Tortuga (3 page)

“It takes time,” Filomón said.

“Yeah, time,” Clepo agreed.

“How much time?” I asked aloud, “How much time?” I agreed with Clepo, Filomón was crazy. The sea would never return. The earth was drying up and dying. Even the rain which pelted us during the trip fell hot and boiling on the empty desert. I had no faith left to believe his crazy story. Already the paralysis seemed to have gripped me forever.

“Here's the hospital,” Filomón said. He had turned into a graveled driveway bordered by bare trees. I looked out the window and caught sight of the grey buildings. Winter-burned juniper bushes pressed against the wind-scoured hospital walls.

“It was a long trip,” Clepo stretched and yawned, then he added, “I'm glad I'm not at this damned place anymore. Gives me the shivers—”

“It's always a long trip,” Filomón said as he turned the ambulance and backed it up to the door, “and just the beginning for him—” I knew he meant me.

Clepo jumped out and opened the door. The cold air made me shiver. Overhead the wind drove the thin, icy clouds towards the mountain.

“Looks like snow,” I heard someone say. “This the new kid?”

“It ain't Goldilocks,” Clepo chattered. The voice belonged to the attendant who had brought a gurney. Together they slid out the cot and lifting me gently onto the gurney, covered me with a blanket, then pushed me through the open door and into the darkness of an enormous room.

“Filomón!” I called.

“Right here,” he answered.

“Are you going back now?”

“As soon as the doctor signs the papers—”

“As soon as they sign the papers we're no longer responsible for you,” Clepo added.

“Where are we?” I asked. The size of the room, its gloom and staleness were disturbing. I turned my head and peered into the darkness. I saw people lining the walls of the room, mostly women. They were dressed in dark clothes. Some held small children in their arms. All seemed to be crippled. Some wore braces, some crutches, others sat quietly in wheelchairs. Above them, on the high walls, hung huge portraits of solemn-looking men.

“This is the receiving room,” Filomón explained. “Everybody that comes to the hospital gets admitted here. All the doctors' offices are up here, behind them is the surgery ward. Don't worry, as soon as the doctor checks you in you'll get sent to a ward in the back.”

“How many wards are there?” I asked.

“Too many,” Clepo answered. “I'm going to buy a Coke,” he said and wandered off.

“It must be visiting day,” Filomón continued, “the parents who live close by can come and visit their children.” Then he added as if in warning, “Your folks are way up north, and it's hard to make that long trip across the desert … don't expect too many visits.”

“I know,” I nodded. How well I knew the poverty and misery which surrounded us and suffocated us and held us enslaved as the paralysis held me now. There would be no money, no way for my mother to come, and perhaps it would be better if she didn't come. What could she do for me now, sit and look at me as the women who lined the walls sat and looked at their crippled children? No, that I didn't want. Better to write her and tell her not to worry, or to send a message with Filomón and tell them that I understood how hard times were and that whatever happened to me here at the hospital it was better if I worked it out alone. Pity could not help me, and I had long ago lost the faith in my mother's gods.

“Tell them not to come, if you see them,” I said to Filomón.

“I will,” he nodded. At the same time a young girl appeared by the side of the gurney and Filomón's eyes lit up. “Ah, Ismelda,” he smiled. “What are you doing here?”

The girl smiled. “I'm helping the nurses bring the kids from the wards for their visits … it's been a busy day, in spite of the cold. Is this the new boy?” she asked and looked at me. She had a warm smile. Her dark eyes and long hair set off the most beautiful oval face I had ever seen. She was about my age, maybe a little older, but dressed in the white uniform of a nurse's aide.

“Yeah, we just brought him in,” Filomón nodded.

“Paralysis,” she murmured as she touched my forehead and brushed back my hair. Her touch sent a tingle running down my back and arms. Her eyes bore into mine with the same intensity I had felt in Filomón's eyes. She rubbed my forehead gently and looked at Filomón.

“He busted his back,” Filomón said, and added, “he's from up north.”

“I can tell that from his dark, curly hair,” she smiled. “And he's thirsty.” She disappeared. How she knew I was thirsty I didn't know, but I was. My throat felt parched and I felt a fever building up deep in my guts.

“What does she do here?” I asked Filomón.

“She lives with Josefa in the valley, just on the outskirts of the town. They both work here. They do beds, sweep floors, help in anyway they can—”

She returned and held a straw to my lips. I sucked greedily and felt the cold water wash down my throat. It was the first drink I had had all day and it instantly refreshed me.

“Good,” I said when I had finished, “tastes strong.”

“The water of the mountain is strong,” she nodded, “that's because it's full of good medicine.”

I didn't know if it was the water which had refreshed me or her touch, but I felt better. When I looked from her to Filomón I had the strange feeling that they knew each other very well. They had greeted each other like old friends and the sense of ease that passed between them helped to dispel the dread which had filled me the moment I entered the room.

“I have to go,” she said and touched my hand. “Visiting hours are almost over and we have to return the kids to their rooms. But I'll come and see you.” She squeezed my hand and I felt the pressure. Instinctively I squeezed back and felt my fingers respond, lock in hers for a moment, felt a surge of energy pass through our hands, then she was gone. Someone stuck a thermometer in my mouth before I could call her name.

“You'll dream about that girl,” Filomón smiled, “she's very strong … knows the mountain.”

Clepo reappeared. He had poured salted peanuts into his coke bottle and when he held it up to drink his red tongue reached into the bottle in search of the illusive, floating peanuts.

“Want some?” he asked me. I shook my head.

The nurse pulled out the thermometer, glanced at it and motioned for an orderly. “Get this kid over to Steel's receiving room,” she snapped. “That's it, Filomón,” she said as she signed the paper on his clipboard, then she walked away.

“Hey, you're getting Steel for a doctor,” Filomón whispered, “he's the best.”

“The kids like him,” Clepo nodded, “he used to be my doctor.”

The orderly began to push the gurney. Filomón stopped him for a moment, leaned over and whispered, “Remember, keep your eye on the mountain, that's the secret. Watch this girl Ismelda, she and Josefa know a lot of strong medicine …” Then the orderly began to push the gurney again and I saw Filomón and Clepo wave goodbye.

“Wait till spring!” Filomón called, and Clepo repeated, “Yeah, wait till spring!”

Somewhere in the enormous room a harsh voice called, “Visiting hours are over!” The people rose and began to leave, some of the children cried. I turned my head to call to Filomón, because the dread of the hospital had returned and I didn't want to be alone, but I couldn't see him.

“See you in the spring!” I thought I heard him shout above the noise of departure, “Just wait till spring!” then the orderly pushed me out of the room and into a long quiet hall. He pushed the gurney into a brightly lighted room and left. The glare from the overhead lamp hurt my eyes, so I closed them and waited. In my mind I could see Filomón and Clepo waving goodbye. I tried to recall the desert we had crossed, but it was so wide and lifeless that I couldn't remember its features. The sun seemed to burn it lifeless. Whirlwinds rose like snakes into the sky. Then the rain came and pounded us and made me sleep.

Now here I was, somewhere in the middle of that desert, but I really didn't know where. My last contact with home had been Filomón and Clepo, now they were gone. But the girl, Ismelda was here. I could still feel her touch, and I could remember her face clearly.

A nurse interrupted my thoughts. She took my temperature again, felt the pulse at my wrist and asked me if I had had a bm. I laughed. It was such a crazy question. She smiled and went on to ask me other questions. She recorded the answers on a chart. When she was done she said the doctor would be in shortly and left. I closed my eyes again and lay listening to the sounds of the hospital.

I could hear the sound of kids yelling; sometimes they seemed to pass by outside. I listened very closely and thought I heard the sound of water gurgling far beneath the earth. I floated in and out of light sleep and dreamed of my mother, and she said that all was the will of God and could not be questioned … and then my father appeared, and he said that each man was forced to live by his destiny and there was no escaping it … and I was about to curse both views which sought in vain to explain my paralysis when someone touched my shoulder.

“Sleeping?” the doctor said. He held my wrist and felt my pulse. His eyes were slate blue, piercing. He smiled. “It was a long trip, wasn't it?” I nodded. He placed his stethoscope to my chest and listened. “Any pain?”

“I think the bedsores on my ass and feet are burning again,” I said. The first week I was in the hospital they had kept me in traction and on my back so the bed had burned sores which bled into my buttocks and my heels. Now Steel looked at them and shook his head.

“Bad burns,” he said. “The trip didn't help any. I'll have the nurse clean them and put something on to relieve the burning and itch. He gave me a long examination, jabbing a pin up and down my arms, trying to find a live spot, asking me to try to move different muscles in my legs which seemed completely dead. When he finished he said, “We're going to do some x-rays and have a look at the back—” and he gave instructions to the nurse and she and the orderly wheeled me into the x-ray room. They slid me onto the hard, shiny surface of the table, the technician straightened me out and from somewhere behind a screen told me to hold my breath. I looked up and saw the metallic shutter wink, felt something like a warm liquid pass through my bones, then the whirring sound died. The technician repeated the procedure, propping me on my side to get side views, and took over a dozen pictures. It was uncomfortable and painful The more he worked over me, the more I felt the fever returning inside my stomach. Finally I closed my eyes and tried not to think about the clicking and the buzzing of the machine and the “Hold your breath,” “Just one more” of the pale, thin technician. I thought of Filomón riding across the empty desert in his remodeled hearse, and I laughed bitterly to myself. Maybe I had really died and the whole idea of the hospital was just a dream to keep from facing that reality … and I suddenly thought about how much Filomón reminded me of my grandfather. He used to come riding across the wide plain in a mule-pulled wagon, the most beautiful cream-colored mules in the entire country … lashing the air with his whip … coming to visit us.…

“Just one more fuckin' time!” the technician swore beneath his breath. Sweat poured from his forehead. “That Steel is a sonofabitch. If it's not just right he'll send it back—”

But Steel didn't reject any of the x-rays. When they were dry and hanging on the illuminated glass he looked at each one carefully, made some notes, then he turned around.

“Okay,” he said, “looks good. How long were you in traction?” he asked.

I didn't remember. I only remembered the long, agonizing nights, the suffocation, the heat, the sweat which wet the sheets, and how I tried not to sleep because I thought if I did I would die.

“It doesn't matter,” he said, “they did a good job. You don't need surgery. I think the best thing for you would be a nice sturdy body cast, from the belly button to the top of your head. That way we can start you on physical therapy as soon as possible. You need that if we're going to try to save the legs. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

“Good. If there's anything left in those legs I'm going to find it, and we'll go as far as we can. But you've got to help. I don't want you to give up.” His voice was firm, but it was sincere. He wanted to help. “You have to keep working at it all the time,” he said. He placed two fingers in my hand and said “Squeeze,” and I squeezed. “That hand is strong, so's the arm—”

It was strange, but I couldn't remember squeezing anything with my hand up to the time Ismelda held my hand. Now my body seemed to want to come alive. It was a new sensation, especially sharp because of the dread I had lived with since the night of the paralysis.

“I do want to walk,” I said eagerly. I did want to walk and run free again!

“Good,” he nodded, “then you and I are in business. Let's get with it. First the barber. He's going to cut your hair, shave it. It'll be more comfortable and easier to work with when the cast goes around your head,” he explained as a short, pudgy man entered the room. “Okay, Cano, make him bald.”

“Yes sir,” Cano said and snapped open a cloth which he threw around me. “How you doin', kid,” he smiled and began cutting. He talked continuously while he cut, and when he smiled his thin, penciled mustache turned up at the edges. “You got good hair, dark and wavy, the kind girls like,” he winked and rolled his eyes, ooh-la-la. “My poor mother, she used to say hair like this should be burned so the witches don't get hold of it … they like to build nests in it. Just like a woman, huh, build a nest in your hair!” He roared with laughter and swept aside the hair he had cut. “My mother believed in witches … see?” he held up his hand. He had only four fingers. “She says I got this cause a curse was put on her when I was in her belly. Who knows. Dr. Steel, he wanted to make me a new finger, and I bet he could, these doctors can do anything nowadays, they're getting too much power, like God, but I said, ‘No thanks, Doc, if I can clip hair with four fingers then I'm happy. Don't go tampering with God's ways', I said to him …”