Be good and have no fear
At least 22 killed and over 60 injured in Ukraine today, as russia directly attacks the objects of civil infrastructure in the biggest cities
There are at least 22 killed and over 60 injured in Ukraine today, as russia directly attacks the objects of civil infrastructure in the biggest cities. Among others, directly struck is the biggest children's hospital in Ukraine, Okhmatdyt. There are still people under the rubble and the number of victims increases as the situation unfolds.
My book, Cappy and the Whale, translated into English by Hanna Leliv and published by Penguin Random House in late 2022, is inspired by this hospital's doctors, staff, and volunteers. Okhmatdyt has been crucial in supporting some of the sickest children from across the country. Every year, around 7,000 surgeries – including treatments for cancer and hematological diseases – are conducted at the hospital. I've been to the oncological department of this hospital for research several times, and went there sometimes as a volunteer, too, to entertain kids, reading to them and playing with them. I witnessed and supported the advocating of building the new department, the most equipped and the most expensive. It was initiated by several organizations including NGO Tabletochki, founded by a friend of mine, and supported by all civilized organizations in Ukraine. It was a big deal to fight corruption, bureaucracy, and the lack of money and to get it working finally. They saved a lot of children's lives there. It took russia one missile to destroy it.
I'm publishing the chapter from Cappy and the Whale, which is about the oncological department of this hospital. If you enjoy reading, don't hesitate to donate to support the hospital and pediatric oncology patients in particular. If you don't have time to read or don't want to, donate anyway. Thank you.
Be good and have no fear
Mum and I did my vitamin vapours and then Mum did the dishes while I told her about the right way to treat my illness. I’d read about it in a book – the first one they’d given me at the hospital. I liked the way it explained that there is a monster called Leukaemia living in my blood and told me how to fight it and not to die. I knew right away, of course, that it was a book for little kids and that leukaemia is not a monster but a disease. The book was still great, even though it didn’t tell me about the ‘dying’ bit. I figured that out by myself.
When someone died at the hospital, their mums and grandmas left quickly, and my mum cried. No one wanted to take over the beds of anyone whose family had left the hospital that quickly, so we’d trick the newcomers. ‘It was Denys’s bed,’ we’d say. ‘But he got well and left. That one was Kristina’s, but she went home.’
‘It’s not OK to lie,’ Mum had said. ‘But sometimes you just have to.’
The hospital book didn’t say anything about this, so I decided that while I couldn’t learn everything from books, I should never ever forget the things I did learn from them. Mum checked that every day.
‘What’s the most important rule?’ she asked me.
‘To have no fear!’ I said.
‘What else?’
‘To be good.’
I had no trouble with the first rule. The second one was trickier.
As the morning went on, the park got covered in clouds. The rain was splashing inside them so loudly that I could almost hear heavy raindrops rubbing against one another, as if trying to burst the cloud’s thin, tight skin.
Mum and I did my homework: she drew all kinds of things, and I had to write what each of them was. She drew a house, and I wrote ‘HOUSE’; she drew a froggy, and I wrote ‘FROG’, because it’s shorter that way. Then Mum drew a puppy, and I wrote ‘LOVE’. Mum smiled and drew herself, wearing her glasses, old shirt and slippers. I wrote ‘LOVE’ again – this time my letters were so huge that I needed another sheet of paper. Then we had lunch, and I went to my room for a nap. But I wasn’t going to sleep, of course.
I climbed into my bed, burying my head under the blanket, so I wouldn’t sneak a look at the window to see if the rain had started. I knew that if you sneaked a peek at the kettle while waiting for it to boil, it would take at least twice as long, and if you peeked at the oven, curious when the plum pie would be ready, it would take forever to bake. That’s why I kept quiet, but I was all ears. Suddenly something snapped and there was a loud noise, as if someone had ripped apart a strong pillowcase or an old bed sheet. The rain, restless, spilled out of the cloud.
‘Are you coming or what?’ the whale asked, hovering outside the window.
Rain was streaming down his skin, tumbling against the seaweeds and shells. Standing in front of the window, I looked at the whale. Glossy and wet, he turned bright blue, like my cap. The whale opened and closed his large mouth, sipping the rainwater, a jet of vapour coming out of his blowhole.
‘It’s not cold,’ he said, trying to encourage me.
I knew it wasn’t cold – I’d figured that out by myself. But it was way too wet. I quickly came up with an idea. I dug my swimming trunks out of the wardrobe, then a swimming cap and goggles. I was sure I’d feel better in the rain if I had my swimming gear on. Thinking about it some more, I took my blue cap out of a drawer – I felt safer that way – and I pulled it on over the swimming cap.
I climbed on my desk and opened the window. The rain, swishing and tingling, dashed inside the room, splashing on my feet and shoulders. The whale moved closer, right up to the windowsill.
‘Climb up,’ he said. And I did – I climbed out of the window and on to his huge back. The whale was a tad slippery, like cliffs by the sea, wet from salty waves. He was warm, though, full of a special whale warmth – just as I imagined he would be if I touched him. I grabbed the bumps on his back, and we floated away.
The shiny park below was rustling with raindrops tapping on curly leaves, jumping from one leaf to another. Passers‐by were hiding under the branches. The trees scooped up the water with their cupped leaves and were trying to pick who should get wet and who would be lucky to come out dry, just like mischievous kids hiding with a plastic bottle of water on a balcony overlooking the street. Oh, I knew very well how such things were done.
Then we flew over the city. Its wet roofs were reddish, glistening black or dark green; the streets empty. From time to time, someone would run across the road from their car to their home or to a cafe, covering their heads with a bag or a magazine. From above, the running figures looked so tiny and funny. I wanted to hover over the city for a long, long time, peering into the courtyards and playgrounds, deserted school yards and tennis courts near the park, but the whale said, ‘We have to get higher.’
He started to rise. His blowhole grunted softly, as if he was rising out of the ocean depths, eager to take a breath.
Reaching the very top of the rain, we dived into the grey clouds, which were thick like down in a tightly stuffed pillow, or like toy filling. It was so hazy around me that I could hardly see anything – I could only hear heavy raindrops pelting down, one after another. I was soaked through; my blue cap didn’t have a dry thread and it clung to the swimming cap underneath. The water dripped down behind my ears and on to my back.
All of a sudden I was dazzled. When I could finally open my eyes, I realized where all the sunlight hides on rainy, gloomy days. The whale was floating above the thick grey cloud that blotted out the entire city below. We were surrounded by endless blue and overflowing sunlight – I’d never seen anything so shiny.
‘Wow, it’s so sunny here!’ I said.
‘Oh, come on,’ the whale said sniffily. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never been on an aeroplane.’
But I hadn’t. I had never seen so much sunlight before either. The sun quickly made me dry and warm. I was just about to doze off on the whale’s nice, sun‐warmed back, when he said,‘Well, here’s what I promised to you.’
(…)
All the illustrations are by Julia Pilipchatina
The photos are from the accounts of the people reporting from the ground, I will update (c) later.