People We Knew

People We Knew

By Heather Ann Martinez

The snow drifts rippled across the grass and embraced the trees for miles around. This was our last hope, a small cabin in winter’s paradise. We were somewhere in the northern Canadian tundra. That’s what our doctor called it. It was his cabin we would be staying in until we were well enough to come back to civilization. The man I met only twenty-four hours ago and I had what could be a potential cure for the nation wide pandemic. We were the lucky ones to have the right DNA, and we both had the exact same set of vaccinations in childhood within days of each other. The man did not talk to me much. He was on his phone with loved ones almost since we were diagnosed. The doctor is sending us to this very isolated cabin to in some ways experiment on us. Our doctor thinks we can cure a nation. I don’t understand all the medical terminology but he said something in our blood doesn’t react to the disease that is spreading like wildfire all over the place. The doctor said that once we reach the cabin, we will not have the comforts of home. There is no electricity, no telephone service, no internet service and not another soul for miles. We will stay isolated for the next three months. The doctor thinks that after that time he will be able to collect our blood samples and synthesize a cure. The man on the phone has shown symptoms of the disease. It worries me.

For the first time in my life, I will be dependent on someone I don’t even know. I grew up with family all around me. I had close friends growing up that all knew other members of my family. I am suffering from separation anxiety already. I won’t be able to visit anyone or communicate with anyone else but this man who hasn’t realized that we are going to be each other’s only companion for the next three months. All I know about him is that he is exactly my age. He grew up thirty miles from where I did and he has a similar medical history to mine. I don’t even know his last name. I memorized his MRN (medical record number). The nurse repeated it so often because he complained often. So far, he thought he was having a seizure, a stroke, a panic attack and shortness of breath. He told our doctor that going to a remote cabin would only exacerbate his symptoms. He really didn’t like being away from people he knew. I didn’t like the idea either but here we are.

The helicopter has dropped us off. It is white. There are few patches of brown and green struggling to be visible under all the snow. The cabin is directly in front of us. The doctor has equipped us with emergency food supplies and enough drinking water for three months. The doctor said we could melt the snow if we ran out beyond what he rationed for us. The doctor said there are cans of beans and canned vegetables in the cellar should the medical team not return within ninety days. We looked at the helicopter as it took off and then at each other.

“Paul, my name is Paul.” He said.

“Mine is Sophie. Come on, let’s get out of the cold.” I said.

I readjusted my backpack and picked up one of the boxes of supplies. Paul did the same and we made our way to the cabin. I lit a match once we were inside and lit several candles and lanterns. The front door led to a kitchen walled off to a dining room and living room. There lay three bedrooms down the hall from the living room. Every bed had a sleeping bag on it. Every room had a fireplace or cast iron stove in it. There was a stack of firewood by each fireplace. It smelled musty but looked clean. I smiled. Paul was not impressed. He had a grimace on his face as we lit the fireplace in the living room and started warming the kitchen. We started fires in the fireplaces of two of the bedrooms and sorted out our supplies. I was surprised there was running water but it was cold. I realized we were going to have to boil water on the stoves to take bathes. The only question that came to my mind was could Paul and I survive each other.

Over the next week, Paul did not talk to me unless it had something to do with the cabin. He left the cabin early each morning and would come back around noon. He said there was an abandoned barn that had a tractor and chopped wood and other supplies. He found several pantry items: canned beans, pancake mixes, canned soups, flour, evaporated milk, and lots of jars of jam. He slowly filled the dining room table with his “findings.” It gave him purpose despite the fact that he was growing more sick each day. He coughed all through the night. He had a slight temperature and ate very little. He muttered that he wanted to make sure I had what I needed to make it out alive.

The second week, I begged him not to go outside. The temperature had dropped and I did not want to be alone. I asked him to tell me about his family, his friends, the people he knew. I wrote down descriptions of all the people in his life. I asked him to tell me what he hoped for each one, and I asked him to tell me what he was most concerned about. I asked him what he would like to see happen in our country, in our world. The third week, Paul took one of my notebooks and started sketching the faces of the people he knew. His father had a long nose. His mother always wore her hair in braids. His sister had rosy cheeks and his wife had long blond hair.

Every time I asked him about his wife, he would shake his head and walk away. My husband died of the disease a few months ago. I wrote about him. I drew pictures of his laughing face. He always laughed at my jokes. The pandemic took more than I was willing to give. It robbed me of the love of my life and it took me away from the people that I could mourn with. I walked on eggshells with Paul the first month. In many ways, he looked out for me.  He would chop wood. He made it his mission every day to find food or tools we could use to make our cabin experience more tolerable. I appreciated the efforts he made, but I wished he would talk with me more. I knew he had a lot more to say. He would come into the living room and make a comment about the weather and then look at me. He looked as if he were about to say something and then walk away again.

During our second month, Paul became weaker. It was a struggle for him to walk to the living room from his bedroom let alone to the kitchen. I moved his bed to the living room so he could be closer to the kitchen. I made sure he ate and drank water and I sang songs I thought he would recognize. He’d laugh until he coughed. He would say he was sorry, but he wouldn’t tell me why. He asked me if I hated the life I lived up until now. I told him I didn’t hate it. I missed my husband and extended family back home. I told him that my parents were never rich, and they struggled to make end meet. They somehow always did. He said that he never had to want for anything. His parents provided him with the best of everything from a private education to new cars, homes, and wealth. He never had to work a day in his life. He was spoiled, and he knew it. He said that it came with a cost though.

A week passed. Paul lost his ability to talk, to swallow, and slowly passed away. I wept. I tried to move his lifeless body but realized that I had also grown weaker. I remembered that Paul had found a flare gun and I began shooting it into the sky. I marked SOS with branches where the helicopter had landed and wrapped Paul in sleeping bags. I found an old office chair in the barn that was missing a wheel. I used it to carry Paul’s body out of the cabin and buried his body under the trees. I said a prayer for him and cried every night until the doctor came. Ninety days passed. The disease had stopped progressing. The doctor synthesized a cure from my blood. He asked me what I did to pass the time. I told him I interviewed Paul for hours. I asked him to describe everyone he knew and what he hoped for them.

The doctor said that it was good that I was able to make peace with Paul before he died. I asked the doctor what he was talking about. He told me Paul was my twin brother. My biological parents, Paul’s father and mother, decided to put me up for adoption. I was a sickly infant and they did not think I would survive. Paul was always told I existed and he found me some time ago. He felt guilty and never brought himself to tell me who he was. He told the doctor he wanted to make certain I would survive. Paul told the doctor I deserved my name and my inheritance. I was bound to a legacy I did not seek. I had a whole family among the people we knew.