"Of course, of course," the old man said, and at last his hands had familiar things to do, extracting bandages and sterile gauze from his bag, tape and scissors.
Joze reached into the warm and now murky water and forced himself to reach under the green leg and grasp the hot, green flesh. It was strange — but not terrible. He lifted the limb free of the water and they saw a crushed gap oozing a thick blue fluid. Petar turned away, but the doctor put on a pad of gauze and tightened the bandages about it. The alien was fumbling at the discarded suit beside it in the tub, twisting its leg in Joze's grip. He looked down and saw it take something from the sporran container. Its mouth was moving again, he could hear the dim buzz of its voice.
"What is it? What do you want?" Joze asked.
It was holding the object across its chest now with both hands: it appeared to be a book of some kind. It might be a book, it might be anything.
Yet it was covered in a shiny substance with dark markings on it, and at the edge seemed to be made of many sheets bound together. It could be a book. The leg was twisting now in Joze's grasp and the alien's mouth was open wider, as if it were shouting.
"The bandage will get wet if we put it back into the water," the doctor said.
"Can't you wrap adhesive tape over it, seal it in?"
"In my bag — I'll need some more."
While they talked the alien began to rock back and forth, splashing water from the tub, pulling its leg from Joze's grasp. It still held the book in one thin, multi-fingered hand, but with the other one it began to tear at the bandages on its leg.
"It's hurting itself, stop it. This is terrible," the doctor said, recoiling from the tub.
Joze snatched a piece of wrapping paper from the floor.
"You fool! You incredible fool!" he shouted. "These compresses you used — they're impregnated with sulfanilamide."
"I always use them, they're the best, American, they prevent wound infection."
Joze pushed him aside and plunged his arms into the tub to tear the bandages free, but the alien reared up out of his grasp sitting up above the water, its mouth gaping wide. Its eyes were open and daring and Joze recoiled as a stream of water shot from its mouth. There was a gargling sound as the water died to a trickle, and then, as the first air touched the vocal cords, a rising howling scream of pain. It echoed from the plaster ceiling, an inhuman agony as the creature threw its arms wide, then fell face forward into the water. It did not move again and, without examining it, Joze knew it was dead.
One arm was twisted back, out of the tub, still grasping the book. Slowly the fingers loosened, and while Joze looked on numbly, unable to move, the book thudded to the floor.
"Help me," Petar said, and Joze turned to see that the doctor had fallen and Petar was kneeling over him. "He fainted, or a heart attack. What can we do?"
His anger was forgotten as Joze kneeled. The doctor seemed to be breathing regularly and his face wasn't flushed, so perhaps it was only a fainting spell. The eyelids fluttered. The priest brushed by and looked down over Joze's shoulder.
Dr. Bratos opened his eyes, looking back and forth at the faces bent over him. "I'm sorry," he said thickly; then the eyes closed again as if to escape the sight of them.
Joze stood and found that he was trembling. The priest was gone. Was it all over? Perhaps they might never have saved the alien, but they should have done better than this. Then he saw the wet spot on the floor and realized the book was gone.
"Father Perc!" he shouted, crying it out like an insult. The man had taken the book, the priceless book!
Joze ran out into the hall and saw the priest coming from the kitchen. His hands were empty. With sudden fear Joze knew what the old man had done and brushed past him into the kitchen and ran to the stove, hurling open the door.
There, among the burning wood, lay the book. It was steaming, almost smoking as it dried, lying open. It was obviously a book; there were marks on the pages of some kind. He turned to grab up the shovel and behind him the fire exploded, sending a white flame across the room. It had almost caught him in the face, but he did not think of that. Pieces of burning wood lay on the floor, and inside the stove there was only the remains of the original fire. Whatever substance the book had been made of was highly inflammable once it had dried out.
"It was evil," the priest said from the doorway. "A zao duh, an abomination with a book of evil. We have been warned, such things have happened before on Earth, and always the faithful must fight back—"
Petar pushed in roughly past him and helped Joze to a chair, brushing the hot embers from his bare skin. Joze had not felt their burn; all he was aware of was an immense weariness.
