Tortuga

  This is Salomón’s army, Ismelda said, sentries of the spring night who guard our way … she called them each by name, and Salomón smiled.

  When we reached the top we found a wide meadow and in the middle of the meadow a giant juniper tree. We joined hands and Ismelda led us like a winding vine around the tree, dancing a May dance in the spring night. Our souls were as free as the stars which sparkled above us; we ran and played like Josefa’s goats … Tortuga smiled on our happiness; we wove our strands of light and love into his heart, and he stirred with old longings. He moved to dance with us, awkward at first, his leathery legs so long anchored to the earth were stiff with cold. But like us, he cast away his bonds in the magic of the spring night. He ripped them free and the earth shook with tremors as he moved. Far beneath us the townspeople screamed in terror that the earth was ending. The thin core of lava which led to the earth’s heart snapped free, like the thin wire which had kept the vegetables alive had snapped, and the fiery blood spurted and went cascading into the valley below. Tortuga’s underground rivers tore loose from their secret channels and swept into the hissing streams of lava, and the blood-water went tumbling and churning into the town below, sweeping away everything in its path and covering everything. The earth trembled as the huge mountain tore loose from its mooring … all around us the screams of drowning people and the atomic horror of the holocaust split the heavens with a thunder of destruction, and for a moment we too cringed and held each other because we saw the end had come. A loud lamentation filled the darkness. Ghosts arose and walked, and many tried to climb the mountain to be saved but they were dashed against its sides. They cried for forgiveness! They cried for love! But it was too late … their words were false. Look! Ismelda pointed, and we turned and saw that the mountain was rising safely into the starry sky, while behind us the earth thundered and exploded as the forces of the fire and water dashed over the land to make it new again. Mike cheered, and we all cheered, because we were rising like a glowing sun into the indigo of night, rising to take our place in the spermy string of lights which crowned the sky. We sang and danced on the back of the turtle that once free of the earth could swim so gracefully in the ocean of the night. So the earth was the beach that we had crossed … and what we should have known is that we had to join hands and cross it together, because it was only for an instant that the sun bathed and fed us with its love … then the night came and around us the roaring suns of prior ages welcomed us into our new destiny.…

  25

  The following morning I awoke early. For a long time I sat thinking about the dream, then I got up quickly, because I knew that as beautiful as it was I couldn’t remain in it … I had to move out into the world. I walked to the showers. The hall and the bathroom were strangely quiet and empty at the early hour. The sun was just coming over Tortuga; it bathed the bathroom in streaks of golden light. I got in the shower and spent a long time under the refreshing water, washing away the lethargy of sleep and the exhaustion of the tragedy, trying to remember the time I had spent in the hospital so that as it flashed through my mind I could wash away the pain and agony in Tortuga’s waters … so that he would flush them down to the river, back into the earth, to the mouths of the waiting, parched roots who struggled to flood the desert with life … but I couldn’t give my thoughts wholly to the water … I had to walk on earth … in the path of the sun … there would never come a time when I did not turn to hear a sound, to look at a fleeting shadow, to catch a moment of love before it disappeared into the vast expanse of the wasteland … there would never come a time when I would turn and not see the shrunken bodies and the sad faces of the vegetables, and hear Salomón saying something to me, sad though it might be …

  No, I could not wash away the time of sadness. It was etched into my face. I dried myself in front of the mirror and I did not recognize the person I saw. My eyes seemed empty and vacant, as if they were looking ahead to a point in the future, as if they did not want to see the emptiness of the rooms where we had lived so close to life, and had lost it after so long a struggle …

  I combed back my long, black hair and shrugged. I knew what I had to do and that was the only thing that mattered. So I dressed in the blue denim shirt and levis the hospital issued, then I put on the brown corduroy jacket Ismelda had given me. It smelled clean and new. I ran my fingers along the sleeve and felt the texture of the material. For now, that was all I could do, understand that I could feel again and that in a little while I was going to walk out of the hospital. I looked one last time in the mirror and I couldn’t keep from smiling. So, Ismelda would say, the lizard has put on the clothes of a man, strange lizard. Then I turned and walked back to the room.

  Mike was awake and sitting in his chair. “You ready?” he asked and rubbed his sleepy eyes.

  “I’m ready,” I answered. “I wanted to start early, so I would have time to go by Ismelda’s—”

  He nodded. “Hey, you look good,” he smiled and reached up and straightened the collar of my jacket. For a moment he looked into my eyes and I knew he was happy for me. Then he turned and went to the window and looked out. “It’s a beautiful day to be moving north … following the river, just like the geese. They’ve been flying over all week … sometimes I think I can hear their lonely cries in the dark, and I imagine they’re flying over at night … going home. You know, last night I had a dream … I can still remember it clearly. I dreamed we all got together and climbed the mountain—”

  He was talking and rambling because it was difficult to say goodbye. We had shared too much, and there were no words to explain the depth of that sharing. For a moment I thought I heard him say, “I’m sorry about Salomón, and—” then he waved his arm as if erasing the thought. “There’s nothing to say. It’s done. I guess I was thinking about the little kids—it’s harder on them. How do we explain it to them?” He turned and looked at me. “I feel sorry for you, too, Tortuga.”

  ‘I shrugged. “I’ll be all right, Mike—”

  “I know you will,” he nodded, “it’s just that you have a way of getting wrapped up in these things … I don’t know if you’ll ever be free from them—”

  I understood what he meant. I wanted to tell him that none of us would ever be free, but Buck yawned and sat up in bed.

  “Hey, Tortuga! You ready? You leaving? Damn, I had a good dream last night, dreamt we had all left this goddamned place!”

  “Who’s leaving what goddamned place?” Ronco called from the door. He pushed his chair in, took a look at me and clapped his hands. “Hijola! Look at Tortuga! Just look at that man! Why he looks like a goddamned regular! Have you had your bm today?” he asked and we laughed. “It’s true,” he smiled, “you know that bitch of a Nurse isn’t going to let you out if you haven’t had your bm!”

  “Maybe that’s why the rest of us haven’t gotten out,” Mike said, “because we’re too goddamned constipated!”

  “We’re a danger to the world if we ever get out!” Buck added.

  We laughed, easily, to break the tension. We all knew that going home seemed so small a triumph against the backdrop of the tragedy in the garden, but we also knew we had to keep going, that time for mourning was always short for those of us who had lived so close to death. So we laughed, shuffled our feet, cleared our throats and waited for the actual moment which would separate us.

  “You got a good day for going,” Ronco said, “and man, I had a good dream last night … felt like a fairy flying on top of old Tortuga …”

  “Good dreams, good luck,” Mike said.

  “Hey, did you give him the present?” Buck asked.

  “Oh yeah, almost forgot,” Mike nodded and dug into his pocket. “It’s a kinda going away present,” he said and handed me a guitar pick.

  “We got it blue to match your guitar!” Buck smiled.

  “Now you’ll have to learn to play the damned thing,” Mike added.

  “That’s going to be worth seeing,” Buck laughed, “old Tortuga strumm
in’ the guitar with one hand.”

  We laughed again and filled the silence, laughed at the sadness of a one-handed guitar man.

  “Well, I guess you’re ready,” Ronco said and cleared his throat. “Hey, I got a little present for you, too—” He took a couple of dollar bills from his shirt pocket and forced them into my hand. “My old man sends me money from time to time, and I’ve been saving some for when I get out … anyway, you might need some …”

  “No, thanks, I don’t think I’ll need it; I’ve got everything I need—”

  “Take it,” he insisted, “maybe you’ll wanna get something along the way, when the bus stops.” He grinned and I nodded. It was his present to me and I couldn’t turn it down.

  “Okay, thanks,” I said and stuffed the bills in my pocket.

  “Got everything?” Buck asked.

  “Got your ticket?” Mike added.

  “It’s waiting for me up front … and the Nurse said the driver would take me into town …”

  “Hey, you goin’ by and see Ismelda?” Buck asked. I nodded. “Hot dog!” he exclaimed, “He’s goin’ see his girl!”

  “Well, you better get going,” Ronco said, “the driver goes into town in half an hour—”

  “Yeah, get going … you’ve hung around here long enough,” Mike said. He reached out and shook my hand then he pulled me down and hugged me then pushed me away. “Take care of yourself … we don’t want you back in this place—” He turned his chair and went to the window. I shook hands with Ronco and Buck and told them goodbye.

  “Yeah, take care of yourself—and listen, if I ever come rodeoing up north I’ll look you up! We’ll get drunk together, find us some wild women and have a rip-roaring time!”

  “Sure—”

  “So long,” Ronco said, “take care of yourself … you’re looking great.”

  “Thanks,” I nodded then walked to the door. At the door I turned and looked back and I told them thanks for everything then I walked up the hall to the nurses’ station.

  Old man Maloney was starting his early rounds. He paused for a moment and nodded, which was as much of a goodbye as he could give me, and I nodded back. At the nurses’ station the Nurse was loading the morning medication cart. She looked at me and asked me how I felt and if I had eaten breakfast. I hadn’t eaten, I couldn’t, but I nodded.

  “Do you have everything you need?” she asked and looked at the guitar, and before I could answer she said, “You didn’t come with much, did you?” She handed me a slip of paper and told me to take it to the front desk where I was to pick up my bus ticket. She also told me the doctor would probably want to see me. I hadn’t expected her to, but she did say “Good luck,” then returned to her cart.

  I walked down the hall towards the front offices. Samson was bringing in a new kid, a boy about my age who had his back in traction. He stopped the gurney and waved and I waved back. I walked across the empty recreation room. My footsteps echoed in the enormous, empty room. The sunlight streamed in, warming the room. Outside, in the patio, the gardener was spading the dark earth, turning it over for its breath of air. I thought about Salomón and how well he had taken care of his garden, and I looked across the valley at the greening of the mountain, and the light which radiated from it blinded me. It was strong spring light, good light for the awakening plants, good light to travel in …

  A few reporters were already in the reception room when I entered. They were waiting for the arrival of the governor and the Committee. Mike had said that today was the day of the hearing. What had happened here had created ripples all the way to the capitol, and now the governor and his aides were forced by the news media and public opinion to find out what had happened. I wondered if they would really ask themselves the questions which had tormented us for so long in the ward, the question that drove Danny to his insane answer … or would they merely go through the motions, find someone to blame, then wash themselves of the matter and return to their private lives. We who had been involved in Danny’s doing could never erase it from our memory … we were a part of it. Each one of us had been with him in his terrible agony, and we had been there when he pulled the switch. We could never retreat from that; we could never forget it. And the governor, I thought as I looked up at the portraits of the somber governors which lined the walls, will he be able to come to the right decision? Will he care? I looked at the portrait which had been added since I first came to the hospital. It was an intelligent face, but a cold face. I wondered if he could have walked in the dark wards of the hospital and come to the right decision; I prayed for him, then I walked to the reception desk where a thin, partridge breasted woman handed me my bus ticket and told me the doctor wanted to see me. The reporters looked my way as I walked to Steel’s door, but they said nothing. I knocked and went in.

  “Hey, Tortuga,” Dr. Steel smiled from behind a stack of papers, “I see you’re ready.” He looked tired. I knew he hadn’t slept. “Let’s give you a final check—” He made me unbutton my shirt for a final, cursory examination. As always, his exam was thorough but his movements were off.

  “What’s going to happen?” I asked.

  “Well, the governor called for an investigation, he’s on his way here now; the Committee is talking about firing all the staff; and the reporters, well you saw them, they’ve gathered around like vultures since the—since it happened. They’re all looking for a scapegoat, someone to crucify—”

  “Is that going to be you?”

  “Probably,” he nodded and tossed his stethoscope on the desk. “Button your shirt; you’re ready.” He walked to the window and looked out. “I’m glad you’re going,” he said, then he added, “you know what to do.”

  “Yes.”

  “I wouldn’t mind what’s going to happen now, if, if only we learned something from it. But as is the case with so many tragedies, we’ll be aware of it for only awhile, only while the headlines are screaming at us, then everybody lies back, pretends it didn’t happen … forgets … If something good would come of this, if only a wider and deeper understanding of this so inconsequential but precious life we share—” He stopped short and looked at me. “We both know what happened—”

  I nodded. Then for awhile we were silent. “Maybe that’s enough,” he finally said. “Maybe all this won’t mean something until later … a long time from now—” He looked out the window and was lost in his thoughts. When he turned I was waiting for him and he smiled. “Go on, get out of here, Tortuga … And take care of yourself, okay?”

  “I will. Thanks for everything—” He waved and slumped into his chair. I turned and walked out into the noisy reception room. It was packed with people, most of them reporters hanging around the door. One of them pushed up in front of me and shouted in my face, “Hey, kid! Is he in there? Is the doc in there?”

  I went around him and pushed my way through the noisy crowd to the door. I had just reached it when someone shouted, “The governor! The governor’s here!” Outside three black limousines had just driven up. Flashbulbs exploded as the reporters fought for position. The governor and his aides, all dressed in dark suits, disembarked and pushed through the crowd. The reporters barked questions, but the group swept past them and towards Dr. Steel’s office. I turned and found the driver and told him I was ready.

  “Hey, don’t you wanna stay and see the excitement?” he asked.

  “No,” I shook my head. I remembered him from the day I arrived.

  “Have it your way,” he smiled and popped the gum he chewed, “but we ain’t ever had this much excitement here … not even when that little Indian boy got lost and froze up in the mountain—Hey, don’t I know you?” he asked as we stepped out and walked towards the car. “You’re the one they call Tortuga, ain’t you? Well I’ll be damned. Going home, huh?”

  I nodded and we got in the car. “You’re early for the bus, you know that don’t you. We could go back in there and watch the fireworks for awhile. What say? Boy, it’s not everyday we get
the governor down here. Man, are feathers going to fly!”

  “I have to see somebody in town,” I said.

  “Oh, if that’s the case, fine. Let’s go! Speed-o at your command.” He started the car and we drove down the hill. He left it in low gear so he could lay back and smoke. “How long you been here?” he asked and offered me a cigarette.

  “A long time,” I said. I took a deep breath of the cool air that came in through the open window, and I looked at the mountain and the valley. The weight of the hospital began to lift. I was suddenly free, and it felt good. I wondered what I would tell Ismelda.

  “Don’t smoke, huh,” he said and tossed the package on the dash. “That’s okay … I just like to offer. A lot of the kids like to smoke … nothing else to do. You deserve it after doing time back there. How about a drink? Wanna drink?”

  “No, thanks—”

  “Anybody that gets outta that place oughta have a drink and a good piece of ass, that’s the way I think. Anyway, who you gonna see in town?”

  “A friend,” I answered. The sun was very warm. It felt good on my arms and legs. Across the valley it warmed old Tortuga’s hump. It was a good day to be on the path of the sun.

  “—Filomón said to keep an eye out for you,” Speed-o was saying, “he said to tell you everything went okay on that last trip he took. I don’t know what that means, do you?”

  “Yes,” I nodded. I knew. He went on talking about the thing that had happened at the hospital, but I wasn’t listening. I was looking down at the bottom of the hill where the road turned into the town. Off to the right the glistening river gurgled south. Near it lay a small cluster of adobe houses which I recognized from Ismelda’s description. She and Josefa lived in one of the homes; I was sure I could find it. When we were close enough I asked the driver to stop. He pulled off the side of the road.

  “Here?” he asked. “There’s nothing here, except some old houses—”