Diego's Warm Bed

Diego was aware of crisp sheets under him, as he woke up. It's all been a dream, he thought to himself with a sense of immense relief. He thought so until he tried to sit up. Agony filtered slowly to his senses as he jolted his injured shoulder, and bumped his head a little on his bed head. He took a shuddering breath, and the pain in his throat washed over him.

Felipe rushed to his side, anxiously. Diego had the urge to shoo the boy away, and when Felipe touched his forehead with a cold hand, he glared at him with enough malice to frighten his son. Felipe hadn't flinched around him for years and immediately Diego felt guilty for it.

Sorry, he signed. Sorry. He watched his son turn and run from the room, and he hated himself.

Diego slowly slipped down under the blankets again, and drifted back to sleep.

He was woken by another cold hand on his forehead.

"Not a fever, it's just elevated a little," the soft voice of his father whispered to himself.

Diego's eyes flickered open.

"Father…" He managed to speak, and then he almost choked. Alejandro shook his head, and stroked his son's head.

"No, don't rush it. Felipe is panicking a little. He rushed into your hidden room, and out so fast I thought he was a tornado. Some vile smelling goo that he wants to heat up. Some sort of medicine."

Diego grimaced and nodded.

"You have a raised temperature but not a raging fever." Alejandro assured him.

It will help, Diego signed. Cactus tea.

Diego glanced at his right arm, running his left hand up to the shoulder. Alejandro copied his son, placing a hand on the shoulder gently. It was warm to the touch but not hot.

"You have a lot of explaining to do, when the words come," Alejandro said firmly. "So many things I don't understand about either of you." Alejandro fussed with the compresses that the Indian woman had supplied. "And these compresses….they seem to do a good job, but how?"

Diego was excited for a moment. It was as if his father was finally trusting him to know something important. He attempted some signs, in an effort to explain the process of healing, but got very lost. Felipe was the expert at this style of communication, after all. The frustration did nothing to help the throbbing that had started in his head.

Alejandro laughed a little.

"My boy, medical explanations are unnecessary. You are much better at reading those signs than performing them," Alejandro said, shaking his head a little. Diego felt a little let down by himself. "You really love to learn things, Diego, don't you? You like to master things too."

Diego smiled a little. He had all those textbooks to prove it. He had composed his own music, and he thought it was passable. His poetry didn't please everyone, but some of his correspondents in Europe thought they were good. His newspaper…well…it was the best in town (it had better be, it was the only newspaper in town). He almost laughed, but for the pain that would strike him whenever he moved his throat muscles.

Diego's hand went to his neck again.

Felipe skidded into the room, holding a steaming bowl of vile smelling gunk.

Felipe helped Diego sit up and brought the bowl to his lips. Diego grimaced and almost turned his head away. Felipe was persistent, and anxious that he drink some of the mixture. Diego drank more to humour his son, than any other reason. He had frightened him before, and he needed to apologise in time. After he drank a few mouthfuls, Felipe helped him lie down again, and put the bowl down on the dresser. The boy sat down on his chair again and watched Diego carefully.

"He's not feverish, Felipe. Just a little warm," Alejandro said softly. Diego nodded at Felipe with a small smile, and put up a thumb. Then he rolled back onto his left side, and was soon drifting off into a peaceful deep sleep.

He slept deeply and well for a while. When he began to stir he seemed a little stronger in himself, and he started to hope.

Opening his eyes, Diego realised he was sleeping on his left side. He turned over onto his back.

"Father…" He croaked. This time he was a little more able to control the pain response. He slowly sat up in the bed, and his father went to his side immediately.

"I…can…talk…"

"That's nice, son. Let's not rush things, Diego. That is hurting you," Alejandro said gently. Diego frowned and shook his head.

"So…many things…to explain…"

"Leave it for tomorrow," Alejandro said firmly. "See how fast you're recovering. Tomorrow, my boy. Do you want some more of that medicine?"

Diego grimaced, remembering how nasty it tasted. Felipe's fear was one thing, his father's mood another. He didn't need to go through that again, not yet anyway. He shook his head rapidly.

"Well, then. I would like you to go back to sleep, Diego. Lie back down."

Diego remained sitting, and he gazed at his father for a few moments. Alejandro sighed, moving for the bowl of cactus tea.

"Do I need to heat it up?"

Diego wriggled down under the blankets. He turned his head to watch his father.

"Don't think…you'll like…that book," he whispered. He had noticed the book his father had placed on the bed as he had risen to see to him. It was a personal favourite of Diego's but he was certain it was not his father's favourite. Alejandro glared at him. Diego smiled. "Can…you…read it…out loud?"

Alejandro glanced at the front of the book. "Shakespearean sonnets? What?"

Diego smirked a little. "See?"

"No more talking, Diego, or I will stop," Alejandro said grimly. "I will stop and make you drink the whole bowl of that tea of yours."

Diego raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet. Alejandro opened the book with a sigh. Diego wondered how long his father would humour him. It was a little funny to see such an old man reading romantic poetry, especially to his own son. Diego smirked a little. Well, his father should feel happy that it wasn't a science textbook or a book of Greek poetry.

"From fairest creatures we desire increase," Alejandro read out loud. Spanish was so much more easier to pronounce and with the poetic rhythm, English was a nightmare.

"Father…"

"What is it?" Alejandro almost growled at his son.

"There are…bookmarks in my… favourites. We could…just stick to those…" Diego asked.

Alejandro glanced down, and saw the three bookmarks sticking out of the book. "Fine…"

"When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes," Alejandro began. Diego sighed and nodded. It wasn't his true favourite, but it would do.

Alejandro continued: "When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings."

Diego sighed, and remembered the hard days. The days when all was happy and light, but the heartache was at its worst. All the little taunts and barbs spoken in good humour, eventually cut like tiny daggers, and in weaker moments made him angry and despondent. Not with his friends, they knew no better. With himself. Thinking about the subject matter, and how thoughtful his father's voice grew towards the end, Diego realised it was better to feign sleep than to deal with questions.

He allowed himself to roll onto his left side and pretended to snore. He was so good at pretence now, it came as second nature.

He was aware of his father sitting there, perhaps reading silently, perhaps thinking. Diego realised he was going to have to face the questions eventually, as he slowly relaxed enough to truly sleep.