Henry Schmidt couldn't shake it. He was shocked by what he had become. He was embarrassed. He was a doctor for Christ sake. He should know how to deal with this. He had always been a laid-back pillar of strength and he was tough. He could deal with those god-awful trauma cases they brought into the Emergency Room. When he'd decided to pursue the field of Medical Ethics and defending malpractice suits, he'd been a brilliant scholar and tough advocate. Nothing caused him to lose his poise - nothing until now and now nothing seemed to work for him.
Four years was too long to grieve. Grieve, hell, he was in deep depression. He was ashamed of himself because he knew that Annie would be ashamed of him. Annie had been his strongest supporter, his biggest fan and she had loved him. And, oh god, had he loved her. Annie had given him reason to live. Annie had been his best friend, his lover, his wife for thirty years. They had done everything together. Why couldn't they have died together?
Henry had tried everything. At first he tried to just go on with life - go on as if everything were the same. But it wasn't the same. His work, his office, his house - everything reeked of Annie or her memory. He had to get away.
He didn't have to work. He didn't know and he didn't care how much he was worth. His dad had started small: one feed store, then a few farm supplies, a tractor dealership, then another store. How many was it before he died - fifty? A hundred? Henry didn't know and he didn't care. His law school buddy, Les Daily, was the money man. Les probably knew what Henry was worth. Henry knew it was more than twenty million - how much more he didn't know and he didn't care. He just knew that Les had sold the feed business to ADM and the tractor stores to Tractor Supply and that Les sent him a paper full of numbers every quarter with Xs where he should sign. Henry never even looked them over. His practice made him more than enough to live on and he never was very good at math. It bored him so he sure as hell wasn't going to take an interest in accounting.
So, Henry sold the practice and the house and tried the high life. He partied. He hated it. Henry had had good sex with Annie. He'd enjoyed it but it wasn't the fulcrum of the relationship. Sex had never been that important to Henry. Even as a kid he'd masturbated only about once a week. The drive just wasn't there. He knew from med school that there were many people like him. Some had high drive, some low drive. He was low drive and he was happy with what he was.
But the female highlifers all seemed part of the high-drive group. Sex with Annie was wonderful - an extension of everything they were to each other. The thought of sex with this bitch who was coming on to him like a sow in heat was - well - who the hell did she think she was to even think she could take Annie's place. Even if the woman didn't try to come on to him - if they were just dancing, Henry was miserable. It should be Annie he was dancing with.
He tried traveling. He hated it. It made no difference if he were in Rome or Rangoon - Annie was always there and he was miserable.
He remembered his happy boyhood on the farm so he bought one - a big one just outside Jefferson, Wisconsin. He had loved horses as a boy so he bought a show hitch of Belgians and built a large herd of Holstein cows. He was miserable at the horse shows. Annie should have been with him.
He sold the horses but kept the cows. He hired Reind Friesema, a Dutch immigrant who was a hell of a herdsman. Reind knew his cows and in two years he was winning blue ribbons at the state fair. He was proud of his cows and proud of Reind but he had no Annie with whom to share his pride.
Henry was too proud to ask for help. He had good friends who were excellent Psychiatrists. Going to one would prove what he was afraid of. He was nuts and he hated it but he just didn't know what to do. He was never much of a drinker so losing himself in booze was out of the question and suicide never entered his mind.
He took another job - one in which he could use his legal training and experience. He ran for judge of Jefferson County and won. He got by - barely.
May 19th. He'd dreaded it for months. Annie had gone for her regular Pap smear April first. It was there and had taken only six damn weeks to kill her. It would be five years on the 19th and Henry would have loved to just have slept through that day. He, of course, didn't and it may have been the worst day yet.
He didn't want to go home. He went to the Badger for supper and stayed until about 11:00 talking Wisconsin and Green Bay football. He took the long way home so he wouldn't have to pass the cemetery. After his move to Jefferson, Henry had Annie's body moved so he could be closer to her. He'd often wished he hadn't. He had wanted her near him but not this way. She should be sitting beside him in the car not lying cold and dead in a cemetery. Unless he absolutely had to, he never drove past the cemetery.
He saw lights on in the barn. Southland Suzy was probably calving. Suzy had won Henry and Reind their first blue ribbon. She was a prize - excellent production and great confirmation. Her first calf had been a bull and her pedigree was such that ABS bought him for stud.
Suzy had a nice heifer calf - big calf - must have weighed a hundred pounds but Suzy came through it fine and from the looks of Southland Suzy's Peggy they could well have a purple grand champion ribbon tacked to her stall in a year.
Henry stayed around the barn for an hour talking to Reind. He must have told Reind a dozen times what a hell of a herdsman he was. Henry was lucky to have him. Reind knew Henry was killing time and he sympathized with him but he finally had to remind Henry that he had to get up again a four and Henry couldn't put it off any longer. He had to drive the half-mile home. He had to go home. He had to be alone. God, he hated May 19th.
He put his BMW in the garage next to the jeep. He was actually ashamed of the BMW. He bought it during his high living experiment. It had been an ostentatious, stupid purchase but he did not have the energy or the will to go looking for something else.
He let Fritz out, took a shower and tried to relax in the hot tub. Fritz was kicking up quite a fuss out there, apparently happy to be outside after being cooped up all day. He usually was quiet but, what the hell. At least someone in this household could find a little joy.
He didn't relax. It made him feel better physically but nothing - damit - nothing relaxed his mind. It was almost one o'clock. Might as well go to bed. He wouldn't sleep but the damn bed was there. He might as well use it.
Henry was about to crawl into bed when it occurred to him that Fritz was not whining at the door to be let in. Unusual. When Henry was at home Fritz wanted to be near him. He usually did his business and wanted right back in.
Fritz was peering into the bushes in the back of the yard. As soon as Henry opened the door, Fritz barked and made a move toward Henry then ran back to the bushes. Henry called but the dog stayed, almost on a point, peering into those bushes.
"Damn! He's probably got a coon cornered back there." Henry knew he'd have to go look. When a German Shorthaired Pointer gets on a quarry, he sticks like glue. Henry took his walking stick and a flashlight and, hoping it wasn't a skunk, went to see what Fritz had.
Marty was petrified. That dog was so big and it barked so loud. When Fritz first stuck his nose into the bushes and barked Marty lost control of his body and evacuated his colon. God, it hurt. He already hurt from that druggy fucking him and now that poop made it burn back there. Now this man was shining a light in his eyes. It occurred to Marty to be glad that he didn't have anything else to poop or he would have done it again.
"Come on out, little buddy. Fritz won't hurt you. I know he scared you. I can smell it. Come on out so I can clean you up and see what I can do to help you."
Marty understood what was happening only when the cold water from the hose hit his now naked body. He didn't remember crawling out of his hideout. He didn't remember being undressed. He shivered. "I'm sorry but I need to clean you up. We'll get you in a nice warm bath soon. "Will you tell me your name?"
Marty tried but he couldn't make his mouth work. He wasn't afraid of this man. He was being real nice to Marty. Marty did keep a wary eye on the dog but he really liked the man. Marty was just living the Marty life now - just letting things happen. He did wonder why he could think words but couldn't make his mouth work. He wondered if that druggy broke something inside him that made his mouth not work and he wondered if he could ever talk again.
Henry cleaned the boy up as best he could in the dark. He took him into the laundry room, wet a cloth and finished the job. When he pulled the cloth through the cleft of the boy's buttocks, the child winced and pulled away.
"What's wrong, honey. Do you hurt back there?"
Marty nodded his head.
"I'm a doctor. Do you mind if I look?" Henry sat on a chair and Marty lay across his lap.
"God damn! - Oh I'm sorry, Honey. But who did that to you."
The look on Marty's face was so pathetic and hopeless that Henry opened his arms and Marty melted himself into the man's lap and sobbed.
Henry held the boy. He whispered words of sympathy and comfort. The crying slowed and the boy snuggled closer. Henry hugged the boy and kissed the top of his head. That had not been wise. The child's hair was matted and actually reeked.
"You know, I think a hot bath would make you feel better. OK?"
Marty clung to Henry. He never got this kind of affection and he wasn't surrendering it that easily. Henry realized that the boy needed affection right now but he also knew that it would be much easier to give if the boy were a little less ripe. "Look, Honey, a nice warm bath will make you feel better and will help your bottom not hurt as much. Let's get you a bath and then you can sit on my lap again."
The warm bath did feel good. The warm water stung his bottom a little but not that much and not nearly as much as the bath felt good. Henry had left to go wash Marty's clothes. Marty hadn't wanted him to go but after he was alone, the boy realized that he could pretend better alone. He knew his house better now. He could pretend better. He could pretend that this was a castle and he was a king. - - No, the man was the king and Marty was a prince and the king loved him. Marty knew about kings and princes. He had read all those King Arthur stories.
The man was helping him wash himself. In fact, he was washing him. Marty had the vague sense that this is something that he always had wanted - someone to take care of him, someone who would just let him be a little boy. All his life Marty had to take care of everything, even Mart but he knew that shouldn't be the way it was for a little boy. Oh, some people were nice to him, like the gym teacher who saw that he had clean clothes and the principal who got him "new" clothes and sometimes got him something to eat. But there's a difference in nice and being taken care of. The gym teacher in school let him take a shower but he never washed him. Marty wasn't a baby. He was nine years old, for crying out loud, but he didn't care. Somebody who's nine should be able to wash himself but Marty didn't care. The man was paying attention to him. He was being kind to him. He was actually touching him in tenderness. The gentle caresses of the washcloth felt so good. Marty didn't know that just having somebody touch you like that made you want to cry. You feel all "soft" and kind of safe when someone is taking care of you.
As soon as Henry had the boy dried and wrapped in a large dry towel, Marty had his arms around the man's neck - giving indication that he again wanted to be held and caressed. Henry carried the boy to his favorite lounge chair. The boy snuggled into his lap and laid his head on Henry's chest. Henry again kissed the top of the boy's head and then laid his cheek against the now fresh smelling dampness of the chestnut hair. It must have been three of four minutes before the boy began to sob quietly. Henry held the child more closely and almost inaudibly quietly the boy whispered, "He fucked me. That druggy fucked me."
Marty wriggled his body so as to get the maximum contact with Henry and then he sobbed out his woe, his despair, his hopelessness. How long he sobbed, neither he nor Henry knew - both were too consumed with the deep emotion of the moment. Marty had rarely allowed himself to cry. He somehow knew that if he did, he would be crying all the time and that no one would hear or understand or even care about his crying.
But this was different. There was something tender and kind and warm here - something that made the boy feel that it was safe to cry and that his pain would be felt by someone other than himself. And - it felt so good to cry out his pain and know that someone was listening - to feel that someone cared.
Henry, too, was crying softly. He had seen many tragic situations involving children - even death. But then he was dealing with a body, a physical thing and in the case of the child's death, the emotions of adults. He knew about children but he did not know children.
The one disappointment of his marriage was that they had remained childless. They never could figure it out. At first Henry had thought that his low sex drive meant low sperm count. Tests proved that not to be the case. Annie seemed to have normal ova but she could not get pregnant. There had been no miscarriages. There had never been a pregnancy. Even Henry's highly skilled friends in the field of reproductive medicine could not help them.
Annie would not adopt. That had been the only area of conflict in their marriage. Henry finally let it go. He came to believe that she was so disappointed in her inability to provide Henry the children he so wanted that an adopted child would be a constant reminder of her failure as a woman.
But this boy was different. This was a live child's soul he was dealing with - a soul in torment and agony and at that moment Henry knew that his own agony was nothing compared to the misery of this helpless little child. He was ashamed of himself. He had or had had everything. It was obvious that this child had had nothing. How sad! How wrong! How poignant! Henry lovingly hugged and stroked the child, again kissed the top of his head and they wept together.
Something happened to both of them during that interval. Neither knew exactly what but both got the sense that everything was different. Marty's consciousness slowly moved from his lifelong misery to this moment. He was safe. He was clean. He was relaxed. He was being hugged and although he wasn't sure about this, he kind of felt like he was being loved.
It was Marty who broke the spell. "You know what?"
"What, Little Buddy?"
"I pretend I live here. Are you mad at me?"
"No, I'm not angry with you. I'm proud that you picked my house to live in. But don't you think that if we live in the same house, we ought to know each other's name?"
Marty smiled inside. The man liked to pretend too. "Oh, ya, I'm Marty."
"Well, Marty, I'm glad to meet you. I'm Henry and my last name's Schmidt. What's your last name?"
"Oh, ya, Marty Toliver."
"I think, Mr. Marty Toliver, that you better let me take another look at your bottom. Does it still hurt?"
"Ya and my belly hurts too. Did that druggy wreck a switch in me or something? Before I could think words but my mouth couldn't say them. Is there a switch in your bottom that turns off your mouth?"
"No. Sometimes when you are very scared, it's a while before you can talk again. You were very afraid and sad but I think you'll be fine now. I'm going to take care of you."
Actually Marty was not as badly injured as it first appeared. Perhaps the warm bath had had the effect of a sitz bath and had reduced the swelling. It wasn't as bad as Henry first thought but he felt the boy needed to be checked out. He was deeply bruised and what Henry had thought to be a serious tear in the boy's anus, now appeared to be only slight. Henry applied some ointment that had both antibiotic and analgesic properties but the boy also needed to be scoped to be sure there was no rectal injury. Marty had said that his belly hurt.
"You know, Honey, I don't think you're hurt too badly but I'd like to have a look inside you to be sure your OK in there."
"You gonna cut me open?"
"No. I want to take you to the hospital..."
That scared Marty. He didn't know much about hospitals but he knew that's where Kiki went and that's where they took the baby. If he went, would somebody take him? He also knew that sometimes people died in the hospital. Marty didn't want to die but then it couldn't be much worse than how he was living.
"Can't you do it here?"
"No, Honey. They have a machine there that will let me look up your bottom."
"OOOO - What if there's poop there?"
"There won't be."
"Oh, ya, I just pooped my pants."
For a child who had just experienced a tremendously traumatic assault, Marty acted as if nothing had happened. In all his medical experience, Henry had never seen such a quick recovery from severe psychological trauma. Of course, Henry had never before treated a court ward kid. He didn't know that they learn quickly to "grasp the moment". If it's good right now, enjoy it. You know it won't last too long.
Henry had heard the washer complete its cycle and went to place Marty's clothes in the dryer. It was not an easy chore with a sixty-five-pound boy clinging to his neck. Henry did not have the heart to break Marty's embrace. The boy needed the comfort of his presence and Henry had the vague, somewhat confusing, sense that he needed the boy.
This time Henry wrapped the boy in a light blanket and again took him on his lap. Within minutes, Marty was sleeping. Henry looked at the sleeping boy. "What", he thought, "could be more beautiful than a peacefully sleeping child?" Would this have been what being a parent would have been like? If it was, Henry knew that he had missed an awful lot.
The dryer buzzer went off but Henry was not ready to give up this feeling. Holding this child gave one of the most tender, most reverent emotions he had felt in years. Occasionally Marty would turn slightly in his sleep and seemed to wake enough to realize he was in Henry's arms. The slightest hint of a smile would cross his lips and he would snuggle closer into Henry. Henry could not put a name of his feelings - blessed came the closest.
Henry did not want to give up the feeling and neither did he want to disturb the boy's sleep. He gave some thought to putting the boy on the couch and waiting until morning to go to the hospital. He realized that both legal and practical factors made that a bad idea. Legally, of course, Marty had to be reported to the police, both because of the rape and because Henry had no legal right to have the boy in his custody. The practical reason was that at three o'clock in the morning he could have immediate access to the operating room. After seven o'clock he may have to wait until mid-afternoon.
It occurred to Henry that there was no reason to wake the boy. He could take him to the hospital wrapped in the blanket. The child would have to be undressed for the procedure anyway.