Eighteen years ago, winter...
Zarinthia was warm despite the simulated cold that the colony's officials had said "would help us all remember our mother earth". This actually meant that the excessive amount of poor people on the colony was likely to freeze to death. Zarinthia was fine though, she had her liquor. She had her in fairly good condition old parka some rich swine had thrown out and she had claimed some five years ago.
She used to be a good looking woman, with long black hair, dark skin, slanted eyes that sparked life. She used to have a large family, a loving family with brothers and sisters, grandparents and cousins. But now she lived on a colony, life taking everything but the misery of being left with nothing but looks men were willing to exploit in the crushing loneliness of losing your family. At one time she was going to have a baby, something to fill the void that had crouched like a living disease in her soul, but she'd miscarried and had never tried to have another something good again.
In her musings, she missed her steps and went sprawling into a trashcan, spewing its contents into the snow. She laughed helplessly at the picture she knew she was making. Tears began to stream down her cheeks and an ache began to develop in her side. To make things seem that much worse, she began to hiccup like she normally did when she cried. Then, without warning, came the sound of another creature crying, sounding, Zarinthia decided, much more pitiful than she herself sounded.
Curious and still hiccupping, she moved the trashcan and looked down to see a baby, roughly wrapped in a paper bag. It was unnaturally white and blue was just beginning to tinge it's little, pursed lips, its eyes tightly closed. The baby's fists were barely moving and its cries were now barely mews.
Zarinthia turned away, utterly disgusted by the unknown monster that would abandon a child. After staggering a few steps away a thought made her lurch to a stop, like she'd run into a wall. What kind of monster was SHE to leave the child there after discovering it there? Her long silent conscience came back full force. She had found the babe; she should take care of it. Self preservation argued back; the child would just take up time, space, possibly money, it was bound to die soon anyway. Again, her conscience screamed in her mind; if it is going to die, then it won't take up too much of your time, now, will it. She stood in the falling snow, not sure how to act.
Something was wrong. She cocked her head to the side, the motion making her sway heavily to her left. The infant's cries had stopped. Turning slowly so she wouldn't go sprawling again, she approached the child and realized that there were only the tiniest puffs of air coming from its inert form. Bending down, she tried to grab the baby one handed, but couldn't manage. Looking at the bottle of booze in her hand she realized she'd have to leave that or the child. Choosing the kid over the bottle, she chucked the offending object away and scooped up the bundle of paper bags covering her new responsibility.
Opening her parka, she put the kid against her stomach and closed the jacket. Then, shuffling as fast as she could without crashing to the ground, she made her way to the old, dilapidated building that she "lived" in. Taking the stairs that led to the basement very carefully, she entered into what she considered her front room, bedroom, and kitchen. The place was freezing. Feeling the baby warm up a little, she decided to use what little coal she had to light a fire in her little stove to warm the place up. Grabbing one of her best blankets, she made a sling out of it and awkwardly made the thing go inside the coat and around the baby. Once the fire was started, she sat cross legged with the baby held close the other two, very dirty and very holey blankets wrapped and tucked around Zarinthia and the infant. Deciding that the paper bags weren't doing anything, she took them off and discovered the baby's gender.
"So," she said aloud, "You're a girl. Fancy that. I got me a girl baby. Well." She stopped talking and started thinking, realizing again that something was wrong. Looking down at the child for some time she finally began to realize what it was. "You need a name. You might not be here for long, but everybody should have a one."
For the longest time, neither infant nor woman moved for a long time, both barely breathing. Then, Zarinthia smiled weakly. "I used to know a woman. She was pretty and wealthy and eventually got a real good job. She was always pretty lucky, so I think I'll give you her name, Y'know, for luck. You're Diolyn now, kiddo."
"This," the nurse said holding up the bag, "I filled with diapers,formula, and some clothes, a good heavy blanket." Noticing that Zarinthia was about to say something along the lines of "hell no" she said quickly, "Free of charge. I'm giving it to you because I think you probably found that baby, right?" Zarinthia warily nodded. "Well, you didn't have to and you did, so I'm helping you out a bit. Now the medicine you'll have to pay for yourself, which just can't go missing."
Zarinthia paid, than did something she hadn't done in a while, she said thank you. The nurse smiled, then shooed them out.
Back at home, Zarinthia prepared a bottle of milk. Diolyn would have to eat before she could take any of the medicine. When the bottle was the right temperature, she picked Diolyn up and tried to feed her. She drank half the contents of the bottle and Zarinthia took the bottle away and began to pat Diolyn on the back. She had a rag on her shoulder like the nurse had told her to do. After a couple of pats, Diolyn burped and Zarinthia smiled. The nurse had said if the kid burped, that was okay. Seconds later, though, Diolyn threw up the contents of her bottle and began to cry. Three hours of trying to get the baby to eat was futile and Zarinthia could feel herself start to unravel.
What did she know about feeding a baby? What did she know about babies in general? Bundling up again, she went outside and to the hospital, but it was closed. What now? Walking back, she noticed old Maggie, blind with age, sitting by the side of the building Zarinthia used. Diolyn was still crying and they were getting disturbingly weaker. Maggie turned her head toward the sound. Who's that," she asked.
"It's me, Zarinthia," she replied, trying to keep the fact that she wascrying, too, hidden from her "neighbor". Maggie grinned at her. "Whendid you whelp?"
Zarinthia chocked back laughter. "I didn't whelp her, I just found her. I don't know what to do though. She's sick and needs to take this medicine, but she needs to eat first and she's not keeping anything down." Zarinthia sat beside Maggie and hugged Diolyn against her chest, bowing her head over the child's. "I don't know what to do; I haven't been around kids in a long time."
A small, comforting hand settled on Zarinthia's head. Startled, she looked up and saw Maggie blindly smiling at her. "First, my dear, make sure there isn't too much air in the bottle, and if the medicine is liquid, which I'm gonna guess it is, feed it to her with the milk. Common dear, get me standing and I'll go with you to help, if you like."
While Diolyn slowly got bigger and healthier under the combined care of Maggie and Zarinthia, Zarinthia herself began to break her need, heraddiction to alcohol. Maggie played one large part in helping her overcome something that had taken control of her life; bluntly destroying all the reasons Zarinthia said she needed her alcohol and often making her feel like a child.
Diolyn herself helped with the other by making the challenge harder as only raising a child could, but Maggie once said, "People with your problem can't stop hurting themselves because they want to do it for themselves. They do it because there's someone else who needs you more than you need your addiction. Suck it up Zarinthia, you're Diolyn's addiction."
A year to the day since Diolyn's "founding", as Maggie put it, was the day Maggie declared Zarinthia a recovering addict, having not taken a drink of alcohol in seven months. Diolyn celebrated with cheerios, a banana, and grape juice and Zarinthia and Maggie with hamburgers. Four months after Diolyn's third birthday, Maggie died of the aides Zarinthia hadn't known the other woman had carried. Six months before her death, she'd written a letter and told her "daughter" as she referred to Zarinthia, to read it after her death. Zarinthia had hugged her and told her not to be ridiculous. She'd live to be much older. The flue took Maggie four months later which left the letter to tell why.It explained that she'd never mentioned her problem because she figured Zarinthia would spend money on a so called cure to a disease that couldn't be stopped. "My death," Maggie wrote, "was pointlessly sealed long ago, and I can't change it, nor would I change it. Zarinthia, my heart's daughter, if I'd never gotten this disease, I would never have met you or my beautiful granddaughter and my very existence would have been diminished by the lack of the two of you in my life, however brief you may think it was."
Zarinthia cried the night of the funeral, but remained dry eyed during the actual ceremony. In a way she didn't want to accept that her Maggie had been taken away by a simple cold. Diolyn waited for Maggie, and when she didn't come, she cried for a long time. But in the way of children, Maggie soon began to fade from her memory, and only the stories her mommy told her letting her know that there had been another special person in her life.
When Zarinthia was twenty-nine, alcohol free, fully employed, living in a relatively nice downstairs apartment in a semi-decent neighborhood, and with her daughter beginning first grade, Diolyn came home one day with the scrawniest little boy Zarinthia was sure she'd ever seen in her life. He had large, bright blue eyes, tangled brown hair, and cuts, scrapes, and bruises all over his body. Diolyn herself was sporting three nasty bites on the arm that was holding the boys wrist in a death grip."Hey mom!" she chirped cheerfully. "I was wondering if we could have someone for dinner," she asked without batting a lash or showing any acknowledgement to the fact that the kid was desperately struggling to get away.
Zarinthia eyed the boy, one side of her, the side that had gotten her a daughter, wanted to feed the poor thing, give it a bath, bandage the physical wounds and soothe the mental ones away. On the other hand, the little demon had bitten her Diolyn. But the mother in her knew Diolyn HAD dragged the boy all the way here against his will and some of the newer injuries were probably given by his captor.
She repressed a sigh. 'Why did she even bother with the whole mental weighing of the options thing when she knew she was a sucker for kids?'
"Bring 'im in and lock the door, he's gonna get a free meal and medical attention whether he wants it or not." Dinner was a tense affair with the boy eating carefully and sneaking peeks at his only route of escape. Zarinthia could see he was mentally figuring how much time it would take to get the lock turned and him out the door. She almost snickered. The door wasn't locked. If he tried to run and turned the lock, he'd trap himself in.
She watched him finish the carrots. Watched him eat the ham casserole and drink all his milk. She mentally counted down from three after he finished the milk and when she hit one, she calmly watched him jump up from the table dart to the door, turn the key, and lock himself in the building.
Zarinthia stood, scooped up the now yelling, struggling child and dumped him in her spacious, windowless bathroom and locked him in. Giving the key to Diolyn, she charged her daughter with keeping the kid in the house, but more specifically in the bathroom. "I," she told Diolyn, "am going to get the kid some clothes." She kissed Diolyn's forehead and was off.
Diolyn waited by the door for the half hour it took her mom to get all the things she thought the boy would need. She also bought thick, strong fabric strips, extra medical stuff, and more food.
Upon returning home, she ruffled her child's hair and requested that she go and get a wash cloth and a few towels. When Diolyn returned, she took one towel and the wash cloth and flung them over her shoulder, leaving the others in easy reach of the door. Picking up a bag filled with boys cloths, she inserted the key, opened the door as quickly as she could, opening it only enough that she could enter, and barely that. The boy was nudged back and he only grunted he fell on his butt into the soft bathroom rug. Shutting the door, she slid the key to Diolyn who locked the door again.
Not bothering to get up, the boy scooted back until he was against the back of the bath tub and crossed his arms, staring mutinously up at is perceived captor. He didn't know what she wanted with him, but he wasn't doing anything she told him to. His imagination began to come up with all the horrible things this devil woman and her demon child could do to him and he waited to see which of the gruesomely evil things she would choose to inflict upon him first.
He watched as she set a small bag of something in between them, slightly to the left and sat down across from him, one leg folded over the other Native American style. Watched as she put the towel and wash cloth she had over her shoulder onto her in her lap and laced her hands together on top of it. She stared at him, without blinking or moving, just watching him as he was watching her. Deciding that he would beat her at her own game, he crossed his legs as well, and leaned forward, to better stare at his adversary.
After about an hour though, exhaustion began to takes its toll. Zarinthia calmly blinked, giving up one round of the battle of wills. In a quiet voice, she told him what she wanted, and he had to admit she did sound pretty reasonable. "I would like for you to take a bath, get that dirt off you. I ask this not only so you'll smell better, but also with keen interest in getting all that grime you're carrying in you numerous cuts out before you get infected. Then, I'd like to patch you up a bit. After all of that, I believe we could open negotiations for your immediate release from us hostile girls. Do we have a deal?"
Regarding her with a wary eye, he spit into his palm held it out. Mimicking him, and wondering what the hell kind of ritual she was indulging in, she spit into her own palm and shook his much smaller hand. Holding out both hands for the towel and wash clothe, he asked, "Want me to wash my clothes as well?"
She shook her head no and motioned to the bag. "I got you some clothes. When you're done, come out into the living room so I can give you some medical attention, okay?"
He nodded, not for a minute planning on running after giving his solemn oath not to leave.