Sleepwalker

Chapter Four: The Lesson

“Ouch!” I winced, pulling back. My shoulder ached where the doctor touched it.

The professor scowled. “If you did not recoil, it would not hurt! Now stay put!” He commanded in his outlandish accent. Then he pressed his chubby fingers against my shoulder. He dug them in until I chomped on my cheek to repress the urge to scream. “Tell me, Genevieve, did that hurt?” His tone was condescending.

“Of course it did!” I yelled, boiling with anger. “What kind of idiot wouldn’t-”

“Jenny…” Papa warned forcefully. “So Professor Wash, what’s wrong?”

Tightly, he squeezed my shoulder again. “Definitely dislocated, probably in her sleep. I need to put it back in its socket and then sling the arm. Think she can handle it?”

Opposing my look of anxiety, Papa nodded. “You’ll be okay,” he murmured.

Professor Wash yanked my arm more forcefully than Sleepwalker; I cried out. He seemed to enjoy it too much. He rubbed it again mercilessly. “I’ll soon return.” With a smile, he stomped upstairs. He glared back at me. “And don’t touch it.”

“Must’ve been one hell of a dream,” Papa remarked, sitting next to me on my bed. “Are you going to tell me what set off these nightmares?”

I thought for a moment, anything to divert my attention from the pain in my shoulder. “It might’ve been my growing curiosity about my mother.”

“Look, Jenny, I know you want to know, but you know as much about the woman as I do. If you look for her, you’re going to get hurt. Look what me telling you did to you! You’re bruising your arm and dislocating joints in your sleep. I don’t want you to be disappointed if she’s untraceable.” He rested his head in his hands thoughtfully.

“Papa, I’m not a little girl anymore. I can handle a bit of hurt in my life. It does not matter if I can’t find my mother. I want to try at least.” I stated with finality. When the silence grew uncomfortable like dense moist air in a small room, I explained my dream to my father. I ended with the elucidation of how I was hurt in the dream.

“So, Sleepwalker, huh. You’ve got quite an imagination there. It’s just your mind wanting answers, you know. A wise man once told me that dreams are answers to the day’s questions. Perhaps he’s right. This only leaves me to wonder what my mind is wondering.” He grinned at me, attempting to lighten the moment.

Professor Wash in his stout rotundity plopped down the stairs to settle my arm into some contraption. His white goatee pointed and his eyebrows frazzled in frustration while he tied my arm in his ‘sling’.

The thing had a strap on my good shoulder, connecting to a pouch, which held my arm across my torso. “What can I do with this on?” I wondered rudely.

“You can rest it. You could also thank me,” He grumbled. “Load of work I do for an uncivilized, peasant, oafish child. Bah!” He stormed upstairs. Each step pounded above Papa’s head and mine. His complaints were still heard from the basement.

I sighed, “Papa, I’m no use in this. Could I just take it off?”

“No, It needs to heal properly. You will keep it on until Professor Wash says you can take it off. Until then, I suppose I can handle the inn on my own. I can’t have you hurting anything else. You’ll just study with Mary until you’re well enough to work again.” He ruffled my hair. “Your first lesson is today. Are you excited?”

I nodded. “Thank you for asking Professor Lester to teach me.”

He shrugged, standing. “I know that you’ve wanted a tutor for quite a while. The opportunity presented itself, so I went for it. You deserve it. Your talents are wasted if all you do is fold bed sheets. Now, get going you don’t want to be late, do you?” He climbed the stairs leaving me alone in the cellar.