Mikael Pacioli

The hours of each day passed slowly for Mikael; bedridden, and often out of his mind with the medications or, when those wore away, the pain. George sat with him most days, reading aloud from some of the old texts as he translated them, or reciting memorized prayers for well-being. Father Pacioli stayed with him at night; he had drawn a little cot into the room where Mikael slept, and nestled it beside the fireplace. At night, Mikael watched the long body fold into the small space and felt comforted.


Once his female entrance was well formed, the doctor was called again to come and examine him. He arrived, promptly, with his bag slung over one shoulder and a placative expression on his face. Father Pacioli opened the door for him when he knocked; Mikael drew back into the bed and felt apprehensive. He had undressed in preparation, but now the prospect of the actual examination frightened him. He hadn't been touched in that way, ever, by other human hands. He tried to sit up in the bed so that perhaps he wouldn't feel so vulnerable. The doctor waved him down.
"No, no. Please. On your back will be easier."
Mikael cast a questioning glance at Father Pacioli, but the old man seemed lost in his thoughts and offered no comfort. Mikael lowered himself back down, still-weak arms trembling with the effort.
Seeing his patient settled into place, the doctor glanced up at Father Pacioli.
"If you wouldn't mind standing by his head, please?"
The old priest startled and scuttled over to stand by the proper side of Mikael's bed.
"Naturally, naturally. Of course."
Mikael glanced at his father, then at the doctor.
"He can - I'll be OK, Father." he offered, a meager invitation for Father Pacioli to go. The doctor interrupted, shook his head, and smiled a conciliatory smile.
"I'm afraid it's protocol, Mikael. For a carrier's first exam, I need a witness - to ensure your safety and mine."
Mikael nodded as best he could.
"OK. OK, that - that's fine, then."

The doctor was quick, but thorough, and Mikael was shivering in cold sweat by the time he was finished.
"There," he said, tugging the blanket back down and rushing to put things away. "All over. It's all done."
Mikael nodded gratefully.
"Am I, um, normal?"
The doctor chortled a little.
"Yes, you're normal. No obvious complications. You should be fine." To Father Pacioli, he asked: "When does the CEC come?"
The older man rubbed his wrist where his watch usually was.
"Tomorrow. After breakfast."
The doctor nodded and burrowed into his bag again.
"Alright. This, then - if you need it, until you get to the Centre." he retrieved a small cotton bag and handed it to Mikael. Incautiously, he opened it immediately.
The doctor indicated the little package.
"There are instructions, if you don't know how to use them. They'll keep your - "
"I know," Mikael interrupted sharply, embarrassment stinging at his face, "what these are for, doctor, thanks."
Father Pacioli frowned.
"Mikael, your manners."
Mikael shut his eyes for a second, then opened them.
"Sorry, doctor, I didn't mean to be rude. Thank you." he said, not looking at the man.
The doctor patted his shoulder.
"You'll be fine, Mikael. I'm sure of it."
Father Pacioli nodded in agreement, then ushered the doctor out.

Afterwards, when he was alone, Mikael touched himself with rough fingers and wept.

That night, George sat with him as usual, reading aloud from some French philosopher or the other while Mikael watched the fire and began to doze. When he woke, George was quiet, watching him from his chair. Mikael sat fully awake.
George leaned in a little closer, slowly as if not wanting to frighten his friend.
"Mikael?" he asked, his big hands thumbing the spine of the book he held nervously. "What does it feel like?"
It occurred to Mikael only then that George had never, and would never, in all his years, know the sight of any body besides his own. Mikael was nearly the same, spared George's naïvete only by the years he had spent homeless before coming to the Abbey.
Mikael looked at the man who had been his constant friend and companion since he'd arrived. George's gaze was fixed solidly on him, peering as if trying to see through the blankets, the clothing, into the very core of him. Mikael shivered, awkwardly.
"It feels...soft. And strange." he looked away. "Nothing special."
George shook his head, his gaze still focused.
"It is special." he reproved Mikael, "Very special."
Then, as abruptly as the moment had arisen, it disappeared. George went back to reading aloud from his book, and Mikael, after a moment's pause, went back to dozing by the fire.

~:~