Tortuga (29 page)

He was suffering all right, and I felt sorry for him. Sometimes he would look at me and curse me, and it was because I had been to see them and he couldn't.

“You could've drowned in the pool!” he hissed at me, reminding me of my torment, trying to draw me out.

“It didn't matter then,” I said.

“And now?”

“Now it matters,” I shrugged. “I couldn't face death alone … I found that out. And now life is important to me, even Salomón's vegetables are important—” I paused. “In fact, they might be the reason I'm alive. Don't you see that?” I asked and reached out to touch him, but he drew back and snapped at me.

“Even after you saw them? You still think life is important after you saw them? Well what about them? What about them being there to rot the rest of their lives, not being able to move a finger! Not being able to feed themselves or wipe themselves! What about them?”

“I don't know,” I shook my head.

“You don't know anything!” he shouted. “And you still believe what Salomón says about singing. You're crazy, you can't even sing!” he sneered. “How can you believe that creep after what he pulled on you, huh?”

“I trust him,” I answered.

“Trust him? Oh God, you can trust him!”

“Talk to him,” I said in desperation, “go talk to him.”

“It won't do any good,” he moaned, “it's no good … I'm being punished—you know what Salomón said about that …”

No, Tortuga, Salomón had said, the garden of cripples is not a place of punishment. Don't you see that punishment would give meaning to our existence. If we could say we're being punished then it would follow that God is punishing us, and we would be worse off than we were before … we would go on fabricating lie upon lie … It's very difficult to accept the fact that our existence has no meaning to the absent god. The only meaning it has is the meaning we give it … we can't blame the gods. That's too easy, but natural. Man has always taken his fear and pain and suffering and made strange gods from those shadows of his soul. Those gods are shadows, Tortuga, reflections of our weakness … I have read all the myths, and that's how it has been … shadow upon dark shadow of the cave dancing to the light of the flickering fire, dancing itself into a form in the mind of fearful man … and none of those gods could return and say I do not exist, because once they were given the substance of thought they generated their own power, they grew stronger, they no longer needed man … Oh, there have been a few heroes who have tried to steal the light of the cosmos, the eternal light which burns away all shadows, but they were few
…
Prometheus, hero of the Greeks, petty thief of fire and light … fails to gain his own freedom and thus fails us because in the end he turns and blames his punishment on that sham jury on Olympus and the fornicator Zeus! Oh God, if only he had not needed to give meaning to his punishment … what a great hero he would have been. He peered into the light of heaven, he touched it! And then he cries to the gods of Olympus and begs their forgiveness! Oh what a waste … what a tragedy to us …

Even Christ, in his triumphant hour upon the cross … at that moment when he can free himself from the darkness forever, when he can most be man and god at the same time … he fails us, he turns and blames his father who has forsaken him. So even the new myths are incomplete. Our heroes have not been able to suffer alone. In their last moment of anguish and pain they turn to the shadows dancing on the wall … turn to the past and the darkness … Even the modern Sisyphus cannot serve us. He is like us because he feels the interminable pain of that huge boulder he must push up the hill. He is a god crippled from that incessant labor. His spine is bent, his shoulder humped and cut to the bone, he knows pain and he knows the time of eternity which he will suffer … So in many ways he is like us, a poor vegetable pushing up against the boulder, reaching for the light, knowing he will never be free of that task … But he, too, fails the test. Because on his way down the hill he raises his fist and curses the gods who condemned him to eternal punishment! Don't you see, his punishment would be complete if he did not curse the gods … if he could walk alone! Only then could he be free! Only then could he turn and look around and see that old friends from Corinth wander the valleys of Hades … and yes, he even has the pleasure of an occasional country woman …

And is his torment as severe as that of my cripples? Monotonous, yes, and difficult. But think, on the way back down the hill he can feel the cool breeze on his sweaty body, and he can feel the fatigue of his labor drain away as he walks slowly down the hill … Ha! Sisyphus is a lucky king compared to us! Far in the distance someone plays a lyre, old melodies of home, and from time to time a friend comes by and they talk and drink wine and remember the days when Corinth was in its glory. Which one of us would not gladly exchange our place with him? No, Tortuga, we are beyond the last Greek hero … we are beyond all the heroes of the past … We have come to a new plane in the time of eternity … we have gone far beyond the punishment of the gods. We are beyond everything that we have ever known, and the past is useless to us. We must create out of our ashes. Our own hero must be born out of this wasteland, like the phoenix bird of the desert he must rise again from the ashes of our withered bodies … and he must not turn to the shadows of the past. He must walk in the path of the sun … and he shall sing the songs of the sun. It may be that we will find someone who crossed the desert in Filomón's cart, someone who suffered like us as he felt the fire in his body go dry and the juices die in his bones … someone who has felt the paralysis of life, and walked in the garden with his brothers and sisters, and who will sing of his adventures …

“Yes,” I nodded and looked at Danny, “I know what Salomón said.”

“But what does it mean?” he pleaded.

“I don't know—”

“But you should know!” he insisted and grew angry, “He made you walk in the garden! He made you see the vegetables! You should know why! No! You do know, but you're just not telling me … that's it! You and Salomón and all the rest know, but you're not telling me! I see it now!” He trembled with anger. He grabbed me by the shoulders and shouted into my face, “You want me to go see for myself! That's it! You want me to go into Salomón's ward and crawl in one of those machines and stay there forever! You want me to become one of those rotten vegetables! I see it now! I see the plan now! To get me in there!” He laughed crazily and swore at me. “Well you're not ever going to get me to go in there and become one of those vegetables! I'd rather die! You hear me you little bastard lizard! I'd rather die!”

He pushed me away and stalked out of the room, shouting, “No! Never! Never!”

21

That same afternoon I stood and walked the parallel bars for the first time. The word had spread that KC had given me permission to walk by myself, so quite a few kids came to watch. Everybody knew that walking the bars meant real freedom, especially if one didn't have to wait around for braces, and my legs didn't need braces. I would need crutches for awhile, but no braces.

The therapy room was crowded as KC pushed my chair to the end of the bars. “You're on your own, honey,” she whispered. I looked down the long bars and at the full length mirror at the end. I nodded. I was ready.

Ismelda stood by me. “A lizard that can stand up becomes a man,” she whispered. I smiled.

“You can do it, honey,” KC said and helped me up from my chair. I gripped the bar with my right hand and pulled myself up. I felt the weight strain my trembling legs and locked my knees so I wouldn't fall. My legs quivered, but they held.

“Atta boy,” Mike nodded from the corner.

“Do it!” Ronco smiled.

“Hot dog, that dude's ready for the round-up,” Buck drawled. They crossed their fingers and watched me carefully.

I lifted my right leg and took the first step. My body moved stiffly over the fulcrum point, swayed momentarily, flushed hot with sweat, trembled like the earth trembled when Tortuga moved, then it settled down and I lifted my left leg. The kids cheered. Somewhere in the background Danny's dark eyes bore into me, then he cursed and hobbled away. At the door Dr. Steel paused to watch. He looked at me and smiled, then he nodded at the other doctors and they moved on to the surgery room.

“How's it feel, babe?” KC asked.

“Okay,” I answered. She walked alongside me, watching carefully, ready to move if I toppled. Ismelda walked on the other side. The trembling was gone. With each step I took I felt stronger. I moved ahead, breathing hard and sweating. At the end of the bars I stopped to rest. I looked up and saw myself in the full length mirror. I didn't recognize myself. I was skinny and stiff and twisted with the weight of the cast I had carried for so long. My hair hung nearly to my shoulders. I wasn't the person I remembered from before the paralysis; I was a new man, a just-born man trying to coordinate my movements. Who was I, then, I asked and looked around the quiet room.

Are you okay?

Anything the matter?

What's happening? Whad he say?

It's okay, take a rest. You'll be fine …

Who am I? I asked. Who was born in that shell of plaster? Am I the same boy that went into the heart of the mountain and heard Salomón whisper the story of his butterflies? Was I the same man who walked through Salomón's ward and suffered the pain of its existence? How long had I been in the hospital? And what did it all mean? I looked at myself in the mirror and saw the layers of my past fall away, like the sheaths of an onion strip away to expose the little green heart at the core.

“Wanna try it again?” KC asked.

“Sure … fine,” I answered. The faces in the room swam about me. They were here to celebrate one more step of my freedom. I smiled. I held back my tears. How could I ever take another step in my life without seeing them? Would I ever be free of them? Or was this my new weight? The memory of them would always come rushing down on me, whispering to me, forcing me to remember every incident, every detail, every crippled arm and leg, every twisted back, every scarred face, each breathing iron lung which guarded life in the dark wards …

Ismelda touched my hand. “You're all right, Tortuga …”

I turned away from the mirror and slowly walked back to my chair. Samson held it and I plopped into it. Behind me there were shouts and clapping, echoing as if from far away. Someone shouted the mountain was moving and there was a stampede of what sounded like goat hooves over the tiled floor to the windows. I heard the Nurse shout that it was medication time, and I felt KC's strong arms help me into the whirlpool bath. Mike and Ronco and the others gathered around me and shouted and slapped my back … then the water splashed like hot pee into the steel tub and soaked me with its magic. I closed my eyes and floated in it, allowing it to wash away my tiredness and the tears I was fighting to hold back. Somewhere I knew Dr. Steel was cutting into sensitive flesh, groping for a nerve, splicing tendons … and the flesh, drugged though it was, quivered from the pain …

Tortuga! Salomón smiled, look! See the strings of geese flying north! Can you hear their joyful cry in the night as they follow the river north! It's time to sing again, Tortuga, time to sing!

“Yes,” I nodded, “yes—”

“What's that?” KC asked.

“I'm okay,” I answered, “just a little tired …”

“The first walk is always the most tiring, honey, but it's gravy from here on.”

I stood up and she threw a large towel over me and dried me down. I was sweating again by the time I finished dressing, but I felt good. And I felt sad, because I knew now I was leaving. It was only a matter of weeks, maybe days, and Steel would give me my walking papers.

“How do you feel?” Ismelda asked as she pushed my chair back to the ward. She had waited for me.

“I feel fine,” I answered, “I feel like I could walk back to the ward.”

“You probably could. I heard the doctor say you can have a pair of crutches tomorrow … after that it's just a matter of time—”

The recreation room was deserted so she pushed the chair to one of the large windows. She faced my chair so I could look at the mountain. She sat on the sill and for a long time we were silent, but I knew we were thinking the same thing. The test today told everyone I was ready to leave. Even before the walk on the bars Mike and Ismelda knew I was ready because I had been practicing standing around the bed, so I was strong enough. The walk on the bars had been a public show for KC and Steel, now they were satisfied, but it had been more than that for me, it had been a step which seemed to seal another part of my destiny. I was ready to leave. I was ready for the journey north.

“Damn, I can't remember how long I've been here,” I said as I looked across the valley at the mountain. Spots of spring green appeared on its once barren sides.

“It doesn't matter,” Ismelda smiled, “the important thing is that you're going home—”

She said it, we looked at each other and relaxed. I nodded and smiled at her. She held my hand and said, “You were great today … I was proud of you.”

“I felt strong. I think with crutches I could walk all the way up the mountain—”

We looked at old Tortuga as he bathed in the afternoon light. “The ground is thawing up there,” she said. “The thaw always creates a movement in the earth. Old Tortuga acts like he's coming out of a long winter sleep. He groans and moans … soon the wild flowers and the grass will be greening—”

“I didn't know anything could grow up there,” I answered.

“Oh yes,” she said softly and her bright eyes looked into mine, “just like algae and moss and little bugs grow and live on the backs of old sea turtles, bushes and wild grass and flowers live on Tortuga. It's very beautiful to walk on the mountain in the spring.”