David Ohle: The Old Reactor

“Can you let me in? I’ve been bitten by a rat. I need to clean the bite.”

One of the jellies came to the window. “Who are you? What do you want? We have nothing to spare. Move on.”

“No, I’m Moldenke. This is my house. Ozzie must have told you.”

He turned to the others. “Did Ozzie say anything to you about this character?”

“Yeah, let him in.”

The jelly went to the door and unlocked it. “Come on in. I’m Jerry, those two are Leon and Jack.”

“Yes, Ozzie mentioned you all. I’ve met four others. How many are here?”

Jerry looked at the others.

Leon said, “Seven, I think. Maybe eight.”

Jack said, “We come and go.”

“You’ve done a great job on this place.”

“Yeah, we love to work. You want some bitters?”

“I’d like to go into the kitchen and clean this bite on my shoulder first.”

Jerry said, “You better. Rat-bite fever’s nothing to mess around with. People can die of it. We can’t.”

Moldenke moved toward the kitchen sink. “It was a big one, too,” he said, sliding his shirt down over his shoulder. “The teeth went in deep.”

The half-oval bite mark had a rosy ring surrounding it and a purple rash nearby. He turned on the hot water faucet and waited with a kitchen sponge in his hand.

“No hot water anymore,” Leon said. “The City turned off the gas today. It’s part of the liberation.”

Moldenke applied sponges full of cool water to the bite until the dried blood was gone, yet the look of the inflammation frightened him.

“They closed the hospital, too,” Jack said. “Pour some bitters on it.” He brought the bottle to Moldenke, who wrung the sponge dry and poured bitters into it. Though the application stung him acutely, it gave him confidence that dangerous germs were being killed.

“We got good honey, too, from the Old Reactor. Put some of it on there. It’s got radio energy.”

Jack said, “One of my sacks had a problem a while ago. The signals were not coming in. That honey took care of it. I’m telling you the truth.”

“I have chills,” Moldenke said. “I want to go to bed.”

“You sure you don’t need some honey on that?”

“No, no. I’m all right. Where should I sleep? Where’s Ozzie?”

“Maybe he’s up there tucking that orphan in.”

Fevered now and growing weaker, Moldenke only wanted to find a bed himself. “Where should I sleep?” he asked the jellies, who were sitting at the table again, looking at the candle, entranced.

Leon said, “Your old aunt’s room. It’s yours now. Go up there.”

Moldenke’s hands were cold and moist. Almost fainting and nearly collapsing at the top of the stairs, his legs ached terribly and he had no sensation in his feet, forcing him to take small, shuffling steps to his aunt’s room, where jelly-heads had been napping.

Without removing his uniform, he fell into the unmade bed, sank his head into a gel-smeared pillow, and pulled the covers up to his eyes.

During the night his fever worsened. When morning came, he awakened to find Salmonella sitting on one side of the bed and the jellyhead gardener on the other.

“Good morning,” the jellyhead said. “We need to talk to you about some things.”

Moldenke turned his head toward Salmonella. She was smiling. He saw that the blue spots on her teeth had grown even bluer.

“His name is Gus,” she said. “He’s the gardener. We mated last night so we’re together now, me and Gus.”

“She’ll have my babies,” Gus said. “They’ll be freeborn.”

Salmonella outlined the contours of an apple with her hands. “We’re going to grow apples in the back. He promised me we would.”

Moldenke said, “Please, I’ve got rat bite fever. Get me a doctor. Is there a doctor anywhere around?”

Gus said, “There’s that old man down the street. Maybe he can help you. I’ll go and get him. He lost his doctor’s license a long time ago, but he still knows a lot. He was trained under Zanzetti.”

“Please, go ask him to come here. I can’t possibly get out of this bed. I’m too weak. I’m afraid I’m dying.”

“Okay, we’ll see if I we get him to look at you.”

Salmonella took Gus’s hand and the two left together.

Moldenke went in and out of consciousness for the hour it took them to return with a gray-haired man who sat at the vanity and looked at Moldenke from a distance. “I’m Dr. Burnheart, former student of Zanzetti’s. Can you see straight? Do you have blurriness?”

“I’m not seeing straight and, yes, things are blurred.”

“With a high fever.”

“I’m burning.”

“And chills?”

“I shiver all the time.”

“They tell me a rat bit you.”

“A big one.”

“Is the bite infected?”

“Yes, and I ache all over.”

“Swollen joints?”

Moldenke felt his knee, then his ankle. “Yes.”

“Constipation?”

For the first time he could remember, he had no urgency in his bowel. “Yes.”

“You certainly do have rat bite fever. It always tightens up the tract. My fear is that it will go to the lining of your heart.” The doctor placed a small bottle on a bedside table. “Here are some analgesic tablets. It’s all I can do. Nothing else is available with the liberation in place. Have someone get you some water and take three of these twice a day. You need to rest until the fever passes, and we hope without damage to the heart.”

“All right,” Moldenke said.

“Make him some kind of broth,” the doctor said.

Salmonella squeezed one of Moldenke’s bare toes. “We’ll take care of him,” she said, “till he’s completely better.”

Gus clasped his rough hands in prayer and bowed his head.

“He’s praying to Godboy,” Salmonella said. “They think he’s come to save them.”