The Touch

Jeffy

Jeffy felt a warm inner glow at the sight of Dr. Bulmer. It was always the same whenever he saw him. He didn't know exactly why; he just knew that he loved the man, almost as much as Mommy.

Jeffy stood beside his mother now as Mr. Ba pushed Dr. Bulmer's wheelchair through the front door and into the house. It had been a month since the doctor had been carried out of Jeffy's room and rushed to the hospital. He still didn't look too good, but he looked better than he had that night.

Jeffy would never forget that night. It was as if his life had begun then. He could remember very little before it. But that night… the world had become a glorious new place that night, opening up like one of the morning flowers in the garden when the sun shone on it.

Life before then had been like a dream; half-remembered, disjointed scenes from that time flashed sporadically in his new wakeful state. Everything now seemed new and not-new, as if he had been here before, seen and done so many things before, and forgotten them. Seeing them again was like a gentle jog to his memory, causing a burst of recognition in which pieces out of nowhere seemed to fall into place.

Mommy said that everything good that had happened to him since that night was because of Dr. Bulmer. Maybe that was why he got such a good feeling whenever he saw the doctor.

Mommy took over the job of pushing the wheelchair and started talking to Dr. Bulmer. She always talked to him. Jeffy had noticed that on the times when he had visited the doctor in the hospital. Mommy talked and talked, even though the doctor hardly ever answered her back. She pushed him into the room that the men had been working on for the past few weeks.

"Remember this place, Alan?" she said. "We spent some time here, you and I."

"I… I think so," he said in his fiat voice.

"Used to be the library. Now it's your room. You're going to stay here until your legs are strong enough to get you up and down the stairs. We're going to have doctors and physical therapists and speech therapists coming and going in and out of here like there's no tomorrow. You're getting better every day. Two weeks ago you couldn't even speak; now you're talking. And you're going to keep on getting better. And Jeffy and I are going to help you. You're going to be the same person you used to be." Mommy's voice got sort of choked-sounding for a second. "I swear it. No matter how long it takes, I swear it!"

"How was I?" he said.

"You were the greatest. Still are, in my book."

She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. For a moment Jeffy was afraid she was going to cry again. She didn't cry as much now as she used to, but she still did it a lot. Jeffy didn't like to see her cry.

"Jeffy," she said, turning to him. He saw that she wasn't going to cry. Not now, anyway. "Why don't you take Mess and Phemus out in the yard for a while. They've been cooped up in the house all morning. But stay away from the dock. The tide's in and I don't want you getting wet."

"Goody!" He felt like running around himself. He scooped Mess up from her sunny spot on the window seat, then slapped his hand against his thigh. Phemus came running from the back room. And then they were out into the yard and the warm August air.

As Mess stalked off into the bushes, Jeffy found a stick and began to toss it for Phemus to chase. On the third throw, it caught in the branches of one of the peach trees—the one Mommy called The New Tree, the one with the really big peaches. With Phemus barking and running in circles around him, Jeffy tried to climb up to retrieve it. He succeeded only in scraping his legs and shaking loose a few of the riper peaches.

They looked good. As he bent to pick one up, Mess strolled out of the bushes and approached him. She was carrying something in her mouth… something that moved. Mess deposited the gift in front of Jeffy and walked off.

It was a bird. Jeffy looked down with horrid fascination at its bloody, mangled wing as it struggled in vain to right itself.

His heart went out to the poor creature. As he reached out, it cheeped weakly and flapped its good wing to get away.

"I won't hurt you," he said. Maybe he could keep it and feed it and fix its wing. Then the bird would be his very own pet. As he gathered the wounded creature into his hands, he felt a sudden thrill run up his arms.

It felt so good!

And then the bird was squawking and fluttering its suddenly perfect wings. It wriggled free of his grasp and took to the air. It soared, circling once over his head, then it flew off into the trees.

Jeffy didn't understand what had happened, but he felt good.

Somehow the bird's wing had been made all better. Had he done that? He didn't know. He'd have to try it again sometime. Maybe he could even make Dr. Bulmer all better. That would make Mommy happy. Sure. Maybe he'd try that someday. Right now he was more interested in the peach that lay before him on the grass. He picked it up and took a big bite.

Delicious!