Janie and Bruce did everything Sarin told them to do as he went through the ritual page by page. One after the other he’d used each of the items he’d laid out on the small table, except the last. Despite the oddity of his actions Janie and Bruce never questioned his foul-smelling potions and poultices. They cast occasional uncertain glances at each other, but did as they were told. Janie watched in complete fascination as the feeble old man rose above his own sorrow and fear in a virtuoso performance on behalf of his frail patient.
But as the candles burned down and the sun came up, he neared the end of what he could do for her. Caroline’s eyes remained open, and although she blinked occasionally, she did little more. It was painfully obvious that her condition had not improved much, if at all.
Sarin slumped down into his chair again, and Janie saw both frustration and shame on his face. “It doesn’t seem to be working,” he said. “I don’t understand.…”
“But you’re not done,” Janie said anxiously, “are you?”
He was immensely tired; his aching body wanted only to sleep, and had Caroline not been lying on the bed, he would have stretched out there himself. Sweet rest, he thought dreamily. How good it would feel! Somehow he managed to shake his head no. Then he closed his eyes and said, “There’s one thing yet to do, but I must just rest for a moment.…” All through the first steps he had felt the energy flowing out of him, and he was in desperate need of renewal, however small, before he continued. “Just a minute’s rest, then we’ll finish it.”
Janie shot a silent, worried glance at Bruce. She reached out her hand and touched Sarin’s shoulder. “Mr. Sarin … I don’t think we should stop now—there’s only one thing left to do. Then you can rest as long as you like, and you won’t be disturbed.”
He didn’t respond. “Mr. Sarin …” she said, touching him again.
He drifted; he felt a soft touch, but it did not last and he moved away from it. He was out on the field, playfully following his mother as she gathered herbs in her apron. The sun was well up in the sky and very bright, for it was high summer, and life was lush. Insects buzzed lazily around them, and he reached out his hands to catch one as it winged by. Laughing gleefully, he cupped his hands around the small white butterfly, then ran to his mother, telling her she must stop and look at what he had. He opened his hands and the butterfly flew off lazily, as if it had not been aware of its own captivity.
She smiled and laughed, sharing his delight. She was young and beautiful, and full of love, all of it for him. She scooped him up in her arms and twirled him round and round, his small legs flying out and cutting through the soft warm air. He closed his eyes, and the light of the bright sun shone through his thin lids, filling his vision with the warm light.
It was the whitest light he had ever seen, the pure light of joy, and he gave himself over to it completely.
Janie shook him harder. “Mr. Sarin?” she said.