The Loved and the Lost

by Lory Kaufman

  “No good,” the midwife said, and the door closed with a click.

  Chapter 7

  Elders Hansum and Lincoln looked at the three teens facing them.

  “So, you finally got here,” young Lincoln said. “Did you have to wait till I looked like this?” and he bared his teeth, showing the missing spot in front and pointing to his broken arm.

  “My apologies,” the older Hansum said. “There have been problems in getting you home. Time travel is more complicated than you could know.”

  “More complicated than we could know?” Lincoln continued complaining. “We didn’t even know it existed.”

  “People from the 31st-century still have problems with time travel?” Shamira asked.

  “Actually, we’re from around your time. Time travel was announced to the public just after you three were brought here. People have been watching your adventures all over the planet. It’s a new History Camp method to scare hard case teens into appreciating the easy time they live in.”

  “But when Arimus was killed . . .” Shamira began.

  “The truth is . . . Arimus didn’t die. It was all a ruse to make you three take things seriously. And if our changing the timeline hasn’t altered things too much, he should show up to retrieve you soon.”

  The teens all looked at each other, confused. Lincoln especially wasn’t seeing the bright side of things.

  “You put me through all of this crap, just so I would appreciate . . .” The older Lincoln as monk reached out and took hold of his younger self’s shoulder. The younger one batted him off. “Don’t touch me, ferret face.”

  “Asshole,” the older Lincoln retorted.

  “Oh, finally this weird lookin’ guy finds his tongue and all he can say is . . .”

  “Cool it, Lincoln,” the younger Hansum said, giving the kind of look a noble gives a servant. Lincoln quieted immediately. The young Hansum looked back to the man dressed as a priest.

  “So, Arimus isn’t dead, you’ve been trying to save us and Arimus should show up anytime now,” Hansum summed up. “You’ll excuse me for asking, but why don’t you just take us back, and if you can’t, how are you here? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Very little about time travel does, my boy,” the elder Hansum agreed. “Listen, all of you. We’ve changed the timeline you and the Arimus you know lived before. But we’re still hopeful he should show up to take you back, with one big difference. Before you went back by yourselves. This time, we hope Guilietta and her family can go with you. We’ve tried before, several times, but for some reason, we can’t.”

  Silence.

  “You’re right,” Lincoln lisped. “Time travel doesn’t make sense? It’s nuts!”

  Young Hansum put up his hand again for silence. “What’s this about Guilietta? You tried to do what before? Take her to the future?”

  The old Hansum hesitated, looking at the older Lincoln, who nodded.

  “Right now Guilietta is getting better, thank Gia, but in the last timeline . . . she didn’t. We tried saving both you and her before, but failed. We’re afraid she might be a person who can’t move through time, except at certain points.”

  “We don’t remember you trying before,” the young Hansum countered.

  The old Hansum became somewhat frustrated. “Of course you don’t. We changed it all back. Hansum, we don’t have time for me to get into the details. You’ve got to trust us.”

  “Just tell me what you mean, she didn’t make it?”

  “She and the baby. They died back at her parents’ house.” Silence. “But this time we manipulated the situation for the Podesta to go get her, and for you to have the antibiotic. Now she’s here and alive.” The old Hansum smiled. “Listen, please, we’ve never gotten this far and I think it can work this time. Be happy.”

  “Okay. Okay,” the younger Hansum said, trying to take it all in. “What can we do to help?”

  “Good. That’s what I hoped you would say. There’s not much to do right now,” the older Hansum said. “Everything’s been set up, the antibiotic is eliminating Guilietta’s infection and the rest should play out by tomorrow.”

  “And what happens if Arimus doesn’t show and you can’t find a way to take us forward?” the young Hansum asked, “Or if we can go and Guilietta can’t?”

  “You choose then, my boy. You can stay here with her or go forward, whatever you like. This whole operation was to make you and her happy.”

  Young Hansum stood quietly, not saying what his face showed. Lincoln said it though.

  “I can’t believe Guilietta . . . died.”

  “None of you think about that,” the older Hansum ordered, pointing at each teen. “Just be happy that things are going to work out now. Especially you, Hansum. You’re going to be a father.”

  Hansum smiled at that. So did Shamira and Lincoln.

  “Hey man, I’m sorry I was snarky at you,” Lincoln said to his older self. “You look like an okay guy, for a ferret face.”

  There was a scream from the bedroom. “HUSBAND!”

  “Guilietta,” Hansum said, turning.

  “No, Signora,” the voice of the midwife cried. “No, you mustn’t.”

  “I WANT MY HUSBAND!”

  “She’s being attacked!” Hansum said, banging open the door with his shoulder.

  “No, Signor,” the midwife cried. “Stay away,” but it was too late.

  There, standing by the bed, was Guilietta, her long nightdress soaked with blood from the waist down, a puddle dripping onto the marble floor.

  “She’s hemorrhaging,” Zat said, his face appearing on Lincoln’s chest.

  “What’s going . . .” young Hansum started.

  “Lie her back down,” Sideways called, his face appearing too.

  “She will not listen,” the midwife retorted. She saw the A.I. faces and fell to her knees, crossing herself. Gullietta slipped in the blood and crashed to the marble floor.

  Both Hansums rushed to her side. “Husband,” Guilietta moaned.

  “Lincoln, put my sleeve on her belly,” Zat ordered. “I’m a medical A.I. I’ll scan her.” The older Lincoln put his voluminous sleeve on Guilietta’s blood-stained torso. “There’s a hematoma in the uterus. It’s caused an abruptio placenta. The placenta has separated from the wall of the womb.”

  “But the antibiotic?” the younger Hansum cried as he cradled Guilietta’s head.

  “That’s taking care of the infection, but nothing we’ve got can stop this,” said Zat.

  “Romero,” Guilietta’s voice was now much weaker. “What is happening? Our baby? Romero? I’m afraid for our . . .” her voice trailed off.

  “Hang on, Guilietta,” Hansum pleaded. “Hang . . .” Her eyes unfocused. “CAN’T YOU DO SOMETHING?”

  “Medicine brought from our time won’t work here,” the older Lincoln said, grimacing.

  “Stay with us, Guil,” the younger Shamira urged. “Stay with us,” but Guilietta’s eyes closed completely and her body started shaking in shock.

  “Guilietta,” both Hansums said at once, and then she convulsed, her whole torso seeming to ripple. A gush of new blood washed through her gown and poured across the marble.

  “She’s aborting,” Zat called.

  “The baby she comes. No good, no good,” the midwife said getting up from her knees. She grabbed one of Guilietta’s legs. “Sister,” she said to the older Shamira. “Bend the other leg to free the way.” As they did so, the sodden night gown hung like wet red drapes between Guilietta’s knees. The midwife grabbed a knife and slit the cloth. “No good, no good.”

  “Guilietta . . .” Hansum pleaded in her ear, but she couldn’t hear.

  “Madonna mia, bless this mother and child,” the midwife prayed as she worked.

  “No, no, Cristo no!” the older Hansum said, almost praying.

  “Oh man!” the younger Lincoln groaned, staring at the widening pool of red on the floor.

  “What can I do?” the young Shamira b
egged. “What can I do?” She looked and found a hand holding her wrist. It was the silent sister with green eyes.

  “Guilietta. Guilietta, don’t leave me,” the young Hansum pleaded to his wife’s now pale face, her eyes two thin slits.

  “Guilietta, I failed,” the old Hansum wept. “Again I . . .”

  Chapter 8

  The roar of the vortex echoed in the hollow silence of the time travelers’ souls. In all the other instances where death was imminent, the battle with the cannon and knights, the sword fights with Feltrino, the incident in the river, there was a chance of survival if you struggled hard and were lucky. But this, seeing the young woman they loved being drained of life, it ripped out their guts.

  Now the only thing to do, once again, was to go back and stop the older Hansum from stepping out from behind the wagon and contacting Mastino della Scalla when he re-entered Verona. But for the first time in his career, Hansum couldn’t do what was needed of him. Sideways went alone.

  As Sideways rejoined the others in the vortex, he could tell that his Hansum was out of emotional fuel. Staring out into nowhere, the old time traveler didn’t even acknowledge the A.I.’s reappearance. Looking at the others, Sideways saw they were all in a similar state, hanging listlessly in the vortex.

  “Where to now, Elder Hansum?” Sideways asked telepathically. “Back to the wall to regroup?”

  “Why?” Hansum responded. “That was the last piece of our plan to find a nexus point.”

  “We can’t hang here forever, Master.”

  “Maybe it was never meant to be,” Hansum thought back.

  Nobody said anything for a long time. They just hung there, suspended in time.

  “If that really was our last chance, can I ask a favor?” Shamira thought. The others looked over. “Can we at least go back to when Guil passed away at home? We weren’t there for her or her parents then, and I’ve always regretted it. I’d really like to be with her and the family one last time. To say goodbye.”

  They all looked to Hansum, their leader. Tears were streaming from his eyes again. He needed to say goodbye too.

  They returned to the della Cappa home. Guilietta was on her deathbed attended by her parents and Nuca. Bembo was out in the hallway, ready to do whatever he could. The women had been able to reduce Guilietta’s fever for a while, but now it was returning with a vengeance.

  After almost a hundred years of not giving up, it was time for Hansum to let go.

  “Medeea. Are you sure you can’t do anything?” he asked quietly.

  “Oh Hansum, I’ve been trying. But still, the most I can still do is monitor and stimulate her own immune system. And maybe, just maybe, put her into stasis when the time comes.”

  “Please, do what you can to make her comfortable.”

  Lincoln opened up the smallest of openings in the air. He poured a drop of Medeea into a bowl of water Master della Cappa was using. The big man dipped the cloth in and put it to his daughter’s mouth, squeezing the liquid between her parched lips.

  “I’m in,” Medeea said. “She’s low, very low. I’ll try to stimulate her immune system again but . . . . I’m sorry. It will only help for a little while. It won’t be enough.”

  This pronouncement caused Hansum to fall to his knees. He looked at the young girl who had been his wife, was still his wife for a short while longer. Lincoln came and knelt by his friend, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  “Goodbye, Guilietta. I’m sorry,” Hansum whispered. “We tried. We really tried.”

  “Romero. My Romero,” Guilietta murmured. “Where are you, my Romero?”

  This stunned Hansum. It was as if she heard him.

  “No, she’s not talking to you, Hansum,” Medeea explained, “Well, she is, but not you.”

  Hansum struggled to remember when he had heard Guilietta say those words before. Of course! It was when the younger Hansum was at the Podesta’s palace, huddled in the corner of the room he was being detained in, out of his mind with worry for his wife. He thought it was a dream at the time, but here he was, at the other end of the conversation. It had been real.

  “I hear your voice,” Guilietta continued to mutter. “I see you in my mind, like a window to another place. Is this a dream? Is this Heaven?” The younger Hansum had opened his eyes, breaking the visual connection between the two, causing Guilietta to become agitated. “Where have you gone, my love?”

  The young Hansum closed his eyes again and Medeea connected everybody to Guilietta and her Hansum’s last conversation. Hansum said how the Podesta was keeping him at the palace, and Guilietta, even in her low state, gave him loving encouragement. She told how her father said Hansum and the others were devils. Hansum confessed he was from the future, trapped in the 14th-century, but he would find a way to prove he was not a devil and save her. And that’s when Guilietta said those awful words.

  “I fear not, husband. I fear not. I am dying.” Hansum couldn’t see what happened in the della Cappa bedroom before. Now he did. Guilietta’s body started shivering uncontrollably and the Signora shrieked and collapsed. “Come to me, my darling,” Guilietta’s voice had said to the younger Hansum. “Hold me while I go to God.”

  “Can’t we do something?” the older, out-of-phase Hansum pleaded.

  “Medeea’s trying,” Lincoln said. “She’s trying!”

  The Elder Shamira was standing next to Hansum, staring down at the situation. The old Hansum and Lincoln were full of anguish. Even Medeea was gritting her teeth as she tried desperately to overcome her programmed inability to heal Guilietta. Shamira watched as the Signora became distraught and collapsed, and yet she remained calm. So calm. The Master called Bembo and, along with Nuca, moved the Signora to the other bedroom. All the while the older Hansum was on his knees, tears streaming from his aged, sunken eyes, his hands clasped almost in prayer. As the Signora was carried from the room, Shamira curiously decided to follow, walking out of phase through one bedroom door curtain and then the next. She watched as the despondent mother was placed gently on the other bed and passed out.

  “Shall I go get more cool water from the well, Master?” Bembo asked quietly.

  “No,” the Master said, his hollow eyes looking at Bembo. Shamira knew her second father’s face well enough to know he was making a very hard decision. “Tell Ugilino to run and fetch Father Lurenzano. It’s time,” the unspoken phrase being; “for last rites.”

  “Si, Master,” Bembo said, hanging his head.

  “I go get dry blanket at home,” Nuca added, “Make Gui comfortable,” and they all left the room with the Signora gently weeping in her sleep.

  Shamira sat on the edge of the bed next to the Signora. This was the woman who “Shamira the hard case” thought of as just a crazy, old, fat person. How did she become such a cherished part of her heart?

  “Goodbye, Signora. At least I get to say goodbye this time. Maybe we will see each other again,” she whispered. “I’m pretty old myself and who knows, we could be sitting, holding hands together with your Archangel Michael one of these days. Wouldn’t that be grand?” At that odd thought Shamira smiled and absentmindedly reached for the Signora’s fat hand. She expected hers to go right through the old woman’s, but felt plump flesh move under her fingers. The Signora’s whole body began to shimmer blue and she awoke with a start.

  The Signora looked up. Shamira’s first response was to think the old woman was staring through her and up at the ceiling, like when she was talking to her hallucinatory angels. But then they blinked at the same time and realized they were looking into each other’s eyes.

  “Signora. You can see me.”

  “You, you look like Carmella, but you are not Carmella. Are you an angel?”

  Shamira realized what had happened. “You’ve gone out of phase, Signora. Good Gia, you’ve gone out of phase,” and she hugged the old woman and gave her a kiss. Then she looked her in the eye and smiled. The Signora looked back, not knowing how to react. “It’s going to be all right
now, Signora. It’s going to be all right,” and she let go of the old woman, who fell back onto her pillow, the glow disappearing from her with a pop. To her, Shamira would seem to have simply vanished.

  “I must be dreaming,” she said, crossing herself.

  “No you’re not, Signora,” Shamira said, jumping to her feet. “Guys, the Signora. She’s gone out of phase!” she shouted.

  “Come to me, my darling,” Guilietta’s voice whispered desperately. “One last kiss before I meet Jesus. I am content that your voice is the last thing I’ll hear.”

  Tears streaming down the old Hansum’s face, he heard his likewise grief-stricken self back at the palace. “No, Guilietta. You’re not dying. You mustn’t die!”

  “I am done, my love, but I am happy.”

  “You mustn’t die, Guilietta. I love you. I need you. I’ve always loved you. Before we met, I loved the idea of you. I need more of you.”

  “We had the time on the wall, with the moon and cool breeze showing us we were alive,” Guilietta murmured weakly.

  “I want that time again,” the younger Hansum wept. “You cannot go. I’ve not had enough.”

  “Who’s to say what’s enough? Not those who say it.” That’s when the communications had gone silent before, but not this time. Not by Guilietta’s death bed. Death was not quiet.

  Hansum looked on in horror as Guilietta went into convulsions, her breathing rasping as she fought to force air through her swelling larynx. Her body tensed and her beautiful hands grasped the sheets as her head jerked back and forth, battling to bring in enough oxygen to keep alive. Her father was alone with Guilietta. Unbridled panic and grief screamed from his eyes. He fell to his knees, collected his daughter in his arms and held her as she shook, desperately trying to hold in the life being torn away from her.

  Guilietta’s body bucked harder and harder as it was starved of oxygen. The bucking suddenly became less, then pathetic . . . and she went limp. The only thing moving was her father’s massive chest. Slowly, Agistino released his grip and sat up, tentatively staring at her face. As reality seeped in, he closed his eyes and a stream of tears poured down his cheeks. He crossed himself and began to pray.