Chapter 6

This has been the goddamnedest four days I’ve ever experienced.

Hugo’s like a damn sponge the way he soaks stuff up. Mostly it’s been language lessons, him learning and me teaching. I’ve tried to pick up a little of whatever the hell he speaks, but he’s so damn quick he makes a mockery of my poor efforts.

But he doesn’t seem to know anything at all on his own. He’s a young guy, maybe mid-twenties or so, but in a way he’s like a newborn, having to learn everything around him.

Where in the name of God has he been all his life?

He watched me fix dinner that first night as though he’d never seen a stove, a refrigerator, a sink, anything. He was going to eat with his fingers until I showed him forks and knives and spoons. I even had to show him how to use a napkin.

But man, can he eat! I thawed a couple of steaks, and he finished everything except the bone. Shot through the salad, devoured the potato, everything gone except the bread, he doesn’t seem to care for it.

Not awful table manners, though. He watches me almost constantly, and does what I do.

The lights seemed to shock him when it got dark and I turned them on. He looked confused as hell. In a minute he walked over to touch one, very carefully. By that time the bulb was hot, of course, and he jerked his hand away quick. And he bloody nodded, like he was approving or something.

It has to be amnesia, I thought. That explained a lot. Well, not everything. I mean, the clothes, what was he doing out in the snow, where did he come from, what’s up with the language? It’s all too weird.

He was ready to doss down on the floor before I showed him the bed in the spare room. Even then he seemed pretty uncertain until I lay down on it to show him. He started to lie right down with me, and I got up kind of quick. But he got the idea, again.

As I went out, closing the door behind me, I was a little uneasy; I mean, it’s a strange man and we’re all alone—oh, man, are we alone!—and I didn’t feel real safe right now. I locked the door of my bedroom, and it took me a long while to fall asleep.

But I did, and for the first time since I’ve been here I slept well. I realized as I drifted off that I hadn’t thought about that damn court case in, well, hours. Maybe I needed something like Hugo to take my mind off it.

I had to show him the shower next morning, but he figured it out pretty quick. I took the bandage off him before, and tried to let him know I’d put it back on when he was done. He came out in the same pants, but without his vest.

After I re-bandaged him I gave him a pair of my dad’s old slacks and a shirt. I didn’t have any skivvies, but I didn’t think he’d been wearing any, either; he’d have to go commando. He understood the buttons OK, but I had to show him the zipper.

He started to change right there, but I stopped him before he got too exposed and shooed him back in the john. He went; he seems to do everything I tell him.

He came out holding up the pants; the length was about right, but the waist ... I got him a belt and threaded it through the loops for him when he didn’t know what to do. Again. Then I had to show him how it buckled, but he got that, too, and tightened it up after I’d finished.

Then he rubbed his chin and looked a little, well, abashed. I could see the stubble. I gave him one of my safety razors, but by now without much hope that he’d know how to use it, and he didn’t; I wound up having to shave him. Nicked him once, but he didn’t even flinch and didn’t again when I used a styptic to stop the blood.

I had to get pretty close to him with the shaving, and damn, he still smells good. It wasn’t dirt and sweat then, it’s him. I’ve had a few guys—well, maybe a little more than a few—and I’ve never smelled anything like him. Oh, shit, Linda, back off, this ain’t the time or the place or the season or...

Breakfast was another surprise, apparently; he looked astonished at getting food. But he ate every damn bite of the scrambled eggs and bacon, though again he went pretty light on the toast; this boy has a real big appetite.