Chapter 4

When Jesus regained consciousness fully, he was in an unfamiliar room, lying on a cotton bed. A cursory glance revealed that it was a hospital of sorts, filled with medical equipment. Senora Sophia was fast asleep in the only chair in the small room. She looked peaceful. He decided to examine himself before waking her. His leg was wrapped in a cast from the knee down. The horrible, seething pain had subsided into a dull aching. Memories trickled into his consciousness from the day before— or was it earlier that day? Or longer? It was hard to tell. The windowless office was illuminated by a single covered light fixture in the ceiling, a rarity in the poor village of Nueva Casa, and offered no clues to the time of day. An IV was taped onto his arm, attached to a hanging bag of clear solution. Jesus laid back and took a deep breath to collect himself. Okay, what happened?

His mind scanned through the events leading up to the accident. The water hole, the ledge, Miriam, the dam, Osito, everything came back to him in flashes, like some distant movie. It seemed impossible that it had happened to him. Jesus felt like an outsider, disconnected from his own identity.

“You’re awake,” Sophia stated. Jesus hadn’t seen her awaken. She got up from the chair and walked over to his bed, “All is well, my child. God was with us today.”

She took his hand and looked him deep in the eyes, the way only a mother can.

“How long was I out?” He asked.

“Just since last night. You lost a lot of blood. I was— we were very worried you wouldn’t … ” She trailed off, but her expression betrayed her. Jesus saw the primal fear of a maternal figure, and at once he felt a deep sense of love and belonging. He had never known his family, his real family. Sophia was the only mother he had ever known. Until now, she hadn’t felt like a true mother, just a caretaker, but from the sorrowful expression in her eyes, he knew definitively that she cared for him in the most familiar way.

With his shattered leg, he felt more whole now than ever.

“Your leg is broken badly. Both the tibia and fibula have been broken clean off. You need to rest for at least a month before you will be able to walk again,” She leaned closer, “You are a strong young man, Jesus. You will recover from this. You will play football, run, and swim just like all the others,”

Jesus had the sense that she was trying to convince herself as much as him, if not more.

“You can stay here until tomorrow. In the morning, we will take you home. For now, you need to rest,” She said, stepping away.

In the morning Osito and Enrique arrived, as promised, to bring him home. They helped him into a wheel chair and began pushing him through town. “You’ll be out of this in no time,” Enrique encouraged. Jesus wasn’t sure if he believed him, but he continued to do all he can do to suppress the suffering. When he arrived at the orphanage, Sophia had gathered everyone in the classroom for him.

They treated him like a returning hero, taking turns to congratulate and console him. Jesus had never felt so much support and adoration in his life. It was something foreign to him. If his leg hadn’t been broken, it would have been a happy moment.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Said Miriam, wrapping her arms around him. The wheelchair made it awkward, but Jesus hugged her back. He wished that he could stay forever in her warm embrace. She broke away and looked him in the eyes, her hands resting on his shoulders, “Thank you for trying to save me. It was a very brave thing to do,” He felt his face flush with blood. She pecked him on the cheek and stood up quickly. Warmth spread through his body.

“It was the least I could do. I was just trying to help,” He said humbly.

It was the least I could do? That’s the best thing you could think to say?

“Hey kid, that was a pretty ballsy thing you did. Miriam told me everything that happened,”

Andrea said with uncommon warmth. Now that he thought about it, that might have been the only positive thing he had ever heard her say, “You’re still a little shit,” She finished, not wanting to appear too soft. Jesus wondered if she had heard some version of what happened at the marketplace as well.

“When you get better, we’re going to throw you a party at Oscar’s. I already talked to him” Said Christian, “And you are going to get better. Football league is just about to start, and you’re the second best player, behind myself, of course,” Enrique shot him a glare.

“Christian’s full of it. You’re way faster than him,” Enrique said. It wasn’t true, but it was good to hear nonetheless.

“Don’t think that this will get you out of classes,” Added Senora, “Since you can’t work, I’ll be giving you extra assignments,” Jesus sighed. No rest for the wicked. “The first of which is to read this,” she said, producing a paperback novel from her bag, “And write one hundred words on each chapter,” She said. Jesus groaned. Then she finished, “In English.”

Jesus’ eyes widened, “I can barely read English! How am I supposed to write essays in it?”

“You do speak English. I’ll help you understand the book if you have any trouble.

Of course I’m going to have trouble.

He looked at the cover. “Flowers for Algernon” it read. There was a picture of a small white rat underneath the author’s name.

“Is this a book about mice?” He asked.

“If it is, it suits you,” Replied Juan.

Senora ignored him and replied, “In a way it is. But it’s really just a book about people. One very special person in particular.”

Jesus nodded. Despite the challenge of taking on an entire book in English, he was thankful for the gift.

“Alright kids, you all have jobs to get to. Rico, Carmen, and Enrique, set up the classroom. The rest of the kids are going to arrive soon, and we can’t spend all day standing around, even though we all feel for our friend,” She turned towards Jesus, “You are going to rest today. I’ll expect the first chapter to be finished by the end of tomorrow.”

Osito wheeled him off to his bed in the dormitory, helped him into it, and then brought him a hot plate of rice, chicken, and vegetables.

“Our friend Winston has asked me to send his condolences. He also said that he would try to come and visit you later this week,” Osito said casually.

“Who is that guy? He came to the bakery the other day like you said, said a couple crazy things, and then took a picture of me. I think something’s wrong with his head.”

Osito laughed, “Maybe there is. Or maybe we’re all crazy, and he’s the sane one,” He paused for a moment. “Winston is a great man. He is a very dear friend of mine. He knew your mother.”

The last comment caught Jesus off guard, “Really?” He asked, “Do you think he can tell me what she was like?”

Osito shrugged, “That’s a question for him, not me,” He said, and began to exit.

“Wait. Why is he so interested in me?”

“Again, questions for the man himself,” Osito stated simply and left.

Jesus ate his food and watched the shadows dance and frolic on the walls. He imagined them playing out some great Shakespearean tragedy. The birds bounced and flattened, casting avian forms onto the barren dorm. He was mesmerized, transfixed by the shifting patterns of light and darkness playing on the walls. All was quiet in the room. He could hear the ambient noises of the outside: The birds chirping and singing, indistinguishable voices, insects, and the rustle of leaves on the streets in the September wind. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. He heard children begin to enter the classroom nearby, their feet pitter pattering on the wooden floor and mouths chattering. Tables and chairs slid and scraped on the floor. Senora said something he could almost make out. As it all became white noise fading into the background, he could smell the sweet grainy scents of the bakery, the meat and vegetables in the kitchen, and the faint remnants of lemon-scented cleaning solution from two days prior.

The shadows told their secret story. He tried to guess what the actors were saying.

“Hold fast my child. Thy light fadeth, but in your eyes thy fire burneth with desire heated,” She said.

“Worry not, my dearest rose. I could die one thousand deaths before my solemn heart relinquish.

Doth my eyes bequest me, I am fading fast. In truth, but alive more now than ever before,” He fell, like the first leaf on an autumn day. As that leaf fell, Jesus fell into a deep, restful sleep.

A great barge floated under a perfect azure sky, not a cloud in sight, churning weightlessly through deep sapphire water, sparkling diamonds, almost a quarter of a mile wide. The barge was filled with hundreds of guests in tuxedos and cocktail dresses, the women as fine and beautiful as the men were handsome. Waiters circulated the party, passing out champagne, red wine, and whisky. Banquet tables loaded with shrimp, lobster, salmon, different kinds of cheeses and cakes, French bread, oysters, brazen lamb, honey ham, an entire roast pig, and shallots crowded the deck. Entertainers of all kinds, contortionists, fire breathers, dancers, magicians,

strongmen, dwarves, snake charmers, belly dancers, and trainers of exotic birds were to be seen, and Jesus found himself amidst this eclectic collection, surrounded by total strangers he had felt like he’d known his entire life. He was talking, singing, dancing, and drinking the afternoon away, until the sun set and the moon rose. With it rose an immense danger. The river narrowed and began to pick up speed dramatically. The gentle, smooth ride became turbulent and rough.

As they drew closer to the rapids, passengers and crew began to take notice. Soon the deck was in panic. People mobbed to and from the upper decks, staff attempting to control the crowd, but succeeding only in making the guests more frantic and wild. Jesus held onto a railing as great platters of meat tumbled off of the tables, glasses shattered on the ground, and cocktail sauce flew and splattered pristine tuxedos and silk dresses. The ship was going down. This was The Titanic. This was the end of days. This was how Jesus would die, crashing down to a waterfall on the tremendous vessel. Now, the river was only a bit wider than the barge itself, and ran like a herd of silver horses, fast as thunder, plummeting closer and closer to certain death. Crash! A huge stone through the bottom of the barge. Jesus was thrown from his feet. He struggled to get up, but the ride, so turbulent and chaotic, wouldn’t allow him to find his balance. His feet slid across the deck over shards of broken glass and a thin film of bourbon. He clutched desperately, hanging onto the railing for life. They grew closer to the huge watery cliffs. This was it, this was the end. The barge approached the drop with frightening speed. Women were clutching children and screaming. Men were diving overboard. The crew tried fruitlessly to untie the lifeboats, but there wasn’t nearly enough time. The craft began to tip over the precipice, and Jesus could see the landscape beyond, illuminating how horribly gargantuan the drop before them loomed. This was sure death. The front of the great ship fell, and its rear rose up, completely out of the water.

The vessel began to slide over the precipice, nearly vertical, and then it was lifting. It was rising, turning horizontal, lifted up on a great bridge. The ship was rising up into the sky, floating, suspended in the air. Some passengers rejoiced, some were too awestruck to respond. They were being carried, lifted up by a great bridge. Lifted up on a bridge over troubled water. Jesus was rising, rising up higher and higher into the great eternal skyward abyss.

Like a bridge over troubled water … The record player sang softly. Jesus opened his eyes. He was still in the dormitory, but music was playing, and most interestingly, the strange fedora wearing man was sitting on the foot of his bed.

“How are you feeling, champ?” He said.

“I’m … I’m fine, I guess,” Jesus said sluggishly, “Why are you here?”

“Thought I would stop by and give you my condolences since I’m still in town. Osito said it would be alright,” The mention of Osito reminded Jesus that the strange man had known his mother.

Before he could ask, Winston continued, “I brought you a little something,” He said, pointing to the record player set up on a table beside Jesus’ bed. Jesus had never heard of the records: Simon and Garfunkel, The Beatles, The Yardbirds, and Jefferson Airplane? Winston saw the confusion on his face and filled in, “I took the liberty of picking out a few records for myself. Not exactly the Banda and Merengue music you’re used to.”

“Thank you,” Jesus said, again not sure what to make of the kind stranger’s re-appearance. “Osito said that you knew my mother. Is that true?”

There was a sudden change in Winston’s eyes. He looked solemn and sober, where moments ago he was brimming with untimely youthful energy. Jesus thought that he must have struck a nerve.

“Yes, I knew her a long time ago.”

“What was she like?”

Winston considered this for a moment, “She was the kind of person who could just light up a room when she walked in. She had some kind of energy, a presence unlike anyone that I’ve ever met.

You would look at her face, and you just couldn’t help but smile.”

Thinking of this made Jesus smile, “Where is she now?”

“She’s dead. Your mother died the year you were born.”

“How did she die?”

Winston avoided the question, “Sometimes life is very unfair to us. Sometimes, the brightest flames burn the quickest, and we are left with only the lingering image of their light. She was taken from us before her time.”

“Do you know why your name is Jesus Matthew Castillo?” Winston asked.

“No,” He replied honestly, “I had never thought about it.”

“The circumstances of your birth were not … ideal. Your mother wanted to give you the best life that she could. The odds were stacked against you,” He paused and shifted on the bed, “In a way, your very name is a call to a higher power. A way of your mother invoking the good grace of God to forgive the sins of man,” Jesus nodded, not quite understanding, but knowing that what had been said carried weight.

“Then why are you here?”

“Your father once asked me to check up on you from time to time. I suppose I haven’t been as present as I’d like to be, but life can be demanding. I’m sure you can understand that.”

Winston stood up, “I need to go now. Just know that your mother would be right here with you if she could. She loved you very much. Maybe she is with you right now, if you believe in that sort of thing.”

He turned and began walking towards the door. As he was about to pass through it, he turned and said, “By the way, I forgot to introduce myself. My name’s Winston, but you can call me Scott,”

“Okay Scott. It’s nice to meet you,” Jesus replied politely.

“Likewise, young man,” He tipped his fedora and left Jesus.