June 28th, 1947
What a day. Let me
just say that children are messy, loud, unruly, and generally give me
anxiety. On more than one occasion I
caught the little ones climbing on things and had to lunge to catch them. I thought for certain I would die of a heart
attack before Cyrus woke from his slumber.
It was especially difficult to keep them entertained while also
attending to the sick child. I was
frazzled and trembling all day. I have a
deeper respect for women, as there must be some inner mechanism mothers possess
in order to deal with these issues. I
simply do not have it. I feel a mess!
Cooking meals, cleaning messes, getting baths;
exhaustion! Granted there is three
running around with a dog and one on death’s door. I suppose if I were to take the plunge in
being a father that I would start out a bit slower than this. Not that I am thinking of becoming a father! Goodness I can barely take care of myself.
But on to more important matters.
I survived the day only to see the boy take a turn for the
worse. By sundown he was no longer
fevered, but instead he began to grow cold.
His breathing was increasingly shallow and his color had become
ashen. I concluded that his body was
giving up the fight. He was not going to
make it even to the morning.
Sitting at the boy’s bedside, I stared at my hands, watching
the way they quivered. I had washed them
so many times that they were reddened and flakes of skin sloughed off my
fingertips. I was helpless. With all my knowledge, I was helpless.
Cyrus had arranged some sort of activity in the living area
for the other children, then walked up behind me and started to massage my
shoulders. He stated that he could smell
the death surrounding the boy’s body. At
first I said nothing, but he eventually I found voice enough to explain I had a
theory of how to save him.
I talked of my ‘witch’s brew’ that I had been working on and
what it needed to be complete. He
listened quietly, his fingertips working on the tight muscles of my neck and
shoulders. When I was finished, he merely
asked if I was completely certain it would work. I shook my head, and stated, no, I had no
idea if it would work. What I did know,
was that when I was younger I saved a Jewish boy in similar straights, though
not nearly as close to death. That was
what had given me the idea and part of the reason why I researched the
combination of vampire blood and modern medicine.
Cyrus was silent for a moment longer, and then two of us
began a conversation. We spoke calmly
about my time Der Tod Labor (The Death
Lab) and how, though I loathed the atrocities committed there, ultimately some
of the research could benefit mankind. I
had never spoken of that place, and definitely not recounted what went on with
any sort of niceties.
After the conversation fell into silence, Cyrus took a deep
breath, leaned down, kissed the top of my head and then mumbled into my
flesh. “All right.” That was all he said to consent to giving me
his blood to save the child.
I sat still for a moment and then animated. It’s all rather a blur. I remember pricking Cyrus’ finger and then
mixing up the concoction. I vaguely
remember putting it into an IV drip, but it comes in flashes of color. I worked in a sort of automated mode. I suppose that I was mentally preparing
myself for the child to die anyways, and so I needed to dissociate myself from
the waking world.
When I had done all I could do, I took a bottle out of my
desk drawer, along with a pack of cigarettes I hardly indulge in. The other children were asleep with their
dog, and so I tip toed around them and disappeared out the front of the apartment
to sit on the steps outside. Amongst the
cool air of the desert I drank straight from the bottle and took deep drags
from the cigarette.
After a while Cyrus joined me. He came out and sat beside me on the
steps. We didn’t say anything. Both of us were content to be near each
other. I was glad in that moment he
understood my needs enough to just be with me.
I drank the entire bottle, sucked down two cigarettes and then returned
to check on the child again. His color
was better, but his breathing still labored.
All I can do is wait until the morning and see if his body
reacts positively. Either he will wake
or he won’t. There is nothing left to be
done.
I am going to stretch out on a cot nearby so that I might
hear the boy if his conditions changes.
Until later, Journal.
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