I leaned forward, shined the light into the gap behind the tea chests.
“Again?” he squeaked.
I heard Mina stifle a cry. I felt her hand stiffen. I pulled her closer.
“It’s all right,” I whispered.
“I brought my friend,” I said. “Like I said I would. This is Mina.”
He turned his eyes toward her, then lowered them again.
I showed him the brown ale.
“I brought this as well.”
He laughed but he didn’t smile.
I squeezed through to him. I snapped the cap off the bottle with the opener on the knife and crouched beside him. He tipped his head back and let me pour some of the beer into his mouth. He swallowed. Some of it trickled from his mouth onto his black suit.
“Nectar,” he sighed. “Drink of the gods.”
He tipped his head back again, and I poured again.
I looked back at Mina’s dark form looking down at us, her pale face, her mouth and eyes gaping in astonishment.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
“Mr. Had Enough of You,” he squeaked.
“I saw a doctor,” I said. “Not Dr. Death. One that could fix you.”
“No doctors. Nobody. Nothing. Let me be.”
“You’ll die. You’ll crumble away and die.”
“Crumble crumble.” He tipped his head back. “More beer.”
I poured more beer.
“I brought these as well,” I said.
I held a cod-liver oil capsule out to him.
“Some people swear by them,” I said.
He sniffed.
“Stink of fish,” he squeaked. “Slimy slithery swimming things.”
There were tears in my eyes.
“He just sits here,” I said. “He doesn’t care. It’s like he’s waiting to die. I don’t know what to do.”
“Do nothing,” he squeaked.
He closed his eyes, lowered his head.
Mina came in beside us. She crouched, stared at his face as dry and pale as plaster, at the dead bluebottles and cobwebs, at the spiders and beetles that scuttled across him. She took the flashlight from me. She shined it on his thin body in the dark suit, on the long legs stretched out on the floor, on the swollen hands that rested at his side. She picked up one of the dark furry balls from beside him.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
“Nobody.”
She reached out and touched his cheek.
“Dry and cold,” she whispered. “How long have you been here?”
“Long enough.”
“Are you dead?”
He groaned.
“Kids’ questions. Always the same.”
“Tell her things,” I said. “She’s clever. She’ll know what to do.”
He laughed but he didn’t smile.
“Let me see her,” he said.
Mina turned the light to her face, and it was brilliant white, with pitch-dark gaps where her mouth and eyes were.
“I’m called Mina,” she said.
She sighed.
“I’m Mina,” she said. “You’re …?”
“You’re Mina,” he said. “I’m sick to death.”
She touched his hands. She lifted his filthy cuff and touched his scrawny twisted wrists.
“Calcification,” she said. “The process by which the bone hardens, becomes inflexible. The process by which the body turns to stone.”
“Not as stupid as she looks,” he squeaked.
“It is linked to another process,” she said, “by which the mind too, becomes inflexible. It stops thinking and imagining. It becomes hard as bone. It is no longer a mind. It is a lump of bone wrapped in a wall of stone. This process is ossification.”
He sighed.
“More beer,” he said.
I poured more beer into his mouth.
“Take her away,” he whispered.
The roof trembled in the breeze. Dust fell on us.
Mina and I crouched close together, our knees almost resting on him. She twisted her face as she caught the stench of his breath. I took her hand and guided it to his shoulder blades. I pressed her fingertips against the bulge beneath his jacket. She leaned across him, felt his other shoulder blade. When she looked at me her eyes in the flashlight beam were shining bright.
Her face was almost touching his. Their pale skin bloomed in the light.
“What are you?” she whispered.
No answer.
He sat there with his head lowered, his eyes closed.
“We can help you,” she whispered.
No answer.
I felt the tears running from my eyes.
“There’s somewhere we could take you,” said Mina. “It’s safer there. Nobody would know. You could just sit there dying, too, if that’s really what you want.”
Something brushed past us. I shined the light down, saw Whisper entering the space behind the tea chests.
“Whisper!” said Mina.
The cat moved to his side, pressed itself against his damaged hands. He sighed.
“Smooth and soft,” he whispered.
His knuckles moved against the cat’s soft fur.
“Sweet thing,” he whispered.
Whisper purred.
The timbers creaked. Dust fell on us again.
“Please let us take you somewhere else,” I said.
“More beer,” he whispered.
I held out a cod-liver oil capsule.
“Take one of these as well,” I said.
He tipped his head back. I poured the beer in. I dropped the capsule onto his pale tongue.
He opened his eyes. He looked deep into Mina. She looked deep into him.
“You must let us help you,” she said.
He was silent for a long time.
“Do what you want,” he sighed.
