Just then Lidia startled him from his thoughts. She was wearing her white uniform with the stethoscope hung around her neck—he rarely saw her dressed any other way, not even on weekends, because she always worked either Saturday or Sunday.
“It’s all moving along, they’re sewing him up. He’s going to come out of this perfect. Did you tell Juan?”
“Betty’s telling him.”
Pablo lowered his head and squeezed the towels. Where had he left the belt? He felt Gaspar’s breath again on the back of his neck when they were on the motorcycle, hot in the cold air of the winter afternoon. Maybe he could sleep with me, we’ll use the new bedspread Dad bought me, it’s made of down and it’s really warm. That’s if he doesn’t die, he thought.
“I’ll be right back,” said Lidia, and Pablo stayed in the waiting room. There was a girl around his age who couldn’t catch her breath, and her mother was screaming about her asthma. The suffocating girl was growing more and more agitated until finally a doctor ushered her in and closed the door in her mother’s face. Pablo thought about Gaspar, who was alone while they were sewing him up. And Juan? Maybe he was hiding out in one of the rooms of that big dark house, or maybe he was with the gray-haired friend who had moaned as if it hurt, did it hurt a lot? Ever since he’d seen them he’d wondered that, whether it hurt or not.
I hope I’m wrong, he thought, squeezing the towels tighter. I hope Juan is in the hospital and Gaspar is telling the truth.
Lidia came back with several pieces of news: you can go in to see Gaspar, he can leave in a while, but I’d prefer him to stay a few hours until Juan can come. If he doesn’t turn up, I’ll take him to my house. What bad luck, poor thing. He just hit his head two months ago.
Gaspar wasn’t alone. There was a doctor with him, a different one.
“Your friend is a champ!” he said. “He’s no sissy, this one! He’s going to be good as new.”
Then he led Lidia to one corner and Pablo couldn’t hear much of what he said, something about dressings and antibiotics. When they came back—Gaspar hadn’t looked at him once, just stared down at his bandage—they said if you need anything just knock on the door, we’ll come for you.
As soon as the doctors closed the door, Gaspar sat up in the bed and looked Pablo in the eye.
“You didn’t say anything, right?”
“About what?”
“If you said anything, I’ll kill you.”
“Say anything about what, man?!”
Gaspar lowered his voice and hunched over: he seemed like an animal.
“We had a fight; he was the one who cut me. You realized it. If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.”
Gaspar was threatening him, he was furious, he even looked like he wanted to hit Pablo. But Pablo couldn’t get angry. The revelation had left him exhausted, like he couldn’t catch his breath. He moved closer to Gaspar though his friend put out his hand in a clear “leave me alone” gesture; he ignored him and sat beside him on the bed and saw how Gaspar was trying not to look at him, his eyes instead exploring the peeling green paint on the wall, the poster that labelled the human skeleton, a taped-up sheet of paper with X-ray schedules, the many glass bottles and syringes. Pablo touched Gaspar’s hand and Gaspar let him, and he also let him put an arm around his shoulders, but he wouldn’t accept more consolation. You going to tell me what happened? Pablo asked in a low voice, and Gaspar nodded, looking at his friend with dry eyes when he said: But I can’t right now. That’s okay, Pablo told him.
“Thank you,” said Gaspar after a while, after taking a several deep breaths. Was he trying not to cry, or to calm himself? Pablo didn’t understand, he had no idea how someone would feel after being abused like that by their father. “Really. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there.”
“You would’ve taken a taxi.”
“Maybe. The belt was a great idea.”
He said it without smiling. Pablo thought he was never going to see Gaspar smile again.
“Otherwise you would have fallen on your face. Are you still dizzy?”
“A little.”
Lidia came back in, almost slamming the door behind her. Let’s see here, she said, and she took Gaspar’s pulse. We’re going to your house. Betty says your dad got home a while ago. Arm up, like they told you, don’t leave it hanging.
Before following Lidia out, Pablo stopped Gaspar with a hand on the shoulder of his good arm.
“Are you sure about going to your house?”
“I’m not scared of him.”
“Why not?”
“It’s between me and him. Pablo: if you say anything, I’m not going to kill you, but I’ll never speak to you again for the rest of my life.”
And with that he left the room, arm held high, the belt back in place, his pants dry now and stained with blood.
Gaspar felt a little dizzy from the car’s movement but didn’t say anything to Lidia. Pablo had left on the motorcycle. See you later, Gaspar had promised him, but he wasn’t sure there would be a later. He couldn’t explain it, but he didn’t know if he really was going to see Pablo again, if he was going to be able to leave his house. Now there was no possibility of escape. But he didn’t want to escape. He wanted to see his father.
The door was half-open. When the car stopped, Adela’s mom Betty came out of the house to meet them. Always so thin and sharp-boned. He was surprised to see her there. Betty had known his mother. What had she and his dad been talking about? She seemed a little nervous. Gaspar felt his knees go slack when he saw his father standing in the hallway, his face full of false concern. He had to lean against the wall. Lidia realized he was dizzy and led him slowly to the living room, where the sofa was. On the ground floor, that sofa and the three kitchen chairs were the only places to sit apart from the floor. Betty left and closed the door behind her. That woman is hiding something, thought Gaspar. Why am I only now realizing something so obvious? Maybe Adela is even right about her father. Parents should not exist, we should all be orphans, grow up alone, let someone teach us how to cook and bathe when we’re little and that’s that.
Lidia went over to Juan, but Gaspar couldn’t make out what she said. He saw his father pretend to listen and then say thank you—Gaspar could read his lips—and he nodded as he accepted the box of medicine, disinfectant, and gauze. His father’s hair was very clean and a little long, and he was trying to push a fine blond lock behind his ear. Lidia put a hand on his shoulder—she had to extend her arm almost completely—and Gaspar heard whatever you need, you know very well we’re here for you, and his father, such a liar, saying he had found the window broken and seen the blood and hadn’t understood until Beatriz arrived.
“I was in the clinic. It’s like a bad joke, this whole thing. When I was leaving for the hospital to find you, you all were already on your way here.”
“Whatever you need, Juan, really.”
“There won’t be a problem. The nurse will help us.”
They went on talking like that for a while. The dizziness had passed, but Gaspar was no longer interested in what they said. He felt the throbbing pain in his arm; it wasn’t very intense, they’d given him a lot of painkillers, but it burned. It was going to get worse.