Read Online Tortuga by Rudolfo Anaya - Free Book Online Page B

nothing for me! But you,” he glared at me, “you listened to those crazy stories Filomón tells about the mountain! And you believed him! Is that why they put you in a shell? Is that why you moved your legs?”
    â€œI don’t know,” I answered. “Maybe it was—”
    â€œBullshit!” he cut me off. “Don’t go getting a holier than anything idea about those crazy stories. That nurse is going to fix you. She’s going to transfer you to Salomón’s ward!”
    â€œWhere is that?” I remembered the boy who told the story in my dream.
    â€œThat’s where they keep the hard core polio cases,” he laughed. “Listen, there’s just about every kind of cripple in this place, freaks all of them. They’re either bent and twisted with polio or MD or club feet, pigeon toed, curved spines, open spines, birth defects, broken backs, car wrecks, under-nourished kids who can’t even stand up, even VD cases, kids that were smashed by their parents, looney cases … every kind of gimp you can imagine is here, somewhere. But in Salomón’s ward are the vegetables. Every other kid has a chance, like you, and who knows, hell, they might even find a cure for me … at least I can get around. But back there, that’s the end of the line, and that’s where you’re headed.” He laughed crazily, as if he was glad that I was being transfered, as if some future punishment for me would alleviate his pain, and he walked away before I could question him further.
    The rest of the afternoon was very quiet. I slept. The day was warm, the fragrance of the desert filled the room, as if the earth was thawing, and then the sun fell towards the rugged mountain range to the west and everything froze again. A haze from the fires burning in the homes along the river settled over the valley. Tortuga lay frozen and stiff, weak saffron rays glanced off his tired back, but he did not respond to my presence … he did not acknowledge my being.
    When Mike showed up he brought Ronco and Sadsack with him. Ronco was nineteen, older than most of us. The nurse kept him isolated in a room to himself. He had a record player, the only one in the ward, and Mike said his walls were covered with pin-ups. His favorite was a large poster of Marilyn Monroe, the most beautiful woman who ever lived, he said, because she was the kind of woman who could give you loving whether you were Joe DiMaggio or whether you were a poor crippled bastard dragging around in a wheelchair.
    Sadsack was a polio case. He was tall and the disease had left him uncoordinated. His arms and legs flopped around like used rubber bands. He had the sad, wrinkled face of a bloodhound, and a mop of thin hair which was always sticking up. Folds of loose skin fell over his sleepy eyes. He was a complainer.
    â€œThey’re moving me to another ward,” I said.
    Mike looked at me and nodded. “Yeah, news travels fast on the grapevine—”
    â€œBut why?”
    â€œAh the Nurse can be a bitch,” Ronco said hoarsely. The first tracheotomy they had done on him years ago had been done by a careless surgeon so when he spoke his voice sounded like a very rough imitation of Cagney.
    â€œShe likes her name spelled with a capital N,” Sadsack said, “so it’s yes Nurse or no Nurse … she runs a tight ward.”
    â€œI guess she didn’t like being chewed out by Steel, so she’s taking it out on you … but don’t worry, we’ll go to Steel and get you back here.”
    â€œWhere is this other ward?” I asked.
    â€œIt’s down the way,” Mike motioned.
    â€œIt’s Salomón’s ward,” Danny reminded me, “it’s a garden full of vegetables, a real vegetable patch!” he laughed.
    â€œDa, dat me-means he lib-lib in dah-dah Gar-garden!” Mudo croaked in approval, his thick, swollen tongue barely unravelling the