Free Cover Him with Darkness by Janine Ashbless Page B

mumbling old men and their smell of urine and despair—never quite masked by the chemical reek of bleach—made my heart ache. How was my strong, wise father with his love of machinery and his pure baritone reduced to this pitiful state? What had gone wrong in the world that this was the end for us all?
    â€œHis heart is under a lot of strain,” the doctor told me as Father slept. “We are running tests but it looks like his whole system…his kidneys aren’t working properly. We’d be looking at a transplant…if we could find a donor.”
    â€œI’ll donate one of mine,” I said. “I only need one, don’t I?”
    The doctor tilted his head. He looked tired, I thought, even though it wasn’t yet midnight. “Don’t be too hasty. We will certainly run tests. Tissue compatibility, you understand?”
    â€œI’m his daughter, aren’t I?” The hope of being able to do something to fix this terrible situation made me loud.
    â€œBut even if you are a suitable donor, it’s not at all clear that he’s strong enough for surgery of that magnitude at the moment. I’d need to be happier with his overall condition before agreeing to that.”
    â€œBut he might get worse while we wait!”
    He sighed. “For the moment we need to be patient.”
    Left alone, I circled to the bed. Vera and Uncle Josif had gone to the hotel room she’d found across the street, once I’d promised I’d stay the night. I sat myself in the lumpy leatherette chair by the head of the bed and took my father’s hand.
    â€œLittle chick.” His voice was no louder than a murmur but his smile was sweet. I saw the glint of his eyes under half-raised lids.
    â€œDid I wake you? Go back to sleep, Papa; it’s okay.”
    â€œI could always hear your voice, even with a whole school of children shouting.”
    I thought I’d been mousy-quiet at school. I squeezed his hand reprovingly. “You’d better not have been listening in just now.”
    â€œOf course not. I didn’t hear a word.”
    â€œGood!” I kissed his temple, hard.
    â€œMilja…why are you here?”
    I took a deep breath. “Some men from the village…they came up and wanted to come into the church. I didn’t trust them. I was afraid.” It was hard to lie to my father, but much easier than confessing my true guilt. “I did what you said, Papa. The switch in the passage. I brought down the roof of the cave.”
    â€œHe’s buried then?”
    â€œGone. Forever.” My heart was beating so loud that I was sure he must be able to hear it.
    My father sighed. Perhaps if he’d felt stronger he would have been more agitated, but he just looked at me sadly, his eyes wet. “Well then. It is done. Our family is free of its obligation.”
    I nodded, biting my lip. For a long time there was silence. My father’s eyes closed and I started to think he was asleep again.
    â€œMilja.”
    My head jerked up, my whole body startling as only someone with a guilty conscience does. “Papa?”
    â€œThis room…the hospital bills. You need to take an icon or two to Branko.”
    â€œHow do I find him?”
    â€œYou brought the money from under the window stone?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnd the book that was there too?”
    He meant the tiny black address book bound about with elastic bands. I nodded. “Yes.”
    â€œBranko is here in Podgorica. His phone number is on the first page, but you must add two to each digit written. He will buy off you.”
    I’d stashed the duffle bag in a lockup at the public station, paying for a month’s rent. “No problem.”
    â€œMilja…”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œBe careful.”
    Podgorica is not a pretty tourist-trade city. Its old buildings were bombed almost flat in the War Against Fascism, and its modern architecture cannot