The tears and sobs simply stopped as if a faucet had turned off. He still felt the loneliness but not the same sense of despair as before.
I’m alive. I’ll never see Earth again or any of the people I knew. Not my friends, family, Julie, our unborn child. I’ll never know whether it was a boy or a girl, or if it even existed.
He closed his eyes and turned his face to the sun uncovering behind clouds. His skin warmed to the touch of brightness.
And everything else he knew. Every little thing. No Giants’ games. His lips curled into a wry smile at the hint of humor seeping into his list of losses. No Call of Duty video game sessions with friends, no summer days in the California wine country, no grousing whether the Democrats were more venal than the Republicans. No more wondering why anyone would care about the Kardashian family. No M&Ms. No single large moon, instead of the two small ones he’d seen here, or wondering why he liked some Country and Western music. It was all gone. He opened his eyes and stared across the garden. The soft wind dried the remaining tears on his cheeks.
To look at some bright sides, if Harlie had told the truth, he’d be immune to everything on the planet. He’d never have a cold again or any other disease. Also, no tooth decay, since it was caused by bacteria. Those had to be major pluses. Having cavities here had to be grim. No cancer. Fortunate, since there’d be no treatments. Harlie also said his physiology would be more efficient. Whatever that meant, he had no idea but hoped it was a good thing.
He gazed at the garden now bathed in sunlight, the last clouds clearing and the sun warming the air. Once more the bench shifted, and the person’s hand still gripped his shoulder. He turned, expecting to see Fitham, the older, kindly brother, or perhaps the woman called Diera or one of the others who helped care for him when he first arrived.
Joe’s eyes slowly traveled from a massive chest to a broad face. It was the hulk of a man Joe had seen working around the abbey. He’d noticed the man on occasion, but he always seemed alone, as if the other staff avoided him. They had walked past each other once, the man never indicating that he noticed Joe, who was awed by man’s size. He was enormous—a good six-foot, seven or eight inches, and a solid 300 or more pounds of bone and muscle. A perpetual scowl framed his wild red hair and beard, but as Joe inspected the man’s face, he realized the scowl was only an impression given by the prominent brows and lines in the weathered face. Joe was drawn deeper. The eyes. Were they filled with concern . . . and compassion?
Joe smiled tentatively and nodded, patting one of the man’s massive legs. “Thank you.”
The man inclined his head, rose, and flipped his hand.
He wants me to follow him?
Rising unsteadily, Joe walked beside the man. Joe wasn’t short, but he barely reached over the man’s broad shoulders. They walked slowly, side by side, through the garden and into the rear of the dining hall, where staff members prepared for the evening meal.
Joe stood in the entrance, confused. What was the man up to?
The giant approached a middle-aged woman with flour smudges on her arms and spoke in a deep, rumbling voice. She glared at him and shook her head, barking something at him.
He took it calmly and again spoke quietly.
Still frowning, she glanced at Joe and back at the giant. She nodded, wiped her hands on an expansive apron, and strode away.
Turning, the giant walked back to Joe and took his arm, leading him to a table outside. He sat and waved at an opposite bench.
Overhanging vines festooned with red flowers brushed Joe’s head as he sat, then studied the man.
The woman reappeared and slapped down two large metal steins, spilling liquid on the rough wooden table. Joe jerked his arms away from the spill. Foam covered the contents of the stein, and a strong aroma of hops hit his nose.
Beer?
She clomped away, and his fingers curled around the stein. It was icy cold. How did they keep it so cold? Even a cellar would only keep it cool at best. He took a sample sip, and then a long draft and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It was beer, strong and good. He smiled at the giant and lifted his stein.
“To you, whoever you are. I needed this.”
Setting down his half-finished beer, the man-mountain pointed at himself. “Carnigan.” He tapped his own chest. “Carnigan. Carnigan.”
Carnigan poked Joe’s chest with a large forefinger and said something.
“Joe, Joseph. I’m Joseph.”
Carnigan’s lips formed over the name. “Yohhzzeefff. Yohzeff.” Then quicker. “Yozef!”
“Close enough.” Joe grinned. It was the same with the hospital staff. They didn’t seem to have the “j” sound, and they turned the middle “s” of Joseph into a “z.” “Yozef” was as close as they could pronounce. Looks like he was Yozef now.
Carnigan pointed to himself again. “Carnigan Puvey.”
“Joe, Joseph, ah . . . ” He bit his lip. “Yozef.” Might as well get used to my new name. “Yozef Colsco.”
“Yozef Kolzko, Yozef Kolzko,” Carnigan echoed with a broad smile.
They quaffed the steins in amicable silence. Whether it was the alcohol, the catharsis of weeping, or the personal contact, Yozef didn’t know, but he felt . . . different. The loneliness remained, as did nagging thoughts about what he was supposed to do next. He relaxed, however, at least for the moment. The woman from the kitchen reappeared, checked the status of the steins, took them away, and returned minutes later with two more and a plate of bread and cheese.
Yozef and Carnigan spent the rest of the afternoon at the table talking, neither having any idea what the other said, but it didn’t seem to matter. Their occasional laughter drew puzzled attention from staff members. Finally, the light faded as the workday ended, and other staff members headed into the dining hall. Carnigan rose and motioned for Yozef to come. They walked in and sat together, eating in silence. Yozef didn’t think he was hungry after the beers, bread, and cheeses, but he ate the meal without hesitation. He tried to ignore questioning stares and the conversation buzz aimed at the two of them.
Yozef yawned and rose. He could have slept where he sat, head on the table.
Carnigan also stood and walked with him to his room.
“Thank you, Carnigan.” Yozef held out an open hand. “I know you don’t understand anything I’m saying, but thank you.” Then it occurred to him that an offered hand could be an insult in this culture. Thankfully, Carnigan understood the gesture. Yozef’s hand disappeared in Carnigan’s massive paw. He had a brief scare that local customs might mandate a firm handshake, which, when delivered by Carnigan, might require last rites for his hand. Fortunately, the grip was just firm.
With a final smile and nod, Carnigan walked away, and Yozef entered his room, lay on the bed, and feel asleep without undressing.
Though Sistian and Diera Beynom could have lived in generous quarters in the abbey complex, they preferred a house a few hundred yards from the outer abbey grounds. The distance allowed them time and space away from responsibilities and provided a normal family life for them and two children still living at home.
As they walked home that evening, their shoes disturbed dust on the wide path, her skirt and his pants brushing against bordering grass. Diera linked her arm in Sistian’s. “Brother Fitham called me to witness a rather strange thing today involving Yozef.”