THE LAST GAME
Fernando Trujillo
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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The last game
Copyright © 2010 Fernando Trujillo
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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THE LAST GAME
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CHAPTER ONE
The small electric saw stopped rotating when the sternum snapped. The saw´s teeth, painted red, kept spinning for a few seconds longer, before slowing down gradually until it came to a complete stop.
Alvaro put the saw down and separated the ribs. The red mass came into view, palpitating at a constant rhythm.
“It´s a very big heart.” The nurse said
“You’re not wrong there. But it has to come out.” Alvaro said in a bored voice.
He´d already done several heart transplants and this one didn´t feel anything remotely like a challenge. It was nothing more than routine procedure. The patient would get a new heart and would spend the rest of his time trying to prolong his life as much as he could. He would meekly comply with an endless amount of rules, that would require him to give up a great quantity of vices and activities that the vast majority of people consider pleasant, and would fight to cling to this awful world as long as possible.
Alvaro envied him.
“Ok, let´s do it.” He said to the team around him. “I don´t want a single . . .”
The door opened suddenly, cutting the conversation abruptly. Alvaro stared at the intruder and thought about taking his mask off to speak. He wanted to make sure that this person heard all the insults that he was about to throw his way. Nobody walked into an operating theatre during an operation.
The intruder wasn´t even wearing a surgical gown. He was wearing street clothes and had walked in here as if it were nothing more than a shop on the blocks outside the hospital.
Alvaro put the saw down on the table and approached the newcomer. His companion and the two nurses were so surprised that they hadn´t had time to react. The stranger offered Alvaro a black envelope with white edges that the surgeon grabbed out of his hand. He had a fair idea what its contents were. The messenger didn´t wait to watch Alvaro read it; he just turned and left the room without saying a word.
Without any doubt it was a court order. Somebody wanted the operation stopped. Alvaro hadn´t paid sufficient attention to the details of his patient’s personal history. He vaguely remembered that there had been two women fighting over what the right course of action should be. One had been in favor of the transplant, his wife, if his memory didn´t fail him, and the other, possibly the patient´s sister, was against it. But maybe he was confusing who was who.
In any case the medical report didn´t seem to have carried sufficient weight to guarantee that the poor individual, who wasn´t in any condition to decide his own fate, would receive a healthy, new heart. Part of the blame for that lay with Alvaro; he hadn’t offered his professional medical opinion. He’d checked the physical condition of the patient, and recommended the transplant and then forgotten about it while the two hags tore themselves apart in their fight to show who loved the patient more, and who therefore had more right to decide the outcome.
He was sure that the loser had resorted to legal means to get her way. Some foolish judge somewhere, someone who didn´t understand anything about medicine had decided to stop the operation in its tracks. The doctors would have to attend a hearing and explain the need for the operation over and over again until the judge understood what it was all about. There was no doubt that this was what the letter was all about.
Alvaro knew about a similar case a few years before. It had been an operation to amputate a leg, but the court order had arrived late and the leg was no longer attached to the body. On this occasion the patient only had his chest completely open. Things were looking up.
“What is it?” His companion asked.
Alvaro sighed dispiritedly.
“I can imagine.” He said while he scratched the envelope with his blood stained gloves. “It’s a pity it didn´t arrive a couple of hours before. We wouldn´t have had to open the patient up. He´s going to have a beautiful scar and all for nothing. That happens when . . . “
Alvaro fell silent and swallowed the rest of the sentence. The letter inside the envelope wasn´t a court order. It wasn´t even an official letter. The paper was folded twice. He opened it quickly, and was immediately surprised by what he saw. He´d never seen anything like it. It was very elegantly handwritten, in stylized words with long flourishes that gave it a certain antiquated air. A little overdone perhaps. It was written in red ink and appeared heavier on some lines than others. Alvaro couldn´t imagine a fountain pen or biro capable of doing that and no computer or typewriter had been used either. No, it was handwritten, but by whom and how remained unknown.
He was hooked before he started reading, and surprised that his latex gloves hadn´t left blood stains on the letter paper as they had on the envelope that contained it.
The words formed in his mind with surprising ease, flowing smoothly, compelling him to read on. For a second, he forgot where he was and what he had been doing only a few minutes before.
When he finished reading, Alvaro understood everything perfectly.
He threw the letter on the ground and walked to the door, taking his face mask and gloves off as he went.
“Where are you going?” The nurse asked.
“Eh! We´ve got a man with his chest opened up here on the operating table!” The other surgeon shouted at him, amazed by what was happening.
Alvaro didn´t pay any attention to either of them. He took his surgical gown off just before he got to the door, letting it drop to the floor as he left the room without saying a word. Nobody there knew what to say or do. The two nurses and the surgeon stared at each other dumbfounded.
“It must have been bad news. “ One of the nurses said bending down to pick up the letter. “Maybe a close relative had an accident?”
The doctor didn´t believe that. Alvaro had run out of the room without giving any explanation whatsoever. That wasn´t like him, he was methodical and even in the event of a serious accident he would have said something to explain his leaving. No, it wasn´t that.
“He should have given us a good excuse to leave us in the lurch like this. Damn him! Fool!” The surgeon shouted after him before turning back to the others. “W
ell, what does the letter say then?”
The nurse said nothing. But her trembling hands told the doctor that something was wrong .He lost his patience and snatched the sheet of paper from her and looked for the explanation himself.
But there was none to find. The page was blank.
* * *
Judith was depressed when she got home. She hung her coat up but didn’t see the angelic face that everybody said she had in her reflection in the hall mirror. Instead, she imagined herself as a twenty year old despite the fact that she was now thirty, and a sad looking thirty year old at that. If she´d seen her true self she would’ve given herself a slap to snap her out of her bad mood.
On the kitchen table she found a pile of letters that her helper had left there after collecting the mail. Judith went through them quickly. Just junk mail. But she stopped flicking through them when she came to a black envelope with white edges that looked different from the rest. There was nothing written on it so she concluded that it wasn´t important. She tossed it into the fireplace with the others, put two logs on top and started a fire.
The smell of burning wood relaxed her, and as the fire built she became lost in thought, the concept of time receding.
She stayed like that for a while until the sound of her favorite song, John Lennon’s Imagine, vibrated out of her mobile phone.
“Yes?” She said picking the phone up off the table.
“Took your time!” Nestor said, on the other end of the line. “I just want to talk.”
Judith cursed herself for having taken the call without checking to see who was calling.
“Not now, Nestor. I don´t feel very well.”
“Then, when? I deserve an explanation.” He said without trying to cover his anger up. “You asked for time and I think I´ve been more than reasonable. I’ve been waiting four months!”
“I know and I thank you for that. But nothing´s going to happen if you wait a while longer.”
“This has finished.” Nestor yelled. “I can do anything for you but at least give me a reason. I haven´t swallowed the excuse you gave for leaving. You were happy with me, Judith. I could tell.”
She knew it as well and relaxed for a moment as an avalanche of happy memories invaded her mind. She could see herself with Nestor six months before, lying in bed under the sheets after they´d just made love.
Judith shook her head .It was a mistake to go back over all of that again. She had to concentrate on where she was now.
“I can´t tell you again, Nestor.” She said with a lump forming in her throat. “I need a little more time.”
Nestor took a while to answer. “I can´t go on like this, Judith. I´m sorry. I´ve been waiting too long, going round in circles, without any explanation from you. I´m going crazy. You have to make your mind up. Or tell me what´s going on. If not, this has to come to an end now.”
“Don´t put any pressure on me, Nestor. I only need a little more time. I´m doing it for you. Don´t force me to choose now.”
“I can´t take anymore.” He said his voice breaking. “Let me back into your life or you´ll lose me forever.”
“Very well then.”
Judith hung up and threw the telephone against the wall, smashing it to pieces. She stayed where she was sitting on the chair staring at the flames dancing in the fireplace for a long time until her anger slowly subsided.
She began to feel tired, the tension leaving her body. She lay down on the sofa and covered herself with a blanket and the world and its problems disappeared as she began to sleep.
She woke up with a start a while later. A strange feeling of alarm, racing through her body. Maybe she´d had a nightmare? She half sat up and rubbed her eyes. It was still day, so she couldn’t have slept too long. But the fire was all but out. Only a couple of embers still burning among the ashes. The logs had been consumed. There was nothing left. But was that possible? She rubbed her eyes again, thinking she should have stayed asleep, because what she was looking at now didn´t make any sense.
Judith kneeled down next to the fireplace and took the black envelope with the white borders out that was partially buried under the ashes. It shouldn’t still be there !
She opened the envelope quickly, excitedly, and extracted a simple sheet of paper and looked at its clear handwriting. Then read the letter carefully.
When she had finished, she dropped the letter on the floor, went to her bedroom and changed clothes then left the house.
* * *
The first thing Hector did was go to the bank to find out how much he could borrow. It was a pretty disappointing sum.
It didn´t surprise him to find out how little his life was worth. He had offered everything he had of value to ask for a loan for the largest amount possible.
“If you have a guarantee we could increase the amount.” The efficient bank employee that attended him in the bank said. “Perhaps some family member could help.”
“No! “ Hector yelled. “I want the maximum that I can borrow on my own, without involving anyone else."
His house was the only thing that the bank considered valuable. And that wasn´t worth that much either. The sad apartment in which he lived was barely forty square meters and was his thanks to an inheritance. That was all he´d managed to put together in forty-three years.
He took the relevant documentation to the bank and spent a week at home, waiting. He went out twice, once to buy some food, and on the other occasion to go to the doctor. His psychiatrist always asked him the same old questions. Hector answered them with his mind on something else, then went to the pharmacy with the prescriptions and bought tranquillizers and anti-depressants.
He got the loan in the end, ten days after delivering the documentation and formalizing the application. Hector transferred the whole amount to another bank account in a different bank and only left one euro in his account.
“It´s a big sum of money.” The cashier said raising her eyebrows. “The commission for this will be very high.”
“It doesn´t matter.” Hector replied.
Then he went to the other bank and asked if he could withdraw all the money in cash. Again eyebrows were raised. The teller asked him to wait while he spoke to another bank employee. Hector imagined he was speaking to the manager.
“The money will be ready in three days.” The cashier informed him.
Hector went home and waited patiently. Three days later he returned to the bank, dressed in the same clothes, and withdrew the money. It was all very simple. He had imagined that many papers would have had to be signed and that he would have had to answer questions. But that hadn´t happened. They gave him the money and asked him to count it.
“That’s not necessary. I trust you.” Hector said.
He signed the payment receipt and left the bank with the money in an orange backpack that looked like it belonged to a schoolboy.
He took a taxi that took him to his destination in twenty minutes, paid the taxi driver, and then sat down in front of the stairs to an office building, holding the backpack against his chest with both arms. On two occasions passers-by dropped coins on the footpath in front of him. But Hector didn´t bother to pick them up.
He stayed there for two hours until he saw his objective on the other side of the street. A very thin, blond woman, accompanied by a little boy with a limp. The boy appeared to be around ten years old and had a prosthesis that had replaced his right leg.
Hector stood up as soon as he saw them and crossed the street without looking. A car jammed its brakes on to avoid hitting him.
“Your mother was a slut!“ The driver yelled out the window. “Watch where you´re going, madman.”
The blond woman turned around attracted by the ruckus and saw Hector walking towards her.
“Don´t be afraid.” He said, trying to sound relaxed. “I´ve only come here to give you this.” He said, offering her the backpack.
The woman looked at it strangely. An indescribable mix of emotions drawn on
her face. Hector was worried that she was going to run off. Maybe she would have, if her son hadn´t been with her.
“Who is this man, mummy?” The boy asked. “He´s very dirty and his clothes are torn.”
The mother didn´t answer. She was frozen with fear and anger, doing her best not to show it. But Hector could see through that.
“I could only put this amount together. That´s all I have in this bag.” He said seriously. “I couldn´t get anymore. There´s around seventy-two thousand Euros here.” He said pushing the backpack towards her.
The woman didn´t move.
“I don´t know why you´re doing this.” She managed to say with difficulty.
“It´s the right thing to do. Even if it´s only for your son you´ve got to accept it.” He left it on the ground and stepped back. The boy limped over to his mother and bent down to pick up the backpack. Hector looked at his false leg and added. “I wish I could have done more.”
He walked off without saying another word, returned to his house and waited. Two days later he received the letter. He found it in the morning when he woke up, on the floor, as if someone had slipped it under the door. It was a black envelope with white edges. Hector read it, then left the house.
He didn´t bother to close the door.
* * *
Dante´s neck was always covered by an impeccable shirt and a tie with a perfect Windsor knot. That was why it was so surprising to see him enter his office with the button of his shirt undone and the tie loose, without its usual pin, bouncing against his chest as he walked.
Dante took a thirteen page financial report out of a drawer and put it in an empty folder and left his office. He went down the corridor to the meeting unaware of the looks that his employees were giving him.
The Last Game Page 1
