4
Don Celestino heard the phone ringing in the living room and wondered who would be calling him in the middle of the night. When he glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand, the numbers looked as blurry as if he were underwater. He groped around trying to find his eyeglasses and finally had to get his face up close to the clock to see it was already 6:45 in the morning, much later than he normally woke up. Especially when he went to bed so early, as he had the night before. The phone was still ringing. He looked at the clock again. And here he had thought that by going to bed a little early he’d have that much more time in the morning. Now he had less than half an hour before he needed to be there. The bridge wasn’t so far away, but he would hardly have time to shower and shave or even take care of his hair.
He sat on the edge of the bed and used the bedpost to pull himself up. The ceiling fan was on, but he was sweating all the same. Maybe all he needed was a little orange juice in his system and he would be fine. He headed toward the kitchen, staggering a bit, until he had to lean up against the wall before he could go on. He could feel his heart beating as fully as if he were still out working in the yard. It made no sense, not after a full night of sleep. It occurred to him he should sit down, but he worried that he might not be able to stand up later. And besides, the phone was still ringing. He was almost sure it wasn’t Socorro calling him. Whoever it was would probably wait while he drank his orange juice. It wasn’t more than a few sips that he needed anyway. Two or three more rings at the most. Don Celestino had barely opened the refrigerator door when it occurred to him that she could be calling to tell him she was delayed or that something had happened to her mother, that she wouldn’t be able to come today, or that, yes, she was coming, everything was fine, she would be there at the bridge like she had every other Thursday morning, only that this time she had shown up a little early and was waiting for him, and to please come for her now, or something else, something important, something that he would only ever know if he picked up the phone before it stopped ringing.
He could hear the ringing in his head now. His chest seemed to tighten a little more with each ring. He was only two or three paces from his recliner, where he could sit to take the call. Whoever it was would wait that long. He’d never felt this way in the morning and he thought it might have to do with not eating enough the night before. It had only been a few months. How could they expect him to remember everything he was supposed to do along with checking his sugar level? The orange juice would help. Maybe he should have served himself the glass first. But right then the answering machine clicked on and the prerecorded voice announced that he wasn’t available at the moment and to please leave a message and he would be sure to call back. He was waiting for the caller to say something, waiting to see if it was her voice, when suddenly the line cut out.