Whispers in Silence -- 4
by BeckyS
10 Oct 2004
Ben became a believer the next day. He was climbing the stairs that afternoon to check on Hoss' progress in feeding his brother when he heard a tremendous crash. He rushed in to find broken crockery and soup stains spread halfway across the room. Hoss was drenched and muttering under his breath as he tried to get the worst of the mess mopped up. The mutinous glare Adam shot at him was so reminiscent of a young Little Joe that Ben barely managed to keep a straight face.
"What seems to be the problem, son?" he asked.
Hoss looked up from the liquid he'd been chasing around the floor. "I dunno, Pa. One minute I was spoonin' it into him just like regular; the next I know, he's a-wavin' his good arm around, hit the bowl and sent it flyin'."
Before he could say more, Ben held up his hand. He kept his gaze on his eldest. "Adam?" He was taking a chance, but he suddenly had a strong hunch that Hoss had been right all along.
Adam's eyes narrowed, and he glared at his brother. Or rather . . . at the pieces of the bowl Hoss had in his hands. Which had held, by the looks of the mess on the floor, chicken rice soup, never, Ben suddenly remembered, one of Adam's favorites. Oh, he could – and would, when necessary – eat just about anything. It was something he'd learned growing up on the trail, but, perhaps because of all of those years of deprivation, he'd grown particular in his tastes in recent years.
"Son?" Ben asked again and, with two fingers on Adam's chin, gently pulled his head around to face him. "Have you gotten tired of chicken?" He could see Hoss watching them carefully, but kept his attention on his eldest. Adam's expression had twisted to something resembling confusion. Ben spoke softly to Hoss. "Go see if Hop Sing has that beef broth ready and bring a cupful if it's warm."
Hoss rose with silent grace, a big man who could move without drawing attention when he wanted to. Adam didn't notice when he slipped from the room with barely a sound.
Ben sat on the bed and rested his hand on his son's shoulder. "I think you're in there, Adam. I think you're hurting and confused and, like Hoss says, worn down to near nothing. But I promise you this, son—" He squeezed gently, encouraged by the steady gaze of those dark eyes, so like his darling Elizabeth's. He swallowed hard. "I promise you this – we'll find a way to fix things. Somehow, some way, we'll bring you back."
Hoss came through the door quietly, steaming mug in hand, which he handed across the bed to his father. Ben watched Adam carefully, and knew the moment the aroma reached his son. There. There it was. An instant of recognition, of comprehension, of . . . relief. Ben smiled. "Adam, would you like some beef broth?"
Hoss lifted his brother so Ben could bring the mug to Adam's lips, and to Hoss' relief and Ben's delight, Adam drank it all. There was a curiously satisfied expression on his face as Hoss lowered him to the pillows, and as he closed his eyes and seemed to fall asleep again, Ben and Hoss exchanged glances of wonder.
He'd been awash on a sea of pain, though he hadn't recognized it as such. He had no sense of self, so he had no thought of an existence without pain – it simply was. Sensation rushed over him; smells, tastes, sounds that made no sense, all as disturbing as the throbbing, piercing aches that suffused his entire being. Occasionally he felt something other than the hurting – something comforting – and when it left he yearned for its return, but could only wait endlessly until for no apparent reason it reappeared. Some small part of him hoped for better, but he could not conceive of what better might be.
After a long while, he realized that the comfort came from the touch of another, though he wasn't sure of just what the other was. His first coherent thought was to wonder if this other being existed in the same tortuous world as he did, and if so, how could he be comforted by its presence? Yet comforted he was, and for the first time, his hellish existence disappeared into blessed sleep.
He woke to the sound of a voice murmuring. He didn't understand what he heard, but the sound was somehow familiar and carried the same comfort as the touches he'd felt. The heavy darkness lifted, a world came into view, and before him was the other – a man crowned with a near-halo of thick silvery hair. He didn't wonder how he knew this was the source of his only comfort, he simply watched with the incurious patience of one who was new to the world, and eventually the man looked at him. Then chaos seemed to break loose, for the man stood suddenly and there were loud thumps and rustles and bangs, and the voice was no longer calm and comforting. It was all too much, so he retreated to the darkness once more.
After a while he realized the noise and confusion had gone away, and he opened his eyes again. The man was gone and he was alone, so he rested again until he eventually became aware of another presence. This man was smaller, and he paced and muttered until he glanced over and their eyes met. The man talked, but even though he could hear his voice better, he couldn't make his way through the pain and confusion to understand what he said. He watched him, though, and when the man grinned and touched him lightly, he felt unaccountably stronger. He relaxed and went back to sleep.
There were two more he came to recognize – one the biggest of all, with gentle hands that soothed the pounding in his head with something cool, and the other the smallest, who brought things that smelled good – and he gradually distinguished a fifth, who didn't appear as often. He came to hate the sight of the last one because his touch didn't bring comfort, but rather more pain. He couldn't seem to do anything about it, though he was sure there should be some way to make him leave. Instead, when it all became unbearable, he simply sank back into the nebulous non-world he'd been existing in.
He realized at some point that he was being offered warm nourishment, and then, eventually, that he didn't like whatever it was. The smell made him dizzy and nauseous, and combined with the pain and confusion, it was suddenly all too much. One side of him seemed weighted, too heavy to move, and it enraged him. He gathered all his energy and struck out, knocking the offending liquid away. It seemed no time at all before what he now recognized as the oldest man appeared before him, soothing and comforting, his lips moving and his voice wrapping around him, easing his tense muscles and aching head. How could a voice do that? But everything would be set right. He didn't know what form that would take, but he could read something in the man's eyes that promised that soon, all would be well.
And then a wonderful aroma floated across the space between them, and he lost all interest in the man. He felt himself lifted, and soon a delicious liquid was being poured down his throat. He looked at the man who held the vessel and, for the first time, a sound – a word – floated clearly through his mind. Pa.