Tortuga (25 page)

“And he got what he deserved!” Danny shouted.

“Yeah, but he shouldn't have to be in it alone … we're all in this together—”

“Bull! Leave me out!” Sadsack complained.

“Me too!” Danny shouted. “I don't wanna have anything to do with those vegetables! I think they should be dead!”

“Why are you afraid of them, Danny?” I asked.

“I'm not afraid!” he jumped up and faced me. The withered tissue was wrinkling the entire side of his face. His eyes burned yellow. “I'm not afraid of them! You're the one who was afraid! You went bananas when you saw them! Don't tell me I'm afraid!”

“Take it easy!” Mike shouted, and Danny looked around then backed off. He sulked to his corner and slumped down.

“Maybe we're all afraid of them, in some way,” Buck said when the air had cleared.

“But why?”

“It's not just because of the way they look … man, I know they're nothing but little shriveled stumps, but a person can get used to that. It must be something else—”

The room was quiet. Perhaps we all knew why, but the silence forced me to speak.

“Maybe it's because we don't know whether they should live or die—”

They looked at me, glanced away, tried to pretend I hadn't asked the question, then Mike finally admitted the possibility of this question which nagged us all.

“You can't be serious,” he said, then he added, “you mean if they had a choice would they rather be alive and hooked up to those machines like prisoners, or would they rather be dead?”

“It makes sense,” Ronco nodded. “And the thing is we don't know! They can't talk! They can't move! They can't make the choice—”

“So it falls back on us,” Mike said gloomily. He pushed his chair to the window and looked out. “Damn,” he whispered. We were quiet for a long time.

“They can't talk but they can move their eyes,” Danny whispered and looked at me with a sneer on his face.

“What does Salomón say?” Mike finally asked.

“He says it's up to us,” I answered.

“I've already said, leave me outta this!” Sadsack grumbled. He buried his face in a comic book. Buck worked on his rope tricks and pretended not to listen.

“Why us?” Mike asked.

“We decide for animals, don't we,” Ronco told him. “On the mountain when a horse breaks a leg we have to shoot it. It's that simple.”

“So they won't suffer—”

“Yeah,” Ronco nodded, “death should come quickly. Nobody wants to linger in that twilight zone between life and death. If you leave a wounded animal out there the buzzards will be pecking at it for days; if its lucky maybe a cougar will finish it off quickly. Everybody wants to die quickly. Most of us know what it's like being shackled to a bed, and we could put up with a year or two or three … but the vegetables are there forever, with nothing to look forward to … like wounded horses out on the desert.” He turned and looked at me. “You know, we do it for ourselves too. That's what my old man said. We do it because we don't want to hear the cries of a wounded animal in the night. After you shoot an animal that needs shooting you can forget about it. You've done that animal a favor, you can go home and sleep. But if you had left it to suffer then its cries would sound up the canyons for miles, you could hear it at night and you wouldn't be able to sleep … My dad once climbed down a sheer two hundred foot cliff to shoot a mule which had slipped over and was still kicking and crying. The mountain people are kind, he said. They'll go out of their way to kill a wounded deer, or a wild pig, or a dog … and they also know about the cries in the dark …”

“Same cries we hear from the vegetables,” Danny mumbled.

“Shhhhh. Listen!”

We stopped talking. We listened in the darkness. Outside the sun pulled a mantle of gray shadows over Tortuga as a new storm bore down from the north. Doves cried at the ponds by the river. Then we heard the whimpering, the soft, painful groans which came from the garden. The orphans were crying, sadly crying. I thought of Salomón, lying quietly in his dark room, his eyes moving in the cold darkness as he tried to catch a glimpse of Tortuga before the night covered him, listening to the sound of his cripples.

“Ah damn!” Mike cursed.

“What are we gonna do?”

“We're not goin' to do a goddamned thing!” Sadsack shouted and tossed away his comic book. “I'm sick and tired of all this talk! Somebody turn the goddamned lights on!”

“It's not our responsibility,” Buck added.

“Salomón said it was! We can't escape it!” I shouted back. “We can't just pretend they're not there!”

“It's your fault!” Danny shouted at me, “It's your fault because you went and brought all this up!” He rushed towards me.

“Don't blame it on Tortuga!” Ronco yelled and pushed his chair in front of Danny. “He didn't create the goddamned mess!”

“Well then whose mess is it?” Danny yelled. Spittle spurted from his mouth, his eyes bulged out. He pulled himself up as straight as he could and exposed the dry rot which spread up the side of his twitching face.

“Blame it on God!” Mike cursed.

“Then it's up to God!” Danny turned on him and slashed him with his words. “God will decide! Not us! It's his mess so let him take care of it!”

“You're crazy Danny, crazy …”

“God's always the easy way out for Danny!” Ronco shouted and grabbed Danny. He held him close and cursed in his face. He was angry. Even in the dark I could see his veins bulge and throb along his neck and temples. “Listen you little shriveled bastard! It's God that's keeping the vegetables alive in their machines! That's his decision! Don't you see that! We have to decide beyond that! We're free to do something on our own!” He hurled Danny into the corner. I thought he was going to go after him, but suddenly the lights came on and the room flooded with light. We blinked, shocked by the bright light and the immediacy with which we saw each other, then we turned away awkwardly.

“Oh boy,” Sadsack smiled with relief, “juice time—”

Ronco glared at Danny then pulled away. “Big deal, juice time,” he muttered, “live a whole day just to look forward to a glass of juice at the end of it. Shit!”

“Well, if we're lucky it'll be pineapple,” Sadsack mumbled then grinned. “That's my favorite—”

“What Ronco's saying is there's got to be more to life than that!” Mike said and threw a pillow at him.

“I feel like a snort,” Ronco said nervously, “What do you say we spice up the juice with a little rubbing alcohol … I got some left.” He rubbed his hands. What we had been talking about had really affected him. I felt sorry for him because I knew the question bothered him as much as any of us, but there didn't seem to be anything we could do about it … we had to go on living and looking for an answer.

“Ah, I'm sick of that too,” Mike shook his head. “You know there's a whole ward of goof-heads back there, kids that have dried their brains out on glue and alcohol and anything else they can chew or sniff! Poor bastards, they're worse off than we are. They don't know what day it is. Most of them sit all day and stare, they mess in their pants and have to be fed like babies—They don't know anything. Hell they've even forgotten who they are! Their heads are so screwed up not a one of them remembers that the only reason he's in here is to get out!” He paused, looked at us and said, “Hell, I don't ever wanna forget that—”

“If you're so hard up and dissatisfied why don't you sneak over to the girls' ward and let Sandra settle you down,” Sadsack grinned.

“I'm tired of that too!” Mike shot back. “I'm tired of anything that's too easy! For cryin' out loud! We're not supposed to be enjoying ourselves here! We're supposed to want to get the hell outta here! This is a prison, don't forget that … That's what they want us to forget, so they make it nice and easy for us. We get three square meals a day, a nice swimming pool, school, a crafts shop, they even let us get away with a little drinking and a little screwing on the side! Just enough to make us forget that our real purpose is to get out!”

“Hey, what more do you want?” Sadsack asked.

“I want out!” Mike shouted and slammed his fist against the nightstand. “I'm getting too used to this place … hell, I'm only a step away from the vegetables! The only difference is I can move around! Don't you see that?” he pleaded.

“Maybe we can plan something,” Ronco agreed.

“Let's gang bang the Nurse,” Buck offered.

“Let's lock up old man Maloney in the laundry room like we did last year!” Sadsack laughed.

“Panty raid!”

“Burn the place down!”

“Smoke some weed—”

“Kid stuff!” Mike interrupted. “I wanna do something really big! I want a breath of fresh air—”

“Like what?” Buck asked. We were all listening now; Mike's enthusiasm spread to us and we leaned forward to hear his idea.

“Why don't we talk the doc into letting us go into town,” Mike grinned.

“Alll-raght!” Ronco exclaimed and slapped his hands.

“Fat chance,” Sadsack groaned.

“We can try!” Mike insisted.

“He owes us one!” Ronco shouted. “Remember we made a deal with him to behave during the Christmas party when the little old ladies of the Committee came around with their webbed socks of candy and crap! We stayed cool! And we helped keep the little kids in line!”

“Right. We sure did—”

“We can borrow that big bus that's never used!”

“Samson can drive it!”

“We can invite all the girls!”

“Yaaaa-ho! Gang bang! Lord, here I come!”

“Ooooh my—”

“Hey, we could go to a Saturday movie,” Sadsack suggested. We grew excited at the prospect of the outing.

“Let's go talk to the doc!” Mike shouted.

“It's worth a try!” Ronco cheered.

They went out singing:

It's been a blue, blue day!

We feel like running awayyyy

From this place!

19

The spring light bathed us with its glorious warmth, welcoming us into the fold of the church. Easter Sunday and we stood nervously in line, waiting admittance, glancing at the first holy communion girls who stood by us, full of the fragrance of holiness and fresh soap and lace … their cheeks were blushed with red, their eyes closed, they prayed, small, tender lips pursed in prayer … And I, in that shining light of early morning, blinded by the dazzling sun, felt the earth begin to turn beneath me, saw the nervous faces of the communion boys swirl around me, looked up and saw the giant tower of the church turning around and around until I thought it would come crashing down on me. Innocence! I cried, what is our sin? Lord, how have we sinned? I cried aloud and faces turned to look at me. I searched the girls' faces for a clue … I looked for the sin they had confessed in the dark confessional, and when they turned and looked at me they blushed that I had dared to ask …

After the mass, after the solemn procession into the cold church, after fidgeting on the hard wooden pews and kneeling on weathered, splintered wood, after the sacrifice of self to God … and the emptiness and loneliness, I turned again, sought in the soft, pink faces my sin, dared to look at their fragile hands clasped together and held to lips which trembled with prayer … asked again where was my innocence, which of these girls of the windfall light had stolen it away with her quick glance, with a toss of her head, with a whisper. And the silence of the church assured me that I would find my answer in the first communion girls, because they had shared my time of innocence and my first confession. I felt like gathering them in my arms and wrenching the truth they held from their warm, peaceful bodies … instead we marched out, once again in the glorious light of spring, swimming out of the darkness of the church into the pain of the bright light, and the miracle of miracles that was to reveal itself to me that dreadful day … for before the cheer could go up from the proud, waiting parents the Lord blessed my girls again, teased them with his power, stripped the veil of innocence and revealed the soft, pink flesh of their eager tongues … Great, white petals of snow floated down from the clear sky. We turned and looked up and shivered at the sight. The people turned their faces upward and crossed their foreheads. The wet flowers were a mystery, a silent snowstorm sent by God … petals as huge as silver dollars, glistening for a brief moment in the shining light, revealing the intricate pattern of their crystal bodies, revealing the dread and mystery of God … blessing us, cursing us … And my girls, my girls! I screamed at their nakedness! They stripped back the lace veils which had covered their faces and reached up to gather the falling petals in their mouths! They stuck out their warm, pink tongues and received the flakes of snow as calmly and innocently as they had taken the host from the priest's hands! They did not question the mystery! They did not see the fear in it! They had remained innocent! I screamed and flung myself away from the crowd and raced for the river where I could hide myself.…

“What the hell you screaming about?” Sadsack cursed.

“You okay?” Mike asked.

“Bad dream,” I heard Buck whisper.

“I'm okay,” I nodded and opened my eyes and felt the instant light blind me, and saw the snowflakes of my dream floating by the window. “I'm okay—”

“Aow, jee-sus! Will you look at that! It snowed!” Sadsack complained and spit on the floor. “Friggin' snow!”

I closed my eyes and tried to recapture the fading images of my dream. The river … the river had received me, hidden me. I had waited all morning in the shadows of the giant trees, and at noon the people came down the winding path where I had met la Llorona … singing, carrying great baskets full of food, led by the girls in white … down the winding path to the edge of the river where they set up tables and set the food for all to eat … and the men talked and laughed and sneaked away to take drinks of whiskey and wine … and the women talked to the girls about their duties to God and to men … I watched, hidden in the shadows, afraid to approach even my mother who searched for me among the boys who threw rocks across the water to see who could make them skip the greatest distance … skimming across the water which was mine, my river … and later the holy communion girls sang and danced, played their own game, spread flowers from their Easter baskets on the grass by the bank and held their hands as they danced in a big circle and watched me out of the corners of their eyes …