Daniel Yarosh - The Death of Hercules - A DocuNovel

“Of course not,” Deena murmured. She pulled the single chair near the bed, and she wet a thin towel in the bowl of water on the stand and mopped his forehead. It was a gesture of care, but more like a nurse than a lover. “How do you feel?”

“I’ve been better. I need a little rest,” and he closed his eyes. After a terrifying brief moment, he opened them again, and stared straight at Max.

“When do you leave?” It came out as a direct challenge.

Max was taken aback by the hostility. “You rest, we’ll talk in the morning.”

“Yes, yes… I understand,” he murmured, and Zalmund closed his eyes again.

Deena motioned for them to step outside the door. “We can’t stay here with him. He is too sick. And no one else will go in there. We have to stay in the other room. We can keep a watch outside.”

They set their suitcases down outside the door, sat on them, leaned back with heads on the wall, and looked at each other. Max could not help himself but smile. Deena gave him a look of annoyance, but then smiled back. She gave up a sigh.

“Come with me, Deena,” Max blurted out.

“Go where?”

“East,” he replied.

“And leave Zalmund?”

“Yes. He is very sick. He needs to be in a hospital. Anyway, you can’t go near him.” He held out his hand, and to his surprise she took it.

“I’m so tired.”

“Deena. It’s not safe around him.”

“Yes, I know. It has been that way.”

“Come with me,” he pleaded.

“So it’s about you?” she said, to change the subject.

“Yes. It is. I can show you real freedom. In America. Not running but living. Come with me.”

Deena closed her eyes for a long time, and Max waited. Then he continued. “You can’t go on like this. He may die.” Deena opened her eyes with the shocking realization that others saw it too, and squeezed his hand. “Or the police may come. Or what will he do next? This is no way to live. This isn’t freedom. The Revolution does not ask this of you.”

“Max…” she murmured.

“You know I am right. Come with me. We will live where you can be yourself, not a slave to a cause that doesn’t care about you. You don’t have to do these things to be free. Not with me.”

She took his hand in both of hers. She never had someone care about what she wanted, or what was dangerous for her. She was always living a role, as a daughter, a maid, a refugee, a lover, a revolutionary. For the first time she stepped aside from her characters and asked herself what she required. Her mind raced, searching for a craving, a desire, a plan. But it landed on nothing. What she wanted was peace and comfort. A family. She would never have that with Zalmund, she knew. With Max? Maybe there was a way.

She gave a great sigh. “I will talk with him.” She squeezed his hand, leaned over and kissed him for the first time. He was stunned right before he melted. Stars circled above his head. He moaned.

“Shhh!” she scolded.

Zalmund lay on his back, trying to sleep and regain his strength. But the sound of the fluid gurgling in his own lungs kept him awake. He tried shallow breathing, which helped quiet the sound but the effort to control his diaphragm was exhausting. He rolled over to face down, which helped. His mind drifted to his childhood, and his father. He regretted his pointless rebelliousness and his stubbornness. He loved his father deeply, but they never spoke about it. He felt the calmness and the warmth of his mother in his boyhood home, and his breathing became softer, until he stopped. After a moment he startled himself awake. He focused again on a pattern of breathing, and his mind drifted again, now to Deena. How wonderfully innocent of this mean and bitter world she had been. Was she still? She grew into a beauty that made his heart skip. Now she was aware of the forces around her, the chains of history and the possibility of revolution. He felt he had discovered her and nurtured her to an exalted splendor. Oh, he loved her. The thought of her warmed his heart and he smiled, then coughed.

He rolled onto his back and propped up his head to help his lungs. That was better. How could he give up and let her go? With this American child Max, who knew nothing. Would he undo everything, and turn her into a piece of household furniture to decorate his life? The bile rose in his stomach and he clenched his fists. Only by thinking of Deena, her pale, soft skin, her flaming eyes and mischievous smile, could he relax again. She had become a part of everything he hoped to do for the revolution, and for himself. He tried but could not imagine his life without her. When he thought of being alone, and Deena with Max, his heart clenched, and his face flushed.

He turned again face down, which relieved his congestion. His arms relaxed and his breathing slowed. Yes, he must regain his mission, and have a purpose. He drifted into semi-consciousness. He must rip out this disease and take up his strength. This is what he was meant for, and all the things he had done had brought him the strength to heal and do once again what needed to be done. He slept.

The next morning, Monday December 2, Deena quietly climbed the stairs to the top floor, gently turned the handle on the door to Zalmund’s room and slipped inside. He was already awake, lying in bed on his back propped up with a pillow, and staring out the small window above the blue basin of water on the shaky pine wood dresser.

“Zalmund! How are you feeling?” she whispered.

He waved his hand to dismiss the question. “Deena, we have to talk.” His eyes were clear, but he coughed into his hand, and wiped it on the bedsheet. “I have to go back to Moscow.” She looked at him with slacked jaw.

“Moscow?” she stammered.

“Yes. I heard this on my train ride here. That dog Admiral Kolchak has arrested our comrades in Omsk and proclaimed himself Supreme Ruler of all Russia. The Bolsheviks could not hold him at Perm, and he is marching on Moscow. They say it is chaos. I must go there.”

“Are you crazy? You should be in a hospital,” Deena said.

“I love when you worry about me,” he chortled, then coughed horrendously. “I can’t stay here, worrying about Cossacks coming for revenge. After what happened in Katowice, killing those Tsarist pigs, they will make me a hero in Moscow. You should go South, where they are not distracted with the reactionary invasion.”

“Without you?” Deena was stunned by this turn. Her sincerity was not lost on Zalmund, which made this all the more painful.

“You go with Max. I see the way he looks at you. He will get you to safety. I will let you know when it is safe to come to Moscow.” His lie was obvious.

“No!” Deena blurted. She was confused. What part was she playing now? What did she want? How could it go this way?

“Deena, Deena, my dear, my love.” He took her hands. “You know this is the right thing for you.” He looked down, and she could see how hard it was for him to say these things. “I have something to help you both.” He reached onto the table next to the bed with his suitcase and pulled from it an envelope with official documents and a wad of Austrian krone notes. “These are border passes that I have from Cheka.” Deena shook her head. “Yes, I still have them. They will get you to the South, where it is safe. From Odessa you can come to Moscow when this is over. This is the best way. I am sure.” She shook her head again. He put the envelope in her hands and pressed them together to hold them tight. “This will help you and Max. Think of it.”

She looked into his eyes, watery now and drooping. He gazed back at hers, alight and afraid. They had been through so much together, and always with the truth. Deena remembered when Zalmund expressed his frustrations and dreams of escape at Koszuty, and she found someone else saying what she felt. Zalmund remembered their shared baptism of violence in Lublin and their exchange of excitement and glory in following the Revolution. They shared purpose and fear together in Moscow. They lived their carefree and decadent ways together in Kyiv. If not truthful to the rest of the world, they were always truthful to each other. But now each knew the other was lying. A pain pierced his heart and then hers. She nodded. In their agreement was the end.