The light flickers, twisting into another memory.
“You’re still shaky I see. Well, we just have one more test to run today. Then, you’re done.” It’s the doctor again. “Sample the spinal fluid first then sit him up.”
“No! Don’t touch me. Don’t?—”
“Stefan.”
I shudder. My body is damp with cold sweat. Pain sears through my chest and my pulse races like it’s running out of time—the sensations crash over me all at once.
The smell of disinfectant is gone, replaced with damp earth, and smoke. Brick and wood.
I blink, but nothing is clear except wooden walls. Like the barracks, or coffins maybe.
Shadows leap across the walls. A blanket scrunches against my chest—coarse wool. Red and green. Whose blanket is this?A scrape against a floor. The groan of a man. My head whips toward him, his face a blur. Dog tags click and clang like chains. For a moment, I’m sure it’s the doctor hovering over me, but the coat—it’s brown, not white.
“There you are,” a man says. “It just takes a few minutes to come back when you wake. I went through the same thing at your age, but for lesser reasons.” He grins…or grimaces, maybe his expression is flickering like a flame. “It’s the shock from the explosions. They knock your brain around like a ping-pong ball.”
The accent…it’s not German. It’s Polish. Like home.
“He’s been nearly starved to death, Rudolf,” a woman’s voice cuts in with an argument.
“He shakes. Powerlessly. That’s shock, Bea. Trust me. I know.”
I try to speak…“Where am—” but my breaths are short and the walls lean in, threatening to fall.
Something cold and wet presses against my forehead. A rag. I choke on the smell—mildew or a chemical. “No!” I shout, pushing myself up and away from hands.
“Stefan, it’s just Rudolf. And Bea.”
I shake my head around, fighting for clear, singular vision.
Rudolf and Bea. The names seep through pinholes of darkness. I blink again, and their faces become whole, but still…strangers.
Rudolf. Yes. He found me in the woods. Or was it a Nazi guard? He was hunting…for game, or for Jews. He took me in, brought me here. Or—dragged me here?
The dog tags dangle again. Friend or enemy?
“I need to go,” I grunt, pushing myself upright before my shoulders fall forward, my back a turtle shell.
“Every day you say this…need to go? Go where? Go—go—” Rudolf mumbles, his words breaking apart. Or maybe it’s just my head echoing his words.
“You need a doctor,” Bea scolds.
“I—I have seizures. Epilepsy. Not shock.” Shock. Seizures. Starvation. I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on.
Bea gently slaps Rudolf. “I told you it was something else.”
“The nightmares and trouble waking up though—I know shock,” Rudolf continues.
“All right, all right. Seizures and shock. There’s your declared illness,” Bea scolds us both as if I’m the one arguing.
“I need to find her.”
“She isn’t here, Stefan,” Bea says, but it’s Rosalie’s voice I hear.
“Where then? Where is here?”
“That question,” Bea says, her voice brittle and hoarse, “is why you’re still here.” Her apron is stained dark. Blood? No, no. Soup? Ink? My vision doubles between each blink.
