Prepared With Love

Steam curled over the table, the scents of spices slowly took over the room. Even the flame from the candle perched in the middle leaned towards it, growing hungry. With slow clunks of his wooden crutch, Henry limped to the table, carefully trying not to spill the water in the carafe he carried in the one arm he still had. He pinned it against his hip as he worked the crutches. The dents in the metal carafe showed how often he had practised.

When he arrived at the table, he balanced on his one leg, carefully placed the crutch in a device made of duct tape and tubes, then set the water on the table. He sat down, inhaling, his lips curling upwards as he nodded.

“We have a good life, haven’t we, Caleb?” he said while lowering his hand towards the ground and letting it hover there.

“Woof.”

From the kitchen, with a wiggling tail, Caleb came in, her head bobbing slowly from side to side.

“Come, old woman.” Henry tapped the side of his chair.

Caleb carefully pushed her head against the hand and gave it a single lick.

“You want a bean?” Henry plucked an elephant bean from his bowl and lowered it towards Caleb, who very carefully took the bean from the old man’s hand, then lay down by Henry’s foot, happily munching on it.

“I tried some curry powder on it,” Henry explained, while taking a spoonful of the bean and rice dish, blowing on it before eating.

“Bit spicy, isn’t it?” he laughed as Caleb coughed.

Caleb’s head went up in one fluent motion, her ears both pointing towards the door. Henry sighed.

knock

A soft knock, almost inaudible.

knock

Even softer, as if a quick burst of wind had hit the door.

crash

The loud sound came from the foot of the door.

The man already had his hand on the crutch.

“Caleb, get my gun.”

Caleb walked briskly towards the living room, where a revolver lay on the table. Gently, with her mouth, she took it and brought it back to Henry, who limped towards the door.

Caleb was showing her teeth before the door opened. Henry nodded. Together with the flickering candlelight, the teeth drew attention away from her impoverished, thin body. Henry held the gun in his hand, pointing it towards the door. With one quick nod to the growling Caleb, he opened it.

On the table, the bowl of bean curry kept spreading its scent. The steam vanished as soon as the door opened. The candle fought for its life to stay lit.

Caleb stopped growling. Henry lowered his gun. On the steps lay a young man, his face so thin the lines of his skull were clear to see. He raised his head toward Henry and Caleb, a feat he clearly lacked the strength for.

“Please.” The voice was soft, croaking from the dryness of his throat. “Help.”

Henry looked at the young man’s body, then shrugged.

“What do you think, Caleb?” he asked.

The old dog stopped baring her teeth and put her nose all over the man on the floor. Her nose moved over his clothes and across his whole body. After thoroughly inspecting him, she turned her head towards Henry, then licked the man’s cheek once.

“Let’s get him on the couch.”

Caleb started tugging. Henry helped as much as he could with his one leg and one arm. The man was so light it made Henry shake his head.

“I’m not sure he will survive,” he muttered while looking at a cupboard. “It is possible we are going to waste an IV.”

He petted Caleb on the head. She barked.

“You’re keeping me human, Caleb.” Henry sighed as he limped towards the cupboard.

Jort opened his eyes. Everything was blurry, but he felt warm. He was in a room that smelled strange, partly of wet dog, mixed with the scents of garlic, pepper, and basil. Drool rolled over his chin. Automatically, he tried to wipe it away with his arm, but it felt so heavy he only managed to raise it a short distance. He was already shaking from the effort. A sharp pain shot through his arm, as if something was pulling him back.

“Wait, wait. You’ll pull your IV out.”

He heard a voice say, light and friendly, before a soft tissue wiped the drool from his chin.

“You were right, Caleb,” the voice said to someone outside Jort’s blurry vision.

Then came words that nearly made him cry.

“Let’s see if you can keep some soup down.”

The steam of the hot broth tickled his nose. The garlic, pepper, and salt made him lift his head as if pulled by the scent. He slurped the sweet liquid in. He tasted the fat, the creamy thick soup. Something was mashed into it. Potatoes. Tomato. One spoonful of real food sent warmth rushing through his body.

“Thank you,” Jort cried after swallowing. Thick tears immediately made use of the fresh source of salt and moisture.

After a second he added, “Please don’t eat me,” remembering exactly what the world was.

Jort heard the spoon stirring the soup, then carefully lifting another spoonful from the bowl into his mouth.

“I am, and remain, a vegetarian,” the old voice said. Jort heard an amused vibration in the otherwise baritone voice.

“And the other?” Jort swallowed again. His vision adjusted slightly. He could now see the man, the man with one arm. He smiled at him, then looked down.

“Caleb, come say hi,” the man said.

Jort felt weight settle upon his chest when a light “woof” sounded from somewhere outside his vision. He laughed.

“Save your strength,” the man said, giving Jort another spoonful.

Jort ate in silence. Then sleep took him, less haunted than it had been in a long, long time.

Jort sat upright on the couch. Henry sat on a chair in front of him. In only three days, some of his strength had returned. The IV was out for the first time. Henry petted Caleb, who had found a spot on the couch now that Jort was no longer taking it up completely.

“She gave away her spot on the couch for you.” Henry smiled. “She will expect regular petting in exchange.”

Jort nodded. The weeks of starvation did a number on his body, though he was slowly regaining the strength to walk small distances. He tickled under the dog’s chin. She squinted her eyes and looked at him.

“Caleb,” Jort said, “I think I owe you my life.”

Then he turned back to Henry and ate another spoonful of stir-fried vegetables.

“Who’s Liz?” Henry floated the question. “You kept saying her name in your sleep.”

Jort stopped breathing, looked at the man, and remained silent.

“I’m sorry,” Henry said. “You can talk about it when you’re ready.”

Silence settled over the room for a few seconds. Then Jort took another bite.

“Amazing you still have this amount of food.”

Jort chewed heavily. The first few bites of solid food had made him cough violently as he swallowed them almost whole.

“I owned a grocery store in the resort nearby,” the man said. “When the madness hit, all the tourists left. So I took it all.”

Henry stood up and limped to the kitchen, returning a few moments later with a bowl that he placed in front of Caleb, who attacked the food like it had personally offended her.

Jort looked at the old dog eating. His eyes traced her ribs; he could count every one of them.

“She does not look well. Is she okay?”

Henry sat back down in his chair. His eyes settled on Jort. Unease grew in Jort’s stomach. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want to upset you.”

Henry sighed again. His eyes darkened as they fixed on Jort.

“You would have found out eventually,” he said. “Unfortunately, dogs need meat to survive. I ran out almost a year ago.”

Jort waited a second, then looked into Caleb’s bowl. Small chunks of meat drifted in the beans and grains.

His brain tried to connect the dots. The source of the meat hit him like a shovel.

He stood up immediately, as if shocked by some unseen electric wire. Much too quickly for his condition. He collapsed as fast as he had risen, only to be caught by Henry’s strong arm. Henry lowered him back onto the couch.

“You’re going to feed me to your dog?”

Jort’s eyes flashed toward the door, then to the gun on the table. He grabbed it in a single motion. Henry did not stop him. Caleb kept eating as if nothing had happened.

Henry’s eyes drifted to where his leg used to be, then to the stump of his missing arm.

Jort lowered the gun and opened his mouth. Henry nodded.

“Your arm and leg,” Jort said.

Henry nodded again. He petted Caleb.

“I do not think she knows, but in order to keep her alive…”

“It took some sacrifice,” Jort finished. “Henry, that is…” He stumbled over the words.

“I haven’t seen a dead animal for years,” Henry continued. “It was the only way.”

He smiled.

“I do not regret it.”

Jort closed his eyes.

“What will you do when you have nothing left to, ehh, give?”

Henry swallowed. “I have one more leg to give.” His voice had thickened now. Jort could hear the wet sob he was holding back. “She is seventeen. I hope she will die of old age before she starves.”

Henry stood up and limped away, leaving Jort staring at Caleb, who was licking her bowl clean.