Sixteen: In The Wars (Spots and Dots 1)

Erika was fussier than usual, and Mama was busy wiping her nose and
keeping her by sources of steam, as well as keeping her temperature down
with cool cloths.
Whatever she had, Anja and Katja had it too, and clung to Papa while
they coughed and sniffled and blew their noses a lot.
Kurti sniffed at his runny nose and stifled his umptieth cough. It was
probably dust. It was his fault for waiting so long to pack for St
Ulric's. If he'd packed his clothes sooner, he wouldn't have to worry
about dust.
But then... he'd never had to worry about it before. Maybe he'd just
run across a dusty season or something.
Kurti coughed again, scrunching up his sore eyes and rubbing at them.
Verdammt dust.
"Kurti? I heard you coughing,"
"It's probably dust, Mama," he said. "Don't worry about me. You go
back to looking after Erika."
"Kurti! Your eyes..."
A moment of fear. "What?"
"Your whites are *red*... blood red." She crossed the distance between
the two of them and knelt on the floor. "Let's have a look at you, now.
Do you feel hot?"
"A little," Kurti allowed. "It's a late summer, yes?" He sniffed again
and, disgusted with the sound, blew his nose. "Ach..."
"Come on. Have a drink and sit in front of the fan."
Kurti murmured with doubt. "But I might get what Katja and Anja
have..."
"I think it's a little late to worry about that," she said, and took
him out to the kitchen table.
The drink was sweet and cool and not as quenching as he thought. But
the fan was lovely. "Aaaaahhhh..."
"Kurti's got a freckle," said Anja, pointing.
"I don't freckle, I have fur," he denied.
"Here," Mama put a thermometer in his mouth. "Sit quiet for a while,
yes?"
"*Two* freckles," corrected Katja.
"Yeah, well you're getting red spotth," Kurti lisped around the
thermometer. He was not in a good mood. He didn't feel very well at all.
Erika was crying, very quietly, as she hugged Skooshy-bear close. Her
face was covered in red spots and she kept trying to scrub at her eyes
with her wrist.
"Oh dear," sighed Mama. She was mixing cool drinks and writing a list.
"Let's have a look at you," said Papa as he sat by Kurti. "I'm going
to have to rub you the wrong way, love. Hold still, now."
"Mmmmm..." Kurti only flinched a little.
"Yep," sighed Papa. "We all have it."
"Have wha'?" said Kurti.
"Measles," he said. Then he took the list from Mama. "I'll 'phone
everyone, dear. You look after the kids."
Mama took the thermometer and read it. "Mmm. Light fever, thank God,"
she announced, and gave Kurti another drink. "You're not going to school
tomorrow, dear. You can't. You'll give everyone the measles."
"Yeah," said Papa on the 'phone. "Kurti won't be able to come in for a
while. Yeah. We all have measles. Yes, we're immunised. I was talking
about the kids. Three girls and Kurti. Very funny. Sorry, but I have to
go. I need to call a lot of people. Thanks."

It was a miserable, miserable time. Kurti and his sisters spend a
majority of the day sprawled on two matresses laid out under the fan's
gentle breeze and sipping drinks and moaning a lot.
Television distracted them from their woes, but only marginally.
Poor Erika had it worst, because she'd only had one needle against it.
The others were barely more fortified, and all miserable.
None of the girls wanted hugs from Kurti. He was too hot to hold on to
for long.
The worst part, Kurti had to admit, was not being able to see Andrei
or Stefan off to school. Not that he particularly wanted to go anywhere,
right now, but it was the principal of the thing. He wanted to say
goodbye. But he couldn't. Once case of measles could multiply into many
if it was allowed out. Which meant that *he* wasn't allowed out, either,
and was stuck indoors with his moaning sisters.
Kurti moaned. He felt miserable, too.
Mama came around with ice cream. "And how are my little polka-dotted
people?" she asked.
"Thanks, Mama," they said to the ice cream.
Kurti wrapped his arms around Mama's leg and whimpered, "Stay?"
"Feeling a little unloved, ne?"
He nodded.
Mama sat herself on the matress and manouvred Kurti into her lap.
"Ach, my poor love..." Her cuddles were nice, and left his arms free so
he could eat. "It's a miserable day, isn't it?"
Kurti nodded. It was a beautiful day outside, and all he wanted to do
was lie around and moan.
"Oh dear," said a voice behind him. "Spots and dots abounding..."
The chorus of "Opa! Oma!" was muted, but still jubilant.
Opa settled himself into a comfy chair and Kurti was eager to change
laps.
"Thought we'd give you a break," said Oma, picking up Anja for a
cuddle of her own. "Or at least, a few extra arms."
"But you'll catch the measles," said Katja.
"No, dear. We've all had our needles. *And* we've had the measles."
Oma smiled. "I remember being a very miserable little girl when I had
them. I had spots on my face, spots on my belly, spots on my arms and
legs, and even spots in my mouth."
"Oooohh..." said the girls.
"Did you get 'em on your *tongue*?" said a wide-eyed Katja.
Kurti finished his ice cream and put the bowl down, then cuddled up to
Opa.
Opa gently brushed him with his hand. "Ach, my poor little blue boy...
It's a misery, isn't it?"
Kurti nodded.
"Would a nice shine make you feel better?"
Kurti could only shrug. "Dunno, Opa."
"Let's see, hm?"

Kurt Meirs smiled down on his grandson as he ran the soft brush gently
across his fur. The boy wasn't feeling very well at all, judging by his
purr. It was intermittent, and only when he exhaled, instead of the
steady, strong, slowly oscillating vibration that usually came out when
the lad was pleased.
Poor boy.
It never did a body good to see a child in any kind of discomfort,
even when it was such a normal discomfort as the measles. You want to do
something, anything, to see the happy and bright child that was, just a
few days ago.
Kurti's tail wrapped lazily around his arm as the boy began to drowse,
and the elder Kurt went soft just looking at the gesture. He'd been
doing that since he was a baby, but every time it happened, Kurt just
felt warm all the way through.
The child was warmer than usual, but Kurt didn't mind. His old bones
needed heating, these days. All the same, fever wasn't a very nice thing
to experience.
Kurt wiped a damp cloth over the bristles of his soft brush, and
passed it through the fur of Kurti's back. It wet him down without
making him drenched, and made his purr turn up a notch when the fan's
breeze washed over him.
It was something like the inspiration that turned him to brushing
Kurti's fur in the first place. Deperate times and desperate measures
lead to nothing to lose by trying. And the reward for success, Kurti's
soft and hypnotic purr, felt to his heart like a wonder of God.
But then, so did Kurti.
His little fuzzy Changeling.
True, nobody in Heirelgart or the surrounding villages knew exactly
what Kurti was, despite the whispers of elves above the snowline; but
the fact that he was one of the Romani was answer enough for many. It
was certainly enough for Kurt.

"I came as soon as I heard," said Father Gottfreid. "Would any of them
like a prayer? A little blessing?"
"I think for the most part, they just want ice cream," said Frau
Wagner, letting him in. "But they'll take comfort."
Four children lay inside, ages two to six, all with the measles, one
with fur complicating matters. Kurt the younger sort of lolled across
his adoptive grandfather's chest and lap, half conscious and mostly
damp.
He was purring, very softly and unsteadily, quite unlike the thrumming
rumble that had heartily issued forth and surprised the living hell out
of Gottfreid when he'd given the boy his first Communion.
Spots were visible through his pelt as dark patches, and were
spreading down across his shoulders and spine. Every now and again, he'd
cough, blow his nose, or scrub at almost-bruised eyes.
"Ouch," said Gottfreid. "I heard you were in the wars."
Kurti smiled. "I knew I was famous," he whispered.
Gottfreid felt the kid's forehead. "Oof. How can you stand to be so
hot?"
Kurti drowsed for a minute before he shrugged. "Opa's makin' it
better a li'l..." He sighed and drowsed again.
"I checked his temperature this morning," said Frau Wagner. "It was
only a light fever." She finished giving drinks to the girls and checked
Kurti. "Mama, Johannes? Could one of you run a cool bath? Kurti's
temperature's climbing..."
Gottfreid automatically reached for the damp cloth, and swiped it
along the boy's blue fur, careful to go with the grain. He was rewarded
with a stronger purr.
"Odd," said Kurt Meirs. "He usually doesn't like being that wet."
"He's hot, sir," said Gottfreid. "I think he'll suffer anything that
takes that away."
Kurti murmured a simple, "Thanks," and fell asleep.

It was dark when he woke. Kurti rubbed at his eyes, clearing them of a
record amount of sleep-dust before he took stock. Someone had left a
night-light on in his room, meaning that worried adults were visiting
and watching him sleep.
He could hear Father Gottfreid outside of his room, carrying on a
quiet conversation with Mama and Papa. And, he became increasingly
aware, the multitude of drinks he'd had earlier on were seeking revenge
for being drunk.
Kurti staggered out of bed and crept towards the bathroom, bladder
aching. In fact, were it not for the wrung-out feeling he had, he'd have
raced there. As it was, the wall was a welcome help.
He sat to pee, mostly because his head was a little spinny and he
didn't really trust his legs to hold him up, and sighed as he relieved
himself.
_Ach, I think I might set a world record..._ and he started counting
in his head to find out if he could. Unfortunately for his aspirations
of world record holding, he finished before he could get to ten. Kurti
yawned and finished up, flushing while he threaded his tail through the
holes in his underwear and pyjama pants, and then washing and drying his
hands.
There was a group of anxious adults in the hallway when he exited.
"Hello," he said to Mama, Papa and Father Gottfreid. "I didn't mean to
interrupt."
Mama just picked him up and hugged the stuffing out of him.
Papa ruffled his hair. "Good to see you up and about, love."
"You gave us a little scare," said Gottfreid. "You were out of it for
most of a day."
Kurti frowned. He could remember drowsing on Opa's lap in the early
afternoon, and then... what happened? All he could remember were vague
little flashes. Crawling under his bed because the morning sun was too
hot. Baths with a worried Mama or Papa overseeing his every move.
Pushing away food. "I missed a whole day?"
"Pretty much," said Papa. "Doktor Schmidt said you were slowing your
metabolism down as a defense against the heat of the fever. You weren't
too hot on thinking while that was going on."
"How do you feel?" said Father Gottfreid.
"Hungry," answered Kurti.
And Mama hugged him tighter, if such a thing were possible. "He's
going to be all right," she sighed. "He's going to be *fine*."