| General Fiction posted July 9, 2025 | Chapters: |
...4 5 -6- 7... 
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A Drop of Carmine
A chapter in the book Dmitri's Extraordinary Fate
Dmitri's Extraordinary Fate: 6
by tfawcus
| Background Dmitri became catatonic after losing his twin sister, Mira, in a bombing. He was transferred to a clinic out of the warzone, but later moved into Elena's care for rehabilitation. |
It was Dmitri who broke the silence. 'I needed to draw him to understand what you lost. And to thank you.'
He couldn't meet her eyes; he stared instead at a small green frog resting in the grass between them. Swallowing hard and trying to force down the lump in his throat, he continued, 'I think that's what saved me. You didn't hurry me. You waited.'
He gave the frog a gentle nudge with the ferrule of his walking stick, and it reluctantly lolloped forward. Elena wondered how far it would go before coming to rest. Not far, as it turned out. One more lazy lollop into its grassy sanctuary, where its mottled skin provided camouflage.
'It may need another nudge,' she said. 'Something to get it out of its comfort zone.'
He ignored the suggestion. 'I didn't want to get better. Not really. It felt like betraying her.'
'I know. I felt that way, too. Like smiling was a kind of treason.'
He nodded slowly.
'But you have to,' she said. 'Not for them but for yourself.'
Dmitri thought about this for a while. 'Thank you for not giving up on me.'
She looked at him then, not as someone broken, but as someone beginning to mend, someone awake to her, seeing her clearly for the first time. But in this, she also foresaw the aching void that would be left by his inevitable departure.
She reached out and took his hand between hers. 'Stanislav used to say I couldn't let go of anything. He was right. That's why I try not to hold you too tightly.'
They sat, letting silence carry the words they could not say. When she released his hand, the sadness in her eyes was vast. It was not the grief of loss, but of letting go.
'It's time we headed back to the lodge,' she said. 'It's getting late.'
***
The climb back was slow and punishing. She hobbled up the hill, and he walked a few paces behind, ready to catch her if she fell. When they reached the top, they were both exhausted.
'You must get some rest,' she said. 'You've done far too much today. Don't worry about me. I can manage.'
'Let me at least strap that ankle. I feel so guilty. It was my stupidity that caused this.'
'Don't be silly. But next time you go gallivanting off, maybe leave a note?'
***
Dmitri suffered the consequences of his folly for several days. He was not only stiff and sore, but listless and moody. He hadn't realised how weak he'd become, nor how long it was going to take to regain his strength. Although he did his best to help Elena around the house, he soon became tired and had to force himself to keep going.
He found it difficult to articulate his feelings in words but was becoming increasingly skilled at expressing himself through his artwork. One morning, he looked out over the garden with his sketchbook open, trying to capture that feeling of listlessness, the aching grief of something fading.
The early morning mist had dissipated, leaving a heavy dew on the grass. It washed the last roses with droplets that hung like tears, as if they were in mourning for the transitory nature of the season. However, sunshine soon dried their petals. It was difficult to remain in the doldrums on such a glorious day, even if it was the false hope of an Indian summer.
He was reflecting on this when he was disturbed by voices at the foot of the path; Elena's, brisk and formal, and another that was unfamiliar. It was younger, clearer, and tinkling with laughter. He craned his neck forward to see who it might be, and in doing so, inadvertently let a drop of carmine fall. It splattered like an inkblot on the edge of his painting. He cursed silently and set down his brush.
A few seconds later, they appeared in the courtyard below his window. A tall girl with a rough braid and dust on her boots accompanied Elena. She carried her own suitcase and held herself like someone used to finer things. Her eyes scanned everywhere, drinking in her new surroundings with all the eagerness of youth. Something about the angle of her head suggested she was not only looking but listening. Dmitri's chest tightened. He knew that mannerism well.
As they passed the veranda, her gaze caught his. She didn't look away. She held it just long enough to make him drop his eyes in confusion. A teasing smile flickered across her face as she followed Elena inside.
Alone again, he looked at his spoiled painting, took up his brush, and with the greatest of care, fashioned the blob into another rose. After a while, he sat back and studied the finished composition. He thought that last rose the most beautiful part of it.
***
Later that day, Elena set up a table near the orchard with a bowl of fruit between two chairs. The girl was reading a paperback with the cover folded back and one leg tucked beneath her. She was utterly absorbed. Dmitri watched from an upstairs window.
After a time, she closed the book and reached into the bowl for an orange. She rolled it around for a while between the palm of her hand and the table to loosen the skin before cutting into it with her fingernails and carefully removing the peel in one long ribbon. Then she got up from her chair and hung the limp spiral from an overhead branch like a Christmas decoration and danced around it as one might dance around a sparkling orb in a ballroom. After that, she sashayed over to the chair, popped a segment of orange into her mouth and curled up with her book again as if nothing had happened.
Dmitri's breath caught in his throat. That was the kind of impromptu, irrational thing that Mira might have done.
Who was this girl, and what was she doing here?
***
The answer was not long in coming.
A voice from behind him said, 'Ah! So she's caught your interest, has she? You must be getting better.'
There was a teasing note in Elena's voice that masked the sadness she felt. It should have been her. After all, she'd been the one to tend him, to gradually draw him out of himself, to set him on the course to healing. Life wasn't fair, but she'd learned long ago that it never was.
'Who is she?'
'Her name is Leila. She's here to help me with the housework. Looking after the lodge, visiting the clinic, and tending the garden is getting too much for me, especially now, with my injured ankle. She tells me she’s from Syria originally, but that she came here when it was too dangerous to stay.’
‘Has she any family in Ukraine?’
‘I’m not sure. She was evasive when I asked her that question, so I didn’t press the point. It seemed like something she didn’t want to talk about, and it was no business of mine really. Anyway, I said she could stay here for a while if she was willing to earn her keep.’ She gave a wry grin as she looked out of the window. ‘But it looks as if I might not have the best of the bargain. Never mind. If you two get along, then at least I’ll have you off my mind.’
After Elena had gone, Dmitri glanced out of the window again. Leila looked up and waved.
How long had she been aware of him watching?
 Recognized |
Photo by Wyxina Tresse on Unsplash
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