That Which Lies Inside
By Heather Eccles
I stared as the boys’ eyes twitched in perpetual
motion, from side to side. He lay unresponsive on the hospital bed, while beads
of sweat rolled down his small heart-shaped face and into his thick, black curly
hair. The seven year old had been climbing a tree, playing and laughing with
friends at his birthday party when he fell and hit his head. The Church scriptures
said that was one of the ways that the demons could enter our bodies. Now the
demon was killing him.
His mothers’ shoulders
shook silently as she grumbled prayers and held one of his small hands. Her
eyes were hidden from me as she leaned over him but I could see the exhaustion
and fear hanging from her body as she held herself ready to do anything,
something for him. My stomach ached, as I looked at her. I hoped that I would
be able to help him.
The noise of the electronic monitor reassured me as it beeped with metronomic regularity and I reminded myself that I had saved many people. I would do everything in my power to save this boy.
Without warning, the
boy’s body began flailing violently in the bed. The soft monotonous beeping of
the monitor shrilled into alarm.
Splatters of blood flecked around the boys’
mouth as he bit his tongue. His eyes rolled back into his head and his body
jerked. I leaned over and put my weight on top of him, trying to hold him down
so that he would not hurt himself more, after several minutes of thrashing, his
body slumped and resumed its’ slack, vacancy. His pupils slid back into view
like a dolls’ and resumed their rhythmic swing - side to side. The soft beep of
the monitor returned. His mother’s prayers became sobs, as she looked at me
frantically.
“You have to do something!”
I watched his chest over her shoulders. It
moved up and down, a familiar counterpoint to the metronomic hideousness of his
eyes. I nodded at his
mother, “Yes, Ms. Gonzalez. We’ve tried everything else. I’ll have to try to
force the demon out.”
Her eyes were full of fear and fire. Her tiredness was gone. “Do it. I don’t want to loose him.”
“Yes, Ms Gonzales. I’m sorry but you will have
to stay for the ritual. He’ll need your strength.” I tried to keep my own
concerns out of my voice but she must have heard them anyway, she looked at me
sharply. “We must both give him our strength Father.” I nodded as my eyes slid
away from hers. I had had too many patients die despite my prayers. I took a
deep breath and told myself again that I could do the ritual. I had succeeded
before and I would this time as well.
Really, there was no option left, we had tried
every conventional medical therapy - nothing had worked. I had to get the demon
out. I would have to drill a hole in his skull to release pressure on his brain;
the force of the demon inside him would kill the boy otherwise. The Church said
that our prayers would then force the evil spirit out of the boy through the
hole that I created. I hoped so, for both our sakes.
Guilt made me avoid looking into Ms. Gonzalez’s
eyes as I explained what I would do. I didn’t believe in the Church as she did
any more. She believed absolutely that the gods would help her son. I
questioned whether the gods would or ever had helped my patients. Did they even
exist? Perhaps, it had always been the medications and therapies I prescribed,
not my prayers that had helped my patients. My faith and I were tired, deeply
tired, right down to my bones.
I starred at the boy’s sweet face and hoped
that this would work. I knew what would happen if I were to fail to save him. I
had lost several patients recently. There were rumors that I would be cast
down; no longer allowed to be a healer-priest. I had given my life to help
people but that didn’t matter if the gods refused to listen to my pleas.
I rubbed the prayer beads I had in my robe’s
pocket, they were as old as my time in the church, smooth and dark from my
hands, their shine was long gone and lately I had not bothered to say the rites
of protection over the beads. I rubbed them for comfort now. As was usual
lately, I received no solace from holding them.
The monitor beeped sharply to show that the
child’s heart rate was increasing; a manifestation of the building evil in his
skull or the swelling caused by the injury to his brain? Or were they were one
and the same? I had no idea.
I unclenched my jaw
and urged myself to get it over with. I turned to my aide and asked him to prepare
for the ritual.
Later, after I had washed, put on my
ceremonial robes and face paint, I returned to the boys’ room.
His mother sat in her chair next to him.
“We’re ready”.
The muscles of her neck and shoulders were
ridged as she jerked her head and rose to stand next to the boys’ head.
I prepared my tools – intravenous antibiotics
to fight infection, a blessed iron blade to shave his head, a stone borer,
sanctified water to bless the demon out and to wash away the blood and bone
fragments. My aide and I tied
the boy’s arms and legs with leather straps to help keep him still. His mother held
his hand, as he lay in the bed motionless except for his eyes, which never
stopped moving.
Looking around the
bed, I checked that everything was ready, took a deep breath and started
chanting. The droning monitor in the background was the musical accompaniment
for the ritual.
The boy’s mother reached out suddenly with
fingers of iron and grabbed my hand. I gasped and looked at her. Her eyes were
shining with tears and something else. Her hand felt fever hot as it held mine.
Her eyes didn’t move from her son’s face. I breathed deeply then restarted the
prayer, stumbling over the next few words as I watched her out of the corner of
my eye. Her eyes grew wider and bright. Her hand held mine incontrovertibly, tightening
around my fingers with desperate strength. I felt her absolute conviction as I
stuttered through the benediction despite the fact that I wanted to run away –
something that I couldn’t understand was happening, something out of my control.
The room began to feel warm around us. I finished the first rite. I could feel
my sweat merging with the paint I had smeared across my forehead and cheeks to
help bring my mind closer to the gods. As abruptly as the boy’s mother had
grabbed me, she let go of my hand – tossing it away. I froze for a moment,
unsure. Her eyes were still fixed on her son as her hands wrapped around one of
his. I tried to swallow as I felt something in the room, something heavy and I
shivered as I looked around but saw nothing.
I forced myself to concentrate. There was no
leaving now, this would either work or the boy would die. I leaned over him
with the knife and cut off his soft hair, then came the blessed water running
down his skull and onto his starched white sheets, last came the borer -
sharpened bone that I twisted around and around into his skull as I sweated
oily black paint. Drips of it fell into the pool of bright red blood that was
forming around his head as I worked.
I made the hole as big as my pinky. His blood
finally slowed to a sluggish trickle and then stopped as I finished. During the
whole procedure the only part of him that had moved were his eyes. I saw no
sign of a demon. The heavy weight that had filled the room disappeared.
“Will he live?” his mother said afterwards.
Her eyes were full of frantic fire and judgment. Her judgment scorched my
faithless heart.
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to
feed her hopes.
“I.. I don’t know. We have to wait.” I
motioned to the aide to clean up and clutched the boy’s chart to my robe-covered
chest as I hurried out of his room.
Suddenly, a wave of burning cold descended
over my body as I walked. I shivered and fled down the hall. The cold invaded
my mind and seeped everywhere. I knew it would not let me go.
The rhythmic beeps of the monitor echoed down behind
me but I couldn’t hear them. I could only hear the sound of laughter echoing
inside of me, deep down inside, as I ran away.
Finis
