that all was good, wasnât it? Youâre alive, she said.
Look at you, she said. Your hair.
It had been cut. He looked like a young boy. Smaller and more vulnerable. His arm was in a sling.
She had many questions, but she didnât ask them, because the nurse was present and because he couldnât move past her name, which he said again and again, as if it were something new that he had just learned.
And she said his name, Eric, over and over. And their ten minutes was wasted speaking each otherâs name, and saying nothing of importance. And not touching. When the nurse said that Ãsoâs time was up, that the patient needed to rest, Doctor Mann seemed confused. His eyes looked tired. She wanted to ask the surgeon in charge if Doctor Mann would be okayâshe didnât trust the nurseâbut she couldnât locate anyone who might give her a clear answer, and so she and her mother left the hospital and returned to the village.
When she went back alone to the hospital the following weekend, his wife was there, and when she saw the wife she knew that everything was over. The doctorâs wife was feeding him pur é ed apples from a small bowl, lifting a spoon to his mouth, whispering something that Ãso could not understand. He looked even more like a child. He ate slowly. When the doctorâs wife saw Ãso, she stood and went to her and hugged her, holding her tightly, and then she stepped back and said, Iâm taking him home.
Ãso didn ât say anything.
She sat beside the doctorâs wife and held her hand while the doctor held his wifeâs hand, and so in some distant way there was a connection. The doctorâs wife told her husband that Ãso, her keeper, had come for a visit.
Hello, Ãso, Eric said.
Hello, Eric.
He looked at her, and then he looked at his wife, who reached out to wipe saliva from his bottom lip.
Ãso freed her hand, but the doctorâs wife didnât seem to notice.
Heâll have to have rehabilitation, she said. He has trouble walking. And heâs suffered trauma to the brain. He canât remember anything about the accident. At first he didnât even know my name. What a terrible story, she said. What a godforsaken place. They want to press charges or something horrible. But we have a lawyer and the lawyer says that the sooner he goes home, the better chance we have of no charges being laid. And so weâll go home. She leaned towards the doctor and whispered, Isnât that right, Eric?
Ãso watched all this with horror.
When will you take him? Ãso asked.
As soon as possible. Heâll be ready to fly next week.
Is that what he wants? Ãso asked. It was a bold question, but she needed to ask it.
What he wants is impossible to say. He canât make decisions right now. He needs proper care.
Ãso had no words left. She rose, and then she walked around behind the doctorâs wife and approached the bed and she leaned over Doctor Mann and she looked into his eyes. Goodbye, Eric, she said. And she kissed him on the mouth. His face was blank.
Ãso stepped back. She walked past Susan, who was standing now, her head tilted, her eyes surprised. Ãso walked past her and out of the room. She left the hospital and stepped into the street and walked for a long time until she came to a small park, whereshe found a bench. She sat down. She folded her hands in her lap. The sun fell onto her head. It was very warm. She removed her jacket and laid it across her lap. She folded her hands again. And she wept.
4.
F OR A TIME AFTER HIS DEPARTURE SHE SURVIVED ON MEMORIES. The trips to the pueblos, the sound of his motorcycle approaching, a glimpse of him walking along the paths at the clinic. She heard his motorcycle everywhere, but especially in the evenings as she sat inside the tienda and the traffic moved up the street towards the market. Always, when she heard the sound of his motorcycle, she would look up and
Look at you, she said. Your hair.
It had been cut. He looked like a young boy. Smaller and more vulnerable. His arm was in a sling.
She had many questions, but she didnât ask them, because the nurse was present and because he couldnât move past her name, which he said again and again, as if it were something new that he had just learned.
And she said his name, Eric, over and over. And their ten minutes was wasted speaking each otherâs name, and saying nothing of importance. And not touching. When the nurse said that Ãsoâs time was up, that the patient needed to rest, Doctor Mann seemed confused. His eyes looked tired. She wanted to ask the surgeon in charge if Doctor Mann would be okayâshe didnât trust the nurseâbut she couldnât locate anyone who might give her a clear answer, and so she and her mother left the hospital and returned to the village.
When she went back alone to the hospital the following weekend, his wife was there, and when she saw the wife she knew that everything was over. The doctorâs wife was feeding him pur é ed apples from a small bowl, lifting a spoon to his mouth, whispering something that Ãso could not understand. He looked even more like a child. He ate slowly. When the doctorâs wife saw Ãso, she stood and went to her and hugged her, holding her tightly, and then she stepped back and said, Iâm taking him home.
Ãso didn ât say anything.
She sat beside the doctorâs wife and held her hand while the doctor held his wifeâs hand, and so in some distant way there was a connection. The doctorâs wife told her husband that Ãso, her keeper, had come for a visit.
Hello, Ãso, Eric said.
Hello, Eric.
He looked at her, and then he looked at his wife, who reached out to wipe saliva from his bottom lip.
Ãso freed her hand, but the doctorâs wife didnât seem to notice.
Heâll have to have rehabilitation, she said. He has trouble walking. And heâs suffered trauma to the brain. He canât remember anything about the accident. At first he didnât even know my name. What a terrible story, she said. What a godforsaken place. They want to press charges or something horrible. But we have a lawyer and the lawyer says that the sooner he goes home, the better chance we have of no charges being laid. And so weâll go home. She leaned towards the doctor and whispered, Isnât that right, Eric?
Ãso watched all this with horror.
When will you take him? Ãso asked.
As soon as possible. Heâll be ready to fly next week.
Is that what he wants? Ãso asked. It was a bold question, but she needed to ask it.
What he wants is impossible to say. He canât make decisions right now. He needs proper care.
Ãso had no words left. She rose, and then she walked around behind the doctorâs wife and approached the bed and she leaned over Doctor Mann and she looked into his eyes. Goodbye, Eric, she said. And she kissed him on the mouth. His face was blank.
Ãso stepped back. She walked past Susan, who was standing now, her head tilted, her eyes surprised. Ãso walked past her and out of the room. She left the hospital and stepped into the street and walked for a long time until she came to a small park, whereshe found a bench. She sat down. She folded her hands in her lap. The sun fell onto her head. It was very warm. She removed her jacket and laid it across her lap. She folded her hands again. And she wept.
4.
F OR A TIME AFTER HIS DEPARTURE SHE SURVIVED ON MEMORIES. The trips to the pueblos, the sound of his motorcycle approaching, a glimpse of him walking along the paths at the clinic. She heard his motorcycle everywhere, but especially in the evenings as she sat inside the tienda and the traffic moved up the street towards the market. Always, when she heard the sound of his motorcycle, she would look up and
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