Chapter VI: A scream of sorrow

Slowly the heavy wooden door opened. Not a sound escaped from its well oiled hinges; not a sound emerged from the light steps of the young nun as she entered the bright room. Yet, the small, surprised yelp that exited her mouth was enough to wake up Maria.

Despite the all-nighter that she had pulled, her eyes regained their clear shine in an instant. “What is it child?” Her soothing voice, like she was speaking to a small girl, and not a young servant of God, echoed in the room.

“I… I thought that he would be sleeping… but he’s still awake… At least he is not screaming anymore”

Maria followed the sister’s eyes to the bed that lay next to her chair. How long has it been since he had brought him here? Nearly thirty hours have passed, and most of them were full of his agony. His restrained arms and legs prevented him to thrash all over the place in his pain, prevented the thin tubes, that through them run the necessary drugs, to leave his flesh. Yet, despite the heavy painkillers, despite her hand that never left his tormented grip, he was still awake and fighting.

Maria contemplated her answer for a little, she wanted to provide reassurance for the younger girl, on the other hand, she needed her to become strong, to take care of this small place after her time was up, to grow up as a person that sees beyond the mere veil that sometimes reality threw upon them.

“I wish he was still screaming, Sister. Look at his face now, look at his cheeks. Tears stain them. It is not that the pain left his body; it is just that his sorrow overcomes it. And a broken soul is much more difficult to mend than a broken body…”

“Sister Mary, why did you bring him here? If he is half as bad as he shows, then he needs a full operating hospital. Can we provide him with everything he needs in here?”

That was upsetting, for the first time one of her subordinates doubted her. On the other hand that brought joy to Maria’s eyes. It meant that they were growing, they were starting to become independent, they were starting to care more for the patients than for her decisions.

But she couldn’t tell them yet, or anytime soon. She picked her patients according to their aura, according to what she saw in their souls. If she ever admitted that, then she would either end up caged as a lunatic, or revered as a saint, both of which would limit the time she got to spent with people that really needed her attention.

“Sister? You’re ok? You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Uh? Oh… You see my child, I always pick up people that I feel that they need our help. I’ve watched this man for several days, and the only thing that I’ve gathered is that this is a good man. His heart and mind, when not lost in the alcohol is full with kindness. But it is people like them, good people, that Satan chooses to torment, to break. I don’t know what his personal martyrdom is, but I do know that he has chosen the wrong way to fight it. He drinks to forget, and maybe that is temporarily helping, but in reality, all that this cursed thing does is to lower his defenses, to succumb, slowly to his inner demons.”

“But shouldn’t this be a fight that he has to face alone? If Satan, or God, is testing him, shouldn’t he be able to prove his own worth? And what about his physical condition? We are running a clinic after all…”

“Yes, it is a battle that he must choose if he wishes to fight or to surrender. I’m merely giving him a chance. But only when he is free of this taint in his blood the choice will be really his and not of the alcohol. When he is no longer addicted, he can decide anew if he wishes to follow the booze’s tempting path, or the painful path that leads to greatness… And I don’t think he is suffering from any real health problems, apart maybe from some slight damage to his liver. I’ve already given to the lab a sample of his blood for further analysis, and his disjointed shoulder seems to mend fine. We have him on painkillers and nutrition that his body seemed to be lacking, but until nightfall we cannot be sure. That’s why I haven’t allowed any of you younger kids to treat him…”

His screaming interrupted both of the women and hasted the exit of the younger; leaving Maria and her patient all alone in the room. His grip on her hand was getting stronger, crushing the aged bones, yet Maria knew no pain now, she just knew that he had accepted her help…

She started chanting a peaceful prayer; to calm his mind; to ease her fears. Fears that have never left her mind since he brought him here. Yes, he was special, she had seen his shoulder mending, she had sensed his liver starting to shape up in just one day of absence of the malicious substances, but above all, she had seen his aura; an aura that scared her.

As her eyes drifted to the window she gazed at the world below. This small place that acted as, both a monastery, and a small clinic, run by her as a doctor, and her nuns as nurses, overlooked the crowded city’s slums… And in there grayness ruled.

She would have been hard pressed to find a person that she could call truly evil, a man that his aura was the deepest shade of black. Equally hard pressed she would have been if she had searched for one that his aura matched the white of her own. Shades of gray, like the cement walls that barricaded their bodies also served as cells for their souls, sipping their dullness into their minds. But why did it feel like dusk was coming? Why did the shades of gray always seem to darken?

And yet, this one differed. She was almost in trance looking at the bright tongues of fire that tried to strangle his white aura. She knew not if this was a good sign, or an omen of destruction. Color was nonexistent in auras, yet he was sheathed in it. Sometimes it looked like the fire danced with the white, some others like they were battling, and sometimes it even looked like his aura wasn’t the pure white, but more like the searing light that the hottest flame can produce. She wondered if this was what auras were in the end… the fiery representation of their souls. And she feared the response on that question, did it really mean that the coals of their human souls have died out?

‘No. The flames are Hell. This one is battling with hell, the hungry, devouring, flames trying to eat up the goodness in him. That should be it. That must be it. Or else I’m dooming us all…’