A couple of years ago, the farmer who lived nearest to my family was kicked in the head by his mule while plowing his fields. He'd walked into his home with a wound just like Weevil's. The man's wife put him to bed and even brought a pinchworm physician up to see him, which we only did at the most serious times. The farmer woke up a week later, perfectly well. Or almost. He remembered his kids, his mule, even remembered where he'd left off plowing before he was kicked. The only thing he couldn't remember was his wife. People said he was fine, that the forgetting was his way of getting back at his wife for all the times she'd yelled at him over the years. I had laughed at that, thinking maybe it was just one big joke.
But I wasn't laughing anymore. Maybe what happened to our neighbor was real, and a hard blow to the head really could change your memories of people. What if Weevil didn't remember me?
He had to. He had to remember me because, right now, he was the only person I had left in the world. I was scared, accused of having a disease that might get me sent to a place filled with actual sick people who would end up getting me actually sick. Sick enough to die. And now, whether he still had a memory or not, Weevil was headed there too.
I shook his shoulder, gently, but hard enough to wake him up. "Weevil? Are you all right?"
"No," he mumbled. "I can't remember ..."
His voice faded, and tears came to my eyes. So this truly was the same condition our neighbor had. How damaged would Weevil's memories be? Would he remember me at least?
"You can't remember what?" I asked. "Do you remember the rivers? We were supposed to dive for fish this afternoon, do you remember that? How we got here in this wagon? Weevil ... do you remember me?"
Weevil rolled to his side, facing me. Blood had pooled beneath one of his cheeks, and a bump had formed on the top of his forehead. He opened one eye first, as if testing to be sure whether he wanted to wake up, then the second eye.
"I can't remember why I ever decided to be friends with you," he mumbled.
I almost punched his arm, but thought better of it and decided to save it for later. I did help him get to a sitting position, which was the least he deserved for trying to save me.
He leaned against the wall of the wagon and asked, "How long was I out?"
"Not long, maybe only fifteen minutes. You had me worried."
"Good. It shows you care."
I sat across from him and picked up my knife again, clutching it in my grip. "We're in a lot of trouble."
"You're always in some sort of trouble, Ani. Why should this be any different?"
"Look where we are!"
"I'm looking at you, and even without much light in here, I can see you're a complete mess. Luckily for you, I've seen worse."
For that comment, he received one of my special glares. "I only look this way because I ate a vinefruit, and I fell out of a tree, and I got in a fight with the wardens."
Weevil smiled. "So it's been a slower morning than usual for you." Then his grin faded. "Tell me honestly, is there any chance you might have the Scourge? Have you been exposed to it?"
"No!" Perhaps I said it too forcefully, or too confidently. We both knew nobody in the country was entirely safe. Then I added, "I don't have the Scourge, and neither do you. But I overheard the wardens. The governor wants to start testing the River People for the disease."
Weevil checked the fabric I'd given him to see if his head was still bleeding. With such little light in this isolation wagon, it'd be hard for him to know for sure. He needed to keep the fabric in place.
After he'd checked, he said, "The Scourge is a terrible disease. You know as well as I do what it's done to other areas of the country once it set in. If the governor wants to test the River People, then it means she's trying to protect us the same as everyone else."
"When has Governor Felling ever cared about River People? We're only useful when it's time to collect either taxes or explorers." Weevil flinched at that last part, and I instantly regretted the reference to his father. "I know how awful the Scourge is, but protecting the River People is not the reason we're here."
"Well, then she wants to be sure that we don't spread the Scourge to any of the pinchworms. Listen, Ani, I don't want someone making my family sick or yours. These are hard times, and hard decisions must be made."
I'd made plenty of those hard decisions already, and so far had avoided any serious consequences. Until now.
"We're not sick," I said, even less sure of myself than before.
"Then she'll test us and find out the only thing wrong with you is that you're foolish enough to challenge a hecklebird for a vinefruit. And the only thing wrong with me is that I decided to be your friend. We'll be home by nightfall."
I knew how important it was for him to get back home.
When they came to take his father for the exploration north, Weevil offered himself up instead, claiming that his father was far more valuable to the family. But Weevil was rejected; he was a finger width too short. That same summer, he grew three finger widths in height--I think it was a matter of pride for him. Unfortunately, his father never returned.
Weevil had five younger siblings, all of them with far less interesting names. Once his father left, Weevil became responsible for providing for them. Although he did the best he could, it was never enough. That bothered him, more than he'd ever admit, even to me. Or maybe, especially to me.