Chap 4
"That is a problem because we don't know who you are either. Good morning Elaine." Dr Dyson said, walkingup to the pale stranger lying in the bed."It is good to see that you have finally regained consciousness. I am Dr. Conrad Dyson. You are here at my home." He shook the man's hand. He spoke in French, like his daughter.
"Hello, Dr. Dyson." The stranger responded, appearing very disoriented. He looked up, intently eyeing the physician standing before him. Dr. Dyson was tall and slim with a slender face, his eyes a bright blue. His features were similar to, but more pronounced than Elaine's, his skin wrinkled with the ravages of time. The age revealed by his face did not match his youthful movements. The physician started to walk around the bed as the stranger's eyes followed.
"You sustained several blows to the head, Monsieur. I think what you are suffering from now is amnesia, a loss of memory, common with head injuries. You also have a broken arm and leg, and broken ribs which will make it difficult to take deep breaths and move around much, but you must do both to get well. You lost a lot of blood, for which you received a transfusion last night. You are terribly lucky Monsieur. Had we not found you that night, well, you would not be having a conversation with anyone but your maker now. I honestly was not sure you would live despite our best efforts. But, thanks to Elaine's good work, and the grace of God, you are here."
The man in the bed looked shocked and overwhelmed. He looked at Elaine.
"Thank you…thank you both. I don't know what to say." He said. Elaine smiled and rubbed his hand. He looked down at her hand, surprised at how easily she touched him, and how intense her touch felt. She rose from the bed, going to the table to pour him some more water. Dr. Dyson, now looking out of the window, continued to speak.
"Let us piece together whatever information we can, shall we? You speak French, with a Parisian accent if my hearing is correct. So you lived in France, probably from a very young age. He found you on a road going northwest from Differdange, near the border of Luxembourg. Can you recall anything at all about where you were headed?" The stranger looked down and tried to think, but the effort made his head pound.
"It hurts to think, Doctor. No, I cannot recall anything at this time." He winced and covered his eyes.
"Very well, Monsieur. You must stay here to convalesce for at least 6 more weeks; to ensure the proper healing of your injuries. By that time, hopefully, your memories would have returned to you. Your only responsibility right now is to listen to everything we tell you, and to get better." Said Dr. Dyson, smiling.
The stranger looked pensive. Sitting up, he saw his deformed countenance again in the mirror. He looked away quickly, a shot of dread finding root in his chest.
"Doctor, I must ask you, what happened…with my face?" he said, touching it. Dr. Dyson followed where the man had looked before; to the gilded mirror on the wall immediately opposite the bed. He looked down and sat on the bed next to the stranger.
Good Lord, not only has he lost his identity, he does not even remember his deformity. What a hell of a thing to wake up to.
"I am not sure, but I believe it is a of birth mark of some sort. You have probably had that deformity on your face all your life." The stranger just looked down, visibly uncomfortable with this revelation. He shook his head.
"Thank you so much, for everything. How can I repay you for your kindness?" He said, looking back upat Dr.Dysonand Elaine.
"Thanks is sufficient, Monsieur." The doctor took out his stethoscope and started to examine the man. "Now that you have awoken, we may be able to give you some medicine to ease your pains. But it may make you a little confused and drowsy."
"I would prefer to not feel more confused than I already am. If the pain becomes unbearable, maybe then I will require some medicine. Until then, no thank you." The doctor nodded back at him, continuing his examination, provoking low groans from the man each time he moved or touched him. Dr. Dyson was surprised at how quiet the man was for the amount of discomfort he knew he was producing. After a few minutes had passed, the man again looked puzzled.
"If my memory is gone, completely gone, how can I speak?" Queried the man. "Would not the memory of learning how to talk be gone too?" The doctor smiled.
"One thing we do know about you by that question is that you are an intelligent man, Monsieur. Let me explain what I know about this…amnesia you are inflicted with. There are activities that are etched into our brains, like how to speak, how to eat, how to walk, write, read; you get the point. Those things do not usually get lost, depending on the severity of the injury. The intangible things such as memory, those thoughts are kept somewhere in the brain where they can be temporarily…lost. I must warn you however, some memories may be lost permanently."
"Well, then I will not be able to miss them, will I?" The stranger said, without missing a beat. Dr. Dyson laughed gently.
"Well, now we know you also have logic and wit as some of your attributes as well, Monsieur. See how much we have learned about him already, Elaine?" He said. He then turned to Elaine, who was listening intently.
"You will find out more about amnesia in the psychiatric texts. Consider that your next assignment." He nodded at Elaine. She smiled and nodded in agreement,sitting on the chaise lounge next to the bed. Dr. Dyson turned back to the man and continued.
"Some memories are so old and so strong that they become etched into our mind; such as one's name, or the name of a loved one. Try to remember your name right now…think very hard, you may remember that first before anything else."
The man closed his eyes and furrowed his brows. The pounding in head increased, but he fought it. Words, names started to formulate within his head. He started to mumble, rubbing his head as he thought. Elaine and Dr. Dyson moved in closer.
"My name is…it starts with an O…no…an E….yes…OE? My initials? No, I don't believe so….Ah!" His eyes opened widely. "I think it is…Erik. I can't think of any other, or a surname."
The doctor froze in his position. He was instantly dragged backwards into his memory.
It was decades earlier. He had gone to visit one of his friends from the medical school in Paris. The man he was meeting with was François Barrett, who specialized in children and the diseases of childbirth. He had been Conrad's teacher first, but they soon became close friends. They met in a quiet café over a bottle of wine. The spoke of pleasantries and work, as they always did. He was a portly gent, with dark eyes above a full, dark beard. His dark hair was peppered with grey, which framed a pleasant countenance.
"You know, Francois, my wife is finally expecting." said a young Dr. Conrad Dyson.
"Really, Conrad? Congratulations are in order. You have been trying for some time now, right?" Said Francois, his face concerned as he poured Conrad some more wine. Conrad smiled at him, but the uneasiness was plain to see. He could not hide his dread from his friend.
"Yes. She just wanted a child so badly, we continued to try. Tina has had several miscarriages; and this pregnancy has been difficult. Truly, I am more concerned for her than for the child." Conrad confessed, drinking the wine.
"Well, may God bless them both with good health." said Francois, trying to lift Conrad's spirits. They raised their glasses in a toast.
"She should give birth in the Clinic, Conrad. You should consider it. I find it funny how some women can bear children so easily, and don't realize what a gift it is." The expression on Francois's face saddened.
"What is on your mind, old friend." said Conrad, noticing the change of heart.
"I must tell you about a case…a patient of mine." said Francois, speaking softly.
"Go on." said Conrad. The other physician sighed heavily.
"As you know, I have worked out in the countryside until recently. It was over two years ago, I think. I was called on by a messenger to visit a, shall we call her 'well-to-do' Lady who had just been through some terrible tragedies. Her husband and parents had recently died. I knew this woman was very near her time of delivery. The midwife had summoned me with some 'terrible news' I was told. When I got to the house, they led me away from the birthing chambers to the servant's quarters. I met with the midwife, who told me that the child was born alive but was very deformed. I was led to the child, sleeping in a small basket. The child was a healthy pink and of a good size and weight. When I unwrapped the swaddling cloth, I saw a dark red, extensive deformity on the right side of the face.
'Devils mark.' The midwife said.
'That is rubbish!' said I, 'it is simply a malformation, nothing evil about it.' On my exam I could find no other problems with the child, Conrad. He was otherwise a strong, healthy boy. She told me that the mother had rejected the child at first glance, and that a maid was trying to convince the mother to reconsider abandoning the child.
'The child appeared so strong, I could not bring myself to kill it. The poor wretch. What kind of life can it have, with that face to haunt his days?' The midwife said.
'That would be murder, my dear woman.' I said, enraged that she would ever consider such a thing.
'Murder or mercy, Doctor?' she said. I sent her off and waited for the maid to retrieve the child. The maid was a darling of a young woman but held the little boy as if he had a disease.
'The mother has agreed to hold it, Doctor. Will it live?' She asked, the question breaking my heart.
'I believe HE will live.' I said. The maid looked at me apologetically and left me to find my own way out.
That same maid brought me the child to examine every few months or so, because I demanded that she do so. They put a mask on the child's face, Conrad, a hateful, hurtful mask. I detested it, I forbade her to make him wear it, but she said the mother would not see the boy without it on. The boy grew big and tall but I could tell was terribly starved for affection. He would cling to me as if I were the only one who gave him a loving hug, touched his face, or smiled at him. He walked before a year old, and Conrad, the child was trying to talk before he could walk! When I saw him when he was about 18 months old, he was very quiet and sullen. I found wounds of severe beatings on the boy, Conrad. What could a child that age, of any age do to deserve those marks? He had the lightest, saddest green eyes. I will never forget them. The sadness I saw in those eyes made me want to beat the maid who brought him to me. But I kept my anger at bay, showing the child a loving face and tender touch. When I tried to remove his mask, he pulled it back on shouting at me.
'No take off mask, bad boy, no!' and ran into the corner. He had learned to be ashamed of himself, to hide himself that young." Francois's voice broke with emotion.
"This is terrible, my friend…what did you do?" Conrad said, horrified by the tale. Francois continued.
"That was the final straw for me. After discussing it, my wife and I had decided that we would take the child under our care; that I would remove him from his home with force if I needed to. I returned several weeks later to the house and was told by the maid that the boy was gone. I do not know what they did with him. I feel that they lied to me. The servants were silent and ignored my questions; they would not let me on the property to search for him. They said the mother could not stand to know he was around anymore, she felt he was a curse, so they sent him away."
François leaned back, his eyes misty.
"Soon after, my dear mother fell ill and we came to the city. I have been caught up with her illness, and have not ventured back there. I fear no good has come to that poor child."
"This story is heartbreaking, François. How could they act that way towards an innocent child?" said Conrad, appalled by the terrible story.
"I will never understand that, Conrad." said Francois as he shook his head. "I cannot help but to think, maybe, just maybe I could have done more for this bright little child. It has been some time now and I am still haunted by his memory. I am cursed with regret."
"You are a good man, and an excellent doctor, François. You cannot cure the ills of a vain society and rescue all the children who need to be rescued." said Conrad, trying to comfort his friend. The men soon got up and walked out to the street. They stood quietly together in the midday sun. Francois shook Conrad's hand and sighed.
"I have been thinking of that boy often as of late. I will like to build a home, an orphanage for children like him. For all the unwanted, sick children. They need a place to go, a place where people will care for them, no matter their disability or deformity. That may help ease my troubled mind. Poor little Erik." He said.
Dr. Dyson came back to the present, looking intently at the man lying in the bed.
This man, he must be the same person; the age was about right, the deformity is as Francois described…he has to be.
The sun had moved and shone directly on the man that they now knew as Erik lying in the bed. Erik's eyes were a pale green and seemed sad; deeply, painfully sad.
"Father, you were saying…" said Elaine, who walked over and put her hand on her father's shoulder. She was wondering why he had become silent and still for several moments, staring at Erik. The Doctor got up suddenly, and patted Erik on his shoulder.
"Welcome Monsieur Erik. We will take good care of you, my boy. I promise."
Dr. Dyson hurriedly left the room. Elaine walked after him, puzzled by the pace with which he left. Walking back into the room she found Erik trying to block the bright sunlight, shining on his face from the window. She walked over to the window and pulled the drapes just so the light would not fall on the bed. Looking at him, she noticed that Erik's skin was pale, and probably had not seen the sun for some time.
"So, Monsieur Erik, are you hungry? You must be. You have not eaten in a week." She said, straightening the linens on his bed. "Any requests?"
"Yes, Lady Elaine." Erik said, looking up at her. She seemed angelic in the glow of the sun. "Please, just call me Erik. And I am sure I will eat anything you can bring me." He said, suddenly growning aware of the gnawing pain in his stomach.
"I will be right back." she said, smiling widely as she walked to the door. "And Erik, I have a request myself. Please, just call me Elaine." He smiled shyly and nodded. After Elaine left, Erik looked around the silent room, taking note of the details.
On the wooden floors lay rich rugs, the walls covered with delicate tapestries. The room was filled with beautiful, dark furniture, with several tables and chests lining the walls. There were several mirrors along the far wall which brought the light from the window into the room.
On his left was a lounge chair, and there were several ornate chairs surrounding a table by the window. On that table and on many shelves in the room were what looked like music boxes. They were different sizes and ran the gamut from plain to ornate.
Bookshelves packed with books were present along the walls between the tapestries. Beautiful lamps were located throughout the room. A small fireplace and mantle graced the far side of the room, the fire low and inviting. His bed was a four poster bed, and was made with fresh, clean smelling linens. He lifted up the bed sheets and looked down at himself. He was wearing a loose white shirt and loose grey pants, pulled up above a splint on his leg. On his left arm was a splint and bandage that covered his fingers. For some reason he felt concerned about his arm, and he lifted it, his attempts to move his fingers resulting in severe pain.
Erik laid back, feeling very tired; the mental activity had begun to take its toll on his injured brainand his eyes grew heavy. He looked briefly at the ornate ceiling before drifting off to sleep.