The three men stood around the bed, gazing down at their patient. Jamie stared back at them, his face a mask of misery, hate and defiance. Joe held a bowl of warm broth in his hand.
"Well, it shouldn't be too hard," said Joe. "We've force fed animals before and they've been a heck of a lot more frisky than him."
"Don't you touch me," Jamie gasped. "Not one of you. You have no right."
"Right?" Ben intoned. "And you have the right to throw your life away? You're on shaky ground talking about rights, boy."
"I will not eat. I'm not hungry."
"I thought that bump on your head might have helped." Joe sat down beside him, stirring the mixture to cool it. "It seems not. We'll have to feed you like a baby. Open wide."
"Go to the devil!" Jamie strained his head away from him.
"OK, Hoss, Pa, do your worst."
"Get off me!" Jamie cried as Ben held his shoulders and Hoss tipped back his head and held his nose. His fingers ruffled the thick bandage around his scalp. "I won't...Don't touch me!"
"Pinch his nose tighter. Right back, Hoss, so he can't spit it out."
Joe began to pour some broth into his mouth.
"Not too much, Joe!"
Jamie coughed, spat and struggled.
"Will yer hold his head still, Hoss?"
"I'm tryin'! You said he's not strong. He seems strong enough to me!"
"Stroke his throat. Make sure he swallows. Gentle, now!"
"Five or six spoonfuls, Joseph," said Ben. "No more."
"Lord Almighty, he bit me!"
"Hold his nose, darn it!"
"Put more pressure on his throat, Hoss!"
"I'm tryin', doggone it. I've got the hardest job here!"
After they had satisfied themselves he had swallowed a few mouthfuls they cleaned up and Hoss took away the bowl. Jamie lay, white and trembling, sweat streaming, his hand a fist in his chest.
"You know, kid, you'd save yourself a lot of trouble if you just cooperated," said Joe.
"You had no right!"
"Yeah, well, right or not, we've got to do it again in a couple of hours."
Jamie was speechless, tears streaming down his face, clenching his teeth as the ragged breaths tore at his chest. Joe drew up a chair and sat near him.
"Go 'way, Joseph!"
"Ssh. Don't talk."
Jamie sank down and closed his eyes. Joe knew he would need his strength for the next onslaught.
They followed the doctor's instructions to the letter. The first day was a nightmare of spat out food, saliva, bitten fingers. The three were stolid and dispassionate, their faces set firm, viewing Jamie as a feral animal who needed to be saved, despite himself. Paul Martin's words had affected them deeply and they began to realize they had come close to losing their troublesome charge.
"How much do you think he ate today?" Joe asked Ben wearily.
"A bit. A heck of a lot more than he has been eating, at any rate. Don't worry, Joe, in a few days he'll be stronger."
"That's precisely what I am worrying about. If he's stronger he'll put up more of a fight."
"Well...we have no choice."
"No."
Joe was right. As Jamie's strength returned he put up more of a struggle. Every few hours the men steeled themselves for another fight to the death.
"Broth again!" Jamie cried.
"Well, if you'd eat like a sane person you could have something different," said Hoss.
"Don't you lot understand? I don't want to eat!" Jamie was definitely getting stronger.
"Oh, we understand that alright, son," said Joe.
The boy felt as if was being broken down. His last vestiges of control were being taken away. He was swamped with futile hatred. He fretted, struggled, but he was too fragile to put up much of a fight. Joe could restrain with him with one hand, with no effort at all.
"I don't know what you're struggling for," he said mildly. "You just ain't that bright, are you? You're as weak as a kitten and we've got your measure. You can't starve yourself and we won't let you throw up. So you'll just have to poke up with it."
"God, I hate you!"
"I know you do."
"I really, really hate you!"
"I know."
Jamie threw himself back on the pillow. The tears worked themselves down his face, over his ears and onto the wet fabric beneath. Joe glanced at him, sat back and opened a paper.
"Why are you bothering?" Jamie panted. "Why? I thought you'd be glad to get rid of me."
"It'd be kinda hard explaining it to your father, that's all."
"I have no father." Joe ignored him. "D'you hear me? I have no father!"
"I heard you."
There was a silence. "Oh, yeah, he calls himself my father. But he ain't. He ain't ever been. You don't hate your own son, do you?...Well, not unless he's unlovable, that is."
It was the most Jamie had ever spoken of himself. Now he had dropped his false courtesy he was opening up. Must be boring stuck in bed having someone hovering over you all day. Joe tried not to seem too interested and turned the page.
"I don't think you're unlovable, Jamie, just annoying."
"Well, I would be to you, wouldn't I?"
"Uh-huh."
"Look, why don't you go? I don't need you sitting there. You're really irritating me."
"Well, you irritate me too but I ain't going anywhere."
"Don't you have work to do?"
"Uh-huh, heaps. But it'll keep."
"Talking of work, what about my work? What I'm here to do? I'd better get and do it."
He made a weak attempt to get up until Joe's laughter stopped him. "You ain't going anywhere either and if you try to get up one more time I'll tie you to the bed." Jamie glared at him. "You know I mean it."
"I believe you would 'n all."
"You'd better believe it."
"Why do you care, damn it? I'm nothing to you. Worse than a dog in the street. You probably wouldn't let a dog die in the gutter as you would me."
Carry on, Joe thought. Just carry on.
"Say something!"
"What do you want me to say? What's the point of trying to reason with the mind of a two-year-old?"
"God, I hate you. If I could I'd batter you."
"I'm sure you would. Good thing you can't, then, ain't it?"
Joe's indifference continued to needle Jamie to speak more and more. Joe waited, knowing the truth was slowly coming out.
"I'd kill you if I could."
"I bet."
"Anyway, what do you care? Would you care if your horse started to wither?"
"Well, yes, I would, actually."
"Because it'd be no good to you. Once it'd served its purpose you'd put a bullet in its brain."
"No, only if he was very sick or in pain. We have plenty of old horses who no longer work. They just stroll about in their paddock with their pals. Then we shelter them come the winter."
Jamie bit his lip, stymied, and Joe repressed a smile. Carry on.
"Joe, why can't you leave me be?"
The young man started. It was the first time all week he had called him by his nickname. "I can't. We can't leave you until we can trust you."
"But what does it matter to you? It doesn't matter to me, so why should it you? Why can't you just let me crawl off somewhere? I'd be out of your hair for good." He paused. "Of course then I wouldn't be able to work, would I?"
"Well, you're not working now, are you? Not only that, you're stopping us from working as well."
"Well, there's a simple solution to that, isn't there?" Jamie almost spat. "Let me go or let me work! Don't keep me in this rotten, stinking bed!"
Joe sighed, folded up his paper and stared at him. "You're in that rotten, stinking bed because you tried to starve yourself." He put his hand up as Jamie tried to protest. "Please, not 'I'm not hungry' again or I think I'll go and poke a stick in my eye. The doctor thinks you're trying to kill yourself."
" 'Course I'm not!"
"Really? You have to eat to live. Your body's been screaming for food for days. You know this. You were trying to hurt us but the only one you were hurting was yourself."
"Yeah, well, I know that. Of course it wouldn't hurt you if anything happened to me. It'd be an inconvenience, that's all. You'd have to explain to that man, not that he'd care either."
"You really do feel sorry for yourself, don't you?"
"Go to hell, Joe!" Jamie turned away and buried his head into his pillow, shaking uncontrollably.
Again, Joe. A tiny victory, maybe, but one all the same. Later Hop Sing went up and Joe relaxed. He felt tired.
"He called me Joe."
"What? Wonders will never cease. Maybe he'll stop calling me Eric soon."
"I wouldn't bank on it."
"So how did you do it? Because he hates you more than all of us."
"I wonder if he does."
"What do you mean, Joe?" Ben asked.
"He certainly thinks he does. He thinks we hate him, too. There's so much fury in him he could explode. But..." he shook his head "...there is so much pain there. It's like he's shrieking, hitting out again and again."
Ben gave a triumphant smile. "I said it."
"Said what?"
"I said you could do it. That I had faith in you. Out of all us, you...with the fire in your belly, the glint in your eye...The trigger temper, the ability to find a scrap wherever you go. You're the one who got through."
"Oh, quit that, Pa. I haven't got through anywhere. I still think he's a spoilt brat and I'd still like to slap that stupid mouth."
"But you didn't and I knew you wouldn't. He called you Joe. Would he have done that a couple of days ago? Do you realize what a big thing that is?"
"Probably because he's too doggone lazy to say my whole name."
"No, Pa's right, Joe. It'd be like him calling me Hoss. It is a big thing. So he really thinks we hate him, eh?"
"Convinced of it. The hate's on both sides."
"That sure is one mixed up kid, Pa."
Ben was still beaming with pride at his youngest son. "My Joe. My Little Joe. You will never cease to amaze me."
"Ah, quit it, Pa, will ya?"
"You do care."
"No, I don't. It'd be just too much of a problem if he upped and died on us."
