calling my name, but I was so far from home I knew I would be scolded if she learned I had left the house at all, so I said nothing; I only closed my eyes and waited for impact as I fell into the abyss. I imagined this is what it was like to be pushed alive into a suicide grave. I awaited the smothering dirt, poised to die beneath its blanket of filth, left to the eager worms and maggots of the earth.
“Bram!”
* * *
? ? ?
MA CALLED OUT TO ME from the the top of the hole, but I remained silent. It wasn’t until the third time I finally tried to answer, but my voice failed me. The heft of so much soil on my chest expelled what little air I could muster, only a muted grunt escaping my dry, chapped lips. Around me, dirt fell, raining down in giant clumps, battering my frail body. A crowd gathered at the top of the hole; although I couldn’t see anybody, I heard them—shouting and screams, crying, even cackles—first two voices, then four, then a dozen more. I could not keep track, for they were everywhere and yet nowhere, ungodly loud but invisible to me all the same.
Then there was one.
I looked up into Ma’s eyes, red and clouded. She held the damp cloth inches from my face and froze as my eyes fluttered open and found her. I was back in my little attic room, back in my bed, wondering if I had left at all.
“He’s awake,” she said in a hushed tone to someone across the room.
I tried to turn my head, but my neck ached so; I feared the movement alone might sever my head from my body. It felt as if a dozen blades made of ice pressed into my skin. “Cold . . .”
“Shhhh, don’t speak,” Ma said. “Your Uncle Edward is here; he is going to help you.”
Edward’s face appeared above me, his wispy gray hair disheveled and falling over round glasses. He pulled a stethoscope from around his neck, inserted the earpieces in his ears, and pressed the metal bell-shaped resonator to my chest—this, too, was icy against my bare skin and I tried to shake it off, but Pa and Thornley held me fast.
“Still yourself,” Uncle Edward ordered, his face creased in a scowl. He listened for a moment before turning back to Ma. “His heart rate is highly erratic, and the fever has escalated to the point of hallucination. Without treatment, the fever could result in permanent damage . . . hearing impairment, lost sight, perhaps even death.”
I listened to this as if an observer, unable to interact. I watched Ma exchange a worried glance with Pa as Thornley simply peered down at me.
“What do you suggest?” Ma asked of Uncle Edward. Her voice, usually confident and steady, now wavered.
Uncle Edward’s eyes fluttered over to mine, then returned to Ma. “We must lessen the tainted blood; only then will his body find the strength to fight the infection and begin to heal.”
Ma was shaking her head. “The last time only worsened his condition.”
“Bloodletting is the only treatment called for by such a case.”
I tried to break free of their hold, and nearly did, for they were distracted by their discussion and had lessened their grip, all but Thornley, who squeezed my arm with such force at my attempt I thought his fingers would break the skin. He frowned at me while mouthing, No.
Blackness slipped back over me like a cloak, and I fought to retain consciousness. They continued to speak, but the words became foreign to me, a language I did not speak. Then my body began to shake with a chill so great I felt as if I had plunged into a frozen lake. From the corner of my eye, I watched Pa nod his head.
Uncle Edward removed his glasses, wiped them on his shirt, then replaced them on the bridge of his nose. He opened his bag, a satchel of the finest brown English leather, and removed a small white jar with tiny holes in its lid. He pried it open, its rubber stopper emitting