"An exam?"
"Ten minutes, Smith. That's all I'm asking you for."
"But I'm fine, Kurdy. See? I cut up my eggs, peeled the orange. And this bottle?" He grabbed the glass neck with the fingers of his left hand and attempted to open it, but his brow furrowed with frustration (and perhaps a little confusion) when the cap refused to twist.
Kurdy snatched the bottle from Smith and opened it with a quick wrench of his wrist. He then clunked it down on Smith's side of the table. "You. Me. The infirmary. Now."
"It was stuck."
"Uh-huh."
Smith's tone turned a little defensive. "I loosened it up for you."
"Infirmary. Now."
"You got those gloves, Kurdy. They give your palms a little...traction."
"Now." Kurdy pushed himself from the table and made his way out of the mess hall. After a few moments, Smith swung his knapsack between his shoulders and hurried to follow.
The male medic poked and prodded at Smith's arm and pricked each fingertip with a pin, every time asking the same questions:
"Can you feel this?"
"How 'bout this?"
"Here?"
And with each jab, Smith answered with a corresponding "Ow". It did hurt, but it wasn't uncomfortable. After weeks of numbness, of his dead arm hanging uselessly at the end of his shoulder, it was just great to feel. Anything. Even the stale roll he caught and squeezed in his hand yesterday felt good.
When the medic left the room, Smith let out a long sigh. "You'll see, Kurdy. They'll say I'm fine."
Kurdy answered with a grunt and a crossing of his arms across his chest.
"They even tested my funny bone," Smith added with a chuckle, amused at the name even as he recalled the pain sparking from his elbow all the way down to his pinky finger. "There's not a thing funny about it. Not 'ha-ha' funny, not 'makes-you-think' funny, not even the kind of funny that isn't really funny but you can still appreciate the irony of it?"
"Not that kinda funny at all," Kurdy agreed.
The medic returned with the results of the rest of the tests. "Well, Smith. If anybody can pull off a miracle, we all figured it would be you."
"Believe me," Smith said. "I had nothing to do with this."
The medic answered with a laugh and a squeeze of Smith's cured arm. "You're extremely lucky, Mister Smith. I've seen guys come in here with lesser wounds get worse. Some never leave the infirmary once they come in. Take care of yourself, okay?" He grinned at both Kurdy and Smith and left.
"Told ya. God said my arm would get better, and it did. So, we're done here?"
"Not a chance, little man," growled a female voice.
"Oh, shit." Kurdy said, pressing his hand against his forehead.
Some raging force blindsided Smith and shoved him down against the examination table.
"Hello, Theo." Smith said, his voice calm despite the fact that a very pregnant woman was straddling him. "I don't think we've properly met yet. I'm Mister Sm--"
Her slim fingers were deceptively strong. They twisted at his shirt collar until he began to strain for air. "I know who you are, little man."
Smith slowly nodded his head. "Good. That saves us a little time."
"Theo," Kurdy said warningly. "You got no beef with this guy. You barely know him."
"Oh, I know him," said Theo. "Word travels fast. Anything my people hear? I hear. And I hear about a little man with the green canvas backpack. Red flannel shirt." She grabbed and joggled each detail on Smith as she pointed it out. "Beat up old overcoat. Light brown hair. Round cheeks. Says he speaks for God."
"Theo," Kurdy said. "Let him go."
"It's okay, Kurdy," Smith answered brightly. "I got things under control."
Theo glared lividly at Kurdy. "I'm not addressing you. I'm talking to the prophet! That's what you are, little man. You know that? A prophet. A man who talks for God. Brings messages to the world. You know what happens to prophets, Smith? They die. People kill 'em. They don't like what they hear so they figure, 'Kill the messenger'. But that don't change the message.
"You got some nerve, taking Markus and Kurdy outside on a goddamned Boy Scout Jamboree. Did you figure I wouldn't find out about your secret pow-wow in the woods? What did you do all those hours? Sing 'Kumbaya'? Beat a skin drum? Howl at the moon?"
Theo applied more force around Smith's throat, sensing the satisfying tensing of his neck muscles just below his skin. It meant she was getting through. When Kurdy lunged forward, Smith raised his arm again, silently telling him that he was fine.
"Just cuz I can't piss my name in the snow without scrambling around sideways like a damn sand-crab, and my belly's swollen bigger than a basketball, that don't mean I should be left out. Am I right?"
"It wasn't your time," Smith said.
"Ain't nobody in this whole wide world got the jumbo-sized balls to tell Theo what not to do."
"Isn't," said Smith.
Theo tilted her head. "What?"
Smith licked at his dry lips. "You said, 'Ain't nobody,' but that's a double negative. So, if you say 'ain't nobody,' what you really mean is 'isn't everybody'."
Theo turned to Kurdy. "He talk like this a lot?"
"All the time," Kurdy said, chuckling.
"Sure you don't want me to kill 'im?"
"Don't do that. When shit goes down, he can be pretty useful, sometimes."
Smith's voice hiked up a notch. "Sometimes?"
"Just saying the truth, Smith."
"Miracles." Smith choked out. He swallowed audibly, his lips uneasily tightening into a thin line. "God promised to work a miracle for each of us. If we waited. The others," he lifted his eyes towards Kurdy. "They left beforehand but..." He raised his arm carefully.
"A miracle, huh?" Theo asked.
"Yes."
"And 'God' came and ungimped your arm?"
"As proof that He exists."
"Uh-huh. See, my original question still stands. You talk big. Miracles. Hope. Where's my message, Smith? Where's my miracle? Or is Theo not as worthy as St. Markus Alexander?"
"And my answer still stands. It's not your time to hear your message."
Theo let out a high-pitched 'hah!' and let Smith go. "Thank you."
"What?" Smith asked, sitting up and trying to straighten his coat.
"You didn't give me some bullshit about how my baby is God's message. I already hear that from everybody every day. I figure, whatever God has to say to me? Huh, He won't put into anyone else's sweet little mouth but yours."
Theo's face was so close to Smith's, Kurdy thought she was about to plant a kiss onto the little man's lips. But in the final moment, Theo pulled off.
A harried female medic scrambled into the doorway. "Oh, thank God! I found you, Theo. What made you run off in the middle of your exam?"
"It's--" Theo stared at Smith for a moment and then primped and preened and flashed a Miss America-worthy smile. "It's complicated."
"Uh," said the medic, "we need to finish up, okay?"
"Yes ma'am." Theo curtsied and trailed the medic out of the room.
Once he was alone with Smith again, Kurdy cleared his throat. "You mean that?"
Smith's attention was focused on the contents of his knapsack. Now that both his hands worked, he could finally rearrange his belongings to his liking. "Mean what?"
"About God and Theo. You got some insider info?" Kurdy raised his eyes upwards.
"Maybe."
"Let me give you some advice about Theo. You can't keep secrets from her. Sooner or later, she's gonna weasel out whatever you're hiding so... I guess what I'm saying is: don't even try."
"When her time comes, she'll be ready to hear her message. She just has to be a little patient."
"Theo and patience? They're not even in the same room. Fuck, they're not even in the same building. The same block! They're on opposite ends of the goddamn country!"
"She'll learn," Smith said with an air of authority. "Kids tend to change their parents for the better."
"And you got some insider info on that too?"
Smith shrugged and settled his knapsack on his back.
"Wanna tell me about it?"
Smith seriously considered the question for a moment before answering. "No."
"Not my time, huh?"
Smith smiled softly. "You just gotta be patient."