Nineteen: In the Wars (Puffy Fluffy)
{Tuddlup tuddlup tuddlup tuddlup...}
Johannes opened the door and looked down the road. There was only one
reason in Heirelgart for a galloping horse - bad news.
It was Elfreide Guismann. "Has Kurti come home?" she called.
"No. Why?"
"Little Jorgi's come down with the mumps," Elfreide announced. "I
think Kurti was playing with him a few days ago."
"Ach!" Johannes turned and dived back into the house. "Astrid! Is
Kurti home?"
"No, I think he went for a walk, why?"
"Little Jorgi's come down with the mumps."
"God save us, let him be the only one..." Astrid crossed herself.
Kurti gambolled along the roadside, happy just to be out in the open.
After being confined for so long, he was *aching* to just get out and
*move*. He laughed as he leaped and twirled, cavorting on the packed-
dirt road.
"That's far enough, lad," someone shouted.
Kurti stopped and looked. "Hallo, Mrs Guismann!"
"You stay right where you are," she said. "Don't you *dare* try to enter
this house." She blocked the door with her body and cocked a hoof.
Kurti felt a chill cover his entire body. "What?" he squeaked.
Mama popped out of a front window. "Go to your Opa's, Kurti. Go. Now."
"Mama?"
"*GO*! Mrs Guismann will explain. Just go."
Tears streaked down his fur. "Why?"
"Do as I say, Kurti. *NOW*!"
Mama had spoken. Kurti turned and began walking slowly away. What was
going *on*? One little sleepover and suddenly Mama and Papa didn't want
him any more. Was it his fault? What did he *do*? He almost didn't hear
Mrs Guismann walking beside him.
"Little Jorgi's come down with the mumps," said Mrs Guismann. "You
have a chance of coming down with it, too."
"But we've all had our needles," said Kurti, small-voiced.
"True, but your sisters are a lot younger than you, and Erika,
especially, can't really afford to catch the mumps. She's only *had* one
needle, and her immune system's had a lot to fight, lately."
"So I'm going away, so that Erika doesn't get hurt?"
"Yes, lad."
"Oh." Relief flooded him. "Can you run ahead and tell Oma to have a
drink ready? I'm really thirsty."
"Sure you won't be lonely?"
"I'll be okay," he said.
It turned out to be a lie. By the time he reached Opa's, he had a sore
throat and a shockingly bad head. He also felt a little feverish, and
needed to take his coat off despite the autumn chill.
"Ach!" Mrs Guismann looked guilty. "Don't *you* catch things fast? Oh,
I'm so sorry, my boy. I thought I had time for tea."
Oma picked him up and nested him onto the couch with a lot of pillows
and a knitted blanket. "Wrap yourself up or you'll have a chill," she
said. "Taking off your jacket when it's nearly winter. Tch! What got
into your head?"
"I was hot," he croaked, and coughed. He took a sip of hot chocolate,
and winced as his throat stabbed him.
"Here, Kurti," said Opa, "I'm just going to feel your face."
Opa's always-gentle hands *hurt*. Kurti couldn't help flinching.
"Well," said Opa, "After this, you've got it all out of the way, at
least."
"I feel hot," said Kurti.
"I'm afraid you're still cold. Weather the blanket - it's only a
little while - and drink your chocolate up. Then we'll work on making
you more comfortable."
"Did you have mumps?" Kurti asked.
"Oh, I had a terrible time," said Opa. "I got *so* hot, I had to sleep
on a metal bench, because I'd burn everything up."
Kurti giggled. "That's not right," he said. "No-one could do
*that*..."
"Oh? And why not?"
"You'd burst into flames first," reasoned Kurti. "There'd be nothing
left but ashes."
Opa rubbed his left arm, where the numbers were. "True, lad. True." He
was silent for a moment, then got back to the serious business of
telling tall tales. "But I was *just* hot enough to burn things and not
hot enough burn *myself*, you know. It was very advantageous for my
family. They didn't need so much firewood. Just pop the kettle on Kurti,
and then it'd start to boil away like magic."
Kurti laughed so much he started to cough.
"Ach... now look at you. You forgot to drink. You'll cough if you
don't drink."
Kurti moaned a little. "It hurts," he admitted, but drank anyway. "I
guess it doesn't hurt as much as coughing."
"Ah, that's one of the advantages of mumps, my dear boy. All the ice
cream and jelly you can eat. Of course, by the time *I* got it, it had
turned to soup, so I wasn't a very happy boy."
Kurti laughed again. Opa could be so silly, sometimes.
"Are you telling our Kurti lies, again?" said Oma, bringing over a big
bowl of broth.
"No, Oma," said Kurti. "He's just being silly."
"It's all true," said Opa in mock tones of wounded dignity. "Why, if I
wasn't such an honest man, I wouldn't have married your Oma. And *then*
where would you be?"
"With the Guismanns?"
Opa rolled his eyes. "Boy's got an answer for everything..."
Oma laughed. "That one *never* works on the adopted children, love.
Face it, he has you beat." She lifted his knitted cap and kissed his
bald head. "Now tell it true, ne?"
Opa sighed, pouting like a child. "I lorded it over the whole family,"
he admitted. "I think they dubbed me malingering champion of
Kasseldorf."
Kurti finished off his chocolate and let the blanket fall from his
shoulders as he reached for the broth.
Mrs Guismann touched his brow and felt his neck. "Ah, you're warm
enough now. To think I nearly let you catch a chill. You'll be all
right, now, for the most part. Except you're a puffy fluffy boy."
"I'm not fluffy, I'm fuzzy," he said.
"Not with your winter coat on, you're not," said Mrs Guismann. "You're
a puffy fluffy." She kissed him on the forehead. "We're all lucky
Centaurs can't catch or carry the mumps. I'll tell your family how
you're fairing."
Kurti moaned. "And I thought I was over everything."
"Once you're over this, you'll be over *everything*," said Opa.
"You'll only ever have to worry about the 'flu."
Kurti finished the broth, and found another hot chocolate waiting for
him. Then, on a perverse need to prove Mrs Guismann wrong, journeyed to
the nearest mirror to inspect himself.
His winter coat *was* on, and he looked - well - *fluffy*. And to add
insult to injury, the mumps had made him swollen about the face and
neck, leaving him looking plump.
He pouted, and fancied he looked like a fuzzy - or fluffy - Marlon
Brando. "I'm gonna make you an offer, see," he rasped, then coughed and
sipped his drink. Okay. No more impersonations while on the mumps.
Opa laughed. "Very accurate," he said. "Except for the fur. And I
don't think Brando had pointy ears, either."
"*Opa*..."
The old man produced two towels. "One warm and one cold," he said,
waving the relevant ones. "They can help with the pain, a little.
Whichever one you like, you let us know."
Kurti tried one on either side, and quickly gave the cold towel back.
"I think I prefer the warm," he said, and padded slowly back to the
couch and his little nest of pillows.
"Warm, it is," said Opa. "And we can't give you asprin for the pain,
it could make you sicker. You just make yourself comfortable and rest
assured that *all* of your sisters are going *grrreeeeen* with envy
'cause you're playing with Oma and Opa and they can't."
Opa was the *best* for putting a good light on things.
{Tuddlup tuddlup tuddlup tuddlup...}
Johannes opened the door and looked down the road. There was only one
reason in Heirelgart for a galloping horse - bad news.
It was Elfreide Guismann. "Has Kurti come home?" she called.
"No. Why?"
"Little Jorgi's come down with the mumps," Elfreide announced. "I
think Kurti was playing with him a few days ago."
"Ach!" Johannes turned and dived back into the house. "Astrid! Is
Kurti home?"
"No, I think he went for a walk, why?"
"Little Jorgi's come down with the mumps."
"God save us, let him be the only one..." Astrid crossed herself.
Kurti gambolled along the roadside, happy just to be out in the open.
After being confined for so long, he was *aching* to just get out and
*move*. He laughed as he leaped and twirled, cavorting on the packed-
dirt road.
"That's far enough, lad," someone shouted.
Kurti stopped and looked. "Hallo, Mrs Guismann!"
"You stay right where you are," she said. "Don't you *dare* try to enter
this house." She blocked the door with her body and cocked a hoof.
Kurti felt a chill cover his entire body. "What?" he squeaked.
Mama popped out of a front window. "Go to your Opa's, Kurti. Go. Now."
"Mama?"
"*GO*! Mrs Guismann will explain. Just go."
Tears streaked down his fur. "Why?"
"Do as I say, Kurti. *NOW*!"
Mama had spoken. Kurti turned and began walking slowly away. What was
going *on*? One little sleepover and suddenly Mama and Papa didn't want
him any more. Was it his fault? What did he *do*? He almost didn't hear
Mrs Guismann walking beside him.
"Little Jorgi's come down with the mumps," said Mrs Guismann. "You
have a chance of coming down with it, too."
"But we've all had our needles," said Kurti, small-voiced.
"True, but your sisters are a lot younger than you, and Erika,
especially, can't really afford to catch the mumps. She's only *had* one
needle, and her immune system's had a lot to fight, lately."
"So I'm going away, so that Erika doesn't get hurt?"
"Yes, lad."
"Oh." Relief flooded him. "Can you run ahead and tell Oma to have a
drink ready? I'm really thirsty."
"Sure you won't be lonely?"
"I'll be okay," he said.
It turned out to be a lie. By the time he reached Opa's, he had a sore
throat and a shockingly bad head. He also felt a little feverish, and
needed to take his coat off despite the autumn chill.
"Ach!" Mrs Guismann looked guilty. "Don't *you* catch things fast? Oh,
I'm so sorry, my boy. I thought I had time for tea."
Oma picked him up and nested him onto the couch with a lot of pillows
and a knitted blanket. "Wrap yourself up or you'll have a chill," she
said. "Taking off your jacket when it's nearly winter. Tch! What got
into your head?"
"I was hot," he croaked, and coughed. He took a sip of hot chocolate,
and winced as his throat stabbed him.
"Here, Kurti," said Opa, "I'm just going to feel your face."
Opa's always-gentle hands *hurt*. Kurti couldn't help flinching.
"Well," said Opa, "After this, you've got it all out of the way, at
least."
"I feel hot," said Kurti.
"I'm afraid you're still cold. Weather the blanket - it's only a
little while - and drink your chocolate up. Then we'll work on making
you more comfortable."
"Did you have mumps?" Kurti asked.
"Oh, I had a terrible time," said Opa. "I got *so* hot, I had to sleep
on a metal bench, because I'd burn everything up."
Kurti giggled. "That's not right," he said. "No-one could do
*that*..."
"Oh? And why not?"
"You'd burst into flames first," reasoned Kurti. "There'd be nothing
left but ashes."
Opa rubbed his left arm, where the numbers were. "True, lad. True." He
was silent for a moment, then got back to the serious business of
telling tall tales. "But I was *just* hot enough to burn things and not
hot enough burn *myself*, you know. It was very advantageous for my
family. They didn't need so much firewood. Just pop the kettle on Kurti,
and then it'd start to boil away like magic."
Kurti laughed so much he started to cough.
"Ach... now look at you. You forgot to drink. You'll cough if you
don't drink."
Kurti moaned a little. "It hurts," he admitted, but drank anyway. "I
guess it doesn't hurt as much as coughing."
"Ah, that's one of the advantages of mumps, my dear boy. All the ice
cream and jelly you can eat. Of course, by the time *I* got it, it had
turned to soup, so I wasn't a very happy boy."
Kurti laughed again. Opa could be so silly, sometimes.
"Are you telling our Kurti lies, again?" said Oma, bringing over a big
bowl of broth.
"No, Oma," said Kurti. "He's just being silly."
"It's all true," said Opa in mock tones of wounded dignity. "Why, if I
wasn't such an honest man, I wouldn't have married your Oma. And *then*
where would you be?"
"With the Guismanns?"
Opa rolled his eyes. "Boy's got an answer for everything..."
Oma laughed. "That one *never* works on the adopted children, love.
Face it, he has you beat." She lifted his knitted cap and kissed his
bald head. "Now tell it true, ne?"
Opa sighed, pouting like a child. "I lorded it over the whole family,"
he admitted. "I think they dubbed me malingering champion of
Kasseldorf."
Kurti finished off his chocolate and let the blanket fall from his
shoulders as he reached for the broth.
Mrs Guismann touched his brow and felt his neck. "Ah, you're warm
enough now. To think I nearly let you catch a chill. You'll be all
right, now, for the most part. Except you're a puffy fluffy boy."
"I'm not fluffy, I'm fuzzy," he said.
"Not with your winter coat on, you're not," said Mrs Guismann. "You're
a puffy fluffy." She kissed him on the forehead. "We're all lucky
Centaurs can't catch or carry the mumps. I'll tell your family how
you're fairing."
Kurti moaned. "And I thought I was over everything."
"Once you're over this, you'll be over *everything*," said Opa.
"You'll only ever have to worry about the 'flu."
Kurti finished the broth, and found another hot chocolate waiting for
him. Then, on a perverse need to prove Mrs Guismann wrong, journeyed to
the nearest mirror to inspect himself.
His winter coat *was* on, and he looked - well - *fluffy*. And to add
insult to injury, the mumps had made him swollen about the face and
neck, leaving him looking plump.
He pouted, and fancied he looked like a fuzzy - or fluffy - Marlon
Brando. "I'm gonna make you an offer, see," he rasped, then coughed and
sipped his drink. Okay. No more impersonations while on the mumps.
Opa laughed. "Very accurate," he said. "Except for the fur. And I
don't think Brando had pointy ears, either."
"*Opa*..."
The old man produced two towels. "One warm and one cold," he said,
waving the relevant ones. "They can help with the pain, a little.
Whichever one you like, you let us know."
Kurti tried one on either side, and quickly gave the cold towel back.
"I think I prefer the warm," he said, and padded slowly back to the
couch and his little nest of pillows.
"Warm, it is," said Opa. "And we can't give you asprin for the pain,
it could make you sicker. You just make yourself comfortable and rest
assured that *all* of your sisters are going *grrreeeeen* with envy
'cause you're playing with Oma and Opa and they can't."
Opa was the *best* for putting a good light on things.