Tulips in Her Hand

Chapter Nineteen

Gray. For a moment, that was all that greeted her eyes. Flecks of gray, tinged with a dull spark of orange. Her entire body ached, screaming from a distant pain that echoed throughout her being. As Celina's eyes blinked open to focus, shapes began to form. A broken bit of an antique stool, a journal dusted with debris. A sea of gray brokenness occasionally by bits of black or orange. That was what Celina saw.

That, and what soon became painfully obvious: light.

Celina thrust her hand over her eyes to shield herself from the glaring sun. With her other hand, she felt around her, her skin gliding over bits of debris and broken glass. A sharp pain erupted through her left leg. Panic pulsed through her veins as she attempted to free it from a pile of debris, in vain attempt. It was then, Celina realized, she was closely surrounded by rubble, stuck inside a hole. The cellar. Or rather, what was left of it.

Dust coating her raw skin, Celina cried out through cracked lips. "H-help. Anyone, p-please..." She vaguely noted blurred figures parading around the ruins of the street, poking through the rubble. Her leg throbbed. The piles of gray dust blurred her vision. Yet as she glanced to the side, however, she saw a glimpse of color, of lilac. A charred ribbon, shredded in half, laying underneath a pile of blackened brick.

Anka.

Wren, Harmon, Kikka. It all started to come back to Celina. The bombing, all of it.

Broken, cracked screams erupted from her mouth. She dug with all her strength through the rubble, her eyes frantically searching for Anka and Wren and the rest of them. She had saved Anka once, yes, but it was not over yet. Celina bit her lip as sweat dripped down her forehead from the exertion. Her arms trembled as she attempted to pull herself from the ruins, a shooting pain exploding throughout her leg. She had to find her, no matter what the cost.

As Celina used every last bit of energy she had freeing herself in order to find Anka, it was then she decided that this was it. This, right now, was what would determine the rest of her life. It would determine whether her painting was smeared with colors of gold and pink and green, or if it would be streaks of swallowing blackness. Gritting her teeth, she cried out in pain. All the trials---the losses, the tragedies, the pain---all of it was building up to now, this very moment, this test.

Now the only question was if Celina could pass it.

With one trembling motion, Celina shoved a decayed brick off her body, freeing herself from the weight. Her heart beating with triumph and exhaustion, she tried to leap to her feet, only to instantly collapse to the ground as a searing pain vibrating in her knee. She cried out a string of names. "Anka!" she sobbed, "Wren, Klara, Kikka. Anyone! Harmon, Lorelai, please..."

As her cheek rested against the jagged edge of rubble, just before her eyes fluttered shut from the pain, she saw a glimpse of wispy dark hair, with eyes that told the story of a survivor.

 ❋ ❋ ❋       

Her entire body ached as her eyes fluttered open. Her head spinning, Celina's eyes struggled to focus. Once they did, she first gazed down at her trembling arm, caked in dust, in blood, and in sorrow. The air smelled oddly of lavender and tobacco. Surrounding her was a blanket of wallpaper, floral patterns dancing around the air. Celina slowly sat up, her eyes blinking rapidly. Where was she? Had it been long since that fateful day? The image of the girl with wispy remained ingrained her mind, along with that of the man with mahogany eyes and the man behind the barbed wire fence. Celina furrowed her eyebrows. Why couldn't she remember their names? Why could she scarcely remember the day with all the dust and rubble and flames?

And then her eyes widened. Her nose breathed in the delicate aroma. Tulips.

Shakily standing up, a new vibe of excitement trembled throughout her entire body that she knew hadn't been there for ages.

Using the wall as a guide, Celina felt her way to the window. She felt strangely empty, her heart aching from all the trials and tragedies that seemed oddly distant. When her hands finally gripped the window sill, she pressed her nose against the glass. And what she saw brought back a flurry of reminisce.

Her town.

She was in the Tulip Man's apartment.

The blood red flags, still staining the streets. Cobblestoned roads, passersby in their gray woolen coats. The spot where Celina first truly, really saw the hatred of the Jews, with the man with brown marble eyes. She remained there for a few minutes before backing away. Yet instead of backing into empty space, however, she felt her back collide with that of another human been. A raspy yelp escaped from her throat.

Celina slowly craned her neck. Her eyes were met with that of a gentlemen's, whose voice was warm and smooth like steamed milk and honey. "Celina, my darling, I didn't mean to startle you," the Tulip Man said.

The Tulip Man's arms safely around her, Celina opened her cracked lips to speak. "W-what am I...Where...Why..." she stuttered. Her eyes began to glisten with emotion. Where were they, her beloved friends that haunted her?

The Tulip Man chuckled softly. "They found you after the bombing and sent you back to me. That's all you need to know, for now, my love. I've laid out a towel and some soaps for you in the bathroom down the hall. Once you clean up, perhaps I can allow you to water some of my tulips."

Though she still longed for more answers, Celina followed him to the bathroom where he left her alone. She undressed slowly before climbing into the bathtub, allowing the water to seep into her cuts and cleanse her of the war. Twenty minutes later, the tub filled with mud and remnants of the hardships and struggles, Celina climbed out of the bathtub, allowing the towel to warm her chilled, raw skin. "A new beginning," she murmured, avoiding her reflection in the mirror, "Like I've been searching for my entire life."

Once dressed, she found herself drifting downstairs. The Tulip Man joyfully placed a tarnishing watering can in her hands, instructing her on the proper amount of water for the purple and pink striped tulips. He would laugh every time she spilled a little bit, correct her aim, and then continue with whatever wondrous story he was telling. 

It was only until several hours later that he paused, his face hardening ever so slightly. "It seems you have a visitor, Celina," he said.

Celina froze, looking up from a pot of particularly beautiful yellow tulips. She gazed to the doorway, finding a stout man by the name of Budny.

He greeted her with a mix of somber and pleasant emotions. Celina merely nodded along, yet inside she was burning with questions. After a series of polite pleasantries, Mr. Budny got straight to the point. "Celina, I know what I asked you to do was no small feat, and I just wanted to thank you for being the best courier we could have possibly had. I understand, in fact I am asking, that you resign, for you've been through so much--"

Celina felt a smile curve on her lips, for it was just then that a huge weight had been lifted from her chest. She made her decision within an instant. "No, sir," she said, "I will not resign. I should like to be a courier until the end of this war."