Proserpina
When I opened my eyes, it was because I was feeling thirsty, my mouth felt dry, sandpapery and rough. I had been dreaming, of darkness, of voices that faded and then again, came closer. People talking. I opened my eyes and let the surroundings register.
For a wild, fearful moment, I wondered where I was; was I back in the hands of Dmitri Rudenko? I tried to sit up, panicking, and the beeping sound of some machine, a monitor of some sort, attached to a multitude of tubes that went into my arms, went off loudly and the door flew open as a doctor rushed in, followed by three nurses. One of them was Camille and I almost sobbed in relief as she came to me. But I was very weak, I realized so when I tried to stretch out my hand to her, I could barely lift it. Recollection flooded my brain and I tried to ask about Lucien, Ria , my unborn child…But I could only croak.
Camille laid a work roughened hand on my forehead as the other nurses and the doctors- for another man had joined the woman who had come tearing in first, – as all of them fussed around.
“Sleep now, Proserpina.’ She said softly, and smiled faintly, knowingly as she went on in a low tone, ‘All of them are outside and the little baby boy is safe and sound. He’s a strong one; they took him to the NICU.’
I smiled slightly, the relief flooding me. As one of the nurses pushed up a sleeve and administered an injection, I barely felt the prick as I drifted off to sleep.
“Him,’ she had said, I thought tiredly, “So it was to be another boy…”
Would he be a blonde, gray-blue-eyed little fellow, like my other children, I wondered fleetingly before I slipped away into the world of sleep.
*
When I came awake next, it was dark. Camille was seated on a chair close by, her head falling forward on her chest, sleeping, snoring gently.
Through the curtains that were drawn, I could see darkness ad I realized that it must be night.
I shifted and immediately, Camille sat up, rubbing her eyes, looking at me in alarm.
She jumped up and came to me,
“Would you like a drink of cool water then?’ she asked softly and I smiled, my lips feeling unnaturally dry as I croaked, my voice feeling as though I had not spoken for a long while,
‘Yes, please.’ She gently supported me and placing a couple of pillows behind my back, she held a glass of water to my lips. I drank thirstily; water had never tasted so sweet. She murmured something gently, stroking my head.
‘Please,’ I said softly and she poured another glass. As I sipped from the cool, clear glass tumbler, I realized that my body was hurting, my stomach felt…
Her eyes followed my movements and she said,
‘Yes, Dr Alan Coveman did an emergency C-section on you.’
I nodded vaguely. I had no recollection of anything.
“My baby?’ I asked Camille and she smiled.
“Do you know how long you have been out?’ she said with a slight smile.
As I stared at her uncomprehendingly, she went on,
‘Three days. You have been sleeping for three days.’ I stared at her in shock. Surely, she was teasing me but the look on her face buttressed her words as she spoke,
“Yes, you needed the rest and the doctor felt that your body needed to recoup. So…’ She shrugged and then, with a saucy grin, the signature Camille know-it-all sort of grin, she went on,
“But your family has been camping here all the while. The Boss has not slept a wink. Sits straight-backed in that chair, glaring at us if we ask him to rest.’
I felt a warm glow in me and then I recalled the way he had treated Ria and poor Philippe, how he had spoken to me, all of which had precipitated the sudden onset of my labour.
Camille had been watching my face. Now she helped me to settle back, as she said,
“I do not know what has happened but I know that the Boss is contrite.’
I sighed and turned my face to the other side as sleep descended upon me again…
*
When I opened my eyes again, my room was bright with sunlight. Something had changed, I thought as I frowned and looked about. The scent of flowers, that was it.
And then I gaped, for on the floor, in every available place, there were flowers; Pink carnations, standing straight and tall, lovely lilies of the valley, a huge basket of them at the door, another couple of large baskets against the wall, their scent heady and fresh. And then, pink roses, pure white gardenias, and snowy white orchids. I sat up, wincing as a spasm of pain shot through me but I struggled to sit up determinedly and Camille and another nurse were beside me as I gazed around the room. I felt as though I was in a garden; no, a jungle of flowers!
I turned to look at Camille and I saw her smile, a small smile.
Lucien.
He had done this. All these flowers were chosen, particularly because they were symbols of appeasement, a message asking for forgiveness. Despite everything, the weakness I felt, the pain in my body, I began to laugh, cupping my hands tiredly to my face.
*
Once, long ago, after I had left him and then returned to him, he had done something similar, flooded the room with red roses. But after Dmitri Rudenko, I had gained an aversion for red roses. Keeping that in mind, my lover had sent me flowers of every other kind, all with the message, of asking for forgiveness.
For my Mafia, Don did not know how to apologize.
I sat up and took Camille’s hand.
“Can I meet my family? Has the doctor…?
Her broad grin was enough to tell me the answer.
“Then, I said smiling, ‘Camille, help me to get ready…’