The World Without Flags

“Yeah,” I breathe. “Yeah.” I want to say more, but I’m afraid if I keep talking, I’ll break down. I’ll just start crying and won’t be able to stop. I would rather do anything and be anywhere than where I am. I don’t want to see what he’s become. But there’s no choice. Eric wouldn’t give up on me.

I take a deep breath and pull myself up, feeling weak. Stepping forward, I gently pull Eric toward me. He stumbles a little, but finally walks out of his pants. With his clothes off, his stench is overpowering. He’s surrounded by a sphere of putrescence that I have to step inside. Recoiling at the feel of his dry, cold skin, I gently push Eric to a stop and then back away, kicking his pants into the corner with the other clothes. Without looking at him, I walk to the mop, wanting to wash him.

The Good Prince hears me grab the mop. “Not yet, honey,” she says. “The salt water first.”

“Why?” I ask her. I want to wash Eric badly, to get rid of the stinking filth, to make it easier.

“Salt water first,” she repeats gently.

I want to argue, but I don’t. She knows better. I know the right thing to do is what she says, but I also don’t want to approach Eric again. I try not to look at him as I pour the salt water into the mug and then walk back into the cell. Finally I have to look. Eric is standing naked in the cell, his jaw open, his eyes oozing dark liquid over his face. His hair is tangled and crazy on his head, like a bird’s nest. With his gray skin, he looks like some troll or goblin out of a nightmare. His tongue hangs indecently out of his mouth. I step forward, holding my breath against his stench. Usually when you approach a living person, you can feel their heat, but with Eric it’s the opposite. He seems to radiate cold. I step forward without wanting to, and, putting a hand on his chest to steady him, I begin to pour the salt water on his tongue.

Immediately, Eric lunges toward the liquid. “Unh!” he cries. “Unh!” I make a face at his disgusting black tongue, and pour the salt water into his mouth. He swallows eagerly, making horrible gurgling sounds. When the can is empty, I go back to refill it. Eric stays where he is, his head pointed upward as if expecting water to drop from the ceiling. “Unh! Unh!”

He takes three cups of salt water before I begin to hear the deep, gurgling sound rising from Eric’s stomach. Eric turns his head away suddenly and then takes a step back. I watch with concern. Eric’s head jerks back and then I see the muscles in his stomach constrict. He coughs for a moment and then there’s another gurgling sound. I step back in disgust just as he leans forward and hacks up a massive ball of dark liquid, pocked with white balls of worms. They aren’t wriggling as usual. They’re coiled on themselves. The ball hits the floor and lands like a dropped scoop of demented ice cream. Eric hacks up another, this one even larger. It lands with a sickening splat on the cement floor. Eric picks his head up toward me, black bile running from his nose and mouth and even the corner of his eyes. He hacks up a third ball, this time it rolls gruesomely down his chest before it oozes onto the floor. I stumble back, and start vomiting in the corner, all over the clothes I took from him. The both of us are hacking and vomiting for a while then. When I turn back, Eric is covered with black bile and dead worms from his mouth all the way to his legs. My stomach painfully clenches, but there’s nothing left to come up.

“More salt water, honey,” the Good Prince says.

Without answering, I stumble to the salt water and fill the mug. Three times he drinks and three more times he hacks up the worms. The whole basement is filled with the stench of them. My eyes are stinging with ammonia. When I dry heave, little flecks of blood are in my spittle.

“Okay, that’s good for now,” the Good Prince says. “You can wash him.”

The mop water is warm and very soapy, smelling of flowers. When I approach Eric with the mop, he just stands there in his filth with his jaw open. I start at the top, washing the black bile from his face. Eric licks at the mop as I wash him. Soon I have to return to the bucket, but Eric is excited by the water and tries to follow me. I push him away, but he keeps coming.

“Unh,” he says, striving against me. “Unh.”