| General Fiction posted July 5, 2025 | Chapters: |
3 4 -5- 6 
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Down by the lake
A chapter in the book Dmitri's Extraordinary Fate
Dmitri's Extraordinary Fate: 5
by tfawcus
| Background In the preceding chapters, Dmitri became catatonic after losing his twin sister, Mira, in a bombing. He is transferred to a clinic, but a chronic bed shortage sees him moved into Elena's care. |
Dmitri ate his breakfast absent-mindedly. The wolves had awakened a primal instinct in him—the realisation that, if he wanted to survive mentally, he could no longer lie idle.
He glanced out of the window. Elena was crossing the lawn, carrying a trug and a pair of secateurs. The morning light painted her outline in gold, accentuating the easy rhythm of her step. It was a glorious autumn day. Not one to be watched from a window. He decided on impulse to take his sketchbook down to the lake. Truth be told, he needed time to think. He wasn't looking forward to his forthcoming chat with Elena.
One thing was certain in his mind: this breakfast-in-bed nonsense would have to stop. It should be him making breakfast for her, not the other way round. She already had more than enough to do looking after this place. He stacked the crockery on one side of the tray, put his sketchbook and a box of pastels on the other, and made his way down to the kitchen. After rinsing the dishes, he left them to drain, but he was disconcerted to find that even this small effort had taken its toll after his weeks of being bedridden. Luckily, the hatstand in the back porch held a selection of stout walking sticks, and he helped himself to one before setting out.
The path along the edge of the pine forest was overgrown, and the bracken shimmered with gossamer threads, creating an ethereal atmosphere, but it was a longer walk to the lakeside than he'd imagined, and he soon started to perspire. The fronds of bracken swarmed with iridescent flies, and the sweat glistening on his face attracted them. While waving his sketchbook frantically in a vain attempt to shoo them away, he stumbled over roots crossing the uneven ground, and he dropped the box of pastels. It flew open, scattering them all over the path, and he had to crawl around on his hands and knees to retrieve them. He was glad of the walking stick when it came to getting up again.
By the time he reached the lake, he was hot and flustered. But what a sight! He stood in awe at the vast expanse of water. A light breeze rippled its surface and washed over him like a soothing balm. Before long, he found an outcrop at the water's edge and sat down. He gradually composed himself and sank into the silence of the place. Small birds squabbled for seeds in the tall grasses. To his left, a grey heron stood in the shallows. He opened his sketchbook. A thin sheen of pollen drifted on the water like gold dust, and dragonflies hovered over the shallows, but Dmitri was absorbed in capturing the heron’s pose and barely noticed. Time had ceased to have any meaning.
*****
Meanwhile, up at the lodge, Elena had finished in the garden. Swathes of lavender hung over the sides of her trug as she struggled back up the steep slope. When she reached the potting shed, she wiped her brow with her sleeve and sat for a few moments in the shade of a walnut tree to get her breath back. The earthy citrus aroma of the ripening nuts reminded her of yet another job that would need to be done soon. She sighed. She hadn’t even touched the orchard, and the plum trees were heavy with fruit. Autumn was merciless. Always more to do, and never enough hours.
She took a ball of raffia from the potting shed and tied the lavender in bunches to dry from the rafters. By the time she'd finished, it was well past midday, and she still had to prepare lunch for the boy. Bread, a few slices of smoked sausage, and a hunk of cheese would have to do. It was far too hot for cooking. As she entered the kitchen, she noticed the breakfast dishes neatly stacked on the draining board. This was a first for Dmitri. Things were looking up. When she went upstairs, she was in for another surprise. The bed was made, and the chair by the window was empty.
She set the tray down and called out. 'Dmitri! Where are you? Lunch is ready!'
Her words were greeted with silence. She leant out of the window and called again. Still no response. His sketchbook was gone, and so was the packet of pastels she'd recently bought for him. She remembered his half-finished drawing of the lake. Perhaps he'd gone down to the garden to sketch from a different angle. Strange though. She hadn't seen him on her way up from the lavender bed. Surely he hadn't walked down to the lake in this heat? She told herself not to be ridiculous.
Nonetheless, there was still no sign of him when she called again. She searched the house and garden without success. Where could the boy have gone? She hoped nothing had happened to him. He was weak after his extended period of inactivity and could have had a fall or collapsed from heat exhaustion. Anything could have happened.
A covey of woodcocks disturbed her thoughts, suddenly flying from the undergrowth at the edge of the pine forest. She was alerted by the distinctive snick of their wings, which sounded like sheets on a clothesline being caught by the wind. Wondering what could have startled them, she went to investigate. As soon as she reached the path, she saw the broken foliage and flattened grasses. Someone had been this way recently. Her worst fears were confirmed by an orange pastel lying in some dead bracken, and she broke into a run.
***
Dmitri heard the sharp cry of agony as she fell. He was on his feet in seconds and stumbled back up the incline. His sketchbook fell from the rock, and its pages flew open.
'Elena!' he exclaimed breathlessly.
She was sitting up by the side of the path, holding her ankle. Her face was pale, and he could see the pain she was trying to mask.
'Don't move,' he said, crouching beside her. 'Let me help.'
'It's nothing. Just a twist.'
'We need ice, or ...' He thought for a moment. 'Maybe cold water will do the trick.'
He helped her to her feet carefully. With her arm slung over his shoulder, he took the weight off her ankle, and they hobbled slowly down to the lake. The scent of lavender seemed to accentuate her frailty, and it was with the greatest care that he lowered her onto the rocky outcrop where he had recently been sketching the heron.
He moved with quiet precision as he unbuttoned his shirt, swirled it around in the water, wrung it out, and applied it as a cold compress to her swollen ankle. His touch was gentle yet firm. She looked up at him gratefully; this was no longer the passive, withdrawn young man she had grown accustomed to looking after.
'Thank you,' she said. 'That feels much better. You've done this before, haven't you?'
'Yes. For Mira.’
The memory flooded back without warning; the steady drone of bombers overhead, the way he’d dragged her into the culvert. She had barely made a sound, but her eyes had been like those of a rabbit nursing a broken limb and cowering under the shadow of a hawk. He remembered slinging her over his shoulder in a fireman's lift and carrying her all the way home, or to what was left of it, for they arrived to find a crater in the front garden and the parlour exposed to the street like a doll's house whose front had been wrenched open. It had been the day their mother disappeared.
Elena saw the flicker of pain in his eyes and reached forward to take his hand. The movement made her wince.
'Lie still.' The words came out more abruptly than he'd intended, but he softened them by adding, 'You're the patient now, and you must do as you're told.'
He looked at her tenderly, noticing the fine lines around her eyes and the tiredness, but behind it, he could also see her resilience. She might have been worn, but not worn down. She was staring at the sketchbook that lay open just beyond his reach, and he followed her gaze.
Her voice, when it came, was filled with emotion.
'You drew him.'
Her eyes moved over the likeness with quiet awe, her lips parted as if something long held inside her had been released. Dmitri opened his mouth to speak but found no words. A breeze stirred the grasses around them, and somewhere across the lake, a bird called out.
Elena turned her face away, blinking away a tear. ‘He was just like that,’ she whispered. ‘Always looking as if the world owed him something.’
Dmitri said nothing. But he moved a little closer and sat beside her, their shoulders just touching.
 Recognized |
#1 July 2025 |
British English spelling and writing conventions are used throughout.
Photo by Ronan Hello on Unsplash
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