Darkness

Gregor

I’ll do it for my friend. I told Samuel that I’d look after his patient, so I’ll just grit my teeth and do it. Besides, I would never want to shorten the fleeting life of any human, not even this one. It wouldn’t be fair for me to enjoy so much time, while they have so little, and watch idle as one of their lives slips away. I can’t sit by and watch him die if I am able to prevent it.

I sigh. I haven’t talked to my crew yet, either the people still bustling about working here at the infirmary, or the men who have returned from Homochitto, but this can’t wait. Wolk doesn’t say anything as I walk into Smith’s room. I can tell that he doesn’t really support my decision. Sometimes my Guardian can be rather selfishly protective of me, one of the things about him that I am so fond of.

“Well,” I think to him, “just help me do this, let’s see if we can get it over with quickly.” He shrugs his agreement.

I close the door behind me. I don’t need my crew watching as I lay hands on the man. I know it would look very peculiar. Normally with the patients here I have found rational excuses to touch them, but he is unconscious so I can give it my full effort without trying to make my touch seem casual and innocuous. I move to Smith’s bedside and look down upon him, as he shivers so hard that it is almost a convulsion. “His organs are shutting down,” Wolk informs me, “and his high temperature will damage his brain if it lasts much longer.”

I sigh again, sit down next to him, letting the side of his body rest against my thigh, and lean over to put both hands on his chest. I close my eyes, and Wolk cooperatively floods me with the healing energy, and I concentrate as hard as I can, focusing on healing.

I sit, unmoving, for several minutes, listening to my crew outside the room carrying dinner trays to the other patients, talking to each other about when they might be wrapping up their day. I’ll get to them shortly.

“It is beginning to help,” Wolk tells me. “The fever is no longer dangerous, and the infection is diminishing somewhat. His organs have suffered some damage, though, and a few minutes of your touch is unlikely to resolve that. Much more time would be needed.”

Well, all I can do is give it my best shot. I open my eyes to look at Smith, see that his face seems more relaxed. I can feel under my hands that he has stopped shuddering, and even his breathing sounds easier. I hope that he will slip into a restorative sleep, and that I can leave him alone for a while. I’d like to be able to stop touching him.

But, it isn’t as bad as I had expected. Honestly, I’m glad I decided to do this. This is just a man, after all, not a monster, not the stuff of nightmares. He’s just a misguided person, shaped by his society, his unfortunate viewpoints forged by the culture in which he lives. He didn’t really even understand what he was doing when he attacked me. He couldn’t have known that all the humans, even all the Guardians, including his, would be traumatized by his actions. I can almost feel sorry for him. He suffered for it too.

I can feel Wolk’s reaction to these ruminations, equal parts exasperation and love and humor. “Glad I amuse you,” I think to him.

I concentrate some more, trying to give Smith a couple more minutes of the healing energy before I go out to talk to my crew. Suddenly, I feel him twitch beneath my hands, and am afraid that he has started shivering again. But when I open my eyes to check his appearance, I am shocked to see his eyes also open, staring at me, wild over his beard.

His face fills with recognition, followed immediately by revulsion, followed then by alarm. His hands come up and he pushes mine off of him, shouting “Get away from me!”

I pull my hands back, and am about to explain that I’m just here helping the doctor, when he spits out, “What are you trying to do? Take your revenge? Planning to throttle me in my sleep?”

“Um, er, no,” I sputter for a moment, unable to think of a coherent reply, still sitting on his bed, our bodies touching along the side.

He must realize that, for he sits up and scrambles away from me as though I am a loathsome rodent that he has suddenly discovered under his bedcovers. I start to stand back up, to get away from him as he clearly wants, but before I can rise he pulls his fist back, and then flings it forward, right into my face, smacking me in the mouth. My head jerks to the side, my lips forcefully impact with my teeth, and my mouth immediately starts filling with blood.

“He seems to be feeling better,” Wolk points out, the wise guy. I look at the wolf wryly, holding my hand to my mouth, blood starting to drip through my fingers.

“Well,” I think to Wolk, “I guess I’m done here.”

I spin around and walk back out through the door, closing it behind me, trying not to laugh. It would hurt. The moment I get back into the hallway, I run straight into David. His expression is so funny, seeing me come out of Smith’s room covered with blood, that I can’t stop it, and I let out a short laugh.

Ow.

David

We’ve all been more or less leaving the patrolman alone, unless the doctor summons us to help do something specific. We all know exactly who he is, and what he did. We had all watched him torturing Gregor two months ago, clearly enjoying himself, and damned if I am going to lift a finger to help him above what Samuel tells me to do.

He’s much sicker than any of the other patients, probably dying, and I admit that I’m perfectly fine with that. I know that we should be trying our hardest to save everybody, but everyone knows that yellow fever claims lives. Let it have this one.

I think the doctor has gone up the hill to get some dinner, and I wonder if Gregor is here somewhere. I haven’t seen him. The patrolman’s door is closed, maybe he’s in there. Who knows, maybe Gregor is smothering him with a pillow, that’d be an appropriate bit of payback. He’d totally get away with it, too, nobody would question a patient showing up dead after being so sick. Hm.

I’m only being sarcastic with myself, and am about to go joke around with someone else about it, when I hear shouting inside the room. What? There really is someone in there?

The door opens, and out comes Gregor. Bleeding. And laughing.

I freeze for a second, realizing that he must have been struck in the face, and I am filled with anger. I take a step forward to get past Gregor, ready to go in the door. “I’m going to kill him,” I snarl. That bastard thought he could lay his hands on Gregor again, after what happened?

Gregor chuckles, one hand held to his bleeding mouth, and puts the other hand on my shoulder. “No, no, no, David, we don’t want to undo all of Samuel’s good work, do we?”

I am outraged. “Well, what about that?” I say, gesturing to his bleeding mouth.

He shrugs, grins, and winces. “He apparently didn’t appreciate my help.” He sees my furious face, and says, “Come on, David, you can hardly blame him. He woke up to find me leaning over him, of all people. Let’s just let him be.” He looks to the side of the hallway we are standing in, sees a small shelf with medical supplies, and picks up a cloth, dabbing it to his lip, mopping up the blood.

“There, see?” he says. He’s already cleaned away most of the blood. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Poor fellow was too sick to really hit me properly.”

I stare at him. “Do you think this is funny?” I ask, astounded.

“Well, yes! Don’t you? I mean, think about it. That fellow has probably been afraid to face me for the last two months after what happened, and he wakes up from a serious illness with me leaning over him? Yes, it is hilarious!”

I laugh weakly. I’ve always thought I had a pretty good sense of humor, but this?

Gregor

Oh dear, poor David. He’s ready to go flying in there and pulverize Smith for hurting me again, and I have to stop him, try to point out how funny this actually is. I don’t think I convince him, but at least I stop him from committing homicide.

My mouth is already healing, hopefully it won’t even be swollen by the time I get home and Rosalind sees me. I’d hate to have to explain this to her. I’ve promised not to keep secrets from her, but if she doesn’t specifically ask, I don’t always divulge everything. This is a tidbit that I’m not sure would really benefit her to know.

The other fellows from the crew have gathered in the hallway where I am standing with David, outside of Smith’s room. I finish cleaning up my face as quickly as I can, and say, “Come on into the parlor for a moment, let’s talk.”

They follow me, glancing at each other. I’m sure that David will fill them in, probably hilariously and with a great deal of elaboration. I’ll have to get Wolk to listen in and tell me what he says.

“So,” I say, “did everyone get their dinner here?”

Polly has joined us, she has been managing the kitchen and supplies here all week. “Yes,” she says, “after we collect their trays they should all be settled in for the night.”

“Well,” I tell them, “I can take care of the trays. I’m staying again until Doctor Duncan gets back. Why don’t you all head on back to the boarding house. The rest of the crew should be having dinner. We finished up the cabin for Moses at Homochitto, so we’re done going out there. David, can you tell them that I said that except for the sick duty roster, everyone can take Saturday and Sunday off? Starting Monday I want to get back to selling tickets and storing cargo for the next steamboat run. I know that some people have come by and been disappointed to find the office closed. Tuesday is the wedding out at Homochitto, and anyone on the crew who would like to attend is invited. Then back to work again Wednesday, and I imagine that the steamboat will be back a few days after that. If the yellow fever outbreak is over by then, we can start running this place like an inn instead of an infirmary. We’ll have to see how it goes.”

I think of one more thing. “Oh! And can someone please return my carriage to the stables?”

They nod, and bid me goodnight, and head out the door, looking forward to a couple of days off work. David hangs back, Polly with him. He gestures towards my face. “You sure you’re going to be all right?” he asks. “I don’t want you to get beat up any more.” He grins, and I’m glad that his humor seems restored.

“I’ll try to watch myself,” I smile to him. “Go get some rest, you two, you deserve it. Thanks for all your help.”

They smile and go, and I am left alone with Wolk and the patients. As I start going back towards the hallway with their rooms, to begin visiting each patient, to find an excuse to feel their foreheads or touch their shoulders or hold their hands, I ask Wolk, “So is Smith actually better?”

“Not really,” Wolk says, smirking a little. “Your touch revived him, but the yellow fever is still present in his system, and the systemic damage that it has done has not been resolved. He might yet recover, though, you have at least given him a chance. He would certainly not have survived the night without what you have already done for him.”

I nod, lightly rubbing my fingers across the swollen lip that the man left behind. I’ll leave Smith alone for now, he certainly made his feelings about me quite clear, and will not welcome any further assistance from me.

Wolk adds, “Ungrateful idiot,” in a grumbling tone.

Ha! I am feeling quite cheerful as I enter the next patient room.