by G S Eli
“What about Casey, the American girl?” Mila asked.
“I told you: the girl is dying.”
“But we have to help her!” Mila cried.
“No Mila, she must die. The scepter can heal her flesh but not save her life. Even if she does not die, she will be lost in the end. It would be kinder to let her go in peace. There’s nothing we can do about that.”
“What? That doesn’t make sense!” Mila replied.
“There is no time to explain,” Nasta said softly. She seemed to be losing strength. “Don’t throw the card away as you did the chukrayi.”
The admonition made Mila ashamed. How does she know that? He put the tarot card in his pocket as carefully as he could. Then he took Nasta’s hand. It was cold and trembling. Mila swallowed hard, realizing how badly she was hurt.
“Don’t worry about me,” she said, reading his thoughts as she so often did. “Go now. Find this evil thing, but don’t bring it to the church. This is your mission, Mila. This is why you are so strong, so special. This is why you are one of a kind.”
X
The Poison Scepter
Mila gunned his motorcycle and sped down the highway to Berlin. All this back and forth was putting a real strain on him, and he was running low on gas. He took the first exit for the city, leaning into a tight turn. Shortly after the demolition, buses had arrived, courtesy of Father Leichman. They would take the residents of the ghetto to the church and then to some new refuge.
The rain still hadn’t let up, and he had to take several detours. It seemed every other street was flooded. As he rode through the city, he recalled his great-aunt’s grim warnings and the task she’d assigned to him. Mila had always been on the fence about her mysticism. One day, he’d find himself wondering about the meaning of his dreams and worrying that a negative thought or word might bring bad luck. Another day, he’d think it was all nonsense and even laugh at her crazy ideas. But these recent events were too much to deny. The odds of what had taken place had to be in the billions, which could only mean that Casey was dying. A heavy sadness filled his heart. We can’t just let her die, he thought.
He had to choose. Should he look for this scepter? Or would it just be a waste of time? The scepter might not even exist. It could all be just an old legend of Nasta’s, he rationalized. Mila searched his feelings, struggling to make sense of everything. Am I wasting my time looking for this artifact? Even if I’m not, how am I going to get down there alone? It became clearer to him that he was yearning for just a bit more proof that Nasta’s predictions could be true. Maybe I’ll head to the hospital and see if Casey is really sick. If not, I’ll head back to the camp and put all of this silliness behind me. If she is, maybe the artifact really can save her, just as Nasta said. Maybe I could get this Jack guy to help me go back and get it. After all, it’s his girlfriend in trouble. He should be doing this. He felt both frustrated and jealous. Who knows, with any luck, he may still have the scepter.
Mila slammed on his brakes. His back tire drifted, and he spun in a full U-turn. The driver behind Mila’s bike honked his horn at the reckless display. Ignoring it, Mila revved his engine and headed straight for the hospital. His thoughts raced as the bike sped through the city streets: That spike Jack found—he called it an artifact. That’s the scepter. It has to be.
At the hospital, Mila locked up the motorcycle and headed for the visitors’ entrance. Heads turned at the sight of the tall, dark fellow, strongly built and drenched head to toe. What? You never saw a soaking wet Gypsy before? he wanted to shout, striding confidently by as they gawked.
He scanned the waiting room, hoping to find one of the Americans. Too many faces. The place was packed. Nearest him was an older couple with bandages on their heads, probably from a car accident. A younger boy pushed past, his face covered in scratches and a bite mark on his arm: a dog attack, no doubt. There were dozens of patients in the waiting room but not the two Americans he sought.
A nurse carrying a chart scanned her ID and stepped through the double doors. Just before they swung shut, Mila glimpsed a sign pointing to the intensive care unit. If she’s dying, that’s where she’ll be. But how do I get back there? It’s not like I can just ask to visit her.
Before Mila could think of what to say, a nurse approached him. “May I help you?” she asked pointedly.
He thought fast. Spotting a child with a bad nosebleed, he suddenly knew what to do. “I’m here to give blood,” he replied.
“Give blood?” she asked skeptically.
“Yes, because of the storm. There are so many people hurt,” Mila explained, trying to play up the concern.
“You do understand, blood is donated for free,” the nurse said patiently.
“Yes, of course!” Mila said, feigning outrage and shock. “I’m not trying to sell my blood. That’s illegal!”
The nurse narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t buying his pose. “Do you know your blood type?”
“AB negative,” Mila blurted. He knew nothing about blood types, but he remembered this one from Whistleblower.
Her eyes widened. “Are you sure? That’s an extremely rare blood type!”
“Well,” Mila said with a grin, “I guess blood is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get.”
The nurse gave him a quizzical look. Then she smiled. “All right, fine. Come with me.”
Mila resisted the urge to pump his fist. It worked!
The nurse led him through the security doors and down a broad hallway brightly lit with harsh fluorescent bulbs. Her brisk pace put her a few steps ahead of Mila. That was his chance.
“We’re going to have to run a quick test to confirm…” the nurse droned on as Mila silently slipped away.
He tiptoed down the hallway, slipping behind a pillar or around a corner now and then. The doctors and staff were all caught up in one thing or another. It wasn’t hard to escape their attention. He checked the observation windows of various rooms. Some had the shades drawn; others had the blinds up and were visibly empty. He began to worry. Where are the Americans? How will I ever find them?
That’s when he spotted Casey through the window of a room at the far edge of the ICU. She lay motionless in bed, her eyes closed. Medical monitors and equipment surrounded her. Attached to all the cords and tubes, her body seemed to have wasted away to nothing under the thin hospital coverlet. Above it, her face was gaunt; her cheeks were caved in and her bones showed sharply through her skin, which was deathly pale save for a few blue splotches. Her chest rose and fell so slightly that Mila could barely detect the gentle motion. Can that really be the beautiful girl from the subway? My God—she looks dead already, he thought as he pressed his shocked face against the glass.
“That’s no mere sprained ankle,” Mila whispered to himself as his heart pounded. “Nasta was right.”
The room had one window to the outdoors. Standing in front of it was Deborah. She seemed to be shouting into a cell phone. On the other side of the room, seated in a thinly padded hospital armchair, was Jack, his army jacket was balled up into a makeshift headrest.
There isn’t much time left. Throwing caution to the wind, Mila stepped up to the door of the hospital room and knocked hard. Jack answered, and Mila tried to put on a friendly face. “I need your help,” Mila declared.
Jack seized him by the collar and pushed him across the hallway, slamming him into the wall. “You’re not getting away so easy this time!” he cried defiantly.
He had the wind knocked out of him, but Mila tried to shove Jack away. The American grabbed his arms near the elbow and pinned him against the wall. Mila could only struggle uselessly as Jack held him back.
“Let me go! I’m here to help!” Mila insisted.
Jack turned his head and yelled down the hallway. “Hey! Get security down here!”
With Jack distracted, Mila moved as if Jack’s head were n
othing but a football. A fast head-butt to the jaw knocked Jack off balance and sent him stumbling across the hall. Deborah saw the scuffle and sprang into the hallway, her hands raised. She locked eyes with Mila. “Don’t move!” she ordered.
“You’ve got to listen to me. Please!” Mila shouted. “Jack! That thing you found in the bunker. It made her sick!”
Two orderlies charged into the hallway and seized Mila by the arms. He struggled as they tried to drag him away. “Jack, she got cut, remember? That spike, that artifact—it must have been poisoned or something!”
The orderlies pulled Mila down the hall. He tried to crane his neck around the corner and keep eye contact with Jack. “We can save her!” Mila cried desperately.
Sensing that the orderlies were getting mad, Mila stopped struggling. They led him out of the ICU, then handed him off to a group of security guards. The guards were kind enough not to call the police. Instead, they tossed Mila out of the hospital and into the pouring rain.
Dejected, he leaned against the wall and slumped to the ground. Staring into the empty street, he watched the rainwater pour into the storm drain. I tried, he thought. But I failed.
Beside him, footsteps splashed through the puddles on the pavement. Mila didn’t bother to turn his head.
“Do you really think we can save her?” a voice asked.
Eyes wide, Mila turned and saw Jack standing over him. Not knowing what to say, he simply nodded.
“Why did you steal her phone?” Jack asked.
“I can explain on the way,” Mila stated.
Jack extended a hand. Mila took it, and the American pulled him to his feet.
“Do you still have it?” Mila asked. “That thing you found? You said you were keeping it.”
Jack looked down at his shoes. “After all the confusion with the train…I left it in the bunker.”
XI
The Abyss
“Lady Luck is on our side,” said Jack.
“I don’t know. I have a bad feeling about this,” Mila replied.
The two boys moved quickly into the dark tunnel of Bundestag Station. Mila remembered Bundestag was much closer to the bunker than the main station at Hauptbahnhof. Apparently, the trains weren’t running today. The flooding from the recent rains had caused some kind of technical issue, so they wouldn’t have to worry about timing the trains. On the ride to Bundestag, Mila filled Jack in on the unusual turn of events, including what Nasta warned about. Unfortunately, Jack was not buying all of the superstitious mumbo jumbo. However, Jack did believe that the spike could have been infected with some kind of deadly poison, due to the fact that it was discovered in a military bunker.
Jack pulled out his cell phone. Mila spotted the motion and guessed what Jack was about to do. “Wait!” Mila said. “Let’s get farther in before you turn a light on.”
The tunnel was deep in shadow, and its air felt clammier than before. It was obvious that the rains had seeped through. Jack followed Mila deeper into the dark black tunnel, looking back at the train station again and again.
Suddenly, Mila realized exactly where it had to be. “There!” he shouted to Jack, pointing just ahead.
The boys jogged toward the spot. Jack flashed the light of his phone, then focused all his attention on finding the hole.
Mila stood at the edge of the pit and peered down into the darkness. Jack came closer and looked over his shoulder. The bunker was now flooded, the water dark and murky. The sound of dripping water echoed around them as they stared into the abyss that had once been the bunker.
“Oh shit, now what?” Mila asked.
“It should be right down there,” Jack pointed to the center of the dark pool. “That thing was heavy as lead. It couldn’t have floated off.”
Using his lock, Mila secured one end of his bike chain to a nearby steel beam.
“Someone’s got to stay up top to pull the other guy up. Which of us is going down?” Jack asked.
“I think you should.”
“Why me?”
“No offense, but I think I’m a little stronger than you.”
“Bullshit, I pinned you at the hospital!” Jack retorted.
“You caught me off guard. Look, it doesn’t matter. You left it down there. You get it.”
Jack couldn’t argue with that. He cast his eyes heavenward and heaved a sigh. Then he looped one end of the bike chain into a makeshift harness.
Mila took hold of the slack and braced himself. Jack inched toward the hole. “Don’t worry, I got you,” Mila told him.
“You’d better,” Jack snapped.
He set his phone carefully at the edge so the light shone down. Step by step, Jack edged down the side of the abyss. As he lowered himself into the darkness, Mila stepped forward. Jack hung above the bunker by both arms.
“Get ready!” he shouted, and with that, he let go. The chain gave for a second as Mila stumbled forward. Then he regained his footing.
“Whoa!” Jack’s yell echoed up into the subway tunnel.
“Sorry!” Mila yelled back. “Got it now.”
“OK, let it out a little…” Jack coached him. Then, “Gradually!”
Mila took a few careful steps toward the hole. Now Jack hung just a few inches above the water and looked around. What a godforsaken place! he thought.
The bunker must have been flooded to about four or five feet, he estimated. He knew he had to uncoil himself from the chain and plunge into the water. If his estimate was off and the water was over his head, his task would be much harder—and more disgusting.
He inhaled hard, then let go of the chain and dropped with a loud splash. The filthy water was chin high, and some of it managed to get into his mouth. He tasted motor oil, garbage, rotting leaves, and God knew what else. He spat it out, then began to swim to where he thought he’d left the artifact. He felt around the area with his feet.
No luck. He took a deep breath and submerged. But when he opened his eyes underwater, there was little to see. The water was too muddy, and the cell phone’s dim glow couldn’t penetrate the murky blackness. Damn! Jack cursed to himself. Why the hell didn’t we bring a flashlight?
The filthy water stung so badly Jack had to shut his eyes. Squatting, he groped around blindly with both hands. That thing was so heavy, he thought. It has to be lying on the floor somewhere. After a few seconds, he had to come up for air. Over and over he emerged from the water, took a breath, and ducked back down. Each time he took the plunge he felt precious seconds passing.
Jack emerged again and yelled, “I can’t find it!” Then he took one final plunge and gave one last sweep with his fingers for the mysterious object. His fingertips grazed something solid. He reached out and firmly closed his hand around whatever it was. He gave a strong kick and shot up out of the fetid pool. With his head clear of the water again, he wiped his face and opened his eyes to see what he’d found: a broken stapler.
“Damn it!” Jack gasped, his breath almost gone from the underwater search. He chucked the piece of junk across the bunker in disgust.
“Did you get it?” Mila yelled from above. “We’re running out of time.”
“I can’t find it. It must have shifted,” Jack said, still panting.
Mila bit his lip. The cops are gonna come for me anytime now, he thought. And Casey’s condition has to be getting worse. Jack said the thing was heavy. It’s not gonna just float away. “It has to be down there!” he shouted. “Don’t give up so easy!”
“Dude, I felt all around. There’s nothing on the floor!” Jack shouted, frustrated.
“I’m coming down,” Mila responded tersely. He thought of his great-aunt and closed his eyes to do a quick meditation that Nasta would have called a moment of peace. “It’s a way to clear all the…um…all the universe out of your mind,” she would say delicately. “It can help you; it can do you good. Yo
u can use it to solve the dilemmas in life, little or big.” He began to sense her presence, right there in the dark tunnel.
“Hey! Are you coming down or what?” Jack yelled.
But Mila was in a dream state, deep in the Middle Room, between the heavens and the universe. “Dikh thele ando kalo pai, soamo tu si dikhas ki o kalfine,” the voice in the Middle Room said. Then the voice quickly moved away.
Mila could almost feel the essence of the words leave his presence, like wind passing. He woke up with a sense of knowing what he must do. As the voice had directed, he looked back down into the hole, into the black waters. Left and right, deeper.
Suddenly, a spark glimmered for a quick second, then faded. The tiny light had shone out from right behind Jack, not far from where he was standing. Mila locked his eyes on that position. For a split second, more sparks shone out.
“There!” Mila pointed in the direction of the glimmer of light. “It’s right behind you.”
Without question, Jack followed Mila’s pointing finger. He plunged in once again. Underwater, he used both hands to sweep the area Mila had indicated. His hand brushed a waterlogged piece of furniture. The desk the three of them had climbed on to escape? What else could it be? He moved his hands across the edge of the desk, and his fingers grazed something. All at once he knew for certain that there in the black abyss the scepter was within his grasp. He grabbed the object more firmly, gave a strong kick, and shot back up to the surface. Taking a deep breath, he yelled at the tops of his lungs, “I have it! Pull me up!”
Without either of them saying a word, as if instinct warned them not to, both of them realized they had just experienced something almost supernatural. Silently, Jack got back into the harness.
Mila began to pull the chain upward. Bracing himself, he walked backward down the subway tracks. He was strong for his age and size, but he found himself straining and struggling against the heavy pull of the water and the weight of the other boy. Finally, he saw Jack’s hand emerge, a metal object in his clenched fist. Jack tossed it onto the floor and pulled himself up the rest of the way.