“Yes, Tio Galen.”
“Then accept the Staff of Aesclepius and the burden of carrying on from me.”
The young man’s hand reached out and grasped the radiant rod in Galen’s hand.
The old doctor felt the weight lift from his shoulders...
The buzz of the phone broke the reverie. Galen sat up in bed, his senses on alert. The dream seemed so real that he felt annoyed at the untimely interruption.
“Yes, who is it?” he asked, in his best gruff voice.
“Tio Galen, it’s me, Tonio.”
Galen’s heart skipped.
Was something wrong? Was the dream all a lie?
No, not this close to graduation!
He calmed himself and softened his voice.
“What’s happening, boy?”
“I had to tell you. We did our first cord-trauma salvage today.”
Galen’s mind hesitated then clicked into place.
“The Joshua Protocol?”
“Yeah, Tio, how did you know?”
The old doctor laughed to himself. The young always think that they are the first to have learned how to suck eggs.
“Tonio, I may be as old as Methuselah but that doesn’t mean I’m senile. Remember, I lived through the changes in development and practice of medicine that you now take for granted.”
“Sorry, Tio, it’s just ... well ... it was an awesome thing to be a part of. This fourteen-year-old boy severed his cord at C-5 and now he stands a good chance of full recovery.”
“I’m proud of you, Tonio. Tell you what. The four of us are coming down to Richmond for your graduation. Think you and your friends would like to hear how the Joshua Protocol came about?”
“Of course, Tio!
“By the way, the neurosurgeon said to send you her best.”
“What’s the name?”
“Dr. Castro.”
“Good student.”
He lay back down once more, sighed, and stared at the ceiling.
Four years already!
2. With the Sleep of Dreams Come Nightmares
He rode the nightmare that starlit summer night.
It was not the first time.
Berto, your parents are dead.
Dr. Agnelli, what happened?
They died alone, Berto.
Harold Ruddy, the half-bodied amputee of the Great War, was surrounded by the other Old Guys and Thomas the Barber.
They were his childhood heroes, the men a boy named Berto had worshipped. Now they stared at him with loathing.
Five pairs of arms rose and pointed at him then at a corner of the old shoe shop where he had sought counsel in his youth.
What are those long boxes on the floor, Corrado?
The tall Italian doctor who had mentored Berto slowly wheeled the amputee-shoemaker over to the boxes.
Each man reached for and lifted a rough-hewn, wooden lid.
Galen fell to his knees and touched the faces within.
Mama! Papa!
Two sets of eyes stared up at him.
Avete abbandonato noi non abbiamo nessun figlio.
We faced the Dark Angel alone.
As one, they condemned him, his father’s voice ringing out the last words he had heard before leaving home.
Non ho, figlio!
I have no son.
He turned and saw the two lavender-eyed women who filled his life with the only joy he had known.
Leni, Cathy, you won’t leave me. Promise you won’t leave me!
Two softly accusing voices pierced him.
You could have saved us. We didn’t have to die.
They didn’t have to die, Tio.
Tonio?
Die, old man.
Tonio, no, no, not you!
“Don’t die, Tio!”
“Huh? Wha…?”
“Tio Galen!”
He felt his shoulders being shaken and a young man’s voice echoing in his ears.
Galen had sat up most of the night in the living room, staring out the window at the moonlit mountain vista, his only companions the ghosts of his past.
When did I doze off?
The old man blinked as the image of his ward Antonio Hidalgo came into focus. Ever since his heart attack, Tonio was more solicitous than ever. The young are always shocked by the mortality of the old.
“Yes, Tonio, I’m still ticking. What time is it?”
He knelt by Galen’s chair.
“It’s 5 a.m., Tio.”
“I guess you didn’t sleep either, eh, boy?”
“No, Tio. I still can’t believe I’m going to medical school today!”
Galen couldn’t believe it either. He shook his head, still seeing Tonio as the 3-year-old orphan he had found on Bald Head Island almost 20 years before.
“Are you sure this is what you want, boy?”
The young man turned away, pretending to stretch, and turned back.
“Yes, Tio.”
“Okay, have you packed everything you want in the RV?”
He looked at his ward, the energy of youth flashing from his dark-brown Latino eyes. Nothing was impossible. The world was his to conquer.
Tonio gazed at his tio and saw how the world fought back.
“Yes, Tio, just about…”
Galen tried to rise from his armchair but joint stiffness caught him off guard.
Tonio quickly stood up, his 6-feet, 2-inch frame towering over his guardian.
“Let me help you, Tio.”
A grumbled “I don’t need help” was ignored. Tonio saw the hidden gratitude as he easily pulled the old man upright.
They moved down the hall to Tonio’s room. Galen sat on the edge of the bed. The young man’s belongings were storm-tossed by the winds of change.
Galen rose slowly and turned his head halfway to face his ward. It was a gesture he had inherited from his papa, the body language of father to son.
Then he stopped.
No, old man, no deep philosophical words now. This is neither the time nor the place.
Flashes of that hellish dream brought him up short.
Berto, you are not your father.
“Go clean up, Tonio. Your tia has breakfast waiting.”
He returned to his own room where he quickly washed, shaved, and changed into fresh clothes before heading to the dining room.
They sat quietly at the large, handmade oak table Edison had crafted years before, when the