Dona Nicanora's Hat Shop (28 page)

He turned on his little radio to try to fill his overwhelming emptiness, and immediately tuned into a heated argument. ‘We will hunt them down,' a man said stridently. ‘We will stop at nothing until we find them. We will not tolerate insurgents threatening our country and democracy. We will hunt the PLF down, I say. We will stamp them out.'

‘But with due respect,' a voice replied, ‘don't you think that sending the army into the countryside is an unnecessary response? After all, we are talking about a small group, who by all accounts are mainly students and intellectuals. Don't you think the army will just cause more disquiet among the peasants?'

‘We will not tolerate this form of intimidation,' the politician continued. ‘An army officer has been killed. A car bomb was placed close enough to the presidential palace to blow the windows out, and the
campesinos
have been looting shops in the city centre. There is mayhem in our streets and if we do not stamp on it now our country will descend into chaos. We must defend our democracy from the evil forces within.'

‘But with all due respect,' the interviewer continued, ‘can we really call it a democracy when we do not let people speak out freely? After all, this began as a peaceful demonstration. People on the streets are saying that it only escalated into violence after the demonstrators were fired on with tear gas and rubber bullets. There was no intention for it to become violent before that.'

‘That', the politician said, ‘is because most of the people on the streets are ignorant. Our country is full of uneducated peasants. That is the biggest problem we face.'

‘Isn't that', the interviewer interjected again, ‘because the
government has neglected the people's needs for so long? After all, that is what the demonstrations were about in the first place. Our country is selling its natural resources to increase the wealth of foreign nations rather than investing in the welfare of its people.'

‘You have clearly not been doing your homework,' the politician continued. ‘We have the welfare of our people very much at heart, very much at heart. Haven't we brought in reforms to make sure foreign investment goes to the poorest provinces?'

‘People are saying that is just a sop, a way to appease the peasants with the elections coming. Most rural communities don't even know the money is there or how it is being spent. It is simply disappearing into municipal bank accounts.'

‘I say to those people', the politician replied, ‘our spending in health and education is greater than that of any government before us. We have the support of our foreign friends who are investing in the development of our nation, and our provincial authorities are doing all they can to show the benefits of that investment.'

‘And what do you say to those who accuse you of dancing to a foreigner's tune?'

‘I say I choose my dancing partners very carefully.'

Arturo listened to the debate with a growing sense of unease. He turned the radio off and lay awake with only the ghostly call of owls for company. Claudia was coming. He had known it for some time. His thoughts immediately turned to Isabela, and it felt as if a fresh, light breeze had floated in to calm his nerves. He drifted off into a disturbed sleep and woke suddenly in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. There was someone in the room with him, staring
at him. The dream of Claudia still lingered in his subconscious. But it was not excitement or desire that thrilled through him at the anticipation of Claudia's arrival: it was a sort of dread. He had no idea what trouble she was bringing with her, but whatever it was, his dream filled him with a sense of foreboding. Claudia had stood in front of him, a gun in her hand and a bullet hole in her chest, and told him she was on her way. Blood had trickled down her shirt at a slow and steady pace. Arturo had tried to reach out to her but he had been unable to move. He called to her but his words hovered in the air above her head and then floated away.

‘Well, you're not much use, are you?' Claudia said at last.

‘What's happened to you?' Arturo asked.

‘It's nothing,' she said.

‘You're bleeding. Claudia, what have you done? What are you doing this for? It's crazy, Claudia, you're hurt.'

‘At least I'm trying,' she replied. ‘What are you doing with yourself? What good are you to anyone here? From what I can see you are just drifting, Arturo. You couldn't even find the barber.'

‘I tried,' Arturo said, the guilt of his failure turning his limbs cold. ‘Well I'm not letting people get shot, that's for sure. Claudia, you need help.'

‘You're a doctor, aren't you?' she said, challenging him. ‘Why don't you help me?'

Arturo reached out to her again, but she was too far away for him to touch her. He tried to stand but his knees buckled under him. He crawled across the floor until he reached her feet. She towered above him so that he could not see her face and her blood fell on him like a thick, warm waterfall.

‘I must stop the bleeding, I must stop the bleeding,' he repeated to himself.

‘You can plug the hole,' Claudia said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘You can plug the hole with glue.'

‘It's not as easy as that, Claudia,' he said. ‘Things are not as easy as you say they are. You can't just glue people back together again. If it were that easy there would be no need for doctors. We would only need modelmakers.'

Claudia looked down at him and then spat a large clog of leaves into her hands and stuck them into the hole in her chest. ‘There,' she said, ‘I'm fixed,' and the blood immediately stopped flowing. ‘You're no good, Arturo,' she said. ‘When I need you, you can't help me. You're weak. You will never be anything other than weak and pampered,' and she disappeared.

Arturo sat up in bed peering into the darkness. He heard a faint rustling noise and then silence.

‘Is that you?' he said softly. There was a pause.

‘Yes,' a voice whispered back.

‘Is that really you?' Arturo asked again.

‘I think so,' the voice replied. It sounded thick and hoarse.

‘How did you get here?'

‘I walked.'

‘So far? You must be exhausted.'

‘I am. I am exhausted. You are the only person who has noticed.'

‘Are you in danger?'

‘I don't think so.'

‘Are they following you?'

‘No. But they mustn't find out that I'm here.'

‘Are you sure they don't know where you are?'

‘No, we will have to keep it a secret.'

‘Who is after you?'

‘The mayor.'

‘The mayor,' Arturo exclaimed. ‘How do you know the mayor?'

‘I'm married to him.'

Arturo leapt out of bed and fumbled for his trousers. He grabbed a box of matches from the pocket and lit one. There, perched on the end of the bed, was Doña Gloria. He had completely forgotten about the patient he had deserted the previous day in his search for Don Bosco.

‘What are you doing?' he asked. ‘You can't come here in the middle of the night. What will your husband say?'

‘He won't find out,' Gloria replied. ‘As I said, we will keep it a secret. Who did you think you were talking to?'

‘Nobody,' Arturo said. ‘I was dreaming. I thought you were a friend.'

‘I am a friend,' Gloria replied. ‘You sounded frightened.'

Arturo lit another match and searched in the cupboard next to his bed for a candle. In the light he felt exposed, standing in front of Gloria with no shirt on. She was taking in every aspect of his being with her keen eyes.

‘I can help you,' she said softly.

‘I don't need help,' Arturo replied.

‘I think you do,' Gloria said. ‘You look sad.'

‘I'm fine.'

‘I can smell sadness when I am near it,' Gloria said. ‘If you are not sad, then tell me, what are you doing hiding yourself away here in the full bloom of your youth?'

‘I'm not hiding,' Arturo said. ‘I've come to help.'

‘Help who?'

‘Well, you,' Arturo replied.

‘And why do you want to help me?' Gloria asked, with genuine interest.

‘Because', Arturo replied, ‘your husband said you need a doctor.'

‘Well, he's right about that,' Gloria said. ‘I do need a doctor.'

‘No,' Arturo replied, ‘I meant everybody here. The townsfolk.'

‘Why?' Gloria asked. ‘What's wrong with them?'

‘Nothing. Nothing at all,' Arturo said, suddenly feeling exhausted.

‘Well, never mind that. I'm here now,' Gloria said. ‘And I need your help.'

‘I'm sorry,' Arturo said, sitting down on the bed. ‘Don't you see? I'm no good to you. I shouldn't have been sent here. It was a mistake. I'm sorry, but I just can't help you. I don't have what you need. I don't understand anything. I certainly don't understand ailments of the soul.'

‘I'm sure you do,' Gloria said. ‘After all, you have one yourself.'

‘I do?'

‘Of course, it's obvious. You are dislodged.'

‘Am I?' Arturo asked.

‘You're not at one with yourself, are you?'

‘I don't know.'

‘You see, the difference between you and me', Gloria continued, ‘is that you haven't yet discovered who you are. I expect that is what has driven you here, to find out. Whereas I once knew exactly who I was, or I thought I did, and now I have lost it.'

‘I wish I could help you, Doña Gloria,' Arturo said, the sadness in his patient's voice filling him with empathy. ‘I really, really wish I could help, but you see, I'm a fraud. I'm not the doctor you need. I am not the person that this town needs. I only have pills and potions. I have nothing to give you that will be of any help and nothing to teach anyone. What knowledge I have comes from books. I don't have anything that will give you peace of mind. I don't know how to bring your soul back.'

‘It's easier than you think.' Gloria said. ‘You're making things far too complicated. You young people always do. You're coming to it all from the wrong direction. I need my husband to feel what it really means to be without me. Just as the town is feeling what it means to be without their barber. That is the only way I will discover the truth.'

‘I don't understand. How can I be of help?'

‘I need to stay here, with you, of course.'

‘You can't do that,' Arturo said in horror.

‘Why not?'

‘Because your husband will kill me,' Arturo said.

‘But he won't find out. It will be our little secret. I can't go back home,' she said defiantly.

‘But you can't stay here,' Arturo said again. ‘Really, Doña Gloria, think about it. It just wouldn't be right.'

‘If I can't stay, I can't be cured. And if I am not cured, I can't go home,' Gloria said stubbornly. ‘So you are stuck with me either way.'

‘No, I have a better idea,' Arturo replied. ‘Why don't we see whether you can stay with Doña Nicanora. She is very kind and she likes looking after people. She has that Gringito with her after all. That would be proper and you would be much more comfortable there. I know she would keep it a secret if you asked her to.'

‘Stay with Doña Nicanora and Ernesto,' Gloria said, mulling the idea over in her mind. ‘That could certainly do the trick. That is not a bad idea, not a bad idea at all.' And Gloria went back to the little consultation room a consoled woman, leaving Arturo to contemplate how he was going to convince Doña Nicanora to take in another house guest.

Everything had suddenly been put to rights. As the townsfolk awoke and started to make their way across the plaza, the disturbing strangeness of the previous day had passed over. Life was back to normal and all was exactly as it should be. The shutters on Don Bosco's shop had been lifted once again. Don Julio was the first to see the new dawn break on the barber's. He knocked several times, calling Don Bosco's name. ‘Bosco, are you there, are you home?' He peeped through the window slats: a figure was moving in the shadows at the back of the shop. The door remained firmly locked. In his excitement he rushed to his friend Teofelo to tell him the good news.

‘He's back,' Don Julio shouted, banging on Teofelo's door. ‘He's back, Teofelo, come and see.' Teofelo, who was not an early riser, came to the door bleary-eyed, afraid that the noise would awaken his wife.

‘What's the matter with you, Julio?' Teofelo said, irritated. ‘You will wake the whole town if you carry on like this. What's wrong? Who is back?'

‘Bosco of course,' Julio replied. ‘Bosco is back. The shop is open and everything. Come and see for yourself.'

‘Bosco is back?' Teofelo said confused. ‘Are you sure? Have you seen him?'

‘Yes, yes. I've seen him,' Julio said. ‘He hasn't opened the door yet but he has opened the shutters and I saw him moving around inside.'