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Herbert couldn't even get out of his bed. or, "bed". Since he was young he'd made himself content with blanket nests in baskets as "beds", since sideshows were quick to skimp out on even their star acts. He'd gotten accustomed to the shape and feel of them, but now, the shallow basket he was laying in felt like a personal hell. His leg stumps were so red and tingly and it felt like they were being stabbed. He feared that even getting up to walk on his hands, and then possibly grazing the bottom of the stumps on the ground, would be too painful.
He knew lying there amongst the blankets wouldn't make him feel better. The pain needed addressed, and the longer he sat, the higher chance he'd get bedsores on top of the neuropathia ravaging his long healed wounds. Pulling himself up, though, would require movement, which sounded rather dire at the moment. He had a show tomorrow, though. He couldn't keep on as he was!
The tent flap opened, and the morning light hit Herbert's face. He grunted.
"Eugh, what- who is it?" he said. He wasn't usually so terse but he wasnt in the mood for pleasantries.
The man sidled up to Herbert, now blocking the overbearing sun, revealing Ducky the Dullard. Or, well, Dean, to Herbert. Herbert had been in the business for a long time and had an aversion to using stage names outside of performances. "Ducky" wasnt actually a dullard, anyways.
"Herb. Good to see you. Wagstaff said to check on you, what's goin' on?"
Dean was the only other American of the group, and even though Dean was from Wisconsin and Herbert was from Mississippi, they bonded if only due to their homeland.
Herbert sighed, "Oh, well, it's my legs- my stumps. They hurt- terribly so, Dean. They are red, I have pins and needles, they're totally inflamed! I'm in lots of pain, and I'm anxious it'll intervene in the show tomorrow."
Dean nodded, "I see. Forget about the show for now, you gotta concentrate on your self a little more, Herbert."
Herbert huffed in response. a tacit admission.
Dean smirked, "Well, I dont know of any miracle cure, but I've got this old remedy I was taught a long while back. it's a bath. feel like getting up for me?"
Herbert looked up from his blankets. he fiddled with the edge of his favorite, a suzani woven blanket he'd had since childhood.
"I'll help you out, smart guy." Dean said after a long pause.
Herbert sighed, "Very well..." he said.
Dean smiled and helped hoist Herbert up. Only having one good arm, it took some maneuvering but Herbert resolved to hook his armpits over Dean's biceps to be carried to the tent halfway across camp. When they got there, Dean helped Herbert onto a stool, and went outside with the bucket to start on the process of drawing the bath. A few pails of water later, Dean collected up some bathing utensils, a sponge, some salves, a soap bar, what have you. and then he brought out a pitcher.
"Allow me?" Asked Dean
"Please do, Dean." Herbert said, under the impression it was just some extra water, or a soap solution of some sort.
Dean poured the liquid in- And it was white! Quickly, Herbert realized it was cow's milk. He'd heard of it's usage in baths, but he was confused why Dean was adding it here.
"Oh, my, Dean. isn't this fancy?"
Dean nodded, "Yep... D'you wanna try this salve after the bath? Just something I got from the druggist, might work." He held up a small cobalt blue bottle with a gelatin liquid inside.
"Oh, I'll try anything, right now... Do you suppose you could apply it while im still bathing, Dean?"
"Oh, well, it couldn't hurt. You want me to?"
Herbert nodded, "Yes, I trust you know how to be gentle with my stumps in their condition."
Dean nodded and quickly poured out some of the liquid, lathered it up and reached down into the milk bath. Where Herbert's legs were was a little less clear with the cloudiness of the water, though, and Dean grazed Herbert's unmentionables multiple times as he repeatedly reached in with more of the salve.
"I'm sorry I keep touching your private areas, its hard to see with the milk, and all."
"Oh, listen, Dean, I've had my lower half poked and prodded from the moment I was born. It would be stranger if I WAS insecure about it."
"Fair point. Its just a little awkward, heh." Dean muttered as he rubbed the sensitive, scarred tissue of Herbert's left nub.
The skin was strikingly smooth for an amputation scar, but perhaps that had to due with the age Herbert had them amputated. Being so young, there wasn't a ton of skin to sew up and end up with a nasty, jagged scar in the first place. His body had grown around the necessary pain he'd endured so early.
Why he had them removed remained hard to explain to yokels. Two stiff legs, like his when he was born, were no use. Like pieces of wood, it was as if the femur and lower leg were nailed together at the joint. They were Underdeveloped even for a premature birth like Herbert. The chance of him walking was zero! In removing the cumbersome legs they offered him a shot at learning to walk on his hands instead, and the ability to maneuver his compact body as he wished. A sad but ultimately worthwhile tradeoff, for the man.
Herbert winced through a few more applications of the salve before tapping out. Dean left him to soak in the tub for however long he wished, and Herbert soaked up the little piece of heaven he'd been given gratefully. But after around 30 minutes he decided it was time to get out. He called Dean in and his fellow amputee helped him out onto a terrycloth towel and then wrapped him in another.
"Was that good? Feel any better?" Dean asked as he gently wiped down Herbert's shoulders.
Herbert sighed, "Yes, yes. I feel like the cold milk bath brought down the redness and swelling. they still feel awfully tender, however."
Dean frowned, handing towel duties off to Herbert as he reached the lower extremities, or, as low as they got on Herbert, at least.
"Aw, lord. can't catch a break, can you? Well, you just need some more bedrest. You want me to tell wagstaff your out of commission for tomorrow?"
Herbert smiled a little, tenderly toweling off his stumps with his most ginger hand, "Oh, dear, I can tell him. He always does nightly rounds, the despot."
Dean guffawed, "Gahah! you're right. You know I'll tell him off for you if he keeps buggin' ya, though, right?"
Herbert nodded, "I'm aware. just because i lack my flippers doesn't mean I'm a pushover, however, Dean."
"I understand." Dean said as he hoisted the man up for a hopefully quiet return to bed. He laid his friend down to sleep and they exchanged their farewells.
That night, amongst his blankets, letting his body settle and soak up a sliver of moonlight through the flap in his tent, Herbert smiled, knowing he'd do the same for Dean any time.
P.S.
The art I made that originally inspired this work can be found here (warning: EXPLICIT only view if 18+ and okay with drawn amputations. Stay safe.): https://bsky.app/profile/mr-shrink.bsky.social/post/3mnpuvn4xos2z