Posted As Missing

Chapter Fourteen

Maria looked closely at David's stitches. His grin had pulled apart a short fissure in his lip, and a small bead of blood grew slowly there. She had seen the bead as it started, but before she could get to him with a piece of gauze, the blood had grown too heavy and rolled down his chin.

She laid him back, bunching up the bedrolls beneath him into a pillow for his head, then pressed the small wad of gauze against the split and held it. "You are such a beautiful creature," she said softly, "a magnificent man, a wonderful friend. I've known you for two and a half days. I feel as if I've known you forever."

He nodded slightly, almost not at all, not wanting to move his mouth. He wanted to simply melt into her care. To submit to her, to let her minister to his wounds. He had missed this since he had reached his mid-adolescence and felt he needed to reject his mother's attentions. He had often wondered why he had done so.

She had done nothing to deserve my rejection. I only pretended to her she was unimportant to me. Why? To make me seem more important? Was it to show my independence? To make me feel stronger?

When I get home, I must let her know I love her, that she is still my best friend, that she has never ceased to be. I probably avoided her, embarrassed by my maturing, probably more the shame from what I was doing with Sister Clemencia. How stupid all of that was. How stupid it still is.

David was so deeply into his thoughts he had missed Maria's questioning, or even if she had been questioning. Her voice had become rather insistent by the time he realised she was waiting for a response. He didn't even know the question or even if there had been one.

"I'm sorry, Maria, I was thinking of my mother and of how much I miss her. My mind was completely elsewhere. I don't know what you were saying or asking."

"Oh God, David... Oh, I'm so sorry to interrupt your thoughts, your memories. My question is so tiny in comparison. Here you are, half the way around the world from home, away from your family, wounded, far into enemy territory, now surrounded by enemy, and some dumb girl is asking you if you like her."

"Do I like her? What's not to like? But like is such an inadequate word for what I feel — I love her — I don't even know what that means, but it says it better."

She squeezed his hand lightly, but the worried expression was still on her face. "I'm so sorry for interrupting your thoughts of your —"

He raised his hand to interrupt. "I need to be here, to be here in the present, not daydreaming of other times, other places. I would rather be here than anywhere else. Trying to be anywhere else is a waste of time and a big waste of energy. We miss what's here, what's now. We miss the experience of the present, we miss seeing opportunities as they arise. So, thank you for bringing me back."

"I love your way of thinking. I love your energy and your spirit." The concern melted from her face as she spoke. "Men usually keep their thoughts and their feelings, hidden. You — you're wide open, so easy to understand, so easy to be with."

"I'm delighted you think so..." He paused. "You're pressing rather hard on my lip. How's the bleeding?"

"Sorry, distracted." She lifted the gauze and looked. "The bleeding has stopped. It was a tiny rupture in your dry lips. I'll leave it open for now. You'll have to remember not to smile so widely, not to stretch it too much again. How long have these stitches been in?"

"This is Saturday, I was stitched-up Monday mid-morning, so five days now. Did the wound reopen?"

"No the wound's intact, and the stitches can come out now. Five days is sufficient for facial lacerations, longer than that can cause more suture scarring. The blood supply to the face is greater than other parts of the body and healing is faster. Elsewhere, a week to ten days is more normal." She stroked his short whisker stubble.