Tortuga Read Free

the window into the desert. “Even as terrible as the storm was for us, it will be good for the plants in the spring. After a good, wet winter the desert blooms like a garden,” he nodded and rolled a cigarette. There was something about the way he spoke, the strength of his face, that reminded me of someone I had known—my grandfather perhaps, but I hadn’t thought of him in years.
    â€œThese old villages cling to the river like the beads of a rosary,” he continued, thinking aloud.
    â€œWhoever crosses this desert has a lot of praying to do,” Clepo agreed, “it’s a journey of death.”
    â€œNo, a journey of life. Our forefathers have wandered up and down this river valley for a long, long time. First the Indians roamed up and down this river, then others came, but they all stopped here at this same place: the springs of Tortuga, the place of the healing water—”
    He talked and smoked. The dull sun shone through the window and played on the swirling smoke. I was fully awake now, but I felt feverish, and I couldn’t help wondering what a strange day it had been to ride all this way with the old man and his assistant. I shivered, but not from the cold. The inside of the ambulance was now stifling. It glowed with white smoke and golden light which poured through the window. Filomón’s eyes shone.
    â€œHow long have you been bringing kids to the hospital?” I asked.
    â€œAs long as I can remember,” Filomón answered. “I bought this old hearse in a junk yard and I fixed it up like an ambulance. I’ve been transporting kids ever since.”
    â€œWe get thirty dollars a kid, dead or alive,” Clepo laughed. “And we get to hear a lot of interesting stories. We’ve taken every kind of diseased body there is to the hospital. Why, Filo and I could become doctors if we wanted to, couldn’t we Filo? But we don’t know anything about you. You slept most of the way.” He leaned over the seat and peered at me.
    â€œHe’s tired,” Filomón said.
    â€œYeah, but he’s awake now,” Clepo grinned. “So how did he get crippled? I know it ain’t polio, I know polio. And how come his left hand is bandaged, huh? There’s quite a story there, but he hasn’t said a word!”
    He seemed put out that I had slept most of the way and had not told the story of my past. But since the paralysis the past didn’t matter. It was as if everything had died, except the dreams and the memories which kept haunting me. And even those were useless against the terrible weight which had fallen over me and which I cursed until I could curse no more.
    â€œDo you take the kids back?” I asked.
    â€œNo, we don’t!” Clepo said, “That’s against the rules!”
    â€œI picked you up,” Filomón reminded him.
    â€œI was hitch-hiking,” Clepo said smartly, “somebody would have picked me up.”
    â€œYou were lost. I found you in the middle of a sandstorm, crying. Lucky for you I came along.”
    â€œI wasn’t crying, I had sand in my eyes,” Clepo insisted.
    Filomón smiled. “It doesn’t matter, you’ve been a good assistant.” That seemed to satisfy Clepo, he grunted and sat back down. Filomón drew close and looked at me. “We can’t take anybody back, that’s not our job. But when you get better you can make the trip back home by yourself. Just wait till spring, and you’ll be better. I know it looks bad now, but in the spring the river comes alive and the desert dresses like a young bride. The lizards come out to play in the warm sun, and even the mountain moves—” He touched my forehead with his fingers, then he leaned close to me and I felt his forehead touch mine, perhaps he was just leaning to retrieve one of the straps to tie me up again, but I felt his forehead brush mine, and I felt a relief from the