ABE'S ANGEL

It was rare that I was sent but I was here. The room was dark with heavy curtains that held a musky smell of age and history and dust. No one could know I was there unless I chose. I sat silent and dark in the corner for the boy.

The boy’s breathing was labored. He was beautiful but tired. An angel in the making.

I could hear the festivities from below. A band played and there was the muffled rumble of a hundred voices speaking at the same time. It was obvious that this room was not known by the multitude of partiers below.

Finally, the door opened and his long, dark, lanky figure stepped in. He moved quietly to close the door behind him then almost floated toward the boy’s bed. He stood beside the boy a long time, his head bent forward. His shoulders were slightly stooped in defeat. I could not see his face in the gloom. A moment later the door opened and a small woman clothed in broad hooped clothing came in. The size of the hoops forced the door open so that light flashed across the floor and onto the bed. I could see the concern on the man’s long and bearded face but the woman closed the door behind her quickly as if she knew. She slid to the man’s side and without thinking their hands reached and clasped.

They didn’t speak. Whatever was between them was kept silent.

It was an eternity or maybe minutes.

Finally she turned to leave. He held her hand and as she moved he held on until she had to stop.

“We have guests,” she whispered. He held her hand a moment more then reluctantly released. She moved to the door and as she opened it, the door opened wide to accommodate the hoops and the light once again spilled onto the boy’s bed. The man had already turned back to the boy.

As she shut the door the room went as dark as it had been. Dark for the man. Dark for me,

The man moved to the boy and sat in a chair pulled close. He gently moved a huge gnarled hand to the boy’s hair and smoothed it. He felt the moist sweat of the fever and looked about. He leaned and picked up the cloth and dipped it into the basin and with the utmost of gentle love, he bathed the boy’s face. The boy didn’t move, his breath remained labored.

He caressed the boy’s hair. After a moment he leaned back and laying the cloth in the basin he put his head into his hands and began to weep. I could see him gritting his teeth to stop from making noise in his sorrow. His great shoulders shook. The sobs were only held in by his physical strength. His sobbing face in his hands, he slowly folded forward, his forehead in his hands until they met his knees.

After a long time his sobbing slowly subsided and it was in that time that he became aware that I was there.

He pulled a huge racking breath into his lungs and sat back. He didn’t look at me. It was a long silent moment; it was why I was sent.

Finally, “I’m going to lose him aren’t I?”

I nodded.

“I’ve already lost so much.”

I nodded again.

“Why?”

I didn’t have to tell him.

He took another breath and wiped the sleeve to his dark suit coat across his eyes. He turned now to look directly at me. “What am I doing here? What can I accomplish?”

This made me smile. I shook my head in wry amusement at such a question.

“Will I be successful in this awful, bloody endeavor?”

It was against the rules but this man was special. I nodded.

“Will I see it end?”

Again, against the rules, I nodded.

He stood.

“There is something there, then,” he said. “Something.”

He moved to the door, “Will I take Mother to California? I really would like to see California.”

I looked at him.

“Too much,” he said, nodding.

As his hand touched the knob he turned back to look at the boy. He stood a very long time, his eyes glistening in what light there was.

He didn’t look at me as he opened the door. “You’ll take care of him?” he said as if talking to the corridor.

He didn’t see me nod as he shut the door.