Sand Dollars: V

“Have no fear, friend.  I have crossed this jungle many times at night.”  The Old Hermit sensed his foreboding.
    He then started to sing the old Spanish song as they left the cave mouth and started into the forest.  Alvaro followed a step behind.  They walked at a tremendous pace, and Alvaro soon found himself out of breath.  The Old Hermit, though, sand loudly in his sandpaper voice without ever gulping for air.  They spoke nothing to each other, and Alvaro didn’t notice the Terciopelo snakes following a step behind him, either.
    They entered the town a little before dawn, and The Hermit stopped singing.  “Lead me to your house, friend,” he whispered.  “But wake no one.  Especially your wife upon entering.”
    Alvaro thought of his Magda, and that she may even be up with little Jose at this hour. 
    In response to his thought, the Old Hermit replied, “Any child will sleep the hour before dawn, no matter how sick.  The ill night air weakens and allows rest before the harsh sun reawakens.”
    Alvaro nodded and they walked to the back door of their house.  He opened the squeaky gate, which, oddly, did not squeak.  Chickens clucked softly at their arrival.  They moved silently through the garden and took their boots off next to the terrace.  Barefoot, their feet barely murmured across the cold, smooth stone.  They stood before the bedroom door.  “She will wake when I take the baby,” Alvaro whispered in the Old Hermit’s ear. 
    “If she wakes, tell her to stay there, and that it will only be a minute.  I will stay here.”  The Hermit fidgeted in the darkness. 
    Alvaro crept into the bedroom, and lifted Jose Paolo gently off of Magda’s breast.  The baby stirred but did not wake.  Magda, however, like any new mother, flashed awake instantly.  Her hair, now down to her feet after missing a cutting, awoke as well and rustled unpleasantly. 
    “Magda, The Old Hermit is here.  I am taking Jose Paulo to have him healed.”
    Magda nodded, her olive eyes wide open.  “I will be right out.” 
    “No, you must stay there.  The Old Hermit demanded it.”
    Magda looked shocked, but complied.  “Yes, Alvaro.  I trust you.”
    Alvaro’s gaze lingered on his wife’s face, and a solitary tear dropped down his cheek.  “I am doing the best I know how, my love.”  With that, he turned and took Jose Paolo out.
    Lighting a lamp and laying a blanket down on the table, Alvaro offered his son to The Hermit.  “First, let me see you heal him.  Then you may have him.”  The old man glanced about, and then nodded. 
    “Okay.  But if your wife comes near me, I will go instantly and take the child with me.  And you will die from the poison still in your body.”
    “It will be as you say.”
    The Hermit laid Jose Alguno down and began examining him.  He opened the child’s mouth and felt around with his fingers.  He prodded and poked his abdomen and legs and buttocks, he listened to his chest and looked up his nose. 
    “The healing will take a moment.”  He reached into his satchel and pulled out a vial, dropping the liquid onto the child’s lips.  The child, still asleep, took the potion obediently.  Again, he reached into the satchel and this time pulled out another vial and a dagger. 
    “What is the dagger for?” Alvaro asked, with disturb in his voice.
    “The child is very sick.  I must get this potion directly into his blood.  Remember, I want him alive, too.  Now, allow me to work.”
    Alvaro acquiesced. 
    Magda sat in their bed, her hair rustling like leaves in the wind.  She had an ominous foreboding.  After enough time she thought, “I will just creep out, no one will see me, and I can keep watch on my child.”  She moved out of bed toward the door, and a floorboard creaked.
    The Old Hermit turned his head toward the bedroom door and stood still for an entire minute.  Magda, learning how to creep about a house ever since she was a young child, knew to count to one hundred before moving after making a noise.  She did.  The Old Hermit turned back before she opened the door.
    He poised the dagger above the child’s heart.  “He will always have a scar over his heart.  That, no one can fix.”  Alvaro didn’t move.
    He pierced Jose Paulo’s flesh with the dagger, near the heart.  The child let out a cry, but not too loudly; he was too weak from the disease. 
    Magda crept to where she could see the Hermit pulling the dagger away from the child.  She gasped.
    The Hermit whipped around and saw her figure in the darkness.  “Stop your wife!” he cried.
    Alvaro stood, as though he were shackled to the ground.  Magda rushed forward, revealing herself in the light.  The Old Hermit, while the baby cried, poured the second vial onto and into its chest.  He had to pour it immediately, or the blood loss would kill the Jose Paulo in his frail state.  “Stop your wife, you fool!” He shouted at Alvaro, and the young father finally budged toward her. 
    “Magda, do not move!  The Hermit will leave and I will die!”
    Magda halted.  “What is he doing to our son?!” she cried in amazement. 
    The Old Hermit took a final vial out of his satchel and quickly opened it, pouring the whole of its contents onto the child’s chest.  A fizzing sound came forth and the child cried louder.  It was a vial to stop the blood loss.  It hurt but was necessary for Jose Paolo’s survival.
    Alvaro stood now between Magda and the Hermit.  The Old Hermit snatched up the child, and the blanket beneath him.  Magda shrieked, “What is he doing to our son!?” but Alvaro, strong and lean, held her back.  “It must be this way,” he spoke with sadness.