On the fifth day, the doctor moved his dad to a general room, and Gaspar prepared himself for the coming demands to leave the hospital. Juan hated the beds, too short for his height, hated the discomfort and the schedules and the noises; it all made him so nervous that on several occasions they’d decided to discharge him just because the stress was keeping him from improving. But Dr. Biedma was disciplined and turned a deaf ear to whims. You’re going to stay, it’s not your decision, she told him one day, and Gaspar pretended to be looking out the window so his dad wouldn’t see him smile.
Gaspar respected the visiting hours, the daily schedules, because spending any more time at the hospital was boring. Esteban had taken care of bringing clothes to Juan, as well as the books and notebooks he wanted and needed, so all that remained for Gaspar was to wait.
“You don’t need to come every day,” his father told him on one visit. “Stay at your friend’s house, play. They have a pool, right?”
“I already went swimming today. It’s really sunny out, it gave me a headache. Can I lie down here a while?”
As always, his father wasn’t sharing the room, so there was another bed, made and empty. Esteban slept there some nights. On other nights, a hired nurse stayed so he wouldn’t be left alone, or even Dr. Biedma herself, who, in crisis situations, was exclusively dedicated to his father. They must pay her a fortune, Gaspar thought.
His father’s attitude changed and he motioned Gaspar closer.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s just starting, it’s only in my eye, if I sleep it’ll pass.”
Juan rang the bell beside him, above the pillow, to call the nurse. The woman, dressed in light blue scrubs, came immediately. My son has a migraine, he said, and asked for a painkiller; she left and came back with a glass of water and a pill. She also handed Gaspar a damp, very cold cloth for his forehead. Gaspar put it over his head like a hood, and the nurse smiled on her way out.
“Go on, use the other bed.”
Instead, Gaspar sat on Juan’s bed and carefully caressed his father’s hand. There were IV tubes stuck into both arms and the skin was mottled with bruises, some of them already turning green. Gaspar adjusted the cold cloth on his head and studied his dad’s face, which looked tireder than ever; he saw how the hard plastic oxygen tube was irritating the delicate skin of his nose. He was surprised when the hand he was stroking withdrew, took him by the back of the neck, and gently pulled him to lie down. Gaspar lay against his father’s shoulder. He didn’t get up when Esteban came in; with the extreme sensitivity that accompanied his migraines, he smelled the faint odor of cigarettes. The painkiller made him doze off a little, and he only woke up when Esteban picked him up and carried him to the other bed, laying him on the hard mattress with his head on the cold pillow.
He didn’t sleep right away: he wanted to enjoy the coolness of the pillow. And, as though in a dream, he heard Esteban and his father talking.
I’ve gotten what I needed, and I also know what the necessary sacrifice is.
The effort almost killed you.
I got it, it was finally given to me. In the coming days I hope to complete the sign alone.
“What sacrifice?” asked Gaspar, and the two men stared at him open-mouthed, with a surprise that made them look very young and far removed from the exhaustion, the oxygen, the hospital at dusk. Their faces held an almost comical astonishment.
“You heard?” Esteban asked.
“I’m not asleep,” Gaspar laughed.
“Shit,” said Juan.
“Did you know about this?” Esteban asked.
“Are you joking? Of course not. Fix it.”
“Easy for you to say. Fix it. Sure.”
“What are you talking about? What sacrifice?”
Esteban got up and came over to Gaspar. He patted his shirt pocket automatically for a cigarette, then clucked his tongue when he remembered there was no smoking in the room.
“Your idiot father is talking nonsense about how your uncle is going to have to take care of you when he moves on to a better world, the sacrifice he’ll have to make. Listen, I’ve known him for twenty years now and he’s been dying that whole time, so the sacrifice will be all ours, because we’ll have to keep putting up with him.”
Gaspar laughed. He was a little high from the painkiller.
“We’ll have to be more careful for a few days,” said Esteban. “Fuck.”
Gaspar dived in, and in five strokes he’d reached the other side. The Peiranos’ pool was great for cooling off, but no good for swimming. He’d have to wait until they opened the one at the club, in March, before he could swim again for real. All four of them were in the pool: Pablo submerged up to his neck, Vicky on a float with her plastic sandals, Adela walking in the shallow end in a fuchsia one-piece suit.
“She was really scared,” Adela said. “but I brought her there anyway. The house is different during the day. And I swear the buzzing she hears comes from there.”
“Maybe it’s a generator, there are a lot of blackouts,” offered Gaspar.
“What’s a generator?”
“It’s like a motor that gives electricity, some stores have them so their merchandise doesn’t rot when the electricity goes out. Since the house is abandoned, maybe someone put one in the yard.”
Pablo went underwater to wet his hair and get it out of his face. It was long and very curly.
“If you girls want to go in so bad, why don’t you just do it already?” he asked.
“We’re scared to go alone,” said Vicky.
Gaspar sighed.
“Your heads are full of the stuff people in the neighborhood say about the house.”
“You’re not scared?” Adela asked. “My mom says it’s weird that you’re not scared of it.”
“I’m a little scared,” he said. “The stories have gotten to me too.”
“What’ve you heard about it?” Vicky wanted to know.
“There are lots of stories,” said Pablo. “My mom says the owners boarded up the house because they didn’t want anyone going inside, because horrible things happened to them in there. She wouldn’t tell me what the horrible things were.”
“Adela doesn’t hear the buzzing,” said Vicky. “But it’s evil. Seriously evil. It’s not a generator. It’s something alive. Sometimes it’s like it’s singing. None of you have heard it?”
Pablo and Gaspar replied honestly that they hadn’t. Plus, Gaspar thought, even if he had heard something he wouldn’t admit it in front of Adela. He didn’t want to encourage her any further.
Gaspar got out of the pool and didn’t take the towel Pablo offered him. He liked to let the sun dry him off.
“I’ll go with you,” he said. “Once my dad gets out of the hospital.”
Adela started jumping up and down in the water, so fiercely happy it was as if she’d just won an amazing prize. As if she’d been informed that, thanks to a previously undiscovered medical advancement, she could now get her arm back.
“We’re leaving on vacation in a few days,” said Vicky. “Is your dad going to get out soon?”