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“I told you not to move,” I say loudly. He collapses to the ground at my voice, giving up what was a truly pathetic attempt at escape.
I walk over to the water pump and drop the soap, towel, and blanket, then head the next few feet toward where he’s collapsed, still holding the plate of food.
“You do realize I’m trying to help you,” I say, crouching down and rolling him over. He winces when he lands on his back, and I wonder if he’s injured somewhere that’s hidden by the layers of mud. It did look like something might be stuck on his upper back. But I won’t be able to tell for sure until I’ve gotten him cleaned up.
First things first, though.
“Come on, let’s get some food into you.”
His eyes fall on the stew in the bowl I’m holding, and even though most of his face is covered in mud, I can see the hunger there. Still, almost as soon as he looks at it, he stubbornly turns his face away.
“What? Don’t like stew? I can tell you’re hungry.”
I sit down on the bed of mulched leaves, the last of the sunlight glinting down through the tall trees overhead, and lift his head so that it’s propped up in my lap.
“Come on, you’re going to take some sips for me,” I say, gentling my voice.
I lift the spoon to his lips, but they stay stubbornly closed.
“Open your mouth,” I order, pouring all the compulsion I can into the command.
Still, he keeps his lips stubbornly closed.
Suddenly, I’m so frustrated I shout at him. “Do you want to die? What’s wrong with you!”
His eyes flash up to me, and he nods his head once.
I grit my teeth and glare down at him. “Well, too bad, buddy. You ran into me on the wrong day. I’m not leaving until you eat this goddamned stew, and I don’t care if I have to force it down your throat. I’m your fucking angel of mercy, and you’re going to let me help you.”
A noise comes from his throat. It takes me a moment to realize it’s a laugh. “Angel?” he asks, voice croaking. His eyes lift toward me with a look I can’t decipher. Probably because his face is covered with god knows what.
“That’s right,” I say. “I’m your motherfucking angel today.” And with that, I grab his jaw, tug it open, and shove a spoonful of stew into his mouth.
I expect him to spit it out, but he keeps his eyes locked on mine as he chews a little and then swallows.
His whole body seems to expand with the breath he takes after swallowing. How long, I wonder, has it been since he’s let any food pass his lips?
It’s not time to question, though. I mean to press my advantage while I have it. I push another spoonful to his lips and then another after he swallows.
He eats half the bowl before I relent. It was a large portion, and I don’t want it to come back up after hitting an empty stomach.
“Good job,” I say. Those large gray eyes just watch me silently. I have no idea of his age and really, I’ve only guessed at gender by the width of his shoulders.
“Now let’s get you cleaned up, then we’ll go get some rest.”
“Aren’t you hungry?” he asks, more strength in his low voice. I smile down at him. “I’ll eat once you’re cleaned up.”
His eyes seem to watch me warily as I help him crawl back to the water pump.
“It’ll be cold water,” I warn. “Not pleasant.”
He doesn’t say anything as I help position him underneath the spout. I move the supplies out of the way, then stand up to work the iron handle of the old-style pump. As I start to pump up and down, clean well water pours out the bottom.
He shivers but makes no move as the water falls over his head. At first, the water makes no difference to the caking mud. So I lean down and take the bar of soap I grabbed from inside to scrub his face.
He allows me, his body still mostly limp.
I’m shocked as the mud finally begins to loosen and wash away. He’s young. Far younger than I thought. He’s not some old, toothless beggar. He looks to be in his mid-twenties, though it’s hard to tell with his long beard. He’s so gaunt and bony, I’m shocked he’s alive.
