Ben Bedard - The World Without Flags

“More salt water, honey,” the Good Prince says.

Without answering, I stumble to the salt water and fill the mug. Three times he drinks and three more times he hacks up the worms. The whole basement is filled with the stench of them. My eyes are stinging with ammonia. When I dry heave, little flecks of blood are in my spittle.

“Okay, that’s good for now,” the Good Prince says. “You can wash him.”

The mop water is warm and very soapy, smelling of flowers. When I approach Eric with the mop, he just stands there in his filth with his jaw open. I start at the top, washing the black bile from his face. Eric licks at the mop as I wash him. Soon I have to return to the bucket, but Eric is excited by the water and tries to follow me. I push him away, but he keeps coming.

“Unh,” he says, striving against me. “Unh.”

I feel his cold, soapy skin against my fingers. It’s like touching waxy leather. Turning back to the bucket, I quickly rinse out the mop, keeping Eric at bay with one hand. Then I pull him back toward the middle of the cell and begin to mop at him again. He keeps his head up, waiting. With his crazy eyes wide open and his dark tongue searching the empty air, he reminds me of a baby bird squawking in the nest to be fed. I walk around, scrubbing him with the mop. When I see him from behind, my stomach clenches painfully. I gasp and take a step back. A black, scab-like material is encrusted all over his backside. I never realized that all this time, he’d been going to the bathroom in his pants. I’m sobbing and gagging as I wash his buttocks and legs with the mop. The black, sudsy water gathers at his feet, emptying out through a drain in the floor of the cell.

I keep washing him until there’s no more soapy water left in the bucket. Eric stands in the center of the cell, no longer stinking, but horribly clear to my eyes. His cold skin gleams wetly as he stands naked in front of me. I’m trembling so hard I can hardly take the robe when the Good Prince hands it to me through the bars of the cell.

“You did good, honey,” she says.

After I throw the robe back on Eric, I walk shakily to the table and sit down heavily on the chair. Good Prince Billy shuts the jail cell and then walks over to me, her cane tapping on the floor. “Come on, now,” she says gently. “Eric will be okay. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

It’s then that I look down at myself. I’m covered with dark gore and specks of worms. That’s when the Good Prince lights the lamp inside a second jail cell that I hadn’t seen in the darkness. Inside there’s a cot with wool blankets and a thick, white cotton robe. In the corner, there’s another bucket of soapy water sitting next to a washcloth and towel.

“Now the same for you,” she says. She turns her back to me as I strip out of my clothes and begin washing, trembling, my lower lip quivering. “He’s lucky to have you,” she tells me over her shoulder. “He’s lucky he made it this far. You’ve done a good job. A real fine job.” I keep scrubbing as I listen to her walk away and struggle up the steps.

When I’m done, I sit down on the floor and begin to cry. I’ve never cried as long or as hard in all my life.

In the fire, I hear screams. There is a darkness at the edges of the fire, waving, undulating. Like water. I move toward the fire. I’m so thirsty. Waving flames and shadows and undulating water. I move close. I am surrounded in flames, but I feel cold and dying of thirst.

Birdie.

I reach out for the flames and watch as they wrap around my hand. My flesh is burning. But I’m so cold.

Birdie.

So cold.

“Birdie,” I hear. I realize I fell asleep after I cleaned myself. I’m on the floor wearing the thick cotton robe. When I look up, I see Pest gazing down at me with his expressive, dark eyes. He gives me a small smile when he sees that I’m awake. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get breakfast.”

I groan as I rise. My stomach and throat hurts from the night before. “I don’t know if I can eat.”

Pest doesn’t say anything as he helps me to his feet. He’s brought clothes with him too, new, clean clothes. Nothing fancy, just a pair of jeans, a t-shirt that has LAS VEGAS written on it in gold letters, a long-sleeved plaid shirt, and a pair of fresh socks. I take them gratefully, and walk into the shadows to dress myself. When I walk out of the cell, Pest is standing in front of Eric’s cell, looking at him. Eric’s kneeling in the corner, leaning forward so that his face is smooshed into the corner. I go to stand next to Pest and for a while we say nothing.

“He looks different,” Pest says finally. “Smaller.” I look over at Eric, and I struggle not to cry. I’m tired of crying. “You cleaned him?”

“I did,” I say. “And no, I don’t want to talk about it.” I swallow. “I don’t ever want to talk about it.”

Pest nods, and I see a flash of sympathy cross his face before he turns away. That’s all I need. Just that little sympathy. I couldn’t take more than that.

When we go upstairs, there’s a table with four chairs around it. It’s set at the head of the room, right where once the priest would’ve given his sermon, I guess. But there’s no sermon. There’s food! The table is practically groaning with the weight of all the plates. Although I said just a second I didn’t know if I could eat, just the sight of all that food banishes all the bad memories from my head. There’s eggs and fruit and pancakes and even…

“Is that bacon!” I cry, leaping toward the table.

Pest doesn’t respond, but goes to the table himself, and lifts a piece of delicious, brown, crispy, salty bacon in his hand like a scepter. He marvels at it like a scientist who’s just found the cure for death. I can tell that he didn’t know about this table before he came for me. Someone set it up for us while Pest went down to get me. My mouth is full of bacon before I even sit. There’s a jar of sweet and smoky maple syrup, warm to the touch. I can’t help but to take a drink of it before I even get a pancake. Pest laughs at me as some of it spills down my chin, but I don’t care. I laugh too. There’s a whole pitcher of milk too, and I pour out a whole glass and drink half of it. Then there’s plates full of eggs and pancakes and crispy fried potatoes with onions. The both of us eat until it hurts and then a little more. Finally breathing with difficulty, we sit back, smiling and chuckling. I am filled with gratitude and love and if the Good Prince appeared just then, I’d’ve probably got down on my knees and kissed her feet.

But there’s so much food in our stomachs that the both of us can’t help but collapse on the floor of the church where there’s a pile of blankets. Pest lays down beside me. We’re smiling and still half-laughing when I feel a wet tongue against my cheek. An instant later, Queen curls up next to me and puts her head on my hip. I close my eyes in contentment and fall into a deep sleep almost immediately.

Over the next few days, Pest and I fall into a routine. First I take care of Eric. I strip down into a gown and make him drink more salt water. After he vomits up his dark balls of dead and dying worms, I feed him as best I can with a wet mixture of oatmeal, ground venison, and maple sugar. After that, I clean myself of whatever disgusting stuff I got from Eric, put on my clothes and go up to the church to meet Pest for breakfast.

For our own safety, the Good Prince tells us, we’re not allowed to leave the church, which doesn’t surprise me. We’re not very popular with the people of Cairo. They’re not exactly thrilled to welcome the Worm into their community. I don’t blame them. There are no visitors except for the Good Prince, who comes at least once a day to see how we’re getting along. Pest and I are both tired anyway, and we spend a lot of time sleeping, so I don’t think of it too much. When we’re not sleeping, we’re eating whatever they give to us. The Good Prince also gave us a deck of cards, my drawing materials, and an old board game with so many missing pieces, Pest and I have to make up our own rules to play the game.