by Nōnen Títi
At the top of the sand, the boy pointed. Wilam saw the homes under a moon in the distance; that was where they were going. He didn’t argue anymore. He had to go home, he knew that. He had to get to where it was warm, to get a drink. The beach wasn’t safe at night; the fog. But he’d not heard the fog.
Kunag walked beside him now. He looked angry, frowning. He didn’t speak. He just made sure Wilam kept up by pulling on his sleeve. Wilam wanted to know why, but he had no words to ask it. He hurt everywhere, his head and his chest most of all, but Kunag didn’t want to slow down.
Wilam’s legs gave way when they reached the edge of town. They knew before he did that they’d made it. He let himself slide against a wall and wanted to laugh, but Kunag started yanking his arm, crying and yelling, again. He shouted at someone else, someone far away. Wilam shivered.
“Help me!” Kunag said. “He was in the sea. He’s cold. I can’t get him to move no more.”
Wilam knew that Kunag was talking about him. He had been in the sea. He’d walked in. Why? To get clean from the filth, the mess on the floor, the disease…
A tall shadow bent over him: Benjamar. Wilam made an attempt to greet him.
“Better get you to a warm fire.”
Wilam let Benjamar pull him up. A warm fire sounded good.
“I’m not going in there,” Kunag said when they reached the social building.
“Go to Wolt then. Let him give you some dry pants. But stay in town.”
Wilam climbed the steps in front of Benjamar and sat down where he was told, right in front of a fire. “Get this man a dry top,” Benjamar called to someone.
Wilam’s wet jumper was pulled off him and he was given a hot drink to hold and told repeatedly to sip it. He let everything happen. He became aware of his body as it warmed up: The pants stuck to his legs, but his toes were numb. He made an effort to take off his boots. Someone helped him, and then he rested his feet in front of the fire.
After a while, Wilam started seeing the people. So many of them were just sitting around. It was very quiet, considering the crowd. Pale; everybody looked pale. “What is happening?” he asked a man standing nearby.
“People are dying.”
Wilam saw Kun shining through the panel; a pink sky. Daytime.
A woman was brought in, wailing. Others went to her, held her hands; they made her sit as they had Wilam. She called for her child.
Wilam jumped up, spilling the last of his drink. “Kristag!” He stepped into his boots. “I’ve got to go,” he told the people at the door.
“Nobody is allowed to leave.”
“But my son! My son is out there.”
“Where exactly is he?” an older woman asked.
“With my neighbour and–”
“The neighbour will take care of him. You have to stay here.”
Wilam frowned. They didn’t understand. He had to get to Kristag.
Many arms held him back. “The guards have orders to lock up anybody who tries to force his way out. If your neighbour is taking care of your son, he won’t mind having him a bit longer. You need to make sure you’re not ill or your son will be in danger too.”
The woman who had spoken had a very determined look about her, but the mention of the guards had been enough to calm Wilam. A man explained to him that everybody here had come from a home where someone was ill. They were all waiting for news.
Too tired to fight, or reason, or even cry, Wilam put his hands to his face. He just sat there, while slowly all that had happened came back to him, from Tigor in the field to Pina and the guard.
“What day is it?” he asked, after having tried to make sense of how he had ended up in Yako’s home and from there in the sea and back. The way back he remembered: the crying boy.
“Day three of Station Five,” he was told.
Only then could he count the darks and lights. Kristag’s birthday was two days ago. They had shot at him. He’d been brain-damaged! He had lost time and his family and his home. He’d not been there. It was locked. Hot water came to his eyes. He didn’t even care if somebody saw it. He just wanted to cry, like Kunag had. What would happen now?
After a long time, Benjamar walked back into the room with two of the nurses. He asked for everybody’s attention, though he didn’t need to. As soon as he appeared, every face in the room had turned to him.
He started by saying that he had no news about specific people. He could not tell anything about people’s family, but the illness was affecting many. As he was speaking the homes were being cleaned, after which they could return but not to eat or drink anything. Drinking water was being distributed by the central kitchen but nothing else was safe. The nurses would have to give every person the okay to leave before they could go. “We need your cooperation for everybody’s safety. Nobody – I repeat, nobody – will get permission to visit those in the clinic, so don’t go there. We will try to get messengers out to you as soon as possible. Anyone trying to make their way into the clinic or to break any other rules will be locked away without questions asked.” Benjamar thanked them for listening and left.
It was that serious? All Wilam wanted anymore was to get to Kristag; he didn’t want to know the rest. Two guards blocked the door, while two others stood in front of the nurses to prevent a rush. Most of the people were allowed to leave. When his turn came, Wilam had to answer questions, while Kala held his wrist. She asked who was ill.
“Pina.”
She looked up. “Your comate? When did she get ill?”
“Yesterday, no, two days ago.”
“Did you touch her?”
“Yes, of course; she was sick. What was I supposed to do?”
“Okay, okay. Is it just the two of you at your home?”
Did she not recognize him? Kala had been at Pina’s check-up only last kor.
“No, I’ve got a son. He’s two, well… DJar time. It was his birthday.”
Kala let go of his hand and asked about Kristag, where he was. Was he healthy or also ill? The question scared Wilam. He didn’t know.
“Did he touch your comate?”
“He’s two years old. She’s his mother!”
One of the guards took a step closer.
“I’m sorry, but I have to ask,” Kala said. “Did you wash?”
“Yes, I walked into the sea.”
She looked at him then, surprised, and told him he seemed okay to leave. She gave him instructions on what to be alert for: feeling sick, weak, cramps, or his wastes turning watery. If that happened he was to go to the clinic and not touch anybody. He had to check Kristag for the same symptoms and warn his neighbours too.
Wilam’s feet warmed up when he walked fast and directly to his home. Elsa came out as soon as he reached the door, Kristag reached out, happy to see him – he was not ill. Wilam lifted him into his arms and then started crying all over again in between saying sorry to Elsa for having been gone so long.
She told him of the people who’d entered his home and cleaned it and that she’d tried to get some clothes for Kristag out first, but they’d not let her. Kolyag had left to collect fresh water. “To think what they did to you. Are you not hurt?”
Wilam didn’t think so.
“Where mammy?” Kristag asked.
“She’ll come later,” he answered. Liar, went through his mind. In Elsa’s eyes he could see the shadow of that truth.
“You need to sleep. Leave Kristag here a bit longer.”
But Wilam didn’t feel like sleeping: He wanted to keep Kristag close. He thanked Elsa and went into his own home. Things had been moved out of place, and it smelled of smoke and something else. The floor was wet. A knock on his door made his heart jump: He didn’t want a messenger, but it was Kolyag. He handed Wilam a jug. “Safe to drink water from the central kitchen,” he said, looking at the floor.
“Thank you.”
Kolyag left. Wilam concentrated on giving Kristag a big drink and rocking him on his lap. It was dark once again when
Kristag fell asleep. Wilam put the boy on his mat and went about putting everything that had been moved back into place, for Pina.
Another knock on the door, softer this time, was followed by Irma’s voice. She didn’t want to come in. “Wilam, I’m sorry, but there was nothing we could do.”
He had known it the minute he saw her, known it even before. He had meant to deny it, to get angry, but he found he was nodding. “Why? Why her?”
“I don’t know. She had less resistance.”
“And the baby?”
Irma shook her head.
“But Pina was so careful. She never risked any of the new foods.”
“It wasn’t in the food; it was the water. Microbes. It came from people, not the land. It’s nobody’s fault.”
“Now what?”
“You need to take care of yourself and Kristag. Beware of the water. Always boil it, and protect yourself. It’s not over.” She had to go; there were other people she knew. “Just be careful.”
Wilam let her leave and sat down on Pina’s chest. He’d not wanted to be here to get this news, but now he knew he could no longer pretend. He let himself cry. Pina would think that silly; she’d tell him that wouldn’t do any good. “But Pina, why aren’t you telling me now?”
Helpless
“This is it,” Irma had said when all the mats were full and the first person had died. They had all known what she meant but none, even Irma herself, had been able to imagine the speed and the power with which these invisible agents could kill. The staff had covered up as good as possible, but they had no aprons, no proper gloves, no face masks, no drips, and no medication. The only medicine was water.
Each person brought in was severely ill: vomiting, losing liquid everywhere, unable to drink, and in pain. On the first day Nini had tried to comfort them, spoken to them, but most couldn’t even recognize her. With each hour more people had come, and with each new person there was less time. By nightfall Irma had called Kalgar and Frantag. Travel mats and carriers were organized, and people were sent to collect seawater and honeycombs from over the hills – for salt and sugar– to make rehydration liquid in large amounts. The leaders warned them not to talk about it, hoping to prevent a panic, but none of the medical staff had left the clinic since.
The second day was worse. The number of patients outgrew the size of the clinic, and were put down wherever there was space on bare ground. Most were too ill to notice. Some died before any of the staff could get to them. Flori ran around giving drinks, her eyes producing more water than her hands carried. Running feet slipped over the filthy mess on the floor; the liquid the patients were losing too fast for anybody to tidy up. There were no wipe-up cloths, no disinfectants, and no clean tools. There were no analgesics either to help the suffering patients, who screamed as their muscles cramped. It was almost a relief when someone died after having been in such agony.
“We’re going to lose everybody. We have no resistance; the whole colony will go!” Irma cried when she found another lifeless body.
“Keep trying,” Remko told her. It was the only thing to do. No time to talk, no time to panic. Thinking about what could happen would only paralyze their efforts, so they carried on – in vain, regardless – knowing with every new face they saw that they would not be able to help.
Containers of boiled water were being delivered to rehydrate the ill, but sometimes it was cold and sometimes still too hot to use. Irma had been given plastic tubing from somewhere which she cut and used to put measured amounts of water straight into the patients’ stomachs. Wana added small amounts of seawater. The rest of them ran from one patient to the next, trying to make them drink.
With the same desperation, the pathologist was trying to find the cause. He kept repeating that it wouldn’t matter, that whatever it was, they had no medicine to stop it, but he kept trying. He tested the foods, the bodies, and the water.
On the second day he reported that it was in the drinking water: a flagellate protozoon. Again, Irma called for Frantag. All water consumption had to be forbidden. New water had to be collected and boiled, homes and utensils cleaned before anybody went in. They’d have to check all people and keep those with symptoms away from the others.
Nini didn’t know how they organized it, but guards soon appeared in front of the door, as did the news that people were being detained to stop it from spreading.
By the end of the night she was so exhausted that she could hardly remember where she was heading from one moment to the next. She stopped in the middle of the chaos and closed her eyes: This was crazy. It wasn’t allowed. Mektar, what do I do here? How do you deal with sets of dying people? The silent questions helped shut out what was around her.
Her attention was drawn by a young, veiled woman, whom Nini recognized but didn’t know, and who motioned for Nini to follow her out the door. A moment later she was gone. Not sure if the door had actually been opened or not, Nini felt a renewed energy. She suddenly knew what was needed – help from outside. The guards were preventing anything from coming in except more bodies.
She stepped over a groaning woman who was lying in her own waste and walked out. The first thing she noticed was two guards kicking at some angry people, who wanted to force their way in, but who stopped when seeing Nini. It was news they needed: That was all they wanted. Nini shook her head – there was no hope, not for those already inside. She asked the guards to find Maike, who arrived almost immediately.
Nini explained the need for helpers, saying that it made no difference if they had any experience with nursing; the situation was way beyond that.
Maike went off, as she had in the past, and came back with six people ready to follow Nini’s instructions. One person was to collect the used tubes, to rinse them in boiled water, and put them away for reuse. There was no need to sterilize them, as all patients carried the same microbes. Two men went about with huge rags made from mat covers to clean the wastes from the floor and prevent people from falling; the most horrid job of all, no doubt. The others were to wipe clean the patients, lift them out of the mess so Irma could get to them, and help add more liquids.
“I have people running up and down collecting water and boiling it. I have people digging for another source of water. I have every person I could find cleaning homes, replacing water containers, making more rags, and burning the waste,” Maike said. She left with the promise to keep delivering clean supplies and more helpers.
The third day came and the chaos didn’t ease. The back room was full of bodies, some delivered straight there by the carriers. It started to look as if Irma was right: It seemed hopeless. They had to keep telling each other to carry on. “Don’t think, just keep trying.”
Marya came in with a large container of liquid food. “Maike’s specialty. I have no idea what’s in it, but it’s boiled right through.”
She gave cups to the helpers and staff. Nini drank hers outside, using the few minutes to clear her mind, trying not to remember the faces, the pleas for help where she couldn’t give any. Maike’s brew helped get some energy back into her.
The third day passed. Maike kept coming back. She had the messy rags carried out and burned somewhere. She delivered clean material and seawater, which they now used in bigger amounts. Kala and Flori went out with Benjamar to check the people that were locked up, while Irma went out to inform those she had a final answer for. The rest of them kept running from one body to the next.
On the fourth day, a woman improved. She started drinking and kept it down. She pulled through. It brought new hope. Only one new patient came in but he also recovered. One more person died. It stopped as fast as it had started.
“Go home. Get some sleep before it gets you too,” Irma said.
“You have to sleep first, Irma. You need to be in charge if a new rush comes in,” Wana said.
Nini took Wana’s side and they convinced Irma to go home. Together they started tidying up, too tired to talk or to risk sitting down. For the first tim
e since Nini had known her, Wana was not wearing her long black skirt and sleeves.
“They got dirty. I couldn’t work in them. Besides, they seemed meaningless in this.”
Irma returned with the light of a new day, crying because she was sorry for having been so long, because she felt responsible. How could she be?
Finally, Nini walked home. The door opened before she got to it, and Jema’s reaching hand was the only thing to stop her from literally dropping in. Locked inside Jema’s arms, the exhaustion took over and with that the helplessness. “We lost so many. I couldn’t help her, Jema. I couldn’t help any of them.” She let Jema undress her, unable to stop crying.
Nini had no idea how long she slept but when she woke, it was dark. “I have to go back.”
“First have a drink.”
Jema gave her more of the thick brew and a clean tunic. The dirty one had disappeared.
“Where’s Marya?”
“She’s fine. She’s out helping with the food. Benjamar is okay too.”
Nini had to finish her drink before Jema let her go back. The last patients were sent home. Rested and sitting on the floor, which was now cleaned, they were left with bodies, the smell coming through the door of the back room.
“What do we do now? We can’t just leave them there,” Wana said.
“We’ll have to identify every one of them and then burn them. They still carry the disease. Burning is the only way,” Irma said.
Flori gagged. “I can’t do that! I just can’t.”
“Nobody can do it, but we have no choice. You have no choice either,” Remko told her.
“Don’t be silly; you can’t blame her for not being able to handle that. I’ll do it alone if needed,” Irma said, frowning. She repeated that Flori wouldn’t have to, but she was wrong.
“No, we will all do it; Flori too, but not yet. First we have to be ready,” Nini said.
“How can anybody be–?”
“Let Nini explain,” Remko interrupted.
“If you walk away from it now, this image will haunt you forever. When you work your hands you don’t only clean up the clinic, the bodies, and the disease: You help your mind clean up the sadness and the anger, in a way. Give the bodies a name, a meaning. We need to do it together, express it and cope with it; all of us. It’s the only way.”
