5 - Golden Blood

EROS

The next day, I called Port to join me in the kitchen. At first, he was hesitant, ashamed of what had happened, but as the hours passed, he finally loosened up.

"I am doing this not because I am okay with you being here. I am currently investigating your origin," I said sternly. Port just nodded in response.

"I will teach you house chores. It seemed like you were an heir without experience in cleaning, cooking, and washing clothes. On this property, I am alone, and I don't have any housemaids. As payment for your accommodation and food in this household, you will work as a helper. Is that clear?"

"Yes, I will!" he exclaimed.

I started teaching him all the names of the appliances inside the house, their function, and their safekeeping. It seemed like he knew nothing, as if he's a product of spontaneous generation theory. It was draining to teach him how to plug on the socket and why it is important not to touch it with wet hands.

He had so much fun when he learned how to use the food processor; and how a hard vegetable will be grounded in that appliance in a few minutes. He also tried using a heater in the bathroom, amazed how the water could change its temperature in just a few clicks.

I toured him around the property, where he was tasked with watering the orchid garden every afternoon, uprooting the grasses on the vegetable beds, and feeding the rabbits in their enclosure. Every week, he had to monitor the fruit trees to see if they were ready for harvest.

Lastly, I showed him the television and how it operates. Seeing images of people, animals, and other stuff on the screen made him jump from delight. I have never seen someone that happy. Perth was delighted when he passed the entrance exam at his dream university; Ara was glad when she finally got an invitation for a fashion week. But Port's happiness was incomparable. It was contagious.

"Can I use this?" he asked, pointing at the television.

"You can if you already finished the chores?"

"What will I do?" he said, pouting, and lowered shoulders.

"In the morning, you need to take a bath—make sure to wear complete clothing. Then, you can start by cooking the rice. Remember, I taught you earlier. You can wake me after that, I will cook the dishes, and you can watch so that you will learn." I explained.

"Then we eat?" said Port excitedly, clapping his hands. 

"Yes, we will eat after that. And you will wash the plates and utensils. Make sure not to break a single glass this time, is that clear?" 

He nodded in response. "So, what will you do?"

"What?"

"Yes, what will you do?" He repeated. His hands were both behind his back, and he was moving side to side.

I blinked multiple times while my mouth opened ajar. "Are you asking me these questions?" I asked, pointing to myself.

He bobbed his head repeatedly. "Of course, so what do you do?"

I hissed. "I stay in the basement, on my studio. I am paying for the bills and the supplies on this house. That's what I do," I said, waggling my brows.

The corner of his mouth quirked up, then shrugged. "Okay," he mouthed.

I told him after his tasks; he could watch TV for an hour or two, then continue with other chores. He was so thrilled that I allowed him to use that device. I also instructed him not to disturb me in my studio when I am working on art pieces; the art studio is also off-limits for him. He can never enter my studio without my permission. Port agreed with all these chores in return for his accommodation and food--and TV.

It was a joke, but then he agreed, so I went with the flow. He was so gullible and naive. I wonder if he's really an amnesiac or just he came from another world—an alien perhaps. In this modern-day, it would be impossible to find someone whose as empty as Port.

He doesn't know anything about appliances and electronics—even clothing and bathing. He lacks on a lot of things. My tutor told me that no one was born dumb and that everyone had their inner brilliance inside them. But I don't know if this applied to Port too.

On the contrary, he was also gifted. I also noticed how fast his wounds heal. I clearly remembered that he hurt his finger from a shard of a broken bowl from the other night. But earlier this morning, as I guided his hands to plug a rice cooker, he didn't have a single cut in his finger. Not even a single scrape. 

The first time I saw him bare-skinned, he had deep cuts around his back like stabbed or sliced with a samurai blade. The time Perth cleaned his wounds, it was like the wound had healed itself—turning it into tiny wounds. Perth and I might agree that maybe we just remembered it mistakenly, but I don't think even that small wound won't leave a scar.

When I raised his shirt, I didn't see a single scar on his back. It was like the skin of a young-born child—untouched. And with what happened yesterday, I am positive that he got a small wound on his fingers—but it seemed like it virtually disappeared too.

He could also speak clearly despite his tongues getting burned from the inferno sauce with almost a hundred thousand Scoville heat units. When I burned my tongue ages ago, it took me three days to completely heal.

I immediately called Perth and told him my observations. He, too, recognized that there's something peculiar about Port.

"By the way, have you received the specimen?"

"Yes, I am actually on my way to get his blood results," Perth paused for a while, and I heard indistinctive noises from the background. I turned at Port, watching Ben 10 on the television, unbothered. "Eros, don't be shocked!" he sounded with urgency.

"Spill,"

"Port has golden blood,"

"He does?" my eyes went out from the news. Having golden blood was rare; the ratio was 1 in every 6 million people. It also has its advantages and disadvantages. I knew because I was one of them.

"Yes, he's the same as you. Should we sign him already?"

"What? He's not on the list either?" I gasped.

Around the world, there are only less than fifty of us, and people with this blood type are listed and monitored. Having golden blood could save lives, but it could also be dangerous.

If a person had golden blood or Rh Null type, that person could donate to anyone. However, only people with golden blood could only give to our likes. One reason why I don't engage with sports or any activities that may injure me. If I got into an accident, the nearest blood donor would be miles away.

"Yes, he's not on the list. In the whole of Asia, we only have three registered people with golden blood. If we include him, that makes four."

"Don't sign him yet. Let us learn more from him. Do you have anything interesting aside from his blood?"

"Not quite sure, we started running his prints on the database, and as I mentioned, it will take weeks—or months, I'll keep you posted," Perth hung up the call.

I looked at Port, who was still laughing at the show he was watching. Now that I learned about his blood type, how did he survive—when he first arrived here with that much blood loss? After hearing about his blood and being unregistered, it made me more interested in him. It only grew my suspicions about his existence even more.

Who are you, Port?