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Great Writing - Home > Extended > Nasdrovia (where the birds no longer fly) Chapter 1
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Extended Work
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| Nasdrovia (where the birds no longer fly) Chapter 1 | |
| By luckyprs | ||||
| 17 March 2008 | ||||
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This is the first chapter of a novel I'm currently working on. Would love to hear thoughts, comments, questions... Please don't be shy with the feedback even if you only want to say, 'you don't understand', 'not read it, doesn't interest me' or 'it's poor quality', I won't mind, it's all useful. Paul Set against a background of a beautiful landscape, Gregov fights to save his wife. Today he will be paid money, vital for medicine to make her better. The winter snows are arriving, driving out the summer season. For Gregov's family it is a day of reckoning, at the end of which they will never be the same again. Because Gregov harbours a dark secret that threatens to escape and split his family apart. To make the birds fly would be a neat trick, but Gregov isn’t happy as his wife is so sick. Gregov wasn’t happy; with a heavy, leaden heart he rolled over and tried to block out the approaching day. The shafts of sunlight entered the cabin and stretched forward to the bed in which he lay. Soon his bed would be bathed in the cold light of despair and hopelessness that every Nasdrovian morning brought with it. Next to Gregov, Janikov - his wife of eight years - rested peacefully, her chest rising and lowering as she rhythmically expelled and inhaled breaths into her disease-ridden body. Sighing wistfully, Gregov swung his legs out of bed. The unwelcoming cold of the stone floor reminded him of his day ahead: eight hours of carrying and shovelling rocks. No doubt, he thought, the shovelling would result in more cuts to the hands, whilst all the standing and bending would once again rip open the blisters on his legs and cause his back to spasm. But, no matter what his pain, it was nothing compared to that of Janikov. He looked over at her sleeping shell of a body and wondered how it is possible for the Lord to have taken her beauty. Where once there had been soft, delicate, smooth skin, there was a hard, tough, wrinkled hide, through which her bones became ever more visible. Gregov found it hard to see any signs of his wife’s youthfulness. Janikov was only 28. She reminded him of his father’s mother when she was fighting against the relentless tide of terminal disease. It hadn’t mattered what actions the family had taken, the disease had continued to return and relentlessly attack her body before it meekly surrendered. But, Gregov’s grandmother had been 87 when she passed away. Janikov was sleeping, which at least meant she wasn’t aware of the pain. As Gregov eased himself out from under the covers he was careful not to wake his wife. As soon as he had left the warmth of the bed, the cold air hit his body and he ran across the room to where, the previous night, he had left his clothes. He quickly pulled on his shirt, his overalls and his jumper and then took his time as he bent down and tied up the laces on his boots. Now that he felt a bit warmer, he made his way across the floor, past his parents’ bed, where his Mother slept alone, to the washbasin. His face winced as the ice-cold water slapped his face and banished the sleep back into its dark corner of the world. As he moved a razor around the contours of his young but aged face, he caught himself in the mirror and noticed the sadness that was etched into his features. His eyes were heavy and puffy and across his brow were a series of wrinkles bought on by worry. And to Gregov’s amazement, his hair had grown considerably thinner. As he removed the night’s stubble from his face, his warm breath curled out from his lips and, for a few moments remained visible before mixing in with the much colder air in the room. In keeping with every other day, Gregov’s first task was to get the fire started, which required him going outside to the wood store. He pulled on his coat and went out into the cold, fresh new morning. Outside it was chilly and even though the sun was starting to pull back the black curtains, Gregov moved around with a sense of caution and suspicion. There was light rain in the air, which added to his sense of disquiet. He picked up a handful of wood and quickly carried it back to the safety of the house. Having got the fire underway, Gregov grunted, and opened the food cupboard. He removed the vodka, which, due to a lack of food wasn’t hard to find. He took a large swig, the liquid rushing through his body bringing heat to where there was only cold. But it didn’t last and, like the sun peaking out from behind the clouds on a rainy day, the respite was only temporary. Gregov took another swig and, as usual, the second gulp had a longer lasting affect. From her bed Janikov released a deep guttural wail causing Gregov to jump. He turned and saw his wife lying in the bed, her eyes open wide and her face frozen in pain. Damn, Gregov thought, he had been hoping to get out of the house before his wife stirred. She didn’t normally wake up this early. He considered waking his mother so that she could start looking after Janikov but thought better of it. He knew it was hard enough work for his mother to fetch, clean, carry, feed and dress Janikov without her being woken by him just because he found it hard to be near his wife. Whilst reflecting on his wife’s deterioration, Gregov walked over to the wooden bed, carved by his own hands, and kissed Janikov on the cheek. Despite the feelings of love and tenderness that were still burning in his heart, the feeling of repulsion grew stronger each time his lips touched Janikov’s skin. It was the disease, he knew it, but it didn’t change the way he felt. He brushed her wispy, greying hair away from her forehead and dabbed a wet towel, trying to cool her down. But a fever had once again taken control of Janikov’s temperature and she was sweating profusely despite the icy air. Putting the towel to one side, Gregov tried to get Janikov to drink some water. It was to no avail: the water would barely pass her lips. In Janikov’s sorry, fragile state she didn’t have the strength to open her mouth, or just didn’t recognise that Gregov was trying to get her to sip. Maybe my mother would have more success later, thought Gregov. He put the water to one side and said, “Dear sweet Janikov how did this happen to you? I love you so much and yet with every breath I feel such anger and bitterness. How could the Lord, our supposed saviour, have allowed this to happen?” Gregov’s heart slowed and he took a long deep breath and though he didn’t want to, he couldn’t stop himself from sobbing. He leant forward to his wife and, with his finger, he gently wiped away one of his tears that had fallen onto her cheek. “Janikov, the love of my life, I wish you could just hear me, I wish you could recognise me. Don’t give in; stay strong, for today I will get the money for the medicine. I will. I will…” His voice trailed off as he stood up from beside his wife and walked over to where his mother slept. “Mother, Mother,” he spoke gently, not wanting to disturb but needing to wake, “Mother, it’s time for me to go. Today I will return with medicine to make Janikov better.” His Mother opened one eye and then the other and replied, “Of course you go. I will look after Janikov as I always do. She will be here for your return, as I will make her some broth. She will eat. I am sure of it.” “Thank you Mother.” “You are a good son, strong and brave and I know you will do what you can to get medicine.” “For Janikov I must.” Gregov kissed his Mother and then Janikov once more. Again, she didn’t seem to recognise him and wiping one last tear away from his face, he prayed that she would still be alive when he returned after dusk. Janikov is very ill, which makes Gregov cry. If he doesn’t get medicine, then she may well die.
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