Part 6 (1/2)
”I'm old, not stupid,” he said.
They looked at each other for a moment, both unsure what to do next. Don Celestino noticed that the man on the other side of the retractable curtain was in bed asleep, but his head kept twitching as if he were dreaming.
”I thought you might still be mad,” he said, ”because of our disagreement.”
As if he hadn't heard him, his brother gazed at the ceiling for a moment, then leaned back. ”And what disagreement was that?”
Don Celestino only looked at him, wondering if he should remind the old man of what had happened in the barbershop and, if he did, what good it would do. ”It doesn't matter anymore,” he said finally, then took a seat at the edge of the bed. ”I can hardly remember myself, already after so many years.”
”Sometimes it takes me a long time to remember what I used to know.”
”You look strong, the same as always.”
”And getting stronger each day,” Don Fidencio replied, tapping his palms on the armrests of the chair. He tried to calculate exactly how long he had been here. The calendar on the wall said it was December, though he was pretty sure Christmas had come and gone.
”You used to be a barber, didn't you?”
”For many years I had my own business.”
Don Fidencio stared at him now, as if he might have mistaken him for someone else. ”And where was that exactly, this barbershop of yours?”
”Close to the stadium.” He pointed out the window, in the general direction of the shop, as if this might jar his memory.
”Where your boy used to play football?”
”Yes, not far from there.” He motioned again with his hand. ”You used to come on Sat.u.r.day mornings for your haircuts, before work.”
”Forty-two years I delivered the mail.”
”People knew you all over Brownsville.”
Don Fidencio adjusted himself in the chair and looked out the window. An attendant paused in the doorway and then continued pus.h.i.+ng a laundry hamper down the hall.
”They come clean your room every day?” Don Celestino asked.
”Only because of The Son Of A b.i.t.c.h.” The old man slammed his palm on the armrest. ”The one my daughter lies down in bed with every night!”
”QUE FUE?” The One With The Hole In His Back stirred out of his sleep. ”WHO THE h.e.l.l IS OUT THERE? COME OUT LIKE MEN, SHOW ME YOUR FACES!”
”Maybe we should talk outside the room,” Don Celestino suggested.
”Ignore him.” Don Fidencio flicked his hand in the direction of the retractable curtain. ”He wakes up and then thinks his dreams are real.”
”YOU THINK I CARE WHO SENT YOU? COME OUT HERE LIKE REAL MEN! TRY AND SEE IF YOU CAN HANG ANOTHER INNOCENT ONE.” The One With The Hole In His Back banged his bedpan on the bed railing. ”LET ME SEE HOW MANY OF YOU COWARDS THEY SENT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT TO KILL ME!”
”See what I told you?” He twirled his index finger near the side of his head. ”Ignore him, he's just another prisoner.”
”That part of you hasn't changed.”
”And can you tell me where you live?”
”In the same house as always.”
”Alone?”
”Yes, alone,” he answered. He wasn't exactly sure how he was supposed to mention Socorro.
The old man turned toward the window.
”Sometimes I think G.o.d forgot about me.”
”G.o.d doesn't forget people.”
”I'm not talking about other people. I said that He forgot about me, me, Fidencio Rosales, the one in this room, that He left me here with all these strangers. That wherever it is that He writes down all the names, my name has been forgotten or erased, something. That by now he should have taken me.” Fidencio Rosales, the one in this room, that He left me here with all these strangers. That wherever it is that He writes down all the names, my name has been forgotten or erased, something. That by now he should have taken me.”
”So now you want to complain because you haven't died?”
”How do you explain that I am here, almost ninety-two, and still giving people trouble, so much trouble that n.o.body wants me in their house? My time should have come years ago. This morning they had eight dead ones listed in the newspaper. Guess how many were as old as me?”
Don Celestino kept looking at his brother.
”Don't break your head trying to guess.” He held up his hand and slowly bent one arthritic finger after another until he managed to curl his thumb and forefinger into a zero. ”You remember Dr. Hernandez?”
”I heard that he had been sick.”
”He was thirty years younger than the old man you see here. He came to the hospital the last time I was so sick. He talked to Amalia, and I heard them just outside the room. They thought I was asleep, but even with my eyes shut I could hear them. And he told her, 'At his age, your father is like a candle, his life is only flickering to stay alive.' He said it, I heard him. And now look where he is and look where I am and tell me, tell me that G.o.d hasn't forgotten me.”
”Still, that you are alive doesn't mean G.o.d has forgotten about you, Fidencio.”
”You can say that because you don't live here, because you have your own house, because you think you know how it is to live here, where you cannot walk two paces beyond the door without somebody coming to take you back inside by the arm. They tell you everything: how to walk, when to eat, when to watch television, what time to go to sleep, the days to take a shower, when to make cacas.”
”There must be some who like it here.”
”I DON'T CARE WHO SENT YOU DOWN HERE - YOU HEAR ME? THIS LAND HAS ALWAYS BELONGED TO MY PEOPLE!”
”Yes, like this one!” He motioned toward the other bed. ”You should take me to live with you. Take your brother from this prison. If you have s.p.a.ce for another person, why not?”
”And how do you think I would take care of you?”
”I don't need n.o.body taking care of me. I can take care of myself, same way I used to. I still could, if they would let me. Take me, and I will prove it to you.”
”And if something happens? You think I'm so young that I would be able to help you?”
”But that's what I am trying to tell you, that if something was going to happen, it would have happened already. But here you see me, no different from the first night they came to leave me in that bed right there. All they want is to keep me alive for another fifty years. Tell me, tell me why it is n.o.body wants me, but n.o.body wants me to die either. Answer me that one.”
”They must have had a reason,” Don Celestino said. ”So these people could take care of you and nothing happens.”