Tortuga

by Rudolfo Anaya

  “Salomón will say,” she answered, studying me closely, curiously, and drawing closer and closer as if to kiss me.

  “No!” I finally screamed as loud as I could, “Get away! Get away!”

  “Shhh—” she tried to quiet me by placing her thin fingers over my mouth. “It’s okay … we know …”

  I gagged with panic, heaved and shouted again. “Get away! Get away! Don’t touch me!”

  They were swarming over me now, pulling themselves over the side of the gurney, their twisted gnome faces looming over me, whispering, giggling, poking at the cast, calling it a turtle shell, celebrating my arrival, vying for my friendship, then suddenly scattering as I shouted and cursed at them. They disappeared quickly, dropping off the gurney and scrambling away. I was still shouting when I felt Speed-o’s hand clamp over my mouth.

  “Shh—Hold it! What the hell’s the matter with you, kid? You wanna wake the dead?”

  “Freaks,” I gasped, “freaks—”

  “Oh, that group,” he said and shook his head as he lit a cigarette. “That’s Cynthia’s group … they prowl the halls at night … know everything that goes on in this hospital … but they don’t come out during the day … bad cases … but if you ask me the whole place is crawling with freaks …”

  He pulled the gurney out of the corner and pushed it down the hall. Somewhere the sun was about to set because the pale ochre light which touched the high windows which faced the patio created a haze in the dim hallway. At the end of the hall he stopped at the nurses station and rang the bell on the counter. He paced nervously back and forth, muttering “I wonder where in the hell everyone is? I’m asked to deliver a body and there’s no one waiting at the gate! This is your ward … but I wanna get back to that quickie I didn’t finish. Nooooorse! New boy!”

  “They’re gone,” someone whispered.

  “Where?” Speed-o asked.

  “Supper.”

  “And the nurse?”

  “Chasing Danny.”

  “What’d he do now?”

  “Started throwing spagetti in the dining room. Big fight. Lots of fun.”

  “For cryin’ out loud,” Speed-o groaned. “I can’t stand around and babysit this turtle man … he’s gotta get to bed and I gotta get back to my beaver … Any empty rooms around here?” he asked the kid.

  “Maybe up the hall, some—”

  “Well let’s go,” Speed-o said and pushed me hurriedly down the long, empty hallway. “We’ll find you a room, ole buddy, we’ll find you a nice and private place—”

  We went deeper into the ward until he found a room without a name tag on the door, there he turned the gurney in and swung it alongside the only bed in the otherwise empty room.

  “This will do fine,” he nodded. He grunted and pushed and managed to slide me off the gurney onto the bed. “Just fine, just fine,” he smiled and covered me with a sheet. “The nurse will be here in no time,” he smiled and smoothed back his slick hair. “I’ll see you in the funny papers, Tortuga,” he winked and went out singing

  If all little girls

  Were like bells in a tower!

  And I was the preacher

  I’d bang them each hour!

  Then the door clicked shut and I could only hear the echo of his song in the hallway.

  The room was dark and silent. Through the window I could see the top of the mountain, glowing magenta as the winter clouds lifted long enough to let the setting sun shine on its back. The gigantic mass of boulders seemed to breathe with life as the color grew a soft watermelon pink then salmon orange. The light glowed from within the mountain as Tortuga seemed to lift his head into the setting sun … he turned to look at me, another crippled turtle come to live at his feet. The rheumy eyes draped with wrinkled flaps of skin bore into my soul and touched me with their kindness. For a moment the mountain was alive. It called to me, and I lay quietly in my dark room, hypnotized by the sight. Now I knew what Filomón had meant. There was a secret in the mountain, and it was calling me, unfolding with movement and power as the dying rays of the sun infused the earth with light.

  Then a gray wash fell over the desert and the golden light was gone. The cold wind rattled the roof of the hospital. Brittle tumbleweeds rolled across the frozen waste. The fatigue of the journey settled over me and I fell into a troubled, restless sleep. In my dream I saw myself crawling across the desert like a crippled turtle. I made my way slowly towards the mountain, and when I was there I found the secret ponds and springs at the foot of the mountain. A ring of young girls danced around the water … they sang and danced like the group of first communion girls who had shared my holy communion so many years ago … when I was only a child. Then one of them, a dark-haired girl with flashing eyes, broke loose from the dance and ran towards me, calling my name as she ran. Tortuga! Oh, we’re so glad you’ve come. Come and swim in the holy waters of the mountain! Come and hear Salomón tell his stories! I recognized Ismelda, dressed in flowing white and singing a song of joy … She took my hand and together we tumbled into the warm, bubbling waters. I’ll drown! I cried, I’ll drown! No, she cried, you will not drown in the mountain’s waters. And holding me tight she taught me how to move my turtle flippers until I too could swim in the rushing water. Around me golden fish swam as effortlessly as birds float and glide in the air on a still day. See! she shouted with joy as she led me deeper and deeper into the mountain’s heart, see the blood of the mountain. I looked and saw the rivers which fed the springs, one molten and red with burning lava and the other blue with cold water … and where the two rivers met the water hissed and became a golden liquid, apricot scented. This is where the waters meet, she whispered to me as we swam towards the shore, this is the place of power. Look! I looked and there on the bank sat a small, thin boy surrounded by cripples. He smiled and waved to us. This is Salomón, Ismelda said, and you have come to hear his story. Salomón knows the magic of the mountain … he is the mountain. Listen to his story. I listened as the frail, angelic boy opened his lips to speak. Then in the deep night and in the dream there was only silence as Salomón began his story …

  Before I came here I was a hunter, but that was long ago … Still, it was in the pursuit of the hunt that I came face to face with my destiny, so I will tell my story and you will know.

  We called ourselves a tribe and we spent our time hunting and fishing along the river. For young boys that was a great adventure, so each morning I stole away from my father’s home to meet my fellow hunters by the river. My father was a farmer who planted corn on the hills along the river. He was a good man. He kept the ritual of the seasons, marked the path of the sun and the moon across the sky, and he prayed each day that the order of things not be disturbed.

  He did his duty and tried to teach me the order in the weather and the seasons, but a wild urge in my blood drove me from him. I went to join the tribe along the river. At first I went willingly, the call of the hunt was exciting, the slaughter of the animals and the smell of blood drove us deeper and deeper into the dark river until I found that I was enslaved by the tribe and I forgot the fields of my father. We hunted birds with our crude weapons and battered to death stray raccoons and rabbits. Then we cooked the meat and filled the air with the smoke of roasting meat. The tribe was pleased with me and welcomed me as a hunter. They prepared for my initiation.

  I, Salomón, tell you this so that you may know the meaning of life and death. How well I know it now, how clear the events are of the day I killed the giant river turtle. I tell you this because since that day I have been a storyteller, forced by the order of my destiny to reveal my story. So I speak to you to tell you how the killing became a horror.

  The silence of the river was heavier than usual that day. The heat stuck to our sweating skin like sticky syrup and the insects sucked our blood. Our half-naked bodies moved like shadows in the brush. Those ahead and behind me whispered from time to time, complained that we were lost, suggested that we turn back. I said nothing, it was the day
of my initiation, I could not speak. There had been a fight at camp the night before and the bad feelings still lingered. But we hunted anyway, there was nothing else to do. I was just beginning to realize that we were compelled to hunt in the dark shadows of the river. Some days the spirit for the hunt was not good, fellow hunters quarreled over small things, and still we had to start early at daybreak to begin the long day’s journey which would not bring us out of the shadows until sunset.

  In the branches above us the bird cries were sharp and frightful, and more than once the leader lifted his arm and the line froze, ready for action. The humid air was tense. Somewhere to my left I heard the river murmur as it swept south, and for the first time, the dissatisfaction which had been building within me surfaced, and I cursed the oppressive darkness and wished I was free of it. I thought of my father walking in the sunlight of his green fields, and I wished I were with him. But I could not; I owed the tribe a debt. Today I would become a full member. I would kill the first animal we encountered.

  We moved farther than usual into unknown territory. We cursed as we hacked away at the thick underbrush; behind me I heard murmurs of dissension. Some wanted to turn back, others wanted to rest on the warm sandbars of the river, still others wanted to finish the argument which had started the night before. My father had given me an amulet to wear and he had instructed me on the hunt, and this made the leader jealous. So there had been those who argued that I could wear the amulet and those who said no. In the end the jealous leader tore it from my neck and said that I would have to face my initiation alone.

  I was thinking about how poorly prepared I was and how my father had tried to help when the leader raised his arm and sounded the alarm. A friend behind me whispered that if we were in luck there would be a deer drinking at the river. No one had ever killed a deer in the memory of our tribe. We held our breath and waited, until the leader motioned and I moved forward to see. There in the middle of the narrow path lay the biggest tortoise any of us had ever seen. It was a huge monster which had crawled out of the dark river to lay its eggs in the warm sand. I felt a shiver when I saw it, and when I breathed I smelled the spoor of the sea. The taste of copper drained in my mouth and settled in my queasy stomach.

  The giant turtle lifted its huge head and looked at us with dull, glintless eyes. The tribe drew back. Only I remained facing the monster from the water. Its slimy head dripped with bright green algae. It hissed a warning, asking me to move. It had come out of the water to lay its eggs, now it had to return to the river. Wet, leathery eggs fresh from the laying clung to its webbed feet, and as it moved forward it crushed them into the sand. Its grey shell was dry, dulled by the sun, encrusted with dead parasites and green growth; it needed the water.

  Kill it, the leader cried, and at the same time the hunting horn sounded its tooooo-ouuu and echoed down the valley. Ah, its call was so sad and mournful I can hear it today as I tell my story … Listen, Tortuga, for it is now I know that at that time I could have forsaken my initiation and denounced the darkness and the insanity that urged us to the never-ending hunt. Now I remember that the words my father taught me were not in my heart. The time was not right.

  The knife, the leader called, and the knife of the tribe was passed then slipped into my hand. The huge turtle lumbered forward. I could not speak to it, and in fear I raised the knife and brought it down with all my might. Oh, I prayed to no gods then, but how I have wished that I could undo what I did … One blow severed the giant turtle’s head. One clean blow and the head rolled in the sand as the reptilian body reared back, gushing green slime as it died. The tribe cheered and pressed forward. They were as surprised as I that the kill had been so swift and clean. We had hunted smaller tortoises before and we knew that once they retreated into their shells it took hours to kill them. Then knives and spears had to be poked into the holes and the turtle had to be turned on its back so the tedious task of cutting the softer underside could begin. But now I had beheaded the giant turtle with one blow!

  There will be enough meat for the entire tribe, one of the boys cried, and he speared the reptilian head and held it aloft for everyone to see. I could only look at the dead turtle that lay quivering on the sand, its death urine and green blood staining the damp earth.

  He has passed his test, the leader shouted, he did not need the amulet of his father! We will clean the shell and it will be his shield! And he shall now be called the man who slew the turtle!

  The tribe cheered, and for a moment I bathed in my glory. The fear left me, and so did the desire to be with my father on the harsh hills where he cultivated his fields of corn. He had been wrong; I could trust the tribe and its magic. Then someone cried and we turned to see the turtle struggling toward us. It reared up, exposing the gaping hole where the head had been, then it charged, surprisingly swift for its huge size. Even without its head it headed for the river. The tribe fell back in panic.

  Kill it, the leader shouted. Kill it before it reaches the water! If it escapes into the water it will grow two heads and return to haunt us!

  I understood what he meant. If the creature reached the safety of the water it would live again, and it would become one more of the ghosts of the bush that lurked along our never-ending path. Now there was nothing I could do but stand my ground and finish the killing. I struck at it until the knife broke on its hard shell, and still the turtle rumbled toward me, pushing me back. Terror and fear made me fall on the sand and grab it with my bare hands. Grunting and gasping for breath I dug my bare feet into the sand and tried to stop its mad rush for the water. I slipped one hand into the dark, bleeding hole where the head had been and with the other I grabbed its huge foot. I struggled to turn it on its back and rob it of its strength, but I couldn’t. Its dark instinct for the water and the pull of death were stronger than my fear and desperation. I grunted and cursed it as its claws cut my arms and legs. The brush shook with our violent thrashing as we rolled down the bank towards the river. Even mortally wounded it was too strong for me. Finally, at the edge of the river, it broke free from me and plunged into the water, and trailing frothy blood and bile it disappeared into the gurgling waters.

  Covered with the turtle’s blood, I stood numb and trembling from the encounter, and as I watched it disappear into the dark waters of the river, I knew I had done a wrong. Instead of conquering my fear, I had created another shadow which would return to haunt us. I turned and looked at my companions; they trembled with fright. You have failed us, the leader whispered, and you have angered the river gods. He raised his talisman, a stick on which hung chicken feathers, dried juniper berries and the rattler of a snake we had killed in the spring, and he waved it in front of me to ward off the curse. Then they withdrew in silence and vanished into the dark brush, leaving me alone on that stygian bank.

  Oh, I wish I could tell you how lonely I felt. I cried for the turtle to return so that I could finish the kill, or return its life, but the force of my destiny was already set and that was not to be. I understand that now. That is why I tell my story. And so I left the river, free of the tribe, but unclean and smelling of death … That night the bad dreams came, and then the paralysis.…

  I awoke sobbing and gasping for breath. I reached out in the dark to touch Salomón … I called Ismelda’s name. I knew I had been there with them, listening to his sad story, sitting by the warm water which gurgled from the spring.

  My arms and legs shook uncontrollably. Searing jolts of electricity surged through my body as the water bathed my tired body. The hot energy tore through my guts, gathered in my balls and erupted out of my wet, warm tool, spewing the marrow of blood and streams of hot pee on the cold bed. Ismelda’s tongue flickered in my mouth, she smiled and sang, a song like the crescendo of water which kept slapping against me … a song burning into every dead nerve and fiber in my arms and legs.

  “I’m alive!” I shouted. “Hey! Come and see! I hurt! Oh I hurt! Come and see!”

  I opened my eyes, the room was dark, m
y cry echoed against the walls then died down, as the fire died down. I was panting and gasping for breath. The cotton lining of my cast felt moist with sweat.

  “Water!” I cried. “I’m burning up! Help me!”

  I jerked spasmodically on the wet bed. Then the newly wired nerves rested and the pain subsided, but I knew something had happened in the magic of my dream to help me tear loose from the paralysis. I felt the bedsores burning on my ass and my feet and still I felt like laughing. I squirmed and felt the ripple of a quiver run down my legs and tickle my toes. I looked, but it was too dark to see, still I was sure something had moved. I cried again.

  “Hey! Dr. Steel! Nurse! Anyone! Come and see! Get me out of here!”

  I thought I heard footsteps and listened quietly in the dark, but no one appeared. Somewhere an owl called then flew across the river towards the mountain. The storm howled again, but now in the distance, farther south. I reached and touched the cast with my trembling right hand, felt the texture of the plaster which had become my shell, touched my face which was soaked with sweat. Good, I thought, good. I closed my eyes and slept again, smiling with joy, covered with sweat and stink, but glad to be quivering with the pain of the nerves and muscles which were coming alive. By the mountain, by the side of the spring, Ismelda waited.

  3

  The daughter of the sun awoke to weave her blanket with pastel threads. Her soft, coral fingers worked swiftly to weave the bits of turquoise blue and mother of pearl into the silver sky. She had but a moment in which to weave the tapestry that covered her nakedness, because behind her the sun trumpeted, awoke roaring alive with fire and exploded into the sky, filling the desert with glorious light and scattering the mist of the river and the damp humours of the night. Dawn blushed and fled as the sun straddled the mountain, and the mountain groaned under the welcomed light. The earth trembled at the sight.

  Light pierced my dusty window and flooded the room. I opened my eyes and gave silent thanks for the new day. The night had been long and immense, full of dreams and pain, cold with the rattling of the wind. Now the shafts of light fell on my body and drove the chill away. I tested my legs and felt a tremble in my toes. I pulled with all my might and bent my arms slightly at the elbows. A strength had returned, so slight I could barely feel it, so weak it made me sweat and quiver just to test it, but it had returned, thanks to the grace of the mountain and the strength of the girl in my dreams … it had returned and I knew I could build on it. My first step towards freedom had come.