of them.
The ambulance lurched over a speed bump and Milana instinctively reached for Murat’s hand, but he wasn’t responding. She couldn’t tell if he was still conscious or not, and that really scared her.
Murat’s parents were staying at home to wait for Alikhan to come back from school. They would all come to the hospital later. Milana wished with all her heart that she would have good news to tell them when they did.
The hours ticked by as she paced the familiar corridors of the town hospital. The doctor had frightened her with his brief explanation that they’d had to put Murat on an antiviral drip. Apparently, he had something called sepsis. What did that even mean? She didn’t know anything. If only someone would come out and explain what was going on.
Murat’s parents had arrived with Alikhan an hour later, and still they were waiting. Still no one would tell them anything. Finally, late in the evening, a white-coated doctor exited the room and made his way towards them. Milana desperately scanned his eyes, showing just above his face mask. There it was, the look that she had been dreading. The look of pity.
“No!” she cried out, having to catch herself on the wall to prevent herself from falling.
“I’m sorry,” the doctor started, removing the mask from over his mouth. “We did all we could.”
“But why? What happened? He was getting better! You said everything would be alright!”
“An aggressive infection had set in. He wasn’t showing any signs of it when he was discharged, but it happened very quickly. There was nothing you could have done, and when he got here it was too late. I’m sorry.”
The doctor turned to go back into the room, leaving Milana and the others to process the news.
“No, no, no!” was all that was screaming through Milana’s head. Murat’s father collapsed back into his chair, his head in his hands. Murat’s mother clung onto Alikhan and wept loudly. Milana slid down the wall, squatting on the floor like she used to do as a child, her arms wrapped around her knees, gently rocking backwards and forwards.
Murat was gone. She was a widow.
Chapter 23
Azamat
Azamat hadn’t been expecting a phone call from Milana after their last conversation, and he certainly hadn’t been expecting what she had to tell him.
She hadn’t exactly invited him to the funeral; it was more like she just wanted to let him know and leave it up to him to decide what he wanted to do. The call had been brief and business-like, but he knew her well enough to know that she was really upset. Of course, she was. She’d loved Murat.
Should he go? There was no reason for him to go. He wasn’t related to Murat and didn’t live in their village. The only connection was Alikhan. Should he go to show support to Alikhan, or would his presence there make things worse? The last thing he wanted to do was to make Alikhan think he was swooping in to replace the only father he’d ever known. The father he’d loved, admired and now lost forever.
He had to make a decision quickly. Funerals in the Caucasus didn’t wait for anyone. The body had to be buried within twenty-four hours, and preparations were already underway.
In a split second he followed his gut and made the decision to go. He would hang back and try not to let Alikhan or Milana see him, but he wanted to be there for what would be a really significant event in the life of his son. Who knew what the future held, but Azamat still hoped beyond all hope that he and Alikhan would form some kind of relationship, even if just a formal one. He’d like
to know that he’d been able to share that moment, to be able to listen to Alikhan talking about it knowing that he’d been there too. But it was more than that. He wanted to pay his respects to the man who’d fathered his son. The one who had looked after both Milana and Alikhan all these years when he wasn’t able to.
He pulled his car up a couple of streets away from Milana’s house, put on his flat, black cap and pulled his collar tighter around his neck. Walking briskly, he looked around to see if there was anyone who might recognise him but as soon as he rounded the corner he breathed a sigh of relief. Milana’s street was teaming with people, and he would definitely be able to slip in unnoticed. Murat had come from a well-respected family and had himself been a good man with many friends. Of course, there would be a whole crowd of people willing to drop whatever they’d been doing to attend his funeral.
Azamat drew his black cap further down over his face and pushed his way through the crowd into the courtyard of Murat’s family home. The women were all inside, offering their consolations to Milana and Murat’s mother and other female relatives. The men were all outside, voices low and respectful, waiting for the imam to arrive to conduct the ceremony and prayers over the body before it was carried to the village cemetery.
He spotted Alikhan over in the corner by the steps. He was being looked after by male relatives, but one look at Alikhan’s face made Azamat’s heart break. The boy had clearly loved Murat. What boy deserves to lose his father at that age? What a terrible trauma to have to go through. One thing was clear, it would be a long time before Alikhan would be ready for Azamat to approach him again and offer to pick up where they last left off. The boy was distraught.
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