miss it anyway.
âShe is the best there is,â Jacek said, meaning Etta, and Charlie nodded, not saying anything when Jacek added that she had told him she was going to take a few weeks off.
The doctor drove into the yard in a late model four-wheel drive. He had a shiny bald head and brought the cold and the snow into the house with him. He and Jacek and Magda spoke Polish as he unwrapped Charlieâs dressings on the kitchen table, like a bloody package of fish. Charlie sat mutely through it all, having his temperature taken, while they spoke about him, and antibiotics were taken out of the briefcase and left on the table. He looked down at his naked, swollen and red hands and listened to the sound of their voices and felt tired and confused. The doctor had a vodka, and Magda and Jacek had one too, and when Charlieâs turn came, they gave him a glass of water and three separate pills to take instead. âBut I want a drink,â Charlie said, to which Magda replied, with the doctor nodding his assent, that if he didnât do exactly what he was told he would be in the burns unit for a month and might lose his hands. Charlie knew this couldnât be true, but it was discouraging nonetheless. Before he could muster any resistance, they had him upstairs in bed, and to Charlieâs surprise, the doctor had taken an IV drip out of his case. âIs that for me?â âWho else?â Jacek said as the doctor bade him bare his arm to introduce the drip line. So he was sick, Charlie thought, sick enough to stay here for ever. It seemed like a dispensation, and as Charlie fell asleep, under the cold canopy of snow over the skylight, he felt that he might never return to his old life again.
He woke the next morning to the bright stab of late morning sun, knowing he had dreamed of the woman on fire. Nothing definite in the way of an image, just the physical sense of her holding on to him, a strange feeling, full of desire, at her pressing her body against his and the flame leaping between them. With the difference that none of it had hurt, and as they fell together, he had felt her breasts against his chest. It was strange to be lying on a bed so far away wanting someone and wishing he could whisper her name.
He could smell coffee downstairs, so he sat up and pulled out his IV line. He tried to put on his trousers, but he couldnât do up his buttons. So he went downstairs with one of Jacekâs dressing gowns held closed around himself with his elbows. Magda was working at the kitchen table with a manuscript and a dictionary, and when she saw him she got up and tied the dressing gown cord around his waist and generally straightened him up. He felt unshaven and a mess and tried to turn away when she was close so she wouldnât have to smell his breath. This was getting ridiculous, he thought, but when he went to the coffee on the stove, he couldnât pour or lift or do anything. He turned and looked at her and shrugged and she came and put a cup to his lips and wiped away a drip on his chin, when he had finished. âBack to bed,â she said, and he did as he was told. He even put back his IV line, feeling subdued and obedient.
He was like that for a week, and the two of them took turns feeding him and he kept apologising and feeling pathetic and unable to focus. The doctor came, and the medications were changed, and there were new fancy burn dressings with bright shining foil, and he slept and woke and watched the flow of the drip and the sun and clouds crossing the skylight above his head. âI should be in hospital,â he said to Jacek. âYou are. Turn over,â and he swabbed down Charlieâs back with a sponge. âI can tell,â Jacek added. âYou cannot stand this much longer.â
âI keep dreaming about her,â Charlie said.
Jacek was in the bathroom next door, emptying the basin of water and squeezing out the sponge. He said
âShe is the best there is,â Jacek said, meaning Etta, and Charlie nodded, not saying anything when Jacek added that she had told him she was going to take a few weeks off.
The doctor drove into the yard in a late model four-wheel drive. He had a shiny bald head and brought the cold and the snow into the house with him. He and Jacek and Magda spoke Polish as he unwrapped Charlieâs dressings on the kitchen table, like a bloody package of fish. Charlie sat mutely through it all, having his temperature taken, while they spoke about him, and antibiotics were taken out of the briefcase and left on the table. He looked down at his naked, swollen and red hands and listened to the sound of their voices and felt tired and confused. The doctor had a vodka, and Magda and Jacek had one too, and when Charlieâs turn came, they gave him a glass of water and three separate pills to take instead. âBut I want a drink,â Charlie said, to which Magda replied, with the doctor nodding his assent, that if he didnât do exactly what he was told he would be in the burns unit for a month and might lose his hands. Charlie knew this couldnât be true, but it was discouraging nonetheless. Before he could muster any resistance, they had him upstairs in bed, and to Charlieâs surprise, the doctor had taken an IV drip out of his case. âIs that for me?â âWho else?â Jacek said as the doctor bade him bare his arm to introduce the drip line. So he was sick, Charlie thought, sick enough to stay here for ever. It seemed like a dispensation, and as Charlie fell asleep, under the cold canopy of snow over the skylight, he felt that he might never return to his old life again.
He woke the next morning to the bright stab of late morning sun, knowing he had dreamed of the woman on fire. Nothing definite in the way of an image, just the physical sense of her holding on to him, a strange feeling, full of desire, at her pressing her body against his and the flame leaping between them. With the difference that none of it had hurt, and as they fell together, he had felt her breasts against his chest. It was strange to be lying on a bed so far away wanting someone and wishing he could whisper her name.
He could smell coffee downstairs, so he sat up and pulled out his IV line. He tried to put on his trousers, but he couldnât do up his buttons. So he went downstairs with one of Jacekâs dressing gowns held closed around himself with his elbows. Magda was working at the kitchen table with a manuscript and a dictionary, and when she saw him she got up and tied the dressing gown cord around his waist and generally straightened him up. He felt unshaven and a mess and tried to turn away when she was close so she wouldnât have to smell his breath. This was getting ridiculous, he thought, but when he went to the coffee on the stove, he couldnât pour or lift or do anything. He turned and looked at her and shrugged and she came and put a cup to his lips and wiped away a drip on his chin, when he had finished. âBack to bed,â she said, and he did as he was told. He even put back his IV line, feeling subdued and obedient.
He was like that for a week, and the two of them took turns feeding him and he kept apologising and feeling pathetic and unable to focus. The doctor came, and the medications were changed, and there were new fancy burn dressings with bright shining foil, and he slept and woke and watched the flow of the drip and the sun and clouds crossing the skylight above his head. âI should be in hospital,â he said to Jacek. âYou are. Turn over,â and he swabbed down Charlieâs back with a sponge. âI can tell,â Jacek added. âYou cannot stand this much longer.â
âI keep dreaming about her,â Charlie said.
Jacek was in the bathroom next door, emptying the basin of water and squeezing out the sponge. He said
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