Maria’s wounds were slowly healing, but her grandmother knew the scars in her mind would remain with her forever. Time passed, day after day, week after week, month after month. Soon a year had passed but every single day without fail, through rain, snow and low temperatures, Maria’s grandmother would get up at about seven in morning, carefully organize the things she had to take for that day, pack everything tightly in a small bag, wrap herself up against the bleak Siberian winter and walk to the hospital.
Lots of people in the town knew about Maria and her grandmother. Sometimes the neighbours would bring a little something to help; some warm food, an extra blanket or a flower for Maria’s bed. The old ladies sitting on crates behind their makeshift stalls selling vegetables and cigarettes would greet her every morning with a nod or a smile and occasionally wish Maria well. She would pass the same people queuing every morning for the minibus, the same ladies cleaning the streets after the snow had melted and the same people returning home from work every afternoon. As she made her daily trundle back and forth to the hospital she looked around at everyone pre-occupied with their own lives and she wondered what kind of lives they led and what sort of a life her little Maria would lead. Unlike so many women she passed on the streets rushing back to their homes and their families at the end of the day, she knew that Maria would never be able to rush anywhere and probably never have a family and children to rush home to.
***
Almost two years to the day of Maria’s accident, a woman was walking her dog in the forest near to the railway tracks. It was a cold day, same as it was two years ago. There was just a slight breeze and white clouds dotted the clear blue sky. The woman’s dog lazily trailed behind its owner, sniffing the ground, rummaging through the foliage.
“Here Ash,” the lady turned and called and Ash pricked up its ears and trundled reluctantly towards the lady, who was arranging its lead. Suddenly the dog stopped in its tracks and started at something in the distance. It barked once and rushed forward a few paces, and barked again. The lady turned and looked, but could see nothing.
“It’s just a rabbit,” she said, but the dog barked again and rushed further forward, past the lady, completely ignoring her calls to heel.
“What is it Ash?” the lady asked and strained to see something bright, half hidden in the undergrowth. “Go and fetch it,” she said and the dog raced forward. The lady followed expecting the dog to pick it up and bring it proudly back to her. But the dog stopped and stared and barked loudly at the brightly coloured object.
“What have you found?” the lady asked as she approached the agitated dog. She bent down at the object, tugged at it and pulled a child’s little red buckled shoe out from under the layer of grass and old leaves.
“Oh my goodness!” She gasped. The lady with the dog had heard about the poor little girl that lost both legs in a terrible accident on the railway tracks nearby a couple of years ago and somehow she felt that this was her shoe. Although the lady didn’t know the little girl personally, she knew of her mother and where she lived and, carefully wrapping the shoe in a sheet of newspaper she had wrapped some apples with, she decided to take it back to her. As they walked away from the forest towards the village the dog kept tight by her side, staring protectively up at the wrapped package as though somehow sensing sympathy and compassion.
It was early evening when the lady finally managed to finish what she had to do at home and walk to the apartment block where she knew Maria’s mother still lived. For the few hours she was at home, the shoe, carefully wrapped in newspaper, sat in the centre of the kitchen table, the dog sat unmoving to the side, staring fixedly up at the little bundle.
“Good evening,” the lady said almost in a whisper to Maria’s mother as she opened the door to her apartment. Taking it carefully from her bag, the lady fumbled with the small package, not at all knowing what to say or what to do. “I found this in the forest this morning,” she said timidly, frightened. Maybe she should have left it where it was. “I think this might be your daughter’s, I think you might want it back.”
Maria’s mother looked at the small package in the lady’s hand as it was carefully offered to her.
“Won’t you come in?” she asked
“No, no thank you.” She turned away to leave.
“Thank you,” she called as the lady disappeared through the doorway.
Maria’s mother stared at the small package in front of her. She placed it gently on the kitchen table.
***
The next day Maria woke up from her long sleep. Two years had passed, she was now seven years old. She opened her eyes and looked around. Somehow she seemed to know where she was. She wasn’t frightened, she just lay silently looking across the room and out of the window. She felt a little hungry but lay waiting for someone to enter the room.
As usual her grandmother made the daily journey to the hospital. It was another nice clear day, the sun was shining. She walked past the hospital orderly mopping the floor and greeted her with her usual polite “Good Morning.” That same orderly had been cleaning the floors of the hospital ever since grandmother made her first harrowing visit two years ago. No one was crying now, everything had settled into routine and quiet order. She walked down the corridor and straight into Maria’s room, wishing her a good morning, not ever expecting her to reply.
“Good morning grandma, I am a little hungry.”
Chapter Three
Back Home
Fearing Maria might fall back into her coma, Maria’s grandmother was frightened to leave her, even for a second, and even though she was hungry. She spent the next hour or so sitting on Maria’s bed caressing her hand and stroking her hair and holding back her tears. It seemed suddenly as if the past two years never existed, that it was all a dream and that Maria had just had a good nights sleep. As she caressed Maria’s arm she quietly told her everything that had happened over the past two years. Maria lay silently listening, enjoying the sound of her grandmother’s voice and gentle touch. Her grandmother told her she had not been well and had slept for a very long time and Maria listened sleepily, not understanding what had happened or how long she had been asleep.
“And you have a new sister,” her grandmother said. Maria’s eyes lit up and a huge smile covered her face.
“Really?” she cried.
“Really! Her name is Nadezhda.” Maria’s mother had named the baby Nadezhda, the Russian word for “hope.”
The orderly cleaning outside heard the little girl’s voice and burst into the room.
“She’s awake!” she hollered and ran back out and down the corridor towards the nurse’s station shouting “She’s awake, little Maria’s awake.” A few minutes later the bed was surrounded by almost every member of the ward’s staff.
It seemed that Maria somehow understood what had happened to her and was not at all troubled with the loss of her legs. She had had many dreams where she saw herself sitting in a chair not being able to get out, or having to be carried, or being unable, in some strange way, not to be able to do the things that others were doing in her dreams. They were never nightmares - she knew and understood that the girl she was seeing in her dreams was herself; she had her face and her eyes and she was always smiling back at Maria, telling her not to worry and that it was going to be fine. It seemed in some strange, extraordinary and unfathomable way her mind was preparing her for the time she would eventually wake up and was helping her to come to terms with what had happened.
As soon as she felt comfortable about leaving Maria for a few minutes, her grandmother telephoned Maria’s mother at work. Her boss had a car and, after she frantically made arrangements with a neighbour to look after Nadezhda, he agreed to drive her to the hospital. He couldn’t drive fast enough. Maria’s mother spent the rest of that day and all that night at Maria’s bedside, talking and laughing as they had two years ago, befor
e the accident. The following morning she returned home to Nadezhda.
***
A few days later Maria moved out of the hospital that had been her home for the past two years and into the familiar and comforting home she seemed to have missed so much. That morning Maria’s mother had woken up early and asked a neighbour to look after Nadezhda. She then caught a train - the same train that had so horribly disabled Maria two years previously. For Maria’s mother, that journey back then was the longest journey of her life; she had frantically searched up and down each and every carriage until finally realising her daughter was no longer on the train, sat hysterical, crying, with her face buried in her hands and the box of chocolates on her lap. The guard and a few passengers had sat around her, comforting her but there was nothing they could do until they reached the next stop. Maria’s grandmother, waiting for them on the platform, noticed there were a few more police than normal but thought nothing of it. After they had rushed Maria to a local emergency clinic, the other train stations on route were notified and police were sent to each station and told to keep an eye out for a report of a missing child. At that time they didn’t know which stop Maria was due to get off. As soon as Maria’s mother left the train, screaming and falling into her mother’s arms, the police surrounded them and quickly ushered them into a waiting police car and back to their village where Maria was laying at the clinic critically ill. That was two years ago and still the fear and trauma haunted them both.
Maria’s grandmother brought an empty cloth bag where she would put the few possessions Maria had by her bedside. They walked together to the bus stop and waited until the bus to the hospital appeared. The day before, Maria’s grandmother had arranged with the hospital for an ambulance to take Maria back home. At first the hospital refused, saying it was simply not possible to take an ambulance away from the hospital, but after she offered a small sum of money to both the administrator and the ambulance driver, a spare ambulance was miraculously found.
Maria was still mentally just five years old and so things seemed very strange and confusing but she knew she couldn’t wait to get home. She would have left the day she awoke if the doctors and nurses hadn’t insisted she stay a few more nights for tests and examinations. More than anything she wanted to see her little sister, the little sister she somehow remembered she wanted to play with. Two years seemed just like one night and she found it quite hard to understand that in her so called ‘one night’ of sleep her sister had been born and was now almost two years old.
“Mummy, Grandma.” Maria called as they entered her room.
They all hugged and kissed as a nurse stood by the bedside. Maria was already washed and dressed and waiting to leave. A doctor walked into the room just as Maria was being lifted from the bed onto a wheelchair that had been positioned by the side of the bed.
“So, you are finally going home, little Maria?” the doctors said, beaming. “We’ll miss you, you know,” he said, patting her gently on the head. “But you be sure to come back and visit us someday.” He turned to Maria’s mother “You will just have to sign a couple of discharge forms before you leave - they are at the reception desk.” Maria’s mother nodded and Maria’s grandmother pushed Maria and her wheelchair out into the corridor. As the door closed behind them, she turned to take one last look into the room that had been so much a part of her life, without her knowing.
As she was wheeled down the corridor nurses and doctors and orderlies and even a couple of patients hugged her and kissed her and wished her well. She somehow felt like a beautiful princess sitting on a throne with all her subjects around her. The doors of the ambulance were already open and, as she was carefully wheeled into the back, everyone shouted goodbye and waved. She waved back and the doors were closed and the ambulance moved off. She had never been in an ambulance before and sat excitedly with her grandmother and mother looking around. It didn’t look much. The sliding window to the driver’s compartment slid open and the man in the front asked if they were all right.
“Would you like me to put on the siren?” he asked Maria, smiling.
“Can you?” she asked.
The man bent over and flicked up a switch and the siren started. Maria giggled.
Although she didn’t remember her bedroom, it had remained almost exactly as she left it; her dolls were carefully placed on top of the bed, her dresses, now fasr too small, regularly washed and ironed and kept with her jumpers and t-shirts, blouses and skirts in her little wardrobe opposite her bed, her socks and underwear still neatly folded. The only difference was that Maria’s bedroom was now also her sister’s bedroom, and a cot was now placed next to Maria’s bed and her sister’s clothes next to hers.
It was going to be a little cramped as everyone agreed that, for a short while anyway, her grandmother would stay with them. Maria’s mother was working full-time, as well as trying to look after Maria’s two year old sister and so having her grandmother living there as well would help the family immeasurably. Maria had become so much a daily part of her grandmother’s life that she could not think of what a day would be like without having little Maria to look after. There was nothing else in her life; she could not remember what life was like before her daily visits to the hospital. Maria’s grandmother was happy that she helping her family - she knew it would have been impossible for Maria’s mother to work full-time as well as look after Maria and Maria’s baby sister.
Maria’s mother hadn’t managed to get to the hospital as much as she had wanted, although she almost always spent her days off sitting by Maria’s bed reading and chatting and singing lullabies, but only when she managed to find a babysitter to look after Nadezhda. She never brought Nadezhda to visit Maria in hospital - the fear of taking her on to a train was just too great. She could hardly cope herself; every minute of every journey she took she sat shaking and tearful, but now that Maria’s grandmother was staying she could spend a little more time with Maria. Grandma would help with the cooking and cleaning and washing the clothes and doing the shopping while Maria’s mother spent time with her daughters - they had had so much fun together before the accident.
At first everyone was kind and helpful and felt sorry for little Maria. She had many visitors and helpers and was given lots of gifts. People would bring round a few chocolates or biscuits or freshly made jam, or even a little toy. People she didn’t even know would stop them in the street, look down at Maria sitting in her chair, with her pretty dresses and ribbons in her hair and a blanket thrown over her lap to hide the space where her legs should have been, and say how awful it all was. They would wish her their best and if there is anything they could do to help. Maria would peer up and nod as they patted her on the head or stroked her hair and then went on their way. Almost everyone in the village had heard about Maria - the little girl that lost her legs in a train accident. For the first year so many people offered their support and help.
Maria was seven years old when she left hospital and a few days after returning home she asked her mother if she could go to school. Her wounds had long ago healed, she was as bright and bubbly and as cheerful and friendly as she was before her accident, and she hated the thought of having to spend most of her time cooped up in their tiny apartment. She really wanted to go to school, to see her friends again, to play with them and laugh. She had an infectious little giggle that so many people adored, and it was a long time since anyone had heard that giggle. Her mother and grandmother didn’t really want her to go to school, as they feared the torments and the physical difficulties she would encounter, but they realised it would not be right to keep her away from other children her own age and understood fully Maria’s need to lead as full and normal life as possible, even though there would sometimes be huge difficulties.
There was also going to be a problem with her age. Because she was still mentally only five years old, it was going to be difficult putting her with a class of seven year olds. A
few weeks earlier her mother had gone to see the school to discuss this dilemma in detail and it was decided that, for the time being at least, she would be placed in preparatory class along with other children roughly the same mental age. This seemed fairer and a lot easier for Maria. She had missed two years of schooling and an awful lot of learning. Even though she was physically two years bigger than the children around her, she was still a five year old.
The first day at school Maria was so excited. The night before she could hardly sleep and kept tossing and turning and wishing the night would pass quickly. She called out for her mother three or four times, asking for water or a biscuit, or just for some company, someone to cuddle and hold while she tried to nod off again. Maria’s mother and grandmother tossed and turned and couldn’t sleep either, but for different reasons, they were nervous and scared and wished the night would pass as slowly as possible.
Maria's Story Page 5
