Wingless, p.1
Wingless, page 1
Wingless
A Novel
By N. V. Clarke
Copyright © 2023 N. V. Clarke
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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To my dear Papa with eternal love and heartfelt thanks for the lifelong support and unwavering faith in me
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 1
1975
You were made perfectly to be loved and, surely, I have loved you, in the idea of you, my whole life long.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)
I took my first breath as my mother left this world flooding my blood with grief.
Love and loss accompanied me through life like a sorrowful song of a caged bird. The bird that sings for the love of the song itself in the hope that one day it will take a flight again in the open sky. I was to become a wingless bird caged by grief and yearning to fly for love. People say grief is a continuation of love. My father could not separate the anguish of loss from the ecstasy of love.
That night the temperature fell to forty degrees below zero. Nature stood still. Frosted trees sparkled in the evening streetlights. Eerie silence in the frozen November air.
Maria lay dead on the table. She looked at peace. Alexei could not help asking why her, why now? His stare, fixed on his wife, sharp as a laser, searched in vain for signs of life. Full of devotion trying to penetrate her white skin. He stretched his arms towards her, but grief paralysed his feet, bolted in harsh reality. His world crumbled in an instant and no reason would ever be given.
Alexei could not bring himself to move closer. If he took another step towards his wife he would never let go, and he had to let her go. How absurd and impossible that idea seemed to him.
***
Journal entries
*Pregnancy and Birth
I am pregnant. Cannot stop smiling through the tears. I keep on hugging Alexei. This is the moment, it is here again, the moment we encountered before but were unable to hold on to it. I am terrified.
*The journey begins
My own hair makes me feel ill, and I crave to shave it all off. I fantasised of laying in complete darkness in my bed, wrapped up in a cool cloth. I cry and wish for the time to go faster. Nothing feels real. Walking in a daze I feel numb and helpless, consumed by my own reality, encased in this strange isolation I struggle to understand. Alexei is wonderful, but he cannot feel what I feel.
*The awakening (month three)
My midwife smiles and gently pats me on the back trying to offer comfort. A tiny, blackened confusion of an image is on the monitor screen. I feel a palpable disconnect, but the midwife’s presence makes it easier to experience whatever this space is. She is like a bridge between my world and the baby’s. Without her, the living thing inside me feels unreachable. I try to hold on to it with all my might, but the screen in front of me goes blank again. I float in a vacuum, hoping to land at any moment… anywhere, somehow. Is it how the baby feels moving around inside? I try to think about it for a minute.
*The changes (month four)
Pregnancy affects my mind, and my body is changing. My face turns into a new reflection in the mirror and my hair continues to be that troublesome thing that brings on nausea. My movements are awkward, made-up. Moments of despair have become more frequent, and it scares me. I am convinced that my physical discomfort and my inability to connect with the baby are the cause of my anguish.
I have been stripped of all my strength and confidence in such a brief period. It blows me away. I seem to have lost my identity, and I have yet to find out who I am to become. I am searching and searching for this new me, but nothing seems to fit; not for long enough to become something solid, dependable, and comfortable. I am everything I have never been before.
*Coming to terms (month five)
Movements inside me begin ever so slightly and something awakens in me, but only for short periods of time. I feel a glimmer of light. I can make it out, yet moments of darkness remain.
I crave silence. I lie on my bed most days looking at the trees outside my window. They sway slowly in the wind and calm me. I surrender. I continue my journey to find the meaning of it all.
*Learning to be (month six)
We are to be parents. What a frightening state. I throw myself into learning new skills and absorbing as much information as possible. Always armed with knowledge, organised, and trying to be one step ahead – that is me. It gives me some degree of control even though I still do not feel any strong mental or emotional connection to what is happening. It is like all of this is happening to someone else.
So, now I know how to feed, bath, and put a baby to sleep, or do I? Do I really? The thought somehow seems absurd. I look at Alexei. He seems as lost as I am. I try talking about it coming up against silence and more confusion. Maybe buying clothes will help? I keep myself busy. I am preparing, yet none of it makes sense.
A baby needs to eat, sleep, play... So, I need to get this and that... I catch myself staring into space and holding baby clothes purposefully for ages hopeful for an insight, a flash of inspiration. By this point, I am hungry for it.
*The standstill (month seven)
My life froze up in waiting. An hour becomes a day, a day a week, a week turns into a month. Everything moves slowly. I talk to my baby, and it responds by giving me a kick while I lie on my bed looking at the moving trees outside my window. I am no longer alone. There is now a silent dialogue happening and I stroke my belly. It becomes comforting, reassuring. I feel things will be okay. I imagine the baby smiling at me from the inside saying hello. It happens more often now, and that light I have been searching for fills me completely.
*Real movements (month eight)
Baby’s kicking and punching amuses me. This gigantic jigsaw puzzle that had been my pregnancy starts to take shape. It is like in spring when things come to life, I slowly begin to bloom, and my confidence returns. I can now deal with everything never being the same again. It does not scare me anymore. I have come through mentally and can deal with things without crumbling. I can visualise the baby clearly. I made the connection. We are one.
*Nearly there (month nine)
I am excited, and cannot wait to see the baby, hold it, and look after it. I am to be a mother and although there is still a long journey of discovery ahead of me, I have found my new me, the mother. I am ready. I promise to try my best. I understand what I am meant to do. I don’t know if I will succeed, but what I want most of all is to keep this connection I have struggled to find for eternity. Please stay. I love you.
*The birth ...
CHAPTER 2
The notebook slammed on the floor bouncing off the cold tiles as Alexei released it from his grip. He rocked backwards and forwards with memories on the floor catching his tears. He never knew what it was like for Maria in the last months of her life. He realised how alone she must have felt and what a journey she had made in pursuit of a baby she wanted so desperately; they wanted desperately. The pregnancy separated them. He wi e territories staying overnight in villages where hospitable strangers offered them food and a bed for the night.
Alexei remembered their trip to Lake Baikal on the eastern side of the Siberian wilderness where his distant relatives lived. After a few days on a train, he and Maria immersed themselves into the beauty and isolation o f the Siberian landscape. The river Lena was large and grey-bodied. It contained a turbulent and long history and flowed with immense power. It was a place of astounding beauty of the wildest kind. River journeys became the couple’s favourite holidays.
Maria’s poetic nature took Alexei by surprise, but her words always stayed with him long after. Like an echo, memories screamed at him the loudest now she was gone.
‘Water doesn’t care for fear or doubt, it is simply inviting you into its depth.’
Alexei had found their trips exhilarating. The river would at one time be calm and at another throw up a twist or a turn so powerful. It was not without its risks, yet the pair thrived on the adventure and challenges that the wildness offered.
They took every opportunity to venture into far corners of the country and River Lena was one of their most beautiful discoveries. He remembered them sitting on the riverbank looking at the trees that framed the shores. Sitting on an old woollen blanket they ate a picnic of boiled eggs, bread, and tomatoes with salt.
At night it appeared like there was no sky. The infinite number of stars with their white illumination left no space for the dark black canvas. Light filled the sky to the edge. Fond memories of the past swirled in Alexei like a river during a storm.
***
She was gone, really gone.
He did not want these memories, not now, not ever. Life would go on even if he could not make sense of it. His baby’s name was clear and instant in him. Lena. It held a bigger meaning than he could put into words.
Repeating ‘Lena, Lena,’ he held his baby daughter close to his chest and stared into a space emptied of one life and filled with another.
CHAPTER 3
Alexei Gromov was a man with eyes of intense cornflower blue and every emotion alight on his face. He was a hope to so many, a much-loved community doctor. He directed all his energy towards helping those in need. After Maria’s death his work became his refuge and comfort… or was it a place to hide?
‘Good morning, Alexei Petrovich.’ A female patient sat upright in her bed smiling enthusiastically. ‘We are so glad to see you doing the rounds this morning.’
An old lady in the corner raised her head to ensure she could get a proper look at him. She smiled as he approached her bed adjusting his white coat.
‘How was the night, Tatyana Egorovna? Were you comfortable?’
His gentle voice spread like familiar music among hospital beds and as he walked out, he left hope and reassurance behind for every patient like a gift.
***
‘You have done everything you could, Alexei, you know that don’t you?’ His best friend tried to offer some words of comfort.
‘Have I? I am the one who brought this child into the world and killed Maria by doing so.’ His voice was shaking with despair. ‘She wanted this baby more than anything. I did too, but now I want Maria more, I want her back, Oleg.’
He broke down and Oleg knew that there was nothing he could say that would help make any of it better. He held his old friend’s trembling body.
‘Why her? She was the best thing that this world had. She is...,’ the grief took a tight hold of Alexei, going nowhere.
‘I know, I know, but you must not blame yourself. You have a child to think about now, your daughter.’
‘A child?’ he looked at Oleg in bewilderment as if hearing it for the very first time.
‘Yes, yours and Maria’s. Your wife is gone, but she left behind the most precious thing for you, a hope, future, a new life.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Yes, you can, and you will. Lena needs you. She has got no one, but you; and you’ve got her.’
The pain and suffering were raw and vivid. It was honest, open, and self-indulgent in its intensity. Alexei’s love for Lena would turn into something like that, and the way he loved would implant that strength of feeling in his daughter. A blessing and a curse!
***
Their life was good and steady. Lena grew into a determined and bright child.
He would pick her up and tenderly sit her on his lap and look at her with that unconditional feeling. He rocked her to sleep at night singing old songs his mother used to sing to him. His rich voice spread like velvet in the night air of the room.
He took Lena to the hospital with him when she was a bit older and there, she saw her father at work. They travelled together when his work took him around the country. Waiting on the swings with a book of fairy tales on her lap Lena looked content knowing her father would come out soon. Alexei ran outside in the interval between lectures with a worried look on his face, fixed her undone plaits, held her for a minute and disappeared back inside again.
At the end of his day, they had tea with lumps of sugar and sausages covered in tomato sauce in a nearby cafe. He was her superman, the best person in the world.
Lena
A two-bedroom flat on the fourth floor in a nine-storey L-shaped building was our home. Right opposite the block of flats there was a hospital with a black iron fence surrounding it. Every morning my father climbed over the fence to get to work. The fence served as a divider between the flats and the hospital; two worlds busy with life and death, tears and joy, loneliness, and company.
The hospital was like a second home to us both. I liked the clean smell of surgical spirit and quiet corridors. There was an order to it all, an organisation that kept it together. I always felt safe there, contained. Spotless long corridors with patients’ rooms on each side and a lamp at a nurse’s station shone like a beacon for someone in need on a night shift.
My father became an emergency doctor soon after I was born, my grandmother told me. Babushka said it was a big change for my father from looking after expectant mothers.
‘Both jobs are important, so vital.’ She could not imagine my Papa being anything other than a doctor.
‘It was in the stars, you see, I always knew, always knew.’
She spoke mysteriously, smiling with pride. The story she told me was of love and loss, my two faithful companions. She told me when she was young, she was engaged to be married to a doctor. The times were tough, uncertain, and scary under Stalin rule.
‘I knew straight away I loved him,’ she said wiping tears. It was war, you see. No one knew what was coming and whether the people we loved would ever return.’ She paused to take a breath, submerged in her memory of a distant past. It felt so alive to her that it was as if no time had passed at all.
‘He came back, you see, but it was too late. I was engaged to someone else. He died on his journey back. They found his body on a horse-cart and the horse wandering around lost not many miles from where we lived. I swore then that if I ever had a son, he would become a doctor. I swore on my love’s grave.’ She cried quietly whenever she told the story.
***
Another home for me was the music school, a small one-storey building with large windows that emanated sounds mashed up in a chorus of accordion, violin, piano, and voices singing in soprano here and bass there. The building was alive with buzzing energy, and I was sure I would see it move if I watched it for long enough.
And as soon as I was through the door of the building the outside world disappeared. To me a mix of instrumental tunes and various pitched voices held some magic, all contained within the walls of a grey and barely noticeable building.
I spent most of my childhood there, practising, and chatting to friends while my teacher popped out for a cup of tea. That was my other life, away from Papa, hospital and our flat. I knew how to be there and how to belong. My wonderful teacher, Irina Vasilievna, did not seem to have any sense of time and would leave the room for an hour or longer sometimes. Then she would return with a ‘Play, let’s go!’ regardless of whose turn it was or what time had passed.
