The Codex

41

Tom jumped, he was so startled by hearing his brother Philip’s voice coming from this living cadaver. He bent down to scrutinize the face, but he could find no point of resemblance. He recoiled in horror: Maggots were squirming in a sore on the man’s neck.

“Philip?” Vernon whispered.

The voice croaked an affirmative.

“What are you doing here?”

“Dying.” He spoke matter-of-factly.

Tom knelt and looked into his brother’s face closer up. He was still too horrified to speak or react. He laid a hand on his brother’s bony shoulder. “What happened?”

The figure closed its eyes for a moment, then opened them. “Later.”

“Of course. What am I thinking?” Tom turned to his brother. “Vernon, go get Don Alfonso and Sally. Tell them we found Philip and that we’re making camp here.”

Tom continued looking at his brother, too shocked to speak. Philip was so utterly calm… it was as if he had already resigned himself to death. It was unnatural. There was the serenity of apathy in his eyes.

Don Alfonso arrived and, relieved to find that the river demon had turned out to be a human being, began clearing an area to set up camp.

When Philip saw Sally he removed the pipe and blinked.

“I’m Sally Colorado,” she said, taking his hand in hers.

Philip managed a nod.

“We need to clean you up and doctor you.”

“Thank you.”

They carried Philip down to the river, laid him on a bed of banana leaves, and stripped him. Philip’s body was covered with sores, many of which were infected and some of which were crawling with maggots. The maggots, Tom thought, examining the wounds, had actually been a boon, as they were consuming the septic tissue and reducing the chance of gangrene. He could see that in some of the wounds where the maggots had been at work there was already fresh granulation tissue. Others didn’t look so good.

With an awful feeling he looked at his brother. They had no drugs, no antibiotics, no bandages, only Sally’s herbs. They carefully washed him and then carried him back to the clearing and laid him down, stark naked, on a bed of palm leaves near the fire.

Sally began sorting the bundles of herbs and roots she had collected.

“Sally is an herbal healer,” said Vernon.

Philip said, “I’d prefer an injection of amoxycillin.”

“We don’t have any.”

Philip lay back on the leaves and closed his eyes. Tom doctored the sores, scraping out the necrotic flesh, irrigating and flushing out the maggots. Sally dusted the wounds with an herbal antibiotic and bandaged him up with strips of pounded bark that had been sterilized in boiling water and then smoke-dried in the fire. They washed and dried his tattered clothes and redressed him in them, having no others. They finished as the sun was beginning to set. They propped him up, and Sally brought in a mug of herbal tea.

Philip took the mug. He was looking better. He said, “Turn around, Sally, and let me check you for wings.”

Sally blushed.

Philip took a sip and then another. Don Alfonso, meanwhile, had pulled a half dozen fish out of the stream and was now grilling them on skewers at the fire. The smell of roasting fish came wafting over.

“Strange how I have no appetite,” said Philip.

“That’s not uncommon when you’re starving,” said Tom.

Don Alfonso served out the fish on leaves. For a while they ate in silence, and then Philip spoke:

“Well well, here we are. A little family reunion in the Honduran jungle.” Philip looked around, his eyes sparkling, and then he said: “G.”

There was a silence and then Vernon said: “H.”

Tom said “O.”

Philip said “S.”

There was a long silence and then Vernon said, “Goddamn it. T.”

“Vernon has to wash the dishes!” crowed Philip.

Tom turned to Sally to explain. “It’s a game we used to play,” he said with a sheepish smile.

“I guess you three really are brothers.”

“Sort of,” said Vernon. “Even if Philip is an ass.”

Philip let out a guffaw. “Poor Vernon. You always did end up in the kitchen, didn’t you?”

“Glad to see you feeling better,” said Tom.

Philip turned his hollow face to him. “I am.”

“You feel like telling us what happened?”

Philip’s face grew serious, losing all its archness. “It’s a heart-of-darkness story, complete with a Mistah Kurtz. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

“Yes,” said Tom. “We want to hear it.”