Children of the Knight

by Michael J. Bowler

  “No!” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else, and dropped to his mother’s side.

  She was cradling little Anna to her bosom and rocking back and forth, keening with sorrow as blood streamed from the little girl’s chest. Jaime fumbled in his pocket for his phone and, fingers shaking, punched in 911.

  THE ovation had subsided, and Lance had reseated himself, and instruction had resumed. As Arthur continued to teach his vast assemblage the necessary qualities for knighthood, Lance had felt various sets of eyes on him, as though his speech had somehow altered or elevated him in their esteem. Mark, of course, kept eyeing him shyly and tried a few times to make him laugh by flipping his hair the way Lance had done that night they’d bared their souls to each other. Lance smiled, but forced himself not to laugh.

  Esteban and Darnell and some of the other heavy-duty gangsters kept glancing his way, as though considering whether or not his words had merit and might even apply to them. Esteban finally caught his eye and gave him that little chin raise signal, which for guys was the equivalent of “you’re okay.” Lance felt special and important, something he’d never felt before Arthur came along.

  And then there was Jack. The boy kept watching him, but would look down any time Lance caught him staring. Finally, the last time he had felt eyes on him and glanced up, he’d found Jack scrutinizing him, and this time the gaze didn’t waver. Lance smiled as he would toward a friend.

  Jack stared a moment longer, his scrutiny boring into Lance, and then he looked away. Why did Jack keep staring at him? He shuddered and returned his attention toward Arthur.

  The king concluded his lesson on racial identities and false pride with the following words, “Thine identities be not determined by thy skin color, but by thy choices and accomplishments. There canst be no true pride in one’s birthright, for it doth not be of one’s control. Pride cometh from what we do with our lives, from how we make the world better for our having been in it. All of thee have indicated ye wish to be Knights of the Round Table. If such be true, ye must take Lance’s stirring words to heart—thou must put aside all the bigotries and feuds and what thou doth call the payback mentality. We canst not build the future by avenging the past. The past must remain where it is.”

  Silence had fallen on the massive crowd as both child and teen mulled over these simple words that sounded easy, but were so difficult to act upon in real life. As though fate had chosen the worst possible moment—or perhaps the best, it was hard to know with fate—to intervene, Jaime pedaled into the assemblage on his old rusty bike, out of breath from his hard ride, but frantic and furious. He spotted Esteban up near the front, dropped his bike, and pushed his way through the throng.

  “Este!” he called out.

  All heads turned or craned for a better view as Esteban leapt to his feet, Darnell right beside him. Reyna strained from the back to get a better view now that so many guys were standing.

  “Over here, dog, what’s up?” Esteban asked, knowing it had to be something really bad for Jaime to seek him out given their enemy history.

  Jaime pushed through, his face flush with anger and bitterness. Some of his homies crowded forward to get closer to him.

  “My lil’ sister been shot!” he spat, glaring at Darnell, who instantly bristled.

  “What you lookin’ at me fer?” Darnell asked defensively, tensing for a fight.

  “Who was it?” Esteban asked quietly. Once upon a time, he and Jaime had been friends. Then Jaime moved to a different neighborhood, and they’d become enemies. But he’d always loved Jaime’s mom more than his own. When he’d been little he’d often asked her if she would adopt him.

  Jaime cast a wicked look Darnell’s way. “Dwayne!” he announced furiously.

  Esteban turned to Darnell with a hard look.

  “Hey, man, he ain’t my homie!” Darnell insisted, feeling his own homeboys gearing up behind him.

  Esteban sighed. “Come on, vatos, we got work ta do.” Then to Darnell, “You comin’ too?”

  Darnell and his homies had never sided with a Mexican gang against another black gang, but Dwayne was a hothead, and he was dangerous. A guy like him could get a lot of homies killed. Shit, Dwayne, a little girl? What an asshole. He nodded to Esteban and turned to signal to his homeboys.

  As more boys rose to approach Esteban, Arthur stood commandingly and shouted, “Hold thy positions, lads! This doth go against everything I have taught thee. It doth go against the very precepts of knighthood and chivalry.”

  Everyone settled into an uneasy, shuffling silence as Esteban halted and turned back to face Arthur respectfully and said quietly, “With respect, Arthur, this be personal. They got his little sister, homies, an’ she be jus’ four years old.”

  “Thou canst not build the future by avenging the past.”

  “Them’s good words, Arthur, but they don’t change nuthin’. She could die, and we gotta get them that done it.” Fists clenched tightly, the boy’s hard, handsome face gazed at Arthur with fierce anger and determination.

  Arthur looked directly into Esteban’s eyes, almost making the boy who feared nothing squirm. “No. All thou must do is take me to the child.”

  That threw Esteban for a loop. “Huh?” was all he could say, fists unclenching.

  Arthur’s gaze never wavered. “Take me to her, Esteban, whilst we still have time.”

  Esteban’s instincts told him to turn around and take off, to exact payback, to avenge little Anna. That’s the way it was done around here. That’s the way it had always been done since before he’d even been born.

  But that look in Arthur’s eyes…. He glanced at Jaime and knew he’d seen it too. So did Darnell and the others. Those eyes reflected the soul of a man somehow able to do the impossible, and Esteban made a decision, the first adult decision of his young life. “Okay.”

  In back, Reyna sighed with relief, and Lance let out the breath he’d been holding. Disbursing the kids back to their homes and assigning some older “sleepers” to watch over the youngsters, Arthur took Esteban, Darnell, and Jaime, along with Lance, Mark, and Jack, and they set off at once for the hospital. As Esteban passed Reyna in the dispersing crowd, he glanced her way, almost as an afterthought. “You coming with us?”

  Reyna looked appalled and shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t do county hospitals.”

  Esteban stared at her a moment in disbelief before turning angrily to follow Arthur and the others. Reyna looked away and caught Lance eyeing her, obviously having witnessed the exchange. Then the younger boy hurried after the others, leaving her standing in the crowded tunnel feeling a hint of something so foreign she almost didn’t recognize it—shame.

  COUNTY USC was located off Marengo Street downtown, not too far from Central Juvenile Hall. Much of the facility had been renovated over the past few years, and its seedy, psycho house look had been replaced with a bright, almost inviting façade. However, it was still the stuff of nightmares: endless hours waiting in the emergency room; suffering through days or weeks to see your doctor; heavy armed security and metal detectors everywhere you walked, even at the elevators; endless paperwork and red tape. In other words, government gridlock at its best. Sadly, for the poor and disenfranchised, this hospital was pretty much it for medical care.

  On the plus side, County USC did boast one of the best trauma centers in the country, and its doctors had become experts on treating bullet wounds. Esteban, Jaime, and Darnell knew the place well—all had seen more than one homie die in emergency from wounds too traumatic for survival.

  Fortunately for Arthur and his company, the storm drain system had an entrance not far from the hospital, and the encroaching twilight helped conceal the rather odd-looking group as they ascended endless flights of steps and passed through thick glass doors into the massive, towering facility.

  Arthur had brought no metal, having been told by the boys about the metal detectors and armed cops who patrolled the hospital like it was a prison. But he did wear his standa
rd red cloak over a white tunic and leather pants, with knee-high leather boots, and struck an unusual figure cutting across the lobby to the checkpoint.

  The entire group looked out of place with all the boys dressed in similar fashion. Long-sleeved baggy tunics and drawstring leather pants with accompanying leather boots were definitely not the fashion in this part of town. Every set of eyes followed the group as it approached the uniformed guard standing beside a large, walk-through metal detector.

  The guard, who was shaped somewhat like a pigeon with a potbelly and skinny neck, eyed the group suspiciously. “What’s with the getups?” he asked, his voice rather high and reedy.

  Lance, who’d already thought ahead, replied with, “We was at a costume party, man, when we heard his lil’ sister been shot.”

  He indicated Jaime, the only one dressed in a normal wifebeater. The guard shifted his gaze from Lance to Jaime and then gave the tall bearded man with the cloak the once-over. “And who’re you supposed to be, Thor?”

  Arthur tilted his head in confusion, but before he could respond Lance said, “Yeah, he’s Thor. Can we go faster here, please? His sister’s serious.”

  The guard eyed the young, longhaired boy, and then waved them through. Tempted though they’d been to bring along knives, both Esteban and Darnell had refrained, and all of them cleared the metal detector quickly. Checking in at the information booth, they were given name and destination badges by an overweight black woman with a beehive-like hairdo that made her look, to Mark, at least, like an African-American bride of Frankenstein or something.

  Another armed guard stood beside the elevators and pushed the button for the intensive care floor, eyeing the group with raised eyebrows. As the elevator took forever to arrive, Lance felt the need to say, “We were at a party,” to the guard because it felt so awkward. The guard just nodded silently and ushered them into the elevator when it arrived.

  Intensive Care was, as usual for County USC, buzzing with activity. There was, sadly, never a shortage of traumas going on in LA. Today there’d been a particularly nasty multi-car pileup on the 110 Freeway that had tied up traffic for hours and sent four people into trauma surgery. The first nurse they spotted easily directed them to the only gunshot wound on the floor. She handed them all masks, which Arthur gazed at quizzically until Lance showed him how to put it on over his mouth.

  “So we don’t spread germs,” the boy told him, and Arthur nodded.

  The nurse shook her head and glowered until all the boys had donned their masks as well. Only then did she allow them to proceed. Arthur, Esteban, Jaime, Darnell, Lance, Mark, and Jack strode down the hall in the indicated direction, ignoring the odd stares from other nurses and orderlies. When they reached his sister’s door, Jaime shoved it open quickly, and they all followed him into a small, drab, and very cold room.

  Within the room was a bed with an oxygen tent covering it. Beeping and clicking machines that monitored vital functions, as well as IV and plasma drips, surrounded the bed. Beneath the clear, plastic tent Jaime saw the small, pale face of his little sister and anger boiled up once again.

  Jaime’s mother and Sonia, both wearing similar masks, sat huddled by Anna’s bedside, watching her shallow breathing and comforting one another. Jaime’s mom had been crying, her eyes puffy and red, and Sonia’s looked the same. Jaime stepped around the bed and engulfed Sonia in a tight hug.

  “Where’d you go?” she whispered accusingly to the father of her baby.

  Jaime ignored her, pulled himself away, and knelt down before his mother.

  “Mama?”

  Through her tears, the mother gazed despairingly at the son. “Why, why this have to happen? I tell you not to hang wit’ these boys, mijo, I tell you to get out of the gang, but no, you can’t! An’ now my baby gonna die.”

  Jaime tried to hug her, but she rebuffed him, and he stood. “Mama, dis man––” He pointed at Arthur, who gazed down at the dying child, his youthful face unreadable. “He be King Arthur, an’ he says he can help.”

  Arthur stepped around the bed and took the woman’s hands in his.

  “You can’t help, sir,” the distraught woman mumbled through her tears, “’less you can do miracles.”

  Despite the mask covering his mouth, Arthur’s eyes smiled at her, that warm and inviting look that seemed to put everyone at ease. “Perhaps, señora, I can.” He turned to Jaime. “Please take thy mother outside, and the others as well. Lance only must remain.”

  The woman looked in confusion from Arthur to Jaime to Sonia, but willingly allowed her son to guide her gently from the room, followed by Sonia. Esteban eyed Arthur curiously, and then led Darnell from the room.

  “Sure you don’t need me to stay, Arthur?” Mark asked hopefully, fighting back the jealousy toward Lance for being Arthur’s favorite.

  Arthur turned to gaze a moment at Mark. “Not now, Mark, perhaps later ye may also be of help.”

  Mark nodded and let Jack lead him from the room. Lance eyed Arthur expectantly, surprised when the man dropped to his knees beside the bed. There was no noise save the beeping and clicking machines and voices wafting in from the hallway. Arthur looked up at Lance. “Come, Lance, pray with me.”

  Lance had never been much for praying, mainly cuz things he always prayed for when he was little never came true. Until Arthur entered his life, anyway. But he did as instructed. He knelt beside the king and clasped his hands in prayer, emulating this man for whom he’d do anything.

  Arthur lowered his head to his clasped hands and said in an imploring voice, “Dear God, long ago I bore witness to a miracle, performed through my dear friend Lancelot.”

  Lance glanced up at that name, but quickly lowered his head as Arthur continued, “I now ask, not for mine own glory, but for the children whom I seek to lead, that thou doth send forth thy healing powers to restore this innocent child to full health. These knights of mine must make a tremendous leap of faith, dear Lord, and this night may prove the success or failure of my mission. If thou doth see fit to grant the prayer of this, thy most humble servant, I shalt not ask another miracle of thee.”

  He fell silent, bowing his head and reaching beneath the tent to take Anna’s hand in both of his. Lance watched but nothing happened. He didn’t know what he’d expected to occur, since he wasn’t much on praying, but now, watching Arthur clasping the girl’s hand, head bowed in supplication before God, Lance did pray. For real. He prayed with all his might that the girl would live.

  Out in the corridor, it seemed like hours had passed since Arthur asked them all to leave the room. Jaime’s mother stared into nothingness, her thoughts on the beautiful child she might lose this night to senseless gang violence.

  Jaime paced back and forth in front of Sonia, who sat in a chair watching him.

  “This is all my fault,” he kept mumbling over and over again as he paced.

  Sonia had tried to comfort him, but he wanted none of it. He felt far too guilty. Esteban and Darnell leaned against the wall by the door, watching Jaime pace and eyeing each other uncertainly. Mark and Jack sat together, Mark with his head on Jack’s shoulder, Jack’s solid arm encircling Mark’s waist.

  Fiddling absently with his cornrows, Darnell elbowed Esteban and indicated the pair with a smirk. Esteban glanced at the two gay boys and realized he didn’t care. Like Lance said, who gives a rip? He just shrugged, slipped his mask back over his mouth, and impulsively reentered the room.

  Lance and Arthur still knelt where they had started, Arthur’s head bent in prayer over the girl. Lance’s legs had begun to cramp, but he dared not rise. He looked up when Esteban entered. The bigger boy stepped forward into the room and whispered, “What’s he doing?”

  “Praying,” Lance whispered back.

  Esteban glanced sharply at Arthur but said nothing.

  After a short while, Jaime stopped pacing when he noticed that Esteban was gone. He raised his eyebrows at Darnell, who was now sitting by himself, and the black boy nodded his hea
d in the direction of the room. Jaime stepped to the door, replaced his mask, and entered cautiously.

  He sucked in a surprised breath at the sight of Arthur, still bent in prayer, with Lance and Esteban kneeling on either side of him, also praying. Jaime paused, realizing he hadn’t prayed since he was a small boy, then shut the door and went to join them.

  As morning broke into a hazy sunrise, the intensive care floor had settled into an almost calm environment. The corridor was mostly empty, except for Jaime’s mother and Sonia, who had fallen asleep against each other. Suddenly, mom snapped her eyes open, looking around in fear, realizing she had slept through the night. She shook Sonia quickly awake, threw off the blanket someone had draped over her, and dashed into her daughter’s room, with Sonia, wiping sleep from her eyes, close on her heels.

  As Jaime’s mom entered, she gasped, hand at her mouth in surprise. All the boys were kneeling around her daughter’s bed, heads bent, hands clasped together in a prayer chain, with Lance and Esteban completing the circle by holding Arthur’s arms at the elbows. Arthur had not moved the entire night, which amazed Lance whenever his mind drifted away from the girl. He couldn’t even move; his legs were so stiff and numb.

  As the two women stared in disbelief, Anna suddenly stirred beneath the oxygen tent, a tiny, barely audible moan escaping her lips. Arthur finally lifted his head, as did all the boys. Their eyes flicked from each other to Arthur and then locked on the pale figure beneath the tent.

  Arthur stood at last and gazed with true compassion at the small, cherubic brown face behind the sheet of plastic, lowering his mask to reveal his entire appearance. He offered the girl that charming smile everyone seemed to love.

  Anna’s light brown eyes fluttered fully open, her gaze danced around the room, at the tent above her and the machines around her, and then focused on Arthur. Her face looked pale and bloodless, but her eyes shone brightly with life and love. She smiled at this man whom she’d never seen, yet somehow knew had helped her. Arthur grinned.