2. Wolfe #2
Lifting his left leg onto my lap, I ran my fingers over his ankle. He winced but held still, which meant that it was a strain, rather than a sprain, and certainly not a break. If it’d been a break, he’d have been howling.
I didn’t comment on the red paint on the toe or laces as I untied his sneaker. The sole was thin, and the whole thing seemed to melt in my hand. His sock had holes and, as I pulled off the sock, his foot was filthy and stank. His ankle was a tad swollen.
“Put your foot in cool water, then take it out,” I said, rolling up his pant leg, dark canvas that had once been sturdy but which was now thin. “Then dunk your foot again. Do that a few times. Then I’ll wrap your ankle. We’ll put ice on it. I’ll bring the tub.”
He watched me, frowning as though perplexed, but when I came back with a white tub of cool water, I put his foot in the water.
“You see?” I asked. “We’re bringing down the swelling. Cold for now. Heat later.”
Nodding solemnly, he watched me stand up, as though he was uncertain what I might do next.
“Let me take this,” I said, tugging on the strap of the duffel.
“No,” he said, holding on tight, as though it contained something precious.
“I’m just putting it over here,” I said, tugging harder. When he let go, I put it near the easy chair, where it sagged, dusty and stained.
I helped him take off his blue wool coat and gray hoodie, its zipper cold to the touch. Underneath he had on a t-shirt and a ratty wool sweater that had left marks along his throat. Everything was filthy. And he was shaking, though the cabin was warmer than the storm outside.
“Take your foot out for a minute, then put it back in,” I said. “I’m going to build a fire and will pull the chair in front of it, so you’ll be warm while I patch up the rest of you.”
Silent and solemn, he watched me as I did all of this, then dutifully stood up so I could pull the chair next to the fire, where warmth oozed from the burning cottonwood logs I’d chopped myself.
He sat in the chair and I brought the tub over so he could soak his ankle once more. All of him smelled as though he’d not seen a hot shower in some days. Maybe even some weeks.
There would be time enough to worry about that later. The tea kettle sang, and I made two hot toddies, with a good dollop of lemon and honey and brandy in each. I handed him one of the white china mugs.
“Drink this,” I said, taking a sip from my mug. “Go slow. It’ll warm you up from the inside.”
“Thank you,” he said. He took the cup and sipped from it, holding himself stiffly as though willing his shivering to stop.
“I’ll bring you a phone,” I said. “You can call your people. Then I’ll tend to that wrist and the side of your face.”
“I don’t know who they are,” he said, addressing his comment to the mug he held in his left hand. He rested the mug on his knee and seemed to sigh.
“What do you mean you don’t know who they are?”
“All I know is that my name is Blue. Your name is Wolfe.” He looked around.
“I’m in a house. A small, rustic cabin of sorts.
There’s a storm outside. Other than that, it’s like there are only gray shapes dancing in my head.
They thump around. They’re giving me a headache.
I don’t want to think about them anymore. ”
“Amnesia?” I asked, blurting the word out. “Nobody really gets amnesia.”
The look he gave me was half How dare you not believe me.
Haughty. Imperious. The other half, well, that’s the part that got to me.
His eyes were shiny. Unshed tears he was holding back by force of will.
He was also holding himself upright in spite of any aches and pains.
This other half looked lost, as though he wanted someone to find him, but he didn’t know who to trust.
I wanted to ask him where he’d come from.
Where he was going. Why he looked like a mountain pony who’d been let loose in the high country without shelter.
Why he didn’t seem to know anything other than his own name.
But perhaps all of that was too much for now.
It wasn’t like he could race off anytime soon.
“Maybe you banged your head,” I said.
He lifted his mug and dipped his chin. Blood had dried in his fair hair. Angel’s hair.
“You got—” I stopped.
There was no sense in getting worked up. He could walk, after a fashion, and he was talking to me sensibly. I needed to get him cleaned up. Give him something warm to wear. I had old clothes that were a mite too small for me. He’d swim in them, but he’d be wearing clothes that didn’t reek of train.
“You drink that, nice and slow,” I said. “Take your foot in and out of that tub while I put the rest of these groceries away. Then we’ll get you in the tub. Get you cleaned up.”
“Yes, thank you,” he said, and though he was as polite as he’d ever been, talking to me like I was some kind of maitre’d about to show him to a table in a fancy restaurant, his voice was faint. Then he looked up at me. “Where—” He shook his head and tried again. “Where are they?”
“Where are who?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Are you asking about friends of yours from the train?”
“Yes.”
“They’ve gone on. The train went through town a little while ago.”
“I was on a train?” he asked.
“I believe so.”
He didn’t know where he was or who he was or where he’d been. He would be with me for the duration of the blizzard. Maybe this should have bothered me. But oddly, I was comforted by the fact that I would not be alone.