1850-01: A Survivor's Story (Part Eight)
Time passes, Anna's condition deteriorates, and Pavel gets some ill-timed news.
This is part of a series centered on Pavel Tzarkowski’s experiences as a survivor in early Nova Espero entitled “1850-01.” Follow this link to go to the series’ page.
“We went back out to the electrical institute to see if we could scrape up any further documentation. We were only able to find one useful journal, but we did find a box of old cortezada sticks1 in what appeared to be a professor’s office. Lt. Suarez loves the things, and knows that Chief Libero does too. They apparently shared them over some coffee in the Council Hall. I visited Anna today. She seems to be in good spirits, and the Aid Corps officers appear very attentive. Filip misses his sister, but he seems to be liking daycare and Miss Martine.”
Diary of Pavel Tzarkowski, Dekaunuo 1, 2 PM. 2 days after leaving quarantine; 88 until citizenship.
“Elizabeta and I attended our first ‘market night’ tonight. Every weekend, Guards who pay a fee or licensed dealers are allowed to hawk their ‘non-essential’ exploits from beyond the walls. Dress shirts, fur coats, neckties, dresses, watches, jewelry are all hot commodities. As are toys, games, and surprisingly books and even records. Though only the cooperatives and public buildings have the power for a record player, their staffs are always looking for familiar favorites or pre-War novelties. Particularly beloved is Rodiño Sáenz, a tango artist out of southern Ferria. People like to get close to one another here especially this time of year, and now they have the security for the kind of intimacy and diversion a tango would provide. Selling liquor by the bottle is strictly forbidden, but the makeshift bar does brisk business. Whiskeys and rums that were once sold for thousands of crowns are now sold for pennies per shot. It’s a morale booster in this community of former slum dwellers, dockworkers, prisoners, and peasants. Under the Common Council, even La Marca Real is affordable, is the common line. For Anna, we bought a button to replace her swamp monster’s missing eye, and for Filip we bought a book about pirates. We’ll be sure to come back next week.”
Diary of Pavel Tzarkowski, Dekaunuo 3, 2 PM. 4 days after leaving quarantine, 86 until citizenship
“I just returned from my first overnight run with the platoon. We ventured about three miles down the peninsula, hoping to find the old city hall. Though it was almost entirely destroyed, we found the basement archives to be largely intact, if not entirely dry. We spent hours shuffling through the stinking, pulpy slop, attempting to find anything useful. Our primary targets were any maps or diagrams of the city’s under-construction subway line or the sewage system. We were able to find some maps, but they appeared to be a decade or two out of date. No matter; practically nothing has changed in the Old City in the past two hundred years. Aside from the obvious, anyway. After we emerged, we found ourselves in a clear night illuminated by a radiant full moon. Because of the wind patterns, there are these rare occasions where the smoke and smog that otherwise fills the sky is swept either out to sea or further up the shore. In those precious moments, we can soak up the sunlight or take in the stars. There are so many stars at night, far more than there ever were before the War. It’s one of the few pleasant things to come from all of this.”
Diary of Pavel Tzarkowski, Dekaunuo 16, 2 PM. 17 days after leaving quarantine; 73 until citizenship
“Funerals are a critical event here. In other places, those who die are frequently given soldier’s burials. That is, they are placed in a shallow grave with nothing more than a wooden marker proving that they ever existed. Those who buried them often forget the names of the lost soon; it’s unhealthy to dwell on the dead out there. But here, the settlement’s dead are resigned to their fate in dignity. Any of those who die within a given week are kept at the Hospital. On the first day of the weekend, the bodies are placed in a simple wooden box wrapped in the flag of the settlement – a white sheet with a green star at the center and a green border. The coffins are then placed on carts and a funeral procession meanders through the town center. A secular service is held at Council Hall, where friends, coworkers, families (for the fortunate few), and government leaders honor the dead. Afterwards, the march continues over to Delancey Street. Burials are illegal – every square inch of open space is reserved for cultivation – so the dead are taken to a makeshift crematorium and burned. The ashes are then placed in bricks that are laid in a new columbarium at the town center. It doesn’t matter if you’re a Common Councilor or a bricklayer, a Guard or a scavenger, resident or citizen, or if you died in bed at the Hospital or out in the wastelands, the proceedings are always the same. Under the Common Council, everyone gets a service, everyone gets a flag-draped coffin, and everyone ends up in the columbarium.
“Kara got her service today. We were on an overnighter and someone got her with a squirrel gun. We were all there, we all saw it. Frederic held his hand over her neck for what seemed like forever, trying to stanch the blood long after her pulse stopped. She was an intelligent and accomplished electrician, a truly unbeatable drinker, and a damn good shot. And why did she die? Someone thought she had made a move on his ‘turf,’ a dilapidated set of old rowhouses. Why wasn’t Kara at the co-op with Beta? What an idiotic waste of a life.”
Diary of Pavel Tzarkowski, Dekaunuo 24, 2 PM. 25 days after leaving quarantine; 65 until citizenship.
“Snow. Snow. An endless deluge of snow. Temperatures are well below freezing, and the Council is tightening rations on coal. We’ve been moved off of archival duties to hunt for fuel. The solar panels are even less effective in this weather, but the Council says that the batteries should keep the lights on at the hospital and Council Hall for at least a few days. Elizabeta says that the grid she’s working on should expand access to power during these storms, but that it isn’t quite ready yet. Anna is noticeably weaker, and her cough has become harsher. She can still walk, but she doesn’t run around like she used to. It is clear that she is growing sicker each day.”
Diary of Pavel Tzarkowski, Dekaduo 14, 2 PM. 45 days after leaving quarantine; 45 until citizenship.
“Elizabeta and I sat with Anna in shifts today. She is in bed much more often than before and her cough is getting worse. Today is evidently a festival of some sort in the settlement, a so-called Fellowship Day. Residents and citizens alike come together for a feast of meat of questionable origin and potatoes, reminiscing about friends and family now long gone. I would think such a thing would only damage morale, but it seems to build community. They’ve all lost someone, but they all have each other. Neither Elizabeta nor I, however, had the emotional strength to participate. It is impossible to think of death and not think of Anna, wasting away in the Hospital. It is only a little over a month now until I gain my citizenship and Anna can get her medication.”
Diary of Pavel Tzarkowski, Dekaduo 21, 2 PM. 52 days after leaving quarantine; 38 until citizenship.
“Anna’s condition has further deteriorated. Her skin is much more pale and her cough has gotten worse. She coughs out small specks of blood now. She has less energy for company now, and this is fortunate for Elizabeta and me, as we can only bear to see her like this for so long. The doctors say she is relatively stable, and should be in a holding pattern at this state for quite some time. I don’t know whether or not these are comforting words from someone watching another’s child consumed with illness, or if they are from some sort of expertise. Dr. [Frances] Poilievre has been very kind to Anna, and pays special attention to her.”
Diary of Pavel Tzarkowski, Unuo 12, 3 PM. 74 days after leaving quarantine; 16 until citizenship.
“Tonight, Elizabeta brought me to a side street a few blocks away to show off the test of the co-op’s new grid system. With the press of a key at a terminal at the office a few blocks away, the lights suddenly went out on one side and flashed to life on the other. Then back and forth with the pressing of keys. Her coworkers cheered as the lights danced to and fro; they tell me this means that they can engineer the entire settlement, redirecting power to where it’s necessary and transferring loads from productive solar panels to areas where the panels are less effective or where sun is available for fewer hours in the day. This celebration provided a momentary distraction from Anna’s worsening state. She sleeps most of the day, and when she isn’t sleeping she is kept up by a persistent, hacking cough. Dr. Poilievre says her situation is precarious, but she should begin the long road to recovery after I receive my citizenship next week. She has arranged it so that regardless of where I am at midnight the day I qualify, Anna will be administered her first round. She has promised to stay up late to ensure that it takes place. Elizabeta and I have grown to appreciate her kindness.”
Diary of Pavel Tzarkowski, Unuo 23, 3 PM. 85 days after leaving quarantine; 5 until citizenship.
“Another one? What the hell, Pavel.” Elizabeta barked. “Why now?”
“I don’t really have a choice, Beta. They’re going to send me where they’re going to send me.”
“I know. I just…” she paused. There were moments where Elizabeta’s emotions fried her circuits, and overwhelmed her to the point where she needed a second to think to avoid saying something rash. Her natural impulsivity when it came to blurting whatever it was that was on her mind got her in trouble more times than she could count. She’s just lucky she had been seeing a well-regarded therapist for quite some time when the bombs fell. Shooting from the hip could get you killed out here.
“I know it’s not your fault. I know you didn’t ask for it. But we’ll be citizens after tomorrow. Two days! Anna won’t be better yet, but she’ll have what she needs at least.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, she buried her head in her hands. “Two days, Pavel.”
“I know,” he replied. Before leaving his shift, Pavel had been informed that he would be shipping out for another overnight mission, this time for three days. Though Lieutenant Suarez had not told Platoon 403 much, he did tell them it would be their farthest journey yet. When Pavel protested, his commanding officer told them there was nothing he could do. It was a top priority of the Chief himself. It was going to happen.
“I built them a fucking electrical grid, Pavel,” Elizabeta said with some acid in her voice. “They can’t just delay it by a few days?”
“No, they seemed pretty impatient about the whole thing,” he said. “Besides, if I’m still around in two days it’ll be fine, it doesn’t matter where I am.”
“But you remember what happened last time Pavel,” she shot back. On the previous overnight mission, Dr. Beck had been shot in the neck by a sniper. Not much of one either; he hit her with a .22, something hillbillies used to pick off squirrels before the War. But it was enough. Plowing anything into someone’s carotid at 1,100 feet per second would do some serious damage.
“And you know how I feel about ‘if,’ Pavel. You will come back.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Don’t you ever fucking give me ‘if’.”
He held her in his arms. What else could he do? If he abandoned the mission, they would have to wait another three months for citizenship, and what would happen to Anna in the meantime? Dr. Poilievre had been frank with them – her condition was diminishing. Even with the antibiotics in just a few days, there were no guarantees. She could recover, but it would be a long and painful recovery. Months of bedrest, and even the potential for surgery in what would be on the level of a backcountry clinic before the War. Regardless, it was preferable to the alternative.
In the other room, Filip murmured. It was late when Pavel clambered in from slushy streets, exhausted both from the march and from the news. The street lamps shone bright; there was still a little while before they would be cut off to save the still-rationed electricity. Streaks of yellow fell across Elizabeta’s tear-soaked face as she arched her neck back to look into Pavel’s eyes.
“Don’t give me ‘if’,” she said. “You’re coming back.”
“I am,” he replied, moving his hand up to cradle her chin. Her mouth twisted in knots, and tears pushed through her clenched eyes. She opened them, her lips wobbling and her pupils darting back and forth across Pavel’s face, as if to take in every pore and fleck of stubble.
He kissed her, tenderly at first. Then she pulled him in, holding him more tightly than he thought she ever had.
The streetlights outside switched off.
Pavel awoke early the next morning. Having lived almost two years without artificial light, he had slowly grown accustomed to waking up with the dawn. Even here, with lighting available almost twenty hours a day, he still found himself waking up at the ungodly hour of five thirty-two in the morning. Elizabeta was quicker to acclimate; she showed no signs of waking. Before the War, he had found it endearing how deeply she slept. He had always been jealous that she could fall asleep on the train when he would just shift fitfully in his seat.
Now more than ever though, he wished she was a light sleeper. He wanted to say goodbye – not goodbye, no. See you soon. He told himself that as long as he didn’t shake her awake, there was nothing especially dangerous or special about what he was about to do. If he made it more important, more fatal, he didn’t know if he could leave the bedroom.
Instead, he kissed her on the forehead. She mumbled something. She was always talking in her sleep. He smiled a somber smile, pulling on his briefs, followed by layer after layer of his winter scavenging gear.
Silently shutting the bedroom door behind him, Pavel snuck over to Filip’s room. Fil took after his father; he was already awake examining a picture book that his teacher had given him, sounding each syllable methodically.
“The dol-phin jumped o-ver the wave,” he read, fingering the words on the page.
“Hey buddy, I’ll be back soon.”
“Oh no!” he protested, “where are you going?”
“It’s for work, bud,” he said, pulling his son in close. “It’ll be another business trip. Like that last one.”
“Okay… will you get me something?”
Pavel smiled. Before the War, Pavel had always gotten Filip and Anna some little trinket or memento whenever he left town for some conference or history symposium. Now it was no different; on the first trip, he had found a taxi medallion for him, and on the second he brought back an old briarwood pipe in a lightly scratched cedar box.
“Of course, Fil. I always do.”
“I love you, daddy,” he said, lunging into Pavel’s side.
“Love you too, bud,” Pavel replied. It took everything in his power to cover up the choking in his throat.
Tousling the kid’s hair and kissing him on the head, Pavel gave Filip his see you soon. He left a note on the small table by the front door for Elizabeta. He made sure to make it at least a little corny. He thought a sappy love letter would send her spiraling. Writing something like that would probably send him spiraling too. He wasn’t as tough as Elizabeta, and it was taking everything in his power not to crack.
It’s just another mission, Pavel said to himself. You’ll be fine.
Elizabeta awoke at six o’clock with the ringing of the city’s bells. Reaching over to grab Pavel, her arm fell limp upon his pillow. She groaned, mumbling to herself. Pulling his pillow into her chest, she breathed in deeply to take in his scent. When she was younger, she laughed at girls who did things like this. She could still think they were idiots. They were sucking in the scent of shallow athletes and college boyfriends who were by now a world away and married to someone else.
But this was Pavel.
She got up, and found Filip still in his bed reading and re-reading his book. She sat by his side, his attention hardly diverging from the dolphins and the waves. He really was just like his father. Once he had his nose pressed in a book, it was a feat to break his focus.
“Go get dressed, we have to head down for breakfast,” she said, kissing him on the head.
“Ok Mommy,” he replied.
A few minutes later, fully ready for the day ahead, Elizabeta and Filip headed towards the door. Before they left, she noticed a note on the entranceway table.
“Hey Beta. Went to get some noodles. I’ll be home soon. Love you always.”
Asshole, she thought to herself, chuckling as she mustered every ounce of willpower to keep from crying.
This is Part Eight of a series centered on Pavel Tzarkowski’s experiences as a survivor in early Nova Espero entitled “1850-01.” Follow this link to read Part Nine.
Cortezada, from the Ferrian corteza rizada is a curled brown bark that can be either chewed or snuffed for a stimulant effect or smoked or brewed in a tea for a sedative effect. Though mostly a pleasure of the upper classes prior to the War, improved harvesting techniques and industrial processing capabilities have now made cortezada a common household good in Uniguita.