Jorge was growing meaner with each failure. They had been hoofing it back to San Pablo de los Angeles because they were unsuccessful at stealing another vehicle. They were covered in muck and sewage when they had to jump into a ditch to avoid a government convoy that drove by. Even his men were trying to avoid him as he would start a fight without provocation.
Teresa ushered Victor outside so that she could rebandage his back. He sat down on the mat and let her finish her doctoring. She looked at him, saw that he was getting a bit pale and ordered him to lay down and rest. Victor didn't think he would do anything other than just stare up at her working, but between the rescue of the boy, the recovery of the bucket and the fixit of the pump, he was soon fast asleep.
He woke from his nap mid-afternoon. Teresa offered soup for him to eat that she had fixed for Miguel and herself a little earlier. He took it gratefully and downed it rather quickly. He was hungry. She offered a second bowl and he took it. He ate the second bowl a little bit slower and chatted with Miguel who was seated next to him. Teresa went about with her chores.
She could see her son was enamored with the stranger. She hoped her son wouldn't get too attached as she knows he won't stay forever. He has a life somewhere else, and sooner or later it will catch up with him.
As evening fell, they ended up eating dinner inside the house. Victor's back was drying stiff and sitting on the ground was tiring him. So they decided to eat at the table. "Do you remember anything of what you used to do? Do you remember where you live? Have you thought about your name? What about a last name? Do you remember anything about the army that wears blue uniforms? Do you….?"
"Enough Miguel," yelled his mother. "When Victor remembers things, I am sure he will tell you, if he wants to."
Miguel blushed, "I'm sorry Victor."
Victor said, "That's ok, Miguel, I want to know the answers to those questions too."
Now it was Victor's turn to ask the questions. But it was when he asked, "Who's Jorge?" that brought an uneasy quiet to the table. After a pause Teresa began, "Jorge pretends to be a rebel. He is just a murdering coward and thief. He takes advantage of the war to steal then sell for profit. He riles up men, then sends them to do his dirty work in the name of the rebellion, but you never see him do what he asks of his men. He takes what he pleases." Then she looked down at the table, studying her hands. Victor knew what that look meant. He glanced over at Miguel and he could see hatred seething in his eyes.
"Where is this Jorge now?" Victor asked.
Miguel didn't like where the topic was heading. He was afraid that if the stranger figured out the real reason why he brought him to his house, he would leave before getting rid of Jorge. He needed Victor to fight him off. He must stay. Before Teresa could answer, Miguel blurted out, "Who knows, maybe he was killed by the government troops. I hope so." Teresa snapped, "MIGUEL!" But said no more, as she too felt the same way.
"It's getting late." She said. "It was a long day and I think Victor should get some sleep".
Sensing that Jorge was a difficult topic, not to mention that he really was tired, Victor dropped it and agreed to the bedtime suggestion.
Miguel lay awake listening to the man next to him. He was getting worried as Victor was having a fitful sleep. He didn't know if it was because he was sore from his wounds or if he was fighting an emerging memory or if it was a nightmare from his ordeal. Whatever the cause, it bothered Miguel. At about 4:00 AM, Victor sat up but seemed unresponsive to Miguel's queries. Miguel touched the man on the shoulder, then with alarm rising, placed his hand on the man's forehead. Miguel knew a fever when he felt it. He went over to his mother's bed and shook her awake. "What is it, Miguel?" she asked sleepily.
"Victor, he has a fever." Miguel said anxiously.
Teresa quickly got up and went over to Victor. She knelt down in front of him. It took a while for his eyes to focus on her. She put her hand to his forehead and grimaced at how warm he felt. "Victor, are you ok?" He was reacting sluggishly, but clearly. "I'm ok," he said. "Just a little warm. I may have over done the activity yesterday, that's all."
After a sip of cold water, Victor lay back down and fell asleep. Miguel did as well, but Teresa was getting worried. She lay on her bed for a while then got up and made herself something hot to drink. She sat at the table just staring at the injured man. Periodically he would get restless, but always seemed to calm right back down. She could see a sheen of perspiration forming on his face. She didn't like that, it was a sign of infection. She will need to go over all his wounds to find which one was causing him the problem.
By 7:00 AM everyone was up. Victor sat at the table drinking a hot tea. He wasn't looking that good. She served breakfast, which he just picked at. Miguel also picked at his breakfast because he was worried for his new friend. As Teresa was watching Victor pick at his food, she noticed that his left hand was slightly swollen. Actually, more than slightly. She got up and went around the table to sit beside him on his left. She rolled up his left sleeve and did not like what she saw. Even though the deep wound of his forearm was wrapped, the arm was swelling around it. She unwrapped the bandage and knew immediately that the arm was infected. She was afraid gangrene was setting in. She looked up at Victor who was studying his own arm.
"Gee, that doesn't look very good, does it?" He said almost dreamily. "I think maybe I should see a doctor for this one."
"The closest doctor, if he is still there, is at Esperanza Nueva, several kilometers from here. With you riding the burro it would take almost a day and 1/2 in this country. You definitely won't be able to walk. I don't think you can make it." Teresa said nervously.
Victor asked, "Is there anyone close by with an auto?"
Teresa just shook her head 'no'.
"Well, that puts us in a bit of a sticky wicket." Victor said. Teresa and Miguel just looked at him puzzled, both thinking that he was getting delirious. He saw their puzzlement, "My British friends say that. Hmmm, I did just remember that I have friends in Britain, but can't recall anything other than that. Anyway," looking at Teresa, "looks like you are going to have to do some more doctoring and some cauterizing."
"Cauterizing?" Teresa asked, "What is that?"
"That is where you seal and sterilize a wound with a hot object, like that fireplace poker over there." He nodded towards the fireplace utensils.
Teresa leapt out of her seat, "WHAT?! Senor Victor, I cannot do that. I don't know how to do that. I can't possibly do that. We must think of another way to take care of your arm."
Victor argued, "You just said that it will take over a day and 1/2 to get to the doctors. Even longer to bring him here. You also said that you don't think I could make it. Well if we don't tend to my arm, I could very well die from gangrene or septicemia. I can't do it, I will pass out. Do you want Miguel to do it?"
Miguel looked horrified at the thought. But he knew the importance of the situation, and he looked at Victor and said bravely, "I will do it for you."
Teresa stepped up to the challenge, "No Miguel, I could not ask you to do that. I will do it, but you must tell me, Victor, exactly what to do."
Victor studied his forearm. "First, put the poker into the fire to get hot. While that is heating, you will need to open up the wound and drain the infection." He touched the white center of the wound. I can't feel anything here, so that shouldn't be a problem. After that, you will need to clean it as much as possible with hot soapy water then the alcohol. When that is all done, lay the poker across the wound at this angle." He demonstrated the location using his right hand. "Just keep it there for 10 seconds, that's all there is to it. Pour cold water on it as soon as you are done. No alcohol at this point. Do you have a stick or something I could bite on?"
Teresa remembered the cloth she used 2 days ago when he was shivering so badly and fetched it.
They sat around in an uncomfortable silence waiting for the poker to get hot. They didn't want to start until the poker was ready. "That should do. The poker should be hot enough now." Victor finally said and he laid his arm out on the table.
Teresa's heartbeat was elevated as she started. She took the small knife that she had used to remove the shrapnel days before. Since she was going to cauterize the wound later, Victor said she didn't need to sterile that too. He didn't feel the cut, but when she needed to remove the infection, he felt that and broke out in a sweat. She was being too delicate while trying to clean with the soap and water and although he was about to fall off the chair from the pain, told her she needed to be more aggressive. Otherwise she would seal the bacteria inside the wound. When she poured the alcohol into the now very raw wound, Victor, who already had clenched the towel with his hand, bit down on it with his teeth.
She sat back with that done and took a breather before she removed the hot poker. Victor also relaxed and took a deep breath. Her hands were shaking slightly. She looked at Victor who was sitting there calmly, a sheen of sweat covering his face. "I can't." She suddenly said. "I can't do it!"
Victor reached towards her, asking for the poker. "I'll do it, just catch it before it burns anything else." She hesitated, then pulled the poker back towards her. "Are you sure there isn't something else we can do?" she pleaded.
Saying with just a hint of agitation, Victor said, "Nothing, now let's get this over with. The longer we hesitate, the worse it will be."
She looked to Miguel and nodded. Miguel went over and stood behind Victor with his hands on Victor's shoulders. Teresa poised the poker over his arm. Victor placed the cloth in his mouth.
Four days after the church rescue, Jeff stood at a podium in a church in front of a standing room only crowd.
Since there was no body, there was no coffin. So a large portrait of Virgil sat on the altar in front of the cathedral. Even though they lived in seclusion, the Tracys were still well known and liked. From Tracy Industry employees, to army buddies, WASP, race, and NASA friends of the family, to of course artsy friends of Virgil's, they all showed up to pay their last respects. No one knew that they were at the funeral of an International Rescue hero (except of course, those in the inner circle of IR). The usually stoic Penny had lost all her eye makeup to tears. Parker comforted her like an old friend instead of an employee. She freely cried on his shoulder. Kyrano held his daughter's hands while several very dear Kansas friends of Grandma sat with and supported her. The Tracy brothers were all stone faced and quiet. They looked upon their father with the red swollen eyes and waited for the eulogy.
Jeff referred to the dates under Virgil's portrait from the beginning...to the end. He noted that first came
his date of birth then spoke the last date with tears, but he said …
"What mattered most of all was the dash between those years. For that dash represents all the time that he spent alive on earth... Now only those who loved him know what that little line is worth. For it matters not, how much we own: the cars...the house...the cash,.... what matters is how we live and love, and how we spend our dash. So think about this long and hard...
Virgil's dash is worth more than anyone can fathom. He gave so much of himself. He will be missed for his compassion, his wisdom, his music and art." Jeff hesitated here. He had been arguing with himself since he started writing the eulogy, should he or should he not mention all the wonderful work he did as a member of International Rescue.
"Remember this special dash might only last a little while. So, when your eulogy's being read with your life's actions to rehash...Would you be proud of the things they say about how you spent your dash?"* "I know I am most proud of what his rather short but generous dash entailed." Jeff concluded without mention of International Rescue.
Those who knew Virgil knew how he lived his dash. There was a heavy silence over the entire church. Periodically, you would hear a soft sob. One by one, the brothers got up and gave a small speech, as did Penny. None could compare to Jeff's oration. But they all had a common thread, their love for Virgil and the great heartache that sat like a stone in their chest.
They solemnly left the church.
*Note: THE DASH which is intermingled with my words is not mine. I would love to give credit to the author, but he is unknown.