Between Nothingness and Light
Everything was black. A darkness so dense it seemed to swallow even his thoughts.
Suddenly, an orange flash illuminated the void, followed by sparks of colors that gradually took shape. Joseph saw himself as a child, on his knees, prostrate before a resplendent and gigantic being; so huge that Joseph couldn't see him well, only distinguishing the shape of his legs like columns of light. This being was seated on a golden throne encrusted with purple crystals that pulsated like hearts.
In that nothingness lay Joseph weeping, prostrate at the feet of this being, without stopping, without breathing.
"You, tiny and terrible being, have no right to stand before me. You, unconscious and unfeeling being, have no right to weep for me. You, insufferable and scrawny being, do not have the will to follow me," roared this imposing being, his voice rumbling like thunder.
"You, tiny and fragile being, have no right to stand before me," thundered the being, and his voice shook the foundations of the darkness. "You, who ignore pain, have no right to weep for me. You, broken will, are not worthy of me."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," was the only thing the boy managed to say between tears, his forehead pressed against the invisible floor.
A few meters away, a yellowish glow revealed a multitude of silhouettes conversing in almost unintelligible murmurs.
Despite Joseph being prostrate before the giant, he could see and feel them. He felt their words, their gazes, their hearts and feelings; they were like millions of invisible needles piercing his head, entering through his temples and going down to his throat.
"You, unworthy one, have no right to be by my side. You, child, failed us."
The being lifted his great foot and lowered it slowly onto Joseph. It wasn't a quick blow; it was a crushing and inevitable pressure. Joseph felt how all that weight ground his young back against the nothingness; his eyes didn't stop dripping tears and his lips didn't stop asking for forgiveness.
"He who renounces his will does not deserve to walk the earth."
Suddenly, one of the silhouettes spoke. His voice resonated in the void, clear; it was like an echo vibrating in his bones:
"Jos! Jos! Jos!"
And then, another voice. Female, warm, but charged with an infinite guilt:
"Forgive me, Joseph… I'm sorry. Please, forgive me, I hope you can forgive me, I..."
The voice cut off and repeated, louder each time, until the darkness shattered into a thousand fragments of light.
Joseph opened his eyes. A white glare blinded him. Above him, lights passed swiftly, projected from a grayish ceiling. He was on a stretcher, pushed in a rush. Distant voices surrounded him, full of urgency:
"Keep pressure!"—"We have a pulse, but it's weak!"—"Quick, get ready, there's no time!"
He tried to speak, but only a thread of air escaped his lips. He felt no pain, only a strange emptiness that ran through his whole body. And yet, that sweet and guilty voice kept resonating inside his head, louder than the chaos of the room.
The light of the trauma lamp was a brilliant beacon burning his retina.
What happened? he asked himself.
The answer did not take long to arrive. Like lightning, the image of the crag projected itself in the back of his mind: the hold that failed, the howl of the wind, and the void engulfing him. A void he did not fear.
He tried to move a finger. Then his right foot. Finally, his arm. Nothing responded.
I suppose they are broken, he thought with an unnatural calm, while seeing the doctors' masks above him.
The memories of that call returned. The dismissal. The failure. He closed his eyes for a second.
What does it matter, he thought, it is the end.
In his mind, a heap of memories of the project formed and passed like old film at high speed. The amount of time and money formed in red numbers, as if it were a debt. Those moments of joy and progress just turned gray, just like that.
No… I didn't make it, Mom.
He felt something warm run down his temple: a small tear escaped his eye, sliding down to his cheek to die on the red-stained sheets.
He tilted his head slightly, the only movement his body allowed him. Through the glass of the room, he saw two figures. His grandfather Georg, sitting on a bench with his eyes closed, looking at the sky. And Anton, pacing from one side to the other like a caged animal.
Joseph's heart leaped. Anton is here.
Something shook him inside. His breathing accelerated, the air entering in short and trembling gusts. The heart monitor began to beep frantically.
"He's accelerating!" shouted a doctor. —"Sedate him now!"
One of them nodded and prepared the injection. Joseph felt the pressure in his arm, and the world began to fade again. A thick curtain fell over his eyes, erasing his brother.
The ticking of the clock was the only thing breaking the silence of the waiting room.
Anton moved his right foot ceaselessly, a rhythmic tapping that made the floor vibrate beneath his boots. His gaze remained fixed on the shiny floor, but his mind was elsewhere. Beside him, Georg, his grandfather, held his head with both hands, covering his eyes.
"I don't understand…" murmured Anton, with a hoarse voice. "Joseph has climbed that crag dozens of times. It's impossible for him to have failed like that."
Georg exhaled slowly.
"I don't understand it either, son. I was talking to him… just before the accident." His voice trembled. "I noticed he was nervous. We talked about his evaluation... and then he said the company was calling him. Fifteen minutes later, I got the emergency notification."
Anton nodded in silence. His foot kept marking the rhythm of his anxiety.
The door burst open.
"Anton… Georg."
It was Jacob Hunt. He was still wearing his white coat. His countenance was grave, but he tried to force a reassuring smile. He approached and hugged Georg, then Anton.
"I came as soon as I heard."
"Thanks for coming, Jacob," said Georg.
"How is he? Have they stabilized him?"
"We don't know," replied Georg. "They took us out of the room because Anton was… restless."
Hunt ran a hand through his hair.
"God... I hope it turns out okay. What happened? Was it because of his condition?"
Anton shook his head.
"I don't know. When I dropped him off, he was a bit shocked and nervous about his evaluation, but apart from that, I didn't notice anything strange. He shouldn't have fallen."
The door opened once more. A surgeon in a blue uniform and tired face peered through the frame.
"Family of Joseph Marsol?"
The three stood up almost in unison.
"Yes, that's us."
The doctor consulted a transparent tablet.
"Your relative is stable, for now. We transferred him to the operating room for initial reconstructive procedures." He paused, measuring his words. "I need to confirm some data. Here it says he has HSAN type V. Is that correct?"
"Yes," replied Anton, staring at the doctor. "Hereditary Sensory and Autonomic Neuropathy. He doesn't feel physical pain."
The doctor nodded, processing the gravity.
"That explains the lack of initial traumatic shock. Although he can feel touch and temperature... I understand." He noted something down. "Even so, I must warn you: his condition is critical."
Georg clung to the back of the chair.
"Tell us, please."
"He suffered multiple fractures. The bones of the legs, arms, and spine are destroyed; crushed at some points. He has lost almost all functional mobility. It was a miracle he survived that height."
Hunt closed his eyes and murmured something that sounded like a prayer.
"Furthermore," continued the doctor, "the jaw is split. He won't be able to speak. And the brain suffered moderate damage; there could be memory loss."
Anton passed a hand over his face, pale.
"What options do we have?"
"Two," said the doctor, raising two fingers. "First: Traditional reconstructive surgery. We stabilize the spinal cord and fix the fractures. He will survive... but he will remain tetraplegic. He won't walk again, nor use his hands, nor speak."
A heavy silence fell over the room.
"And the second?" asked Anton, although he already feared the answer.
"Advanced intervention. Complete cybernetic implants. Biomechanical replacements for limbs, spine, and jaw. With that, he could recover total mobility."
Georg lifted his head.
"It was to be expected," he whispered.
"But the process is extensive and extremely aggressive," warned the doctor. "He could die. It will last a year. The operations are multiple and neurological rejection is a real risk."
The silence extended. Only the ticking of the clock filled the room.
Anton clenched his fists.
"I understand."
"With all due respect, sir… it was a miracle he survived."
Georg lowered his gaze.
"Jesus…" he whispered with a thread of a voice.
"And the cost..." began Hunt, containing the tremor in his breathing.
"Money will not be a problem," interrupted Anton with an icy voice.
"If you have the resources, we can initiate the pre-surgical evaluation process. You have a month to decide which procedure will be performed. During that time, we will keep him in a controlled state and under observation."
The doctor gave a small bow.
"You can go in to see him in three hours."
He left, leaving behind a gelid silence.
Georg breathed deep.
"A new body… but at what price?" he murmured, watching the door close.
"Georg, Anton… I have to get back to my shift," said Hunt, visibly affected. "I'll return as soon as I can."
"Don't worry, boy, thanks for accompanying us," replied the grandfather.
Anton limited himself to saying goodbye with a nod, while his gaze got lost in the floor again.
Hunt retired from the room.
When they were left alone, Georg patted his grandson's back.
"I know everything will go well, son."
"I don't want to see Joseph like that, Grandpa. Full of metal, or going through that heap of surgeries. He hates implants."
"I know, son, but there are no other options."
"I don't know..." Anton looked at his watch. It read seven-thirty. He touched his inmo unconsciously.
"I want to see him walking, Anton. At least one more time," continued Georg with a broken voice.
Anton didn't answer. His foot, for the first time, stopped. The blue glow of his inmo blinked on his temple, reflecting in his gaze the weight of an idea.