Tortuga Read Free Page A

paralysis which I hadn’t felt since it came. Then he tied the strap and climbed back into the driver’s seat.
    â€œFilomón says you gotta keep your eyes on the mountain,” Clepo said to fill in the silence.
    â€œWell, it’s helped us,” Filomón answered, “it’s been our faith in this wasteland … and it’s helped a lot of kids. There’s a strong power there.”
    He started the ambulance and let it coast down the long slope of the hill into the valley. I knew he was still looking at the mountain, still feeling the strange power that resided there for him.
    â€œThe water from the mountain springs is holy,” he mused aloud, “long ago the place was used as a winter ceremonial ground by the Indians. They came to purify themselves by bathing in the warm waters … the waters of the turtle … Later, when the Spaniards came, they called the springs Los Ojos de la Tortuga, and when they discovered the waters could cure many illnesses they called the village Agua Bendita …”
    â€œWho lives here?” I asked. We had entered the edge of the small town. Through the window I could see the tops of rundown gas stations, motels and cafes. There was a dilapidated movie house, a brownstone hotel, and many signs which creaked in the wind as they advertised the hot mineral baths.
    â€œMostly old people who come for the baths, people who work at the hospital, and a few of the old people who try to make a living from the small farms along the river—”
    Filomón turned the ambulance and I caught a glimpse of a weathered sign that read Crippled Children and Orphans Hospital . The arrow pointed up the hill, so from the highway which ran through the small town we had to turn up the hill again towards the washed-out buildings which huddled together at the top. I struggled to turn to see more, instinctively, as I had so many times before, but it was useless, I couldn’t move. I could only turn my head and watch the mountain across the valley. An air of hopelessness brooded over the dull mountain as the remaining winter clouds huddled at its peak. It seemed lost and out of place in the immense desert which surrounded it, and I wondered what secret rested in its core. Whatever it was, it was something that made Filomón’s voice ring with hope and made his eyes sparkle even after the fatigue of the long journey.
    â€œThe doctors here can work miracles,” Filomón was saying, “they’ve got ways now of straightening out bones and sewing together nerves and flesh—”
    â€œYeah, but they didn’t fix my limp,” Clepo said. “And they sure as hell don’t believe in all this mumbo jumbo you’ve been giving the kid.”
    â€œDon’t mind Clepo,” Filomón laughed, “he just likes to act tough, but deep down inside he knows—”
    But what is there to know, I wondered, as the huge bulk of the mountain held me hynotized. The shape of the old volcano was obvious. Its hump curved down like a bow to a reptilian head. Huge, volcanic slabs of dark lava formed the massive plates of the shell. Near the bottom, jagged hills and the shadows of deep ravines created the illusion of webbed, leathery feet. Even the glaze of rain glistening on its back reminded me of the way the back of a snake or a toad will shine with oily rainbow colors. The more I gazed at it the more alive it grew, until I thought I was actually looking at a giant turtle which had paused to rest for the night. But where was its magic? Nothing seemed to grow on its sides; it was bare and dark and gloomy.
    â€œListen carefully and you’ll hear the underground river which flows from Tortuga,” Filomón was saying. “There are huge caverns beneath the mountain, and through them run powerful rivers, rivers of turtle pee. Yes, that old mountain is alive … a real sea turtle which wandered north when the oceans dried and