Monsters

by Peter Cawdron

  “Ah,” she began. “I'm from Greensburg, just outside of Pittsburgh.”

  So much for Little Bayless, thought James, and he wondered which location was a lie. Perhaps they both were. That she would lie so quickly and so convincingly troubled him. It said something fundamental about her, undermining his attitude toward her.

  “What are you doing this far south?” the old man asked. “Where are your companions?”

  “We were set upon by bandits,” she replied. “I ran. I was separated from the main party. I became lost in the mountains and got caught in that bear trap.”

  She was lying. James had found her on the western slope of the peak, well away from the main trade route. And the route was heavily traveled, especially in early spring, with traders wanting to get through before the floods came. Bandits favored the lesser roads, and with good reason. If they were caught they'd be hung.

  “Your party must have gone on to Manitou,” the old man said. “They'll think you're dead. We'll send word in the morning, let them know you've survived.”

  Lisa's eyes dropped slightly as she smiled politely. “Thank you.”

  Liar, thought James. But why? Why would she mislead them? What did she stand to gain from deceit?

  Amelia dished up some lentil soup and James forgot about his concerns as he chatted with the men about hunting and fishing. The old lady put some salve on his burns and changed the bandage on his hand.

  The two boys wanted to hear about the wolves. James became quite animated, reenacting the encounter, starting with his initial preparation, setting the trap and carving barbs into a make-shift spear. As the fire crackled in the background he described the attack to the rapt attention of the family. Gesturing with his hands, he relived the battle, twisting and turning as he described the fight.

  “Oh, yeah,” Lisa said, trying not to laugh at his bravado. “Don't forget the part where you tried to commit suicide by diving into the fire.”

  “I slipped,” James protested, a look of horror on his face. “I lost my footing.”

  “I think they ran off because they were so confused,” Lisa replied, tormenting him.

  “That's not fair,” he protested, forgetting his audience.

  “The sight of you rolling around on fire surely scared them to death,” Lisa cried. “They didn't know whether they preferred you raw, medium or well-done.”

  Old man Winters laughed, as did the women. The young men, though, sided with James and clearly considered him heroic.

  “Hey,” James replied. “I saved your life, remember?”

  “Oh, I remember it well,” Lisa joked.

  “Ah,” Winters said, patting James on the shoulder. “Don't take her jests seriously. You were indeed a hero, my friend, and we all know it.”

  Lisa was smiling. James felt his ego deflate. His grand story of conquest and adventure did seem a little awkward when he thought about it.

  “James was very brave,” Lisa said, balancing things out. “With one wolf caught in the bear trap, he dispatched it quickly and ruthlessly. The rest of the pack stood up on the hill, watching as their fellow died at his hands. They did not bother us again.”

  “So it's true?” Wilbur asked. “You really fought off a pack of wolves by yourself?”

  James tried to say something, but Lisa beat him to it.

  “Yes. It's true. Every detail. Right down to rolling around in the fire.”

  At that, everyone laughed, including James. He had to admit that it did sound funny.

  Wilbur, Jane and Jonathan turned in for the night, climbing up into the loft.

  Amelia placed a rug for them on the floor, a few feet from the fire, before she retired for the night and went to sleep on a bed at the back of the cabin. Winters rubbed his hand through James' hair, in much the same way his father would, and then patted him on the back, bidding him a good night's sleep, then he hobbled off to bed, his wooden leg making a dull thud on the floorboards.

  James and Lisa lay on the rug, enjoying the warmth of the fire. James propped himself up on his elbows, whispering as he spoke.

  “You really thought that was funny?”

  “Well, not at the time,” Lisa replied. “But now, in hindsight, yes, it was quite funny.”

  “But–”

  “Oh, don't let it bother you. You don't need stories of courage and bravery to define you. You're better than that.”

  She leaned over and kissed him on the lips, immediately defusing any tension between them. He liked that. He would have been happy to continue kissing her, but she rocked back on her elbows, looking deep into his eyes. In the flickering light, she looked beautiful. Her long hair was matted and straggly, but it didn't matter.

  “And what about you?” he asked. “There were no bandits, were there?”

  Her body straightened. Her expression went flat as she responded curtly.

  “No.”

  She wasn't going to say any more, that much was clear, but he had an admission from her, and that was a start. Now, though, it was his turn to play the role of tormentor.

  “You know,” he began. “I saw something quite funny on that mountain too.”

  “Oh, really,” she replied, curiosity hanging on her words.

  “Yes. I seem to remember someone straddling two rocks.”

  “You wouldn't dare,” she said, trying not to speak too loudly.

  She reached out and punched him lightly on the shoulder. Dropping her head and staring at him with narrow eyes, Lisa made it clear this was not a subject to be broached in public.

  James smiled. He leaned in, determined to keep the upper hand as long as he could. Kissing her on the cheek, he added, “Sweet dreams.”

  James spread a blanket over the two of them and lay back on the rug. Scrunching up a jacket to use as a pillow, he turned away from her.

  “James?” Lisa whispered, her hand resting on his neck, her fingers playing with his hair.

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  Chapter 04: Morning

  James woke to find Amelia moving quietly around the cabin in the early morning light. Old man Winters was awake. He was grumpy with Amelia. James didn't think too much of it, hoping he and Lisa weren't the object of his annoyance. Winters hobbled around the cabin, favoring his good leg, grumbling under his breath.

  Lisa had cuddled up next to James, her head resting on his chest. Gently, he repositioned her and got up. Before he left for the out-house, James pulled back the blanket covering her leg and gently lifted the edge of the bandage below her knee. Her wound looked angry, and needed to be treated, but his bladder was bursting and Lisa was still asleep so James slipped outside.

  On returning, James saw Amelia tending to Lisa, wiping her brow.

  “She has a fever.”

  “I'm just a little hot,” Lisa replied.

  Winters knelt down, looking at her leg. He peeled back the bandages, his fingers pushed gently at the sides of her raw wound. Pus oozed out. The torn edges of her skin looked red, marking where the teeth of the steel trap had sunk into her leg.

  “Her leg is infected. She is diseased.”

  Lisa leaned forward, trying to get a good look herself.

  “Get her up on the table,” the old man said.

  Amelia cleared the rough-hewn wooden table as the two teenage boys lifted Lisa up and lay her gently on the wooden plank surface. Lisa clenched her teeth. Amelia brought a pillow over for her head.

  Winters mumbled something and Amelia rummaged around in one of the drawers, pulling out an old leather belt.

  “I'm sorry,” he said, taking Lisa's hand. “Really, I am. But this is the only way.”

  He slid the belt under her knee, moving it up on her thigh, but leaving it flat on the table.

  “A tourniquet,” James stuttered, in shock at what was unfolding. Things were moving too quick, he had to slow this down. “Wait a minute. You're taking things too far, too fast.”

  For her part, Lisa was struggling to sit up
and see what was going on. She grimaced with pain at the slightest movement.

  “She's going to be OK,” James said. “Her body needs time to heal.”

  Winters looked up at him with grim determination. He turned to Amelia.

  “We're going to need clean bandages and plenty of boiled water.”

  “No,” cried Lisa. She panicked, thrashing with her hands. “Get away from me. Get away.”

  Jonathan and Wilbur stood behind her, holding the crook of her arm back, keeping her still on the table.

  “Let go of me!”

  “You can't do this,” James protested. “There must be something else we can do. This is crazy. Madness.”

  The boys held her fast, but their heads were slightly bowed, so they could avoid looking him in the eye. They wanted no part of this, of that James was sure, but must have thought there was no other way, so they reluctantly and silently backed up their father.

  James looked at Amelia. She was silent. Tears sat in her eyes.

  Winters placed a wood saw in the fire. Sparks drifted up the chimney.

  “She either loses the leg or she loses her life. Which is it going to be?”

  “I don't want to lose my leg,” cried Lisa. She was appealing to James, not Winters, as though the decision was his. “Please, don't let him take my leg.”

  “You must be strong,” Winters said, but he too was talking to James. “She is in no position to make this decision for herself. She needs you to be strong for her.”

  “You're overreacting,” James said, trying to calm things down. He held out his hands, moving them slowly, as though that physical act would result in calming the situation.

  Winters stirred the coals in the fire. The tip of a fire-iron glowed red. In his mind, James could already smell the sweet scent of cauterized flesh. He'd seen this before, they all had at one point or another, either when branding an animal or sealing a wound.

  “Oh, please, please, please,” Lisa moaned.

  James found his mind racing. What options were there? Winters thought he was doing what was right. James could force the issue with violence, but where would that end? And Lisa was in no state for a hasty exit. He had to talk the old man down and make him see reason.

  “I understand,” James said in a calm voice. “I know what happened.”

  The change of tone caught everyone off-guard. Winters looked at him warily.

  “You've been there,” James continued. “You've been the one lying there on the table. You must know the terror she feels, but this isn't Bracken Ridge.”

  The old man's eyes cast down, but not in shame. James could see he was looking at the stump of his knee resting on his wooden leg.

  “Hard decisions had to be made,” Winters said.

  “They saved your life,” James added. He was standing beside Lisa as she lay there on the table. She seemed to sense what he was doing and relaxed a little. She held his hand, her fingers barely touching his, and yet he knew he had her support.

  “If the infection spreads, she dies,” Winters replied coldly. “It's a harsh law, but it is the natural law. You can no more fight it than you can spread your wings and fly.”

  “And yet man once flew among the stars,” James pleaded.

  “Wishful thinking,” Winters said with a hint of scorn in his voice. “Time is of the essence. We have to act now and save her life before it is too late.”

  “We need to clean the wound,” James said. “Give her body a chance.”

  “Look,” Winters said, pointing at the stitching on her leg. “The wound is red. The infection is spreading, if we act now we can save the thigh. If we wait, she'll lose even that, if not her life.

  “Are you willing to risk her life? You look at me like I'm evil, like I'm the bad guy, but you would wait and put her life in jeopardy? Are you honestly that foolish?”

  James was silent. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Winters changed his tone. He was sympathetic in his comments, his voice conveyed compassion, not anger. He must have found this as difficult as they did, but felt compelled to act.

  “I know how you feel,” Winters said. “You did so much to save her, but this is one monster you cannot fight. There is no bear to shoot arrows at, no wolves to chase. There is nothing to be done for the leg. If you care for her, you will let me take her leg—here—just below the knee.”

  “Please no,” Lisa said, sobbing. “Don't take my leg.”

  “She will understand,” Winters insisted. “It may take her time, but she will realize there was no other way.”

  “But you don't know what you're dealing with,” James said.

  “And you do?” Winters asked.

  “Yes,” James said, realizing he'd have to show his hand and reveal what he knew about bacteria. With measured deliberation and his hands out before him, he added, “There is a world that exists beneath ours, so small you and I cannot see it, but it is real.”

  “You speak like a sorcerer. It is as though you talk of magic.”

  “Not magic. This is not make-believe or fantasy. Her body is fighting a war against hundreds of thousands of monsters, each of them smaller than the sharp end of a pin.”

  “But how could such creatures exist?”

  “How does the moon not fall from the sky?” James asked, trying to turn the logic around. “That reality defies our expectations is not magic, it simply means there is more for us to learn.

  “Think about it. If you dent your plow, does it fix itself? If you break a beam of timber, will it mend? And yet cut your hand and within days the skin has grown back. Why? What's different?”

  “I am alive,” replied Winters.

  “Yes, but it's more than that. If you want a glass of water you make a deliberate decision to get up and get something to drink, but you make no such concerted effort to heal a wound. Why?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Exactly. There are aspects of life that function beyond our knowledge, without our specific involvement, like the beating of the heart.

  “There is a microscopic world, smaller than anything we can see, occurring at the tiniest of levels.”

  “I have played with a magnifying glass,” the old man protested. “I have seen nothing of this world you describe. Do you expect me to believe in fairy tales?”

  “Don't do this,” James snapped. “Don't be like the villagers, caught in their ignorance and superstition. You’re better than that.”

  The old man's patience was wearing thin. The look in his eyes betrayed his feelings. The growl in his voice confirmed his anger.

  “It is you who are superstitious. It is you who would have me believe in something without reason.”

  Outside, birds sung in the warmth of the morning, oblivious to the tension within the cabin. James was losing the argument and he knew it. He looked around, his mind racing, desperately trying to think of some tangible way to describe the world of microbes. His eyes caught sight of a rotund wheel of cheese sitting on the shelf above the kitchen bench.

  “Think about mold. Whether it’s forming cheese, causing fruit to rot or growing in a damp corner, what you're seeing is a colony containing hundreds of thousands, millions of tiny spores growing and multiplying. You're seeing the microscopic realm explode into our world.”

  James turned to Lisa, adding, “Her body is fighting a bacterial infection, but we can help her fight back. This is a monster we can defeat. Bacteria are living creatures. They're vicious, but they can be beaten.”

  “You expect me to believe this?”

  “No,” James replied, anger rising in his voice. “It matters not what you believe. It's true regardless.”

  The old man seemed taken aback by his audacity, so James continued, explaining what was happening.

  “You're right in that the infection is taking hold and the wound is becoming inflamed. Time is of the essence. We need to clean her cuts with something that will kill the bacteria from the outside, giving her body a chance to fight off the bacteria fro
m within.”

  “And what will kill these invisible monsters of yours?” Winters asked, mocking him.

  “Think about it,” James said, appealing to the others. “Think about what you have around you that doesn't spoil.”

  James turned to Amelia, saying, “Meat rots. Bread goes moldy. What stays fresh? What never spoils?”

  “Honey?” Amelia replied.

  “Yes.”

  “What about vinegar?” Jonathan said, a waver of doubt in his voice.

  “Bad cider?” Winters asked in surprise.

  “Yes,” James said. “We might think it's bad, but it's not. We still use vinegar, right? We don't throw it away.”

  “I use it in cooking,” Amelia said, agreeing with him, “And it's good on bee stings, and for getting rid of stains in clothing.”

  Somehow, from the kindness in her voice, James felt she wanted to believe him. She wanted there to be an alternative to the amputation. He knew he had her on his side, and he intended to use her support to his advantage.

  “What about cleaning?” James asked, leading her on.

  “Yes. I use it to get rid of mildew and mold, and for cleaning the bench.”

  “Exactly,” James said, ceasing on her point. “Because bacteria and fungus cannot grow in vinegar.”

  “And you think this will save her leg?” Winters asked. “Honey and vinegar?”

  “No,” James replied. “I don't think these things will save her leg. I think they will allow her body to save her leg. We need to clean her wounds carefully, washing and treating them, and then give her body a chance to wage war against the bacteria.”

  “A wish and a prayer won't work here,” Winters replied. He took the wood saw from the fire, cleaning the soot from it with a fresh cloth.

  Lisa was trembling, shaking with fear, mumbling under her breath as the boys held her down.