jack of diamonds

ii

Three hours later Nigel was laying on the small bed, his body wracked with pain. He was feverish, kicking the blankets down because the weight of them were burning his skin; he tried ripping his shirt off but his strength failed him, and he ended up writhing in pain one moment exposed as he was to the elements. His skin was on fire and he felt as if he was burning from the inside, out. Sonia was sitting beside him with a wooden bowl of water and a twisted rag, trying to wipe the sweat that was puddling on his skin. He wanted to push her away; he wanted to tell her that the rag she was using was tearing the flesh off his bones—that it was peeling his skin off in layers, as if he were an onion. He wanted to scream out in agony, but he couldn’t move his tongue enough to form the words he needed. He tried swatting at her hands, but she was able to push his hands aside with ease, as if he were nothing more than a child. She tried telling him to keep his voice down, and he remembered thinking he hadn’t even spoken out. And then he heard his moans somewhere in the back of his head and realized what he’d thought was in his head, was actually him crying out at the top of his lungs.

“Is it supposed to hurt like this?” he asked in a moment of quiet lucidity.

“It’s your body’s way of telling you that it needs the opium.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to agree.” He smiled lamely, and she nodded, smiling to herself as she dipped the rag back into the bowl, wringing it out and then placing it on his forehead.

“I don’t need that fuckin’ thing in my face,” he said, trying to push the rag away. Sonia let him swing his arms about and then pinned them down to his sides again, looking him in the eye and he felt as if she could see into the very depths of his soul. A part of him thought perhaps she had looked into his soul; what she’d found there hadn’t been what he’d been willing to share. He felt as if she’d found his most intimate secrets and wanted to share them with the world.

“I didn’t do it,” he said, turning to her and staring her down.

“What was that you didn’t do?” she asked, trying to soothe him. She could hear the distress in his tone and understood it was the fever talking, but all the same, she knew it was in her best interest to listen to him.

“I didn’t kill him. At least not then. I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Why not? He wasn’t much older than me! That’s why not! He was a boy! How could I kill him? He wan’t there for any other reason except for bad-assed luck. He was trying to dessert, and I just happened to come across him. How was I to know he’d be hiding there? It was a fuckin’ hayloft. I only went there to keep warm myself.”

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothing. I didn’t speak German, and he didn’t speak English.”

“So what did you do?”

“I killed him.”

“I thought you said you didn’t?”

“Not right away, I didn’t. But he tried to kill me first.”

“Why didn’t you just walk away?”

“I tried. He wouldn’t let me.”

“So you killed him?”

“He killed himself the moment he tried to stab me with his bayonet. I wasn’t going to let him kill me, so I killed him first.”

“You had no choice. It was the war. A lot of men had to do the same.”

“He was sixteen, if he was a day.”

“Try to rest,” was all she said, and he rolled over, laying with his back to her.

And then the dreams came, only to be replaced by nightmares later.

The late afternoon sun came in through the window at a slant, the dust motes dancing in the air as if tiny ballerinas in a spotlight, and he watched them, thinking of his childhood and how he used to blow at the dust motes and send them scurrying across the open bars of light. His mother would watch him, asking him what he was doing, and he’d always say the same thing.

“I’m watching the Fairies dance, Mommy. They much prefer the moonlight, though.”

“Oh? And why’s that?”

“They can hide in the light better. Do you know why?”

“Because it’s the moonlight and the moon only comes out at night?”

“That’s right! Did I tell you that before?”

“The Fairies did.”

“Did they? I thought they only talked to me?”

“They talk to whoever listens to them.”

“And you listen?”

“I listen to you, don’t I?”

“Am I one of the Fairies?”

“I won’t let you. You have to be careful when you look at the Fairies.”

“Why?”

“They take young boys and girls away to Neverland, where they can be one of the Lost Boys.”

“Oh, you mean like Peter Pan?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t like Peter Pan.”

“You don’t? Why not?”

“He wants to take me away from you.”

“No one will ever take you away from me, because you’re my little boy.”

“Am I?”

“Always.”

“And forever?”

“And forever.”

He slept after that, but not for long. The dreams worked themselves into nightmare shadows lurking in the corners of his mind, waiting for him to let his guard down. When he did, they pounced. His screams rang out through the night, and Sonia leaped to her feet to look at him. She had fallen asleep. He was shivering. She felt his forehead and pulled her hand away. He was cold to the touch. She threw another blanket on him, tucking it around him as if she were tucking a child into bed for the night. When he didn’t stop shivering, she climbed on top of him and held him, hoping her body weight would help to settle him down.

It was only a matter of minutes before she fell asleep on top of him.