Reading · THE NOVELLA ZONE

CHAPTER 34

As The World Falls

It Sometimes Crumbles

Magda was the first one to see him. She turned when she heard the scream, saw the pain shooting across his face as he landed on the marble floor with a sickening thud; she watched his body crumpling—his leg shattering on impact—falling to a seated position before he fell to the side in a faint. Her scream echoed through the open foyer and she found herself running to him—panic stricken—not knowing what to do, or if she should try to pick him up. His face was ashen, his lips turning blue, and then she looked down the length of his body seeing the damage to his body.

His left leg is shorter than his right.

Chernetsov came out of the kitchen as soon as he heard the scream. He was at his son’s side, followed by the cook who was quick to push his way through the crowd, looking at Anatoly and turning away, visibly shaken at the sight. The kitchen staff soon crowded in and around Anatoly—even the Jazz band pushed their way through. A part of her wondered where the magician and the juggler were; the children will be so disappointed if they don’t show up. Why was she thinking of that now? she asked herself. Surely she wasn’t thinking of that while she was looking down at her husband lying prone on the floor?

“Someone get to the telephone—we need to call the doctor!” Chernetsov screamed, looking down at his broken son. The cook pushed his way back through the crowd, looking grateful for any excuse to leave.

“Where’s the telephone?” he called out, trying not to let the panic in his voice seep out. A maid pointed to the left, and he looked at her, his brows drawn into a tight knot.

“This way,” she said, running.

Magda was on her knees, holding Anatoly’s hand, looking down at the broken man that was her husband; she looked at Chernetsov through tear-stained eyes. He moved toward her, putting his arms around her shoulders and trying to help her to her feet. She let him help her stand, felt his arms wrapping around her as he tried his best to comfort her; she was almost certain she could feel his own tears shuddering through his body. He was sobbing against her shoulder. Anatoly lay unconscious, probably from the pain, she told herself, and for some reason told herself she should be thankful for that.

“Don’t just stand there! Someone help,” Chernetsov called out, looking up at no one in particular, and then at everyone. He was looking at the faces of the staff gathered around, and saw the shock and horror etched into their faces.

“Maybe I can help?” one of the musicians spoke up, and Magda looked at the man. He was a tall, sparse, exclamation of a man, dressed in dust-stained black jacket that was too large for him, and wearing pants with a too long belt cinched tight. His bones were sticking out at all angles. He had a thin, angular face with large eyes that looked red and swollen. She looked at Chernetsov, and then back at the man. There were dark circles under his eyes that almost looked as if they might be bruises, and his hair was cut short, in the style of the day. He had a thin moustache over thick, cracked lips.

“How?” she asked in a near whisper.

“I drove in an amb’lance at the Front. I see’d a lot there. I might maybe be able to do somethin’. We had to do that sometimes,” he said, holding his hat and bowing his head politely.

“What are you suggesting?” Chernetsov asked.

“We gotta get him on his back. We gotta turn him so’s he can breathe proper-like. His lips be turnin’ blue like that, that means he ain’t gettin’ ‘nough air. We need assess his injuries,” the man said.

“You won’t hurt him?” Magda said, her protest faltering, but then, she didn’t know what else to say.

“You can’t just leave him like that, ma’am,” the man said, taking off his jacket and handing it to one of the other musicians. He put his hat on his head.

“I’ll help you roll him over,” Chernetsov said to the man.

The man was quick to call his bandmates, two of whom stepped forward, looking down at Anatoly and hesitating a moment. They were lucky he wasn’t spitting up blood, the man explained. That meant he wasn’t bleeding on the inside. Chernetsov looked at the man, nodding, as if he agreed; he looked at Madga to make certain she understood. She nodded.

Anatoly’s leg looked twisted over on itself, and she realized the bones would have to be set back into place—as much as circumstance allow fer such things, the man said when she asked him what he planned to do.

“What does that mean, as much as circumstances allow?” Chernetsov asked.

“One leg’s shorter than the other,” Magda said softly. “That can’t be good.”

The man looked up at the railing above and saw the swaying chandelier.

“He jump?”

“Jump?” Magda asked, distracted. “Why would you ask?” she said, looking up at the swaying chandelier.

“The way that light’s shaking? That means he hit it coming down—no other way it’d be movin’ like that—but it’s a long way from the railing. Did he jump out an’ try an’ catch hol’ of it, you think?”

“Did anyone see what happened?” Chernetsov asked, but no one spoke up.

“We needa make a splint for his leg,” the man said.

“How?” Magda asked, thinking maybe here was something she could finally do.

“You got wood stakes, like from a fence, but smaller? Can’t be no bigger than from his ankle to his knee—mid-thigh the most. An’ a rope, or strip of cloth, or some such thing to tie it around the wood pieces. We gotta pull on his ankle and hope the bones slip into place.”

“Are you mad!” Magda said, turning to look at the man. “It’s one thing to turn him over. But pull on his leg?”

“No, ma’am. Not pull on his leg,” the man said, looking up the length of Anatoly’s leg. “That doan look right nohow. Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “Looks like he done broke a hip, an’ if’n ye pull on it—well, there’s a artery up there somewhere, an’ if’n ye break it, or knick it on a bone, if it cuts itself he’s gonna bleed t’ death. Ain’t nothing we can do for that. You gotta git him to a hospital. It’ll might like to kill ‘im if’n we do anythin’ too much. We can fix up his busted leg; but he could still lose it if’n we splint it. But y’all can’t sit waitin’ for no doctor to show up. He mights be gone by then. We gotta do it, and then we gotta get him to the hospital.”

“You can’t pull on his leg! You’ll kill him. You’re not a doctor!”

“No ma’am, I tol’ ya, I ain’t gonna pull on his leg up there. But you leave him to suffer as is like to be with all them bones stickin’ up like that, he’s like to gonna die from the sepsis as much as he will the infection. It’d be a welcome relief for the pain he’ll be in.”

“Why would he jump?” Chernetsov said softly.

“Can’t rightly say, sir,” the man replied, his soft hands slowly removing Anatoly’s shoe.

“What about his other leg?” Magda asked.

“It’s pro’ly busted up too, but it ain’t so bad as this one.”

Madame Chernetsov came running into the foyer, crying when she saw Anatoly on his back, while a strange black man was pulling on his ankle, telling her husband to hold Anatoly down in case he moved. She pushed her way through the staff who were quick to move aside once they heard her cry out.

“What are you doing!”

“Quiet, woman!” Chernetsov snapped, without looking up.

Like herself, Magda knew Chernetsov’s biggest fear would be the moment his wife saw the condition her son was in; it wasn’t something she’d been looking forward to herself. Now that her mother-in-law was here, she knew there was no time to second guess what they were doing. She knew the man trying to slip Anatoly’s shattered leg back into place had seen more death than either her, or Chernetsov, so she was willing to listen to anything the man said that made sense. She understood that her husband could die if they did nothing, and might live if they did. She watched a servant come running in with slender slats of wood, as well as what appeared to be a torn sheet.

“Okay, we gonna do it now, fer good, an easy,” the man said. He had Anatoly’s ankle in his hand, feeling the bones, then pulled it with a calm movement and she watched as the bone slipped into place. Anatoly’s body spasmed briefly. Chernetsov held his son down, pressing on his shoulders as the man placed two of the wooden slats on either side of Anatoly’s calf, telling Magda to hold them in place while he tied a length of cloth around the leg.

“We wanna keep the leg as straight as we can. They’s two bones in there, and they’s pro’ly all busted up. If we can keep ‘em straight, we might save the leg.”

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Chernetsov asked.

The man looked at him and almost smiled as he shook his head.

“No sir, ain’t but got a clue, but I seen lotsa men die with less wounds than this, sir, an’ other’s live with worse,” he added as he sat back on his haunches. “I ain’t no doctor, never claimed to be, but right now, sir, I’m the best chance you got for saving your son. All’s I can say is we can’t be doin’ no more to the leg. It ain’t s’posed to be like that, you can see that,” he said. “But best be leaving that for the hospital. They got them machines what can see what’s wrong. All’s ya can do right now is find a wagon an’ git him to the ‘mergency ward.” With that, he looked up at Madame Chernetsov, who suddenly bit back a cry and tried to turn away.

Magda looked at Chernetsov, and he nodded to her. She stood up, and walking to her mother-in-law, putting her arms around her.

“How are you going to move him?” Bubbi asked a moment later.

“You can’t move him,” Magda said, looking at Chernetsov.

“We have to get him to the hospital.”

“He’s in too much pain,” she said.

“I know, but we can’t wait,” Chernetsov said.

“His knee’s busted up pretty bad, Ma’am,” the man said, looking at Chernetsov. “If’n ya doan get ‘im to a hospital It’s gonna cause him a lotta distress—”

“Distress?” Chernetsov almost laughed at the man’s choice of words.

“I don’t know lots about it, but the leg fits into the hip. It’s a joint. A ball and socket-like thing,” he explained, cupping his one hand around his fist. “The leg’s done broke the hip socket, an’ the best we can do is hope it ain’t likely pushed through it some bit. No telling how bad a break is, but if’n it’s done broke and shattered, he Ain’t like to walk again, at least not without no cane. There’s all sorts of wrong with this, but I see’d it more ’n once, and I see’d what happened when it weren’t done right.”

“Do it!” Magda said firmly, looking at the man and Chernetsov with mounting fear. There were tears in her eyes.

“No ma’am, we need gets us a board so’s we can carry him outdoors and to the hospital.”

Chernetsov nodded, and Magda held her head against her mother-in-law’s breast, feeling the woman slip her arms around her and pull her closer. Anatoly spasmed again, his body going rigid before he sank back down.

“We gotta carry ‘im to one of those fancy aut’mobiles you got out back there,” the man said. “Better to get him to a hospital than wait for the doctor to show. He could take a other hour. If you get him to a hospital, an’ x-ray the leg, we’ll know for sure,” the man added.

“Thank you,” Chernetsov smiled, holding his hand out to the man.

The man accepted his hand, trying hard to hide his smile.

JACK OF DIAMONDS

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