21
The trip, as it turned out, was shorter than any of them had imagined. At dinnertime Don Fidencio happened to mention it to The Gringo With The Ugly Finger and The One With The Worried Face, who in turn mentioned it to The One With The Flat Face, who in turn mentioned it to The One With The Big Ones, who in turn mentioned it over the phone to Amalia, who then called her father to say she wasn’t going to let him take a trip to someplace that probably didn’t exist anymore, if it ever did. She reminded him several times, as if he might have forgotten, that she was his legal guardian now. And it didn’t matter how much he complained or who he wanted to call a son of a bitch or who he wanted to say was to blame for all this — the fact that he was being taken care of as if he were an invalid, the fact that they kept making him take so many pills, the fact that they thought he needed more assistance when he needed less, less, less, the fact that they had stolen his canes only to make it look like he did need more assistance, the fact that because of all this she was now claiming that he was too weak to be going anywhere — because he still wasn’t going anywhere. Don Fidencio tried to explain that the trip wouldn’t take so long, a couple of days at most, but she wasn’t listening. No was no. He finally slammed the phone down, then called her back two more times, but only so he could do it again.
Later he called his brother and this time went ahead and left the news on his answering machine (calling back three times because the woman on the recording kept cutting him off before he could spit out all the details). And no, there was no reason to call him back. What was there to talk about? She said it herself, he was too old to be going on trips. She left word with the people in charge of the prison. “The One Already Halfway Dead does not have permission to leave the building, not even for just a couple of days.” For nothing.
He spent the rest of that day and the next morning in his room, taking his meals in bed, and came out the next afternoon only when he needed to go outside to smoke. Four of The Turtles had gathered near the large window inside the recreation room, hoping to see the grackles that poked around in the grass. The Turtle With The Fedora knocked on the window to get his attention. When he turned, she motioned for him to move away, find someplace else for his vices, not in the one area reserved for the poor little birds. Don Fidencio stared back at The Turtle With The Fedora with the same lifeless stare he had given the grackles. Then he stood up, steadying his hunched-over body, and without using his walker shuffled over to the window. He reached into his pocket for his cigarettes, drew one out, tapped the end of it on the back of his splotchy hand, then steadily guided it to his waiting lips. It took a few clicks on the lighter before he could make his thumb hold down the tiny lever that kept the flame going. The Turtle With The Fedora looked over her shoulder and said something to The Turtles gathered around her, all of whom shook their heads in unison. She was turning back toward the window when the old man blew a cloud of smoke toward her face.
The Turtles filed out in their wheelchairs, one by one, just as Don Celestino walked through the recreation room to get to the patio. Near the corner of the back fence, one of the male grackles had hopped onto a rotting stump and was using its beak to poke around inside, as if it had found something to eat, a termite or some other insect. Two of the other grackles came to investigate, but the larger one scared them off by flapping its wings.
“They let you smoke out here?” Don Celestino asked.
His brother shrugged, then scooted over to one side of the stone bench. “And why not?”
“You need to take care of your health.”
“For what, if this is where they send you when you are ready to die?”
“Just because she said no this time doesn’t mean anything. Maybe later she could change her mind.”
“You mean when I get a little older?” Don Fidencio drew from his cigarette and cocked his head back to exhale. “No, she just wants me to stay here with all the other strangers who are waiting for their next home.” He used his chin to motion toward the ground in case there was any doubt in his brother’s mind where this next place might be.
Don Fidencio tapped his cigarette, and the ashes floated onto the patio and then off into the yard. A one-legged grackle was hopping in lopsided circles, carelessly drawing itself closer and closer to the bench, as if it sensed that the old man was preoccupied at the moment.
“What if we went somewhere else that was closer?” Don Celestino asked. “I was thinking we could drive over to Reynosa, see where you went for your first haircut, maybe the shop is still there.”
“Ya, I told you that she said no!” he said, then kicked the ashtray canister and sent it rolling into the grass. The gimpy bird hopped along until it was able to lift off and flutter to the top of the wooden fence.
“You should just go and leave me here.”
“So you can say that I left you behind?”
“No, so you won’t visit me just because you feel guilty.”
“Who said anything about feeling guilty?”
“Why else would you be coming around here?”
The one-legged grackle landed back in the grass, just beyond the ashtray canister that lay on its side. The bird pecked at something in the grass but didn’t seem to find what it was searching for. A couple of pecks later it looked at the old man, as if it were asking permission to come closer.
“Maybe if I called and explained to her about the trip,” Don Celestino said, “maybe she would listen to me.”
“You go,” he answered. “You and the girl go on the trip.”
“Fidencio.”
“I told you to go already, just leave me here.” His voice started to crack, and he had to twist around in the other direction before his brother finally got the message and stood up.
The old man turned as his brother was walking inside. The Turtle With The Fedora had come to check on the little birds. He could see her saying something to his brother and then they both looked outside toward the patio. When Don Fidencio turned the other way, the one-legged bird was standing on the next bench, gazing back at him.