Сьюзен Коллинз - Mockingjay

«It’s my ribs,» I explain to the trainer, a no-nonsense middle-aged woman we’re supposed to address as Soldier York. «They’re still bruised.»

«Well, I’ll tell you, Soldier Everdeen, those are going to take at least another month to heal up on their own,» she says.

I shake my head. «I don’t have a month.»

She looks me up and down. «The doctors haven’t offered you any treatment?»

«Is there a treatment?» I ask. «They said they had to mend naturally.»

«That’s what they say. But they could speed up the process if I recommend it. I warn you, though, it isn’t any fun,» she tells me.

«Please. I’ve got to get to the Capitol,» I say.

Soldier York doesn’t question this. She scribbles something on a pad and sends me directly back to the hospital. I hesitate. I don’t want to miss any more training. «I’ll be back for the afternoon session,» I promise. She just purses her lips.

Twenty-four needle jabs to my rib cage later, I’m flattened out on my hospital bed, gritting my teeth to keep from begging them to bring back my morphling drip. It’s been by my bed so I can take a hit as needed. I haven’t used it lately, but I kept it for Johanna’s sake. Today they tested my blood to make sure it was clean of the painkiller, as the mixture of the two drugs—the morphling and whatever’s set my ribs on fire—has dangerous side effects. They made it clear I would have a difficult couple of days. But I told them to go ahead.

It’s a bad night in our room. Sleep’s out of the question. I think I can actually smell the ring of flesh around my chest burning, and Johanna’s fighting off withdrawal symptoms. Early on, when I apologize about cutting off her morphling supply, she waves it off, saying it had to happen anyway. But by three in the morning, I’m the target of every colorful bit of profanity District 7 has to offer. At dawn, she drags me out of bed, determined to get to training.

«I don’t think I can do it,» I confess.

«You can do it. We both can. We’re victors, remember? We’re the ones who can survive anything they throw at us,» she snarls at me. She’s a sick greenish color, shaking like a leaf. I get dressed.

We must be victors to make it through the morning. I think I’m going to lose Johanna when we realize it’s pouring outside. Her face turns ashen and she seems to have ceased breathing.

«It’s just water. It won’t kill us,» I say. She clenches her jaw and stomps out into the mud. Rain drenches us as we work our bodies and then slog around the running course. I bail after a mile again, and I have to resist the temptation to take off my shirt so the cold water can sizzle off my ribs. I force down my field lunch of soggy fish and beet stew. Johanna gets halfway through her bowl before it comes back up. In the afternoon, we learn to assemble our guns. I manage it, but Johanna can’t hold her hands steady enough to fit the parts together. When York’s back is turned, I help her out. Even though the rain continues, the afternoon’s an improvement because we’re on the shooting range. At last, something I’m good at. It takes some adjusting from a bow to a gun, but by the end of the day, I’ve got the best score in my class.

We’re just inside the hospital doors when Johanna declares, «This has to stop. Us living in the hospital. Everyone views us as patients.»

It’s not a problem for me. I can move into our family compartment, but Johanna’s never been assigned one. When she tries to get discharged from the hospital, they won’t agree to let her live alone, even if she comes in for daily talks with the head doctor. I think they may have put two and two together about the morphling and this only adds to their view that she’s unstable. «She won’t be alone. I’m going to room with her,» I announce. There’s some dissent, but Haymitch takes our part, and by bedtime, we have a compartment across from Prim and my mother, who agrees to keep an eye on us.

After I take a shower, and Johanna sort of wipes herself down with a damp cloth, she makes a cursory inspection of the place. When she opens the drawer that holds my few possessions, she shuts it quickly. «Sorry.»

I think how there’s nothing in Johanna’s drawer but her government-issued clothes. That she doesn’t have one thing in the world to call her own. «It’s okay. You can look at my stuff if you want.»

Johanna unlatches my locket, studying the pictures of Gale, Prim, and my mother. She opens the silver parachute and pulls out the spile and slips it onto her pinkie. «Makes me thirsty just looking at it.» Then she finds the pearl Peeta gave me. «Is this—?»

«Yeah,» I say. «Made it through somehow.» I don’t want to talk about Peeta. One of the best things about training is, it keeps me from thinking of him.

«Haymitch says he’s getting better,» she says.

«Maybe. But he’s changed,» I say.

«So have you. So have I. And Finnick and Haymitch and Beetee. Don’t get me started on Annie Cresta. The arena messed us all up pretty good, don’t you think? Or do you still feel like the girl who volunteered for your sister?» she asks me.

«No,» I answer.

«That’s the one thing I think my head doctor might be right about. There’s no going back. So we might as well get on with things.» She neatly returns my keepsakes to the drawer and climbs into the bed across from me just as the lights go out. «You’re not afraid I’ll kill you tonight?»

«Like I couldn’t take you,» I answer. Then we laugh, since both our bodies are so wrecked, it will be a miracle if we can get up the next day. But we do. Each morning, we do. And by the end of the week, my ribs feel almost like new, and Johanna can assemble her rifle without help.

Soldier York gives the pair of us an approving nod as we knock off for the day. «Fine job, Soldiers.»

When we move out of hearing, Johanna mutters, «I think winning the Games was easier.» But the look on her face says she’s pleased.

In fact, we’re almost in good spirits when we go to the dining hall, where Gale’s waiting to eat with me. Receiving a giant serving of beef stew doesn’t hurt my mood either. «First shipments of food arrived this morning,» Greasy Sae tells me. «That’s real beef, from District Ten. Not any of your wild dog.»

«Don’t remember you turning it down,» Gale tosses back.

We join a group that includes Delly, Annie, and Finnick. It’s something to see Finnick’s transformation since his marriage. His earlier incarnations—the decadent Capitol heartthrob I met before the Quell, the enigmatic ally in the arena, the broken young man who tried to help me hold it together—these have been replaced by someone who radiates life. Finnick’s real charms of self-effacing humor and an easygoing nature are on display for the first time. He never lets go of Annie’s hand. Not when they walk, not when they eat. I doubt he ever plans to. She’s lost in some daze of happiness. There are still moments when you can tell something slips in her brain and another world blinds her to us. But a few words from Finnick call her back.

Delly, who I’ve known since I was little but never gave much thought to, has grown in my estimation. She was told what Peeta said to me that night after the wedding, but she’s not a gossip. Haymitch says she’s the best defender I have when Peeta goes off on some kind of tear about me. Always taking my side, blaming his negative perceptions on the Capitol’s torture. She has more influence on him than any of the others do, because he really does know her. Anyway, even if she’s sugarcoating my good points, I appreciate it. Frankly, I could use a little sugarcoating.

I’m starving and the stew is so delicious—beef, potatoes, turnips, and onions in a thick gravy—that I have to force myself to slow down. All around the dining hall, you can feel the rejuvenating effect that a good meal can bring on. The way it can make people kinder, funnier, more optimistic, and remind them it’s not a mistake to go on living. It’s better than any medicine. So I try to make it last and join in the conversation. Sop up the gravy on my bread and nibble on it as I listen to Finnick telling some ridiculous story about a sea turtle swimming off with his hat. Laugh before I realize he’s standing there. Directly across the table, behind the empty seat next to Johanna. Watching me. I choke momentarily as the gravy bread sticks in my throat.