The White Guard - Mikhail Bulgakov [82]
They cut up Alexei's shirt with scissors and took it off in shreds, baring his thin yellowish body and his left arm freshly bandaged up to the shoulder. The ends of splints protruded above and
below the bandaging. Nikolka knelt down carefully undoing Alexei's buttons, and removed his trousers.
'Undress him completely and straight into bed', said the pointed beard in his bass voice. Anyuta poured water from a jug on to his hands and blobs of lather fell into the bowl as he washed. The stranger stood aside from the confusion and bustle, at one moment gazing unhappily at the broken plates, at the next blushing as he looked at the dishevelled Elena who had ceased to care that her dressing-gown was completely undone. The stranger's eyes were wet with tears.
They all helped to carry Alexei from the dining-room into his bedroom, and in this the stranger took part: he linked his hands under Alexei's knees and carried his legs.
In the drawing-room Elena offered the doctor money. He pushed it aside. 'No really, for heaven's sake,' he said, 'not from a colleague. But there's a much more serious problem. The fact is, he ought to go into hospital . . .'
'No,' came Alexei's weak voice, 'impossible. Not into hosp . . .'
'Be quiet, doctor. We shall manage quite well without you. Yes, of course, I understand the situation perfectly well. . . God knows what's going on in the City at the moment . . .' He nodded towards the window. 'He's probably right, I suppose, hospital's out of the question at the moment. . . All right then, he'll have to be treated at home. I'll come again this evening.'
'Is he in danger, doctor?' asked Elena anxiously.
The doctor stared at the parquet floor as though a diagnosis were imprisoned in the bright yellow wood, grunted and replied, twisting his beard:
'The bone is not fractured . . . H'm . . . major blood-vessels intact . . . the nerve too . . . But it's bound to fester . . . strands of wool from the overcoat have entered the wound . . . Temperature . . .' Having delivered himself of these cryptic scraps of thought, the doctor raised his voice and said confidently: 'Complete rest, . . . Morphia if he's in pain. I will give him an injection this evening. Food - liquids, bouillon and so on . . . He mustn't talk too much . . .'
'Doctor, doctor, please - one thing: he begs you not to talk to anyone about this . . .'
The doctor glowered sidelong at Elena and muttered:
'Yes, I understand . . . How did it happen?'
Elena only gave a restrained sigh and spread her hands.
'All right', growled the doctor and sidled, bear-like, out into the lobby.
Twelve
In Alexei's small bedroom dark-colored blinds had been pulled down on the two windows that gave on to the glazed verandah. Twilight filled the room. Elena's golden-red hair seemed a source of light, echoed by another white blur on the pillow - Alexei's face and neck. The wire from the plug snaked its way to a chair, where the pink-shaded lamp shone and turned day into night. Alexei signed to Elena to shut the door.
'Warn Anyuta not to talk about me . . .'
'I know, I know . . . Try not to talk too much, Alyosha.'
'Yes . . . I'm only whispering . . . God, if I lose my arm!'
'Now, Alyosha, lie still and be quiet . . . Shall we keep that woman's overcoat here for a while?'
'Yes, Nikolka mustn't try and take it back to her. Otherwise something might happen to him ... in the street. D'you hear? Whatever happens, for God's sake don't let him go out anywhere.'
'God bless her', Elena said with sincere tenderness. 'And they say there are no more good people in this world . . .'
A faint color rose in the wounded man's cheeks. He stared up at the low white ceiling then turned his gaze on Elena and said with a frown:
'Oh yes - and who, may I ask, is that block-head who has just appeared?'
Elena leaned forwards into the beam of pink light and shrugged.
'Well, this creature appeared at the front door no more than a
couple of minutes before you arrived. He's Sergei's nephew from Zhitomir. You've heard about him - Illarion Surzhansky