Tortuga (6 page)

Kill it, the leader cried, and at the same time the hunting horn sounded its tooooo-ouuu and echoed down the valley. Ah, its call was so sad and mournful I can hear it today as I tell my story … Listen, Tortuga, for it is now I know that at that time I could have forsaken my initiation and denounced the darkness and the insanity that urged us to the never-ending hunt. Now I remember that the words my father taught me were not in my heart. The time was not right
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The knife, the leader called, and the knife of the tribe was passed then slipped into my hand. The huge turtle lumbered forward. I could not speak to it, and in fear I raised the knife and brought it down with all my might. Oh, I prayed to no gods then, but how I have wished that I could undo what I did … One blow severed the giant turtle's head. One clean blow and the head rolled in the sand as the reptilian body reared back, gushing green slime as it died. The tribe cheered and pressed forward. They were as surprised as I that the kill had been so swift and clean. We had hunted smaller tortoises before and we knew that once they retreated into their shells it took hours to kill them. Then knives and spears had to be poked into the holes and the turtle had to be turned on its back so the tedious task of cutting the softer underside could begin. But now I had beheaded the giant turtle with one blow!

There will be enough meat for the entire tribe, one of the boys cried, and he speared the reptilian head and held it aloft for everyone to see. I could only look at the dead turtle that lay quivering on the sand, its death urine and green blood staining the damp earth
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He has passed his test, the leader shouted, he did not need the amulet of his father! We will clean the shell and it will be his shield! And he shall now be called the man who slew the turtle!

The tribe cheered, and for a moment I bathed in my glory. The fear left me, and so did the desire to be with my father on the harsh hills where he cultivated his fields of corn. He had been wrong; I could trust the tribe and its magic. Then someone cried and we turned to see the turtle struggling toward us. It reared up, exposing the gaping hole where the head had been, then it charged, surprisingly swift for its huge size. Even without its head it headed for the river. The tribe fell back in panic
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Kill it, the leader shouted. Kill it before it reaches the water! If it escapes into the water it will grow two heads and return to haunt us!

I understood what he meant. If the creature reached the safety of the water it would live again, and it would become one more of the ghosts of the bush that lurked along our never-ending path. Now there was nothing I could do but stand my ground and finish the killing. I struck at it until the knife broke on its hard shell, and still the turtle rumbled toward me, pushing me back. Terror and fear made me fall on the sand and grab it with my bare hands. Grunting and gasping for breath I dug my bare feet into the sand and tried to stop its mad rush for the water. I slipped one hand into the dark, bleeding hole where the head had been and with the other I grabbed its huge foot. I struggled to turn it on its back and rob it of its strength, but I couldn't. Its dark instinct for the water and the pull of death were stronger than my fear and desperation. I grunted and cursed it as its claws cut my arms and legs. The brush shook with our violent thrashing as we rolled down the bank towards the river. Even mortally wounded it was too strong for me. Finally, at the edge of the river, it broke free from me and plunged into the water, and trailing frothy blood and bile it disappeared into the gurgling waters
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Covered with the turtle's blood, I stood numb and trembling from the encounter, and as I watched it disappear into the dark waters of the river, I knew I had done a wrong. Instead of conquering my fear, I had created another shadow which would return to haunt us. I turned and looked at my companions; they trembled with fright. You have failed us, the leader whispered, and you have angered the river gods. He raised his talisman, a stick on which hung chicken feathers, dried juniper berries and the rattler of a snake we had killed in the spring, and he waved it in front of me to ward off the curse. Then they withdrew in silence and vanished into the dark brush, leaving me alone on that stygian bank
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Oh, I wish I could tell you how lonely I felt. I cried for the turtle to return so that I could finish the kill, or return its life, but the force of my destiny was already set and that was not to be. I understand that now. That is why I tell my story. And so I left the river, free of the tribe, but unclean and smelling of death
…
That night the bad dreams came, and then the paralysis
.…

I awoke sobbing and gasping for breath. I reached out in the dark to touch Salomón … I called Ismelda's name. I knew I had been there with them, listening to his sad story, sitting by the warm water which gurgled from the spring.

My arms and legs shook uncontrollably. Searing jolts of electricity surged through my body as the water bathed my tired body. The hot energy tore through my guts, gathered in my balls and erupted out of my wet, warm tool, spewing the marrow of blood and streams of hot pee on the cold bed. Ismelda's tongue flickered in my mouth, she smiled and sang, a song like the crescendo of water which kept slapping against me … a song burning into every dead nerve and fiber in my arms and legs.

“I'm alive!” I shouted. “Hey! Come and see! I hurt! Oh I hurt! Come and see!”

I opened my eyes, the room was dark, my cry echoed against the walls then died down, as the fire died down. I was panting and gasping for breath. The cotton lining of my cast felt moist with sweat.

“Water!” I cried. “I'm burning up! Help me!”

I jerked spasmodically on the wet bed. Then the newly wired nerves rested and the pain subsided, but I knew something had happened in the magic of my dream to help me tear loose from the paralysis. I felt the bedsores burning on my ass and my feet and still I felt like laughing. I squirmed and felt the ripple of a quiver run down my legs and tickle my toes. I looked, but it was too dark to see, still I was sure something had moved. I cried again.

“Hey! Dr. Steel! Nurse! Anyone! Come and see! Get me out of here!”

I thought I heard footsteps and listened quietly in the dark, but no one appeared. Somewhere an owl called then flew across the river towards the mountain. The storm howled again, but now in the distance, farther south. I reached and touched the cast with my trembling right hand, felt the texture of the plaster which had become my shell, touched my face which was soaked with sweat. Good, I thought, good. I closed my eyes and slept again, smiling with joy, covered with sweat and stink, but glad to be quivering with the pain of the nerves and muscles which were coming alive. By the mountain, by the side of the spring, Ismelda waited.

3

The daughter of the sun awoke to weave her blanket with pastel threads. Her soft, coral fingers worked swiftly to weave the bits of turquoise blue and mother of pearl into the silver sky. She had but a moment in which to weave the tapestry that covered her nakedness, because behind her the sun trumpeted, awoke roaring alive with fire and exploded into the sky, filling the desert with glorious light and scattering the mist of the river and the damp humours of the night. Dawn blushed and fled as the sun straddled the mountain, and the mountain groaned under the welcomed light. The earth trembled at the sight.

Light pierced my dusty window and flooded the room. I opened my eyes and gave silent thanks for the new day. The night had been long and immense, full of dreams and pain, cold with the rattling of the wind. Now the shafts of light fell on my body and drove the chill away. I tested my legs and felt a tremble in my toes. I pulled with all my might and bent my arms slightly at the elbows. A strength had returned, so slight I could barely feel it, so weak it made me sweat and quiver just to test it, but it had returned, thanks to the grace of the mountain and the strength of the girl in my dreams … it had returned and I knew I could build on it. My first step towards freedom had come.

I cried out for help, but no one came. Speed-o had unloaded me in an unmarked isolation room. There was no telling when I would be found. My lips were cracked with thirst, and in my stomach a hungry worm fed and made it churn and growl. I felt my body empty itself on the bed, and the mess and the blood from the open bedsores wet the sheets and mattress. I laughed and cried at the same time, felt the old hopelessness return, then I stretched and felt the movement I was guarding so carefully and felt better. For consolation I turned to the mountain, but the sun had risen quickly and a new bank of winter clouds swept over the barren height.

“Damn you!” I cursed, and the sound echoed in the bare room. “Damn all of you! Can't you see I need help!… I need help …”

Maybe this bare room was a room in hell and I was condemned to spend eternity here, wallowing in my filth, taunted by just the slight hope of movement, shouting for help in an empty void … I cursed again and turned my rage and the ache on the mountain.

“Move!” I cursed like Danny, “Move, Tortuga! Get your fat ass off the ground and move! Trample everything! Show us you can move. Move … please move …”

A strange thunder rumbled across the sky, winter thunder full of an eerie green light, but Tortuga remained fastened to the earth, sleeping its winter sleep. I looked at it for a long time, then I slept again … saw the ring of girls dancing by the lime green of the river, felt Ismelda take my hand … gave myself again to the illusion which had become as real as the pain of the bed.

I slept a long time, then a voice whispered my name and I opened my eyes. I blinked, looked sideways and saw Mike sitting by the side of the bed.

“I'm sorry, Tortuga,” he whispered, “dammit I'm sorry—”

“It wasn't your fault,” I answered. It hurt to talk. My lips were cracked and blistered and my tongue felt like a swollen wad of dry cotton. The door was open and I could hear shouting in the hall and the sound of running feet.

“I should have known better!” he cursed. “It's just that I thought they had kept you up front in one of the isolation rooms. Sometimes they keep new arrivals up there, for observation, then this morning on my way to therapy I passed Dr. Steel and asked about you and he said you were in the ward … Everybody knows what happens in this ward, so I knew you were lost … I came as fast as I could. The nurses are coming, and Steel's on his way too—”

“Do me a favor,” I answered, “my legs feel like they're broken off … Can you rub them a little.”

He nodded and pulled the sheet back. The stench made him wince. “God,” he groaned, “it's a mess! A goddamned mess. You're bleeding—Nurse!” he shouted over his shoulder and began massaging. Reviving the circulation sent stabs of sharp pain through my numb legs.

“Coming! Coming!” someone shouted. The room began to fill with kids. Ismelda appeared behind Mike's shoulder. She looked at me and at Mike rubbing furiously while he cursed the nurses and she shook her head. Her eyes told me she felt my pain. She helped Mike massage my legs, working slowly to get the blood going, saying nothing.

“Oh my God!” exclaimed the first nurse to enter the room.

“The shit's going to hit the fan now!” Mike swore.

“They never checked him in! I swear they never checked him in!” she cried. Other nurses and aides and kids followed. One of the nurses stuck a thermometer in my mouth. I spit it out and asked for water.

“He needs a drink! Not a gaddamned thermometer!” Mike shouted. His curses made them panic. One of them pulled out the dirty sheet beneath me and tossed it aside. Then she began making the bed. A straw touched my lips and I sucked warm orange juice which turned to acid in my stomach. Around me the room continued to fill with kids, all asking questions. Dr. Steel pushed his way through them, a worried look wrinkling his brow. He put his thermometer on my chest, calmly gave the nurses orders, asked, “How do you feel, Tortuga?”

“He could've died!” Mike cursed. The other kids picked up the refrain. “He could've died!” “They tried to kill him!” “Damn, just wait until the committee hears about this!” “Yeah, they can't kill Tortuga and get away with it.” “Oh my …”

“Okay …” I answered as the thermometer reappeared and rested on my swollen tongue. I tried to push it away, but the nurse held it. I looked at Mike and Ismelda massaging my legs and tried to get their attention. “Looka mah toez,” I mumbled.

“Nurse, get the kids outa here!” Steel snapped.

“Everybody out! Everybody out!” the nurse shouted. Nobody left, the confusion was great. A couple of kids had put bedpans on their heads, another one beat a urinal, all complained that the committee would hear about this, that a report would be made and the nurses fired. I didn't know what the hell committee they were talking about, I only wanted to get their attention so they could tell me whether or not my toes were wiggling when I told them to wiggle. Ismelda wiped my legs with a cool, wet cloth, and when the nurse pulled out the thermometer and read 101 degrees I caught her attention.

“My toes …” She and Mike looked at the same time. I strained as hard as I could, shut my eyes, groaned, sank deep into my shell and found the one live ember, blew on it softly, squeezed it, held it in my hands for Ismelda to see, and then it exploded and went flowing down my arms and legs, spastically jumping over dead nerve endings and numb muscles, flipping open long dead circuits, moving through the dark channels inside my shell, making me cry with pain as the energy of the relit fuse churned inside my stomach and jerked up my balls as it filled my groin and thighs with a warm, electric liquid, a liquid which buzzed as it flowed through my bones and dry tendons and finally exploded at the tip of my toes.

“He moved!” Mike shouted and turned to grab Steel.

“Two cc's,” Steel ordered and I felt the prick of the needle in my arm, felt the syrupy heaviness spread quickly.