EMMETSBURG: Twenty-five

Lavender. John awoke morning with a start, as if sleep had been a hypnotist's trick broken with a snap of the fingers or a secret word. It was as if no time passed at all. As if he simply closed his eyes, and when he opened them again it was morning. For a moment his injured hand was numb, laying beside him as though it was made of lead.

He languished in that odd moment before the pain returned as an avalanche. It came like a shock, as though powerful hands dug into the healthy flesh of his palm and was now tearing his hand in two. John nearly shouted, but feared waking Anna, still sleeping soundly beside him. He twisted and strained until the muscles in his shoulders cramped, until the pain drove him from bed onto the hard floor.

His mind spun from pain such as he had never known before, thoughts muddled as an opal. Then, just as sudden and terrible as it came, the pain abated. John knelt and let his head fall back. He gave a long heavy sigh and felt fully spent for the pain. There were tears in his eyes and upon his cheeks.

He grabbed a pair of brown slacks from the basket near the door and staggered out into the dining room. There was a sound from the bedroom. John turned as Anna mumbled something in her sleep and turned away to the window. Morning light filtered through the lace curtains, painting Anna and the room in quiet lavender hues. John lay the trousers on the floor and stepped into them. He pulled them up careful not to use his injured hand.

John went quietly up the stairs. A swift breeze rushed through the window beside the stranger, lifting the curtains and holding them in a bowl above the bed. The air tasted of dust and morning dew and carried the layer scents of hay and wood smoke. John sat in the chair beside the bed and studied the man for a time, as if he was some interesting and mysterious new species.

The stranger was on his back, turned slightly from the window. His brow was furled, but more as if he was suffering a terrible nightmare or burdened by something than from physical pain. One arm was hidden beneath the blanket. The other was across his chest, gripping the blanket tightly.

The stranger stirred slightly, then threw his head back in a silent moan. It caught John by surprise, but he reached out and laid a hand on the man’s arm and chest. He turned his face to John. His eyes opened grudgingly, straining to focus.

“Relax,” said John, affirming a hold on the stranger’s arm, fearing a repeat of the night before. “Can you hear me?”

The man nodded slightly. His eyes darted around a room that was still only vague and indiscernible shapes.

“Everything’s fine. Had a bad accident.”

“Don’t recall,” said the man, staring at the ceiling as though struggling to comprehend.

“Took a bad hit to the head and ended up in a creek. Took three of us to pull you free.”

“My automobile?”

“Wrecked. Afraid she’s gone.”

“She?” He looked at John’s hand upon his chest.

”Smashed up.” John let go of the man’s arm and patted it reassuringly. “Main thing is getting you on your feet again.”

“Can’t pay you.”

“Don’t recall asking.” John held his injured hand as he moved a bit on the chair. “Name’s John Perkins.”

“Louis,” the man replied, as if it had just occurred to him. “Louis Stanton.”

“Where you from, Louis?”

He was clearly perplexed by the question, and troubled at not remembering. Louis looked to the window and then back to John. “Can’t say for sure.”

“It’ll come you,” John rubbed the man’s shoulder and stood. “The wife and I have to run an errand. You best stay in bed. Misses Perkins will cook you something when we get back.

“Could use a bite.”

John started to ask him something, but didn’t know quite how to frame the question, or whether he should ask it at all. He started for the stairs then turned.

“You, uh, you said something last night.”

“Did I?” Stanton replied. John wasn’t sure he was telling the truth. “Can’t recall.”

“Nothing?” asked John, almost accusingly.

“Last I recall I was making my way through the storm next thing I know I wake up just now.”

John wasn’t convinced. “Ever met a fella named Bert Himmel.”

“Never heard that name before.”

“John nodded and decided not to press the issue further, at least not for now. “Well, get some rest. We won’t be gone long.”

John began down the stairs. He paused to study a step that seemed to give a tad too much. Louis spoke once more, but it sounded different somehow, as though his voice was far away and more a quality of the wind through the window.

“You’re a good soul, John Perkins.”

When John turned back Stanton was sound asleep, leaving John to wonder if this wasn’t some sort of trick. He had a mind to shake the man, if only there was something to accuse him of. He was lost in the many permutations of that thought when Anna appeared at the bottom of the steps, startling him.