Darkness

Samuel Duncan

Yesterday, I only told Stephen that I applied dressings to Gregor’s wounds and that he seemed to be well enough to go home as he wished. I draped a blanket over his shoulders not just for the sake of modesty, but so that no other eyes would see how changed the wounds on his back were after Ayola did - whatever she did.

I am not prepared to talk about it with anybody else. Not even Ben, and this was the hardest part of all. Last night, after Gregor had gone home, and Stephen had taken his group back to Homochitto, and Ben and I were alone in our rooms, we talked about the events of the day, of course. I never want to keep secrets from Ben, but I couldn’t find a way to describe what I had seen, how I had watched Gregor’s wounds seem to magically repair themselves before my eyes as soon as Ayola was clutching him. I had to remain silent about it.

Instead we talked about the balance of the events. Ben seemed reluctant to share what I think he sensed as weakness on his part, that he had felt so emotional that he couldn’t even speak. I assured him that I was feeling emotional too, because it was horrifying to watch our friend be harmed like that.

But it was more than that, disturbingly, mystifyingly more. I think everyone there seemed overwhelmed with a strange perception of menace, or horror, or … something. Then a peculiar sense of intense power washed over the scene, like a wave of static electricity almost, something I have never felt before, leaving me feeling strangely cold and lonely. I can’t even describe it to myself.

But I know that after it was all over, everyone seemed to be reacting to Gregor with a strange sense of awe. Even me. I have tried to identify why. I heard the story about why he was being whipped, how he insisted that it was his own fault that Moses was illegally reading, so he was the proper person to take the punishment. Was it only his self-sacrifice that is making everyone feel so thunderstruck? It feels like something more. Gregor seems to have achieved some strange status of celebrity, or nobility. It is as though he seems somehow legendary in the eyes of the townsfolk. Something has changed.

I don’t know if I will ever understand it. But I know one thing - I need to go to see him this morning, check to see how his wounds are coming along, probably clean them, make sure that we can stave off infection from developing. I half expect to find that I imagined the strange mystical healing that I witnessed, and to find him far less recovered than I thought when he left my office yesterday.

Ben smiles at me as he answers the door, Tiger at his heels. He wouldn’t normally be at work today, since it is Sunday, but today feels very different from ordinary. He wanted to be here, just in case Gregor needed anything. It looks like Nadine felt the same, for she ducks her head around the corner to see who has arrived. “I’ll let him know you’re here,” she tells me, and goes upstairs.

“Have you seen him?” I ask Ben quietly, lightly touching his hand in this little moment of privacy.

“Not since he went upstairs yesterday. I’ve heard them talking up there though, so I know he’s awake.”

Well, that’s a good sign.

Nadine comes back, and says, “He said that you can go up and see him, if that would be convenient for you.”

Pfsh. Obviously I wouldn’t expect him to greet me downstairs like this is a normal social call, after he was seriously injured yesterday. But I just nod to Ben, and silently climb the stairs.

Rosy is closing the door to the nursery when I get to the top, and she quietly says, “I was just laying Vernon down for a nap.” She leads me into the bedroom.

I’m not sure what I expected to see, but I probably should have anticipated this. Gregor is just sitting there bare-chested, casually on his bed, wearing his pajama bottoms, ankles crossed and leaning against the headboard as though his back isn’t injured. He’s grinning at me.

“Good morning, Samuel,” he says cheerfully, “how nice of you to stop by.”

It makes me laugh, of course. “How’s my patient?” I ask him, and he waves his hand over himself.

“How does he look?” he smirks.

I set down my bag on the edge of the bed, while Rosy sits in a chair nearby, watching. “Well, lean up, let me see,” I tell him, prodding his shoulder. He amiably leans forward, and I look at his back.

I apparently wasn’t imagining things. The wounds are substantially healed, looking like the whipping was two weeks ago, not yesterday. There is no bleeding, no evidence of infection, not even any scabbing, just livid red lines criss-crossing every inch of his entire back. The patrolman was extremely thorough with the whip. I stand back with my hands on my hips, staring at him.

His mouth twists with a touch of humor. “I suppose I owe you an explanation,” he says, then chuckles when he sees whatever my expression is doing in response. He waves his hand at the foot of the bed. “Here, sit down, let’s talk.”

I perch at the end of his bed, and he lifts his hand to Rosy, who joins him where he is sitting, ducking underneath his arm to lean against his side.

Nobody speaks for a moment.

“Soooo…” he says after a minute, “do you have any questions?”

Ha! I have questions I don’t even know how to ask. “Well, let’s start with why you aren’t half dead?”

He nods. Before he speaks, I glance at Rosy, and he says, “I don’t have any secrets from my wife.” She gives him a mysterious little smile. He sighs, and says, “But I do have secrets. Sometimes I am more successful at concealing them than I am at other times, obviously.”

I look at him, and don’t know how to move the conversation along, and after waiting a moment for me, he decides to keep going. “I can tell you some things, Samuel, but I would really appreciate you keeping them to yourself. Even if I failed utterly in being circumspect yesterday, I need to try to again. Hopefully this will all pass.”

I think about the fact that he has been keeping secrets for me, for Ben. I never even asked him to, he simply has held our confidences silently, helped us in our love without any apparent motivation other than to be our friend. I want to thank him, and assure him that in return I will hold his secrets as dearly as he has held mine, but I am not sure how openly I can speak in front of Rosy.

He watches me, his expression full of a strange sort of eternal patience, then adds, “As I said, I have no secrets from my wife. We can all speak openly here.”

When I stare at him, wondering how he knew exactly what I was thinking about, Rosy lets out a soft snort of laughter. “Get used to it,” she says.

Gregor laughs a little. “Sorry, Samuel, I can’t really explain why or how, but yes, sometimes I can guess your thoughts. I try not to intrude too much.”

This would all seem quite eerie, except that I know Gregor is such a good person, a good friend, and I realize as I say it, “I trust you, Gregor, and I have trusted you with knowledge that very few others know about. I want to be just as trustworthy. Anything you can share with me, I will keep entirely to myself.”

He nods. “Thank you, Samuel.” He looks to the side of the room, as though trying to think of how to begin. “I guess the main thing you need to understand is why I have healed so quickly. I can tell you that I have always been able to do so. I knew this when I insisted that the slave patrol release Moses and take me instead. He would have suffered for far longer than me. So my action wasn’t as noble as some might have thought.” He frowns for a moment, and adds, “Although I would have done the same even if that wasn’t the case. It is outrageous that this society’s laws forbid reading to some of its citizens. I flouted that unfair law, and it wouldn’t be right for Moses to be punished for my disregard of current rules.” His face darkens as he remembers this. I note the strange nuance of his speech, the reference to “this society” and “current rules,” and wonder why a man my age would use such phrases. It is just our society, our rules.

Rosy strokes his arm, listening quietly as he speaks.

He waits while I process this information. I don’t think I am going to learn why he heals quickly, but perhaps I can understand more about the process. I might learn something that could help me with other patients. He gives a very small smile and a shrug. “Does it always happen - all at once, like that?”

He shakes his head. “Not usually. The process is generally smoother, but I was not healing as quickly as usual, and Rosy realized that Ayola could help speed it along.” He looks into my eyes. “It is very important to me that this remains secret.”

When I nod, he continues. “Ayola and I are very similar. She has the same healing abilities that I do, and by touching me, it aided my own. I imagine that what you witnessed looked very strange. That was not typical, even for me. It was because she was contributing to the effort.”

It is an intense moment, having him confide in me regarding such a strange and serious matter. I completely understand his wish to keep Ayola’s secret. If this became common knowledge, she would be even more vulnerable than she is now, as a slave child. I’m sure that Gregor wants to make sure that she is protected. I don’t think I should ask for more details about whatever the strange identity is that Gregor and Ayola share, but I do think I can clarify what I should tell anyone who questions. “If anyone ever asks why Rosy sent for Ayola, should I just tell them that because you are so fond of her, she thought it would bring you comfort?”

“Yes,” he nods, “that should do.” He chuckles. “Very well, in fact. It makes Rosalind and I sound entitled and self-centered, to insist on dragging a toddler across the county for our own whims.”

When I lift my eyebrows, he adds, “I get the impression that you aren’t the only one who felt … perplexed … by what you saw yesterday. Spreading around a tale about us summoning the child might be diverting, and take attention away from what was really happening.”

“Well, all right then,” I say, “that’s what I’ll tell everyone.”

He smiles. “Excellent. So, tell me something else, Samuel. I am curious.” There is a bit of a twinkle in his eye. “What did it look like, really? Was it terribly bizarre?”

I have to laugh. “Well, yes if you must know. I thought I was hallucinating things. Your wounds were writhing around like worms, the flesh moving of its own accord, sealing itself as if by magic.” It was almost disgusting, but I don’t tell him that.

His eyebrows lift, and he says in a delighted voice, “Really!” He looks down at Rosy. “Did you see this?”

She snorts out a laugh. “Yes, you oddball, and it was ugly!”

It makes us laugh too. “Well,” he says, kissing her cheek, “thank you for loving this ugly old oddball.”

She shakes her head. “I have no choice in that,” she says with glowing eyes, and he looks at her fondly. Their love is very sweet. I think of my own love, waiting downstairs, that I could never treat with such open affection, even in front of friends who are aware of our relationship.

Gregor asks with a sideways smile, “I do need your medical advice, doctor.”

“Pfsh. I can’t imagine what for.”

“I just want to know how long I need to hide up here before I can plausibly go downstairs, and then get back to work. I don’t want anyone else to realize what has happened, after they all watched me yesterday. It would seem bizarre for me to be up and about too soon, I think.”

Oh. Well, yes, I guess I can be useful at least in planning this deception. “I’d say two more days upstairs, then another couple of days before going out into the town. Try to look like you are moving carefully for another week or so. That should trick everyone into thinking you’re a normal person, but also that I am the most extraordinary doctor to have helped you heal so quickly!”

He sighs melodramatically at being sentenced to a few more days of pretending to be injured, but then smiles. “Thank you for being my co-conspirator. Do you really think anyone is going to be paying that much attention to me, though?”

The smile leaves my face. I don’t think he realizes. “Er, I’m sorry to break it to you, but I don’t think anyone will stop staring at you for the rest of the year.”

His brow furrows. “That bad, eh?”

I’m not sure how to broach the topic. “Did you know that … well, that there was more going on than just a whipping?” I quickly add, waving my hands, “Not to say that your whipping was minor. It was truly awful, and I know that you were really hurt, even if you did miraculously heal. I just mean that there was something else, some kind of disturbance, over and above what the slave patrol was doing. Over and above what happened with your dog.”

He brushes aside my concern. “Don’t worry, Samuel, I know you aren’t trying to belittle my experience.”

Goodness. He put that so much better than I did.

“Can you describe it to me?” he asks. “I understand that more was happening, but I would like to hear your perspective, what you think the crowd was feeling. I want to be prepared to face people when my exile up here is over.”

So he does know about it. Whatever it was. They watch me seriously as I try to describe what happened. “Ben and I were watching together, when Tiger ran up. I had just come up from my office when I saw the crowd, and had just realized that it was you up there. We were … so upset.” I don’t think he can possibly understand how horrifying it was to watch him being flogged.

He nods, appearing to have more sympathy for my pain than for his own. “I’m sorry you had to see it,” he murmurs. “I wasn’t really thinking of that, I only wanted Moses to be spared. I didn’t want Rosalind watching either, but I thought she had gone, and I was prepared to just wait it out. I knew it wouldn’t last forever.” He sighs, then returns to my narration. “Then what happened?”

“It was after Tiger fell,” I tell him, my voice dropping to a whisper, remembering the sense of horror that suddenly engulfed me. “And you….” I cut myself off, not wanting to say it.

He nods encouragingly. “Please, Samuel, I really do want to hear it. Whatever it is. Please go on.”

I take a deep breath. “Then you… you screamed.” He is only listening silently, not seeming taken aback to hear me refer to this, so I continue. “It was like a scream of anguish from a soul burning in Hell, and the sound burned right through me, like that soul had reached out with all of its agony to share it with me. I think everyone felt the same way. It was so awful, so dark, so wretched. We all knew that something terrible was happening. Most people have seen a whipping before, but this was nothing like anything else. It was pure, undiluted suffering, and I think we were all feeling it.”

Rosy sniffs, and reaches up to wipe the corner of her eye, and he sighs and squeezes her arm.

Gregor has been watching me with concern in his eyes. When I pause, he whispers, “I am so sorry. I didn’t know that…. Normally, my emotions are… controlled. But under the circumstances there was no way to control them, and they spilled out into my surroundings. I am sorry that you suffered for it. I’m sorry that everyone did.”

Rosy wraps her arms around him. “It wasn’t your fault,” she tells him.

He shrugs forlornly. “Nevertheless, I caused the whole thing. In trying to spare Moses from being hurt, I ended up hurting everyone else.” He shakes his head. “I should have known something like this would happen.”

I know I’m staring at him. That was all just what Gregor was feeling? Those emotions were so powerful, so dark, they didn’t even seem possible to have come from a human being. In my worst moments, I have never felt that much grief or dismay. I am really starting to realize that Gregor is far more unusual than I ever suspected, even with his strangely accelerated healing. I wonder what he really is. I don’t think I will ever be able to look at him as simply another regular person, not ever again.

He looks straight at me, with pain in his eyes, and I get the sensation again that he knows what I am thinking. “Please, Samuel,” he whispers, “don’t forget that I am your friend. Just your friend. Please don’t let any of this change that.”

I nod. I can try. But I know I will never look at things the same way again.

After a moment of silence, Rosy asks, “Then did you feel what happened after that?”

I feel an involuntary shudder, and realize that this conversation is so intense that I am trembling. I know exactly what she means, but I have no words for it. I simply say, “Yes, I felt it.”

Gregor looks frustrated, thinks for a moment, then says, “I know that there was something else, and even if you cannot describe it, can you tell me how it made you feel, and how all the people around you reacted?”

I think back, feeling another shudder. Gregor sees this, reaches forward to where I am sitting, and rests his hand against my shoulder for a moment, in sympathy. It gives me the ability to go on. “You were still being beaten, and I could tell you were starting to lose consciousness. But you kept trying to stand, and suddenly there was a strange feeling in the air all around us, like, maybe like static electricity. Like everything was charged. I felt - I don’t know - I guess vulnerable, or isolated, like I had lost someone I love. We all went completely silent and still for a second. Like we were frozen in shock. Some people around me dropped to their knees and started praying.”

His brow is furrowed. “Praying?”

I shrug. “It seemed appropriate at the time. I heard some people last night at the club talking about it too. They’d had more time to think about it, and a couple of men were convinced that the holy spirit had come, like a scene from the bible. It actually makes sense. It reminds me more of that than anything else I can think of.”

He looks aghast. “Why on earth would anybody think the holy spirit had come to visit my whipping?”

“Well,” I say, “that is the question everybody was asking. So, if people are looking at you strangely for the next few days, you’ll know why.”

“Ugh,” he says. “Maybe I’m glad I get to hide up here a while longer, after all.”