June 29th, 1947
I am not certain what I am feeling. I suppose I can describe it best by stating
‘numb’ is my current state of being.
There were many points in the war that ‘numb’ was what I was forced to
be. I had hoped I evolved beyond those
times, but I suppose I am still a doctor.
Despite not being constantly bombarded by despair, there are still
moments of unfairness in this world.
Those moments lead to grief and a questioning of the cosmos and
self. It is simply the nature of
everything, I guess. I do not truly
know, it is not as if I am a wise man.
At any rate.
I awoke in the night to find that Cyrus had crawled onto the
cot with me. Strong arms held me and he
was watching my face as I napped. There
was a look on his face that I could not quite understand. It was stoic, somber, but somehow
strong. I did not yet understand what it
meant. I nuzzled him for a brief moment,
taking solace in his nearness, until I watched his eyes trail towards the child
in the cot beside us.
I followed his gaze, astonished to see the boy’s eyes
fluttering.
Nearly falling out of the cot, I went to work. I pumped more fluids into him, I tried a transfusion
with my own blood, in the end the child opened his eyes and actually spoke to
me in a hoarse tone. I felt my eyes
sting with tears as he asked for his friends to be brought to his bedside.
The children and their dog were awoken and gathered around
his bed. He was propped up with pillows
and they spoke, laughed, and otherwise seemed like children again. Cyrus stood behind me, keeping an arm around
me. Still, I did not understand why he
insisted upon staring with such a somber expression and holding me as if I were
a porcelain doll about to fall over and break.
After a few hours of romping, the children fell asleep
against their friend, and the dog curled up at his feet. Things went quiet and I urged the child to
get some rest. That is when he smiled
and thanked me for all that I had done. He
said he would never forget it, but could I please promise to do something about
the sorry state of his mates. I was
confused by what he was saying. His tiny
hoarse voice sounded so final.
Again, Cyrus squeezed me from behind. I glanced up at him as he answered that he
already had something in mind to help the children get along better, and the
boy was free to move on. My blood seemed
to freeze in my veins as I watched him relax back into the pillows on his
cot. He reached out to touch each of his
friends upon the head and then he nodded to Cyrus and I before muttering a soft
‘Goodbye.’
I did lose my footing as I watched the life fade from the
child’s face. Cyrus dragged me from the examining room and to our bedroom where he shut the door.
I’m not sure when I started screaming, but he put a hand over my mouth,
I suppose to keep me from waking the children.
They had the right to spend one night with their treasured friend, after
all.
Why was I screaming?
I’ve seen many people die.
More than I would like to remember, really. I cannot put into words what I was feeling in
that moment. I do not remember feeling
anything if I am honest with myself. It
was as if I could not comprehend anything in the world or beyond.
Cyrus rocked me and then drew me into our bed. He laid my head in his lap and started to
comb his fingers through my hair. I
believe I babbled on wondering why what I did hadn’t work, and we spoke about
how it had just been too long, and it was the child’s time. The boy didn’t contact me to save his life,
he wanted a last request granted.
He wanted to be able to say goodbye to his friends, and I gave him his
last wish. Now, the boy could move on to
whatever lie beyond.
Cyrus told me that we could take the other children to the
brothel where I helped the young prostitute’s son. He assured me that there would be plenty of
people that could take care of them, and work that didn’t always involve
selling oneself. I was skeptical, but I
suppose it is better than leaving them on the street. The woman I aided did seem as if she’d do
anything because I helped her little boy.
It wasn’t exactly a terrible place; there are probably dishes the
children can wash and trash to take out.
They will have a roof and food, I suppose.
In a day or so we will get the children onto their new
lives. For now we rest. Tomorrow we deal
with their grief and somehow laying their friend to rest. I’m not sure how I’m even going to handle
it. Cyrus said he would nap with me
during the night and then be up during the day as best he could while
inside. He won’t be able to go out with
me if we move to bury the boy somewhere during the day. Perhaps I can convince the children to wait
until night when it’s cool.
Damn it! How am I
going to do this? How am I to explain
this to them?
I have to try to sleep.
Until later, Journal.
No comments:
Post a Comment