Chương 28: Vestido Mojado

The second phase of the typical reaction to hospitalization has been characterized as one of despair. Even if his physical condition is good, he does not appear to be interested in visitors and in playing. Attempts to entertain him are often rejected. -CHILDHOOD LEUKEMIA - A PAMPHLET FOR PARENTS US DEPARTMENT OF HEALTH, EDUCATION, AND WELFARE The wind whipped dust against the kitchen window in a long, shivery whisper. The candles flickered in the draft and Una felt hairs rise at the back of her neck.

She read from a prayer book and began today's portion of the novena to Saint Peregrine. Dear holy servant of God, St. Peregrine, I pray today for healing. Intercede for us! God healed you of cancer and others were healed by your prayers. Please pray for the physical healing of Robi–! A coyote cried out and Una jolted in place. It was too close to the house. She worried she'd turn around and see it peering in the window. She found her nerve, got up, and peered outside. Nothing but dust in the wind.

The spell was broken. ¡Pinches alimañas! (Stupid varmints!) Una slid a knife from the butcher block, then thought better of it. Coyotes couldn't get inside. She was more likely to stick herself, blundering around in the dark. The little monsters dared more every night. Two weeks ago, she'd called the city to complain. Nothing came of it. The next election wasn't until '81. She wondered if she'd be there to see it.

Like a tarot magician, all of Una's implements were laid out in a ring of candlelight on the kitchen table. The paint brush, her magic wand. The Bible, her sword. The rainy day jar with pennies for pentacles. Her favorite cup, a talavera mug from Zacatecas. It was full of lukewarm chamomile tea. At the center of it all was the prayer book, The Cancer Saint by Divine World Publications. None of it had helped. It was too dark to paint. There weren't enough quarters in the jar to buy a miracle.

The tea had not brought sleep. It wasn't even ten o' clock yet. There was so much night ahead and nothing to fill it. Selfishly, she wanted to call Duke Games and tell Robin to come home. She resisted. It would be better to wait until the power was up to drive. If she was anxious and lonely, it was her own problem. Why should they both suffer? The wind wailed; having a bad night as well. Una had a crazy thought to step out the back door to howl herself to scare the coyotes off.

If the neighbors didn't like it, they could stuff themselves. Of course, she did nothing of the sort. All that was left was the Bible. She set her hand on the leather cover and tried to draw strength. Nothing. With a sigh so deep her eyes closed, Una pushed the Good Book away. Wasn't that a bit blasphemous? Probably. She was so tired. She prayed and prayed, but nothing changed. Feeling guilty, she recited the novena portion again, twice, just in case she missed anything.

We are humbled by our physical limitations and ailments. We are so weak and so powerless. We are completely dependent upon God. And so, we ask that you pray for us… ¡Qué verdad! (How true!) She looked at the table, all her distractions had failed her. She was just like Robin and Hector, laying out her toys to pretend she had control. It was all for nothing. Every drop the brush laid would flake away in the sun. The coins she squirreled away would be spent. The cup would dry up.

The family bible would wind up in a thrift store or a landfill. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. In a flash of anger, Una picked up her cup. Again, she did nothing. Who was she fooling? If she threw her favorite cup across the room like a loon, guess who would have to pick up the pieces? With a wince, she rose and rinsed it in the sink. The Bible went back onto its table. The birds flew into the shoebox.

She tucked the rainy day jar back on top of the refrigerator. She sat back into her chair. There was a long, empty night ahead. Across from her in the dark was the empty chair where Hector was supposed to be. Worse than the arthritis, his absence ached every second of the day. At night, it grew acute. There was no one to make her laugh, to put a hand over hers and lie that it would all be all right. Maybe you should talk to someone. Maybe you should go f— Thoughts of Dr. Suarez made Una mad all over again.

Ninety percent chance of remission, she'd said. The numbers looked so good, until they didn't. Una got up and began to pace, never mind the pain. She needed something to do or she would go crazy. Taking a candle to the parlor closet, Una found the accordion binder and a stack of papers she needed to file. She'd been putting this off for a while because she knew it would hurt. ROBIN MARTILLO was written on the pocket tab. His whole life was inside, kept in meticulous chronological order.

His social security card and birth certificate were first. Una had insisted on keeping the originals, Lucinda could never be trusted with anything important. She thumbed past the immunization records to tickets from when Hector and Una took Robin to Disneyland during one of Lucinda's disappearances. From the Amarillo years, she had almost nothing. All of that was in the Lucinda folder, mostly court paperwork. There was just one newspaper clipping from the Amarillo Globe Times. Robin had mailed it to her himself.

The article was about the Catholic Athletic League sponsoring youth soccer in Old Jacinto. There was a picture of Robin in a jersey that was two sizes too big. He was rail-thin and smiling with his hair in his eyes. Una had cried all night about that one. Her only grandson, an emblem of poverty. He was just a child, proud to have his picture in the paper. She kept it anyway. Along with all the official bits, Una had every scrap of paper a doctor or dentist had ever given her.

Before this year, there was nothing serious. Robin was always lucky. Until he wasn't. The 1979 pocket bulged and there was more to add. All the paperwork from the first round of treatment and his release. Admissions, diagnosis, treatment plans, waivers, and legal petitions. It was almost a full time job to get Robin covered under her benefits. Piece by piece, she filed all the recent paperwork away. Everything was in order but nothing was at peace. A bright blue corner jutted from the bunch. Una fished it out.

CHILDHOOD LEUKEMIA - A PAMPHLET FOR PARENTS. Why had she kept this? A nurse had given it to her, right as this all began. The pamphlet was old and out of date, and Una could relate. It talked up Visticrine like a new marvel when it hadn't worked at all. Una closed the pamphlet and stared at the cover. It was royal blue, with a tired, cartoony style that reminded her of a ticket envelope for a Greyhound Bus. There were a dozen of those tickets in the Una file, the one she didn't dare open. It all flooded back.

All the trips to Salinas when Hector was stationed at Fort Ord a thousand miles away. The journey took all day and all night. She would sip from a thermos of coffee while the dawn broke over the Painted Desert. Past the Jackrabbit Trading Post, the air conditioning would falter, always. While the old ladies were fanning themselves her mind would race ahead. She read Hector's letters so many times she could recite them.

As the bus wove down through the mountains into the central valley her heart would race until could feel her pulse in her fingertips. It was impossible to believe she'd ever been so young, ever wanted anything so much. Now, those fingers were gnarled with arthritis. Hector was gone. Ten thousand days they'd sat together for breakfast at this table. He always had a smile for her, even after their biggest fights. He hadn't even been gone for two years. Already, she couldn't remember his face.

Every time she tried, it was just an image from a picture. She filed the pamphlet away and looped the string to close the binder. The hole never closed; it grew wider all the time. She shut her eyes tight but could not cry. The power came back on. The little speaker in the radio thumped and the station came back fuzzy as the oscillator drifted and then synchronized. Al Hurricane began to sign Vestido Mojado. The tears came before the first chorus.