Part 6 (2/2)
”Yes, exactly! That is exactly what is happening to me - nothing! Every day a little more of nothing is happening to me! Tell me how much longer I have to go on this way. Even something bad would be better than more of nothing!”
”Mr. Rosales?” The One With The Flat Face was standing at the door.
”These other ones, they don't know what happened to them! But I know, I know where I am, where they left me!”
”BRING THEM TO ME! WATCH HOW THEY RUN AFTER I SHOOT THE FIRST ONE!”
”Mr. Rosales, you need to be quiet,” The One With The Flat Face said. ”You woke up Mr. Cavazos, and we can hear both of you all the way to the nurses' station.”
”See, what did I tell you?” He c.o.c.ked back his head. ”They send this girl to tell me when I can talk.”
”You can talk as much as you like, Mr. Rosales, just in a quiet voice, for inside.” She raised her finger to her lips. ”Shh...”
”Now you tell me, when was the last time they sent a young girl to your house to tell you, 'Shh'?” He wiped the corner of his mouth with his cuff, then turned away and looked out the window.
Don Celestino stood up from the edge of the bed and patted his brother on the shoulder. ”We can talk more later, whenever I come back for another visit.”
”Mr. Rosales, next time you can get together outside on the patio, where you can talk as loud as you like.”
The old man wished they would just leave him already. He ignored them both and continued to stare out the window. The One Who Likes To Kiss Your Forehead was helping one of The Turtles stand up from her wheelchair and get into the front seat of a waiting car. He stayed watching until after The Turtle was buckled and the car had pulled away and another arrived in its place.
15.
The next time Don Celestino stopped by, he brought his green-and-beige tackle box and set it on the overbed table. The extending tray held four shears, a pair of combs, and his straight razor. Down below, in the main section of the box, he kept his two clippers: one with a narrow blade for tr.i.m.m.i.n.g sideburns and around the ears; the other with a wider blade for tr.i.m.m.i.n.g hair in the back, either squared off or rounded, or even tapered, depending on the man's preference. Each machine came with an attachable cord for when the batteries were running low. He kept a bottle of hair tonic sealed tight inside a plastic bag to prevent any leaking onto the shears or the black cape that was folded into a square shape at the bottom of the box.
”Why do you want to cut an old man's hair?” Don Fidencio asked. ”You cut it this morning and I could be dead later this afternoon - all that work for nothing.”
”You're not going to die.”
”And if I do?”
”Then you still need a haircut,” Don Celestino said. ”You want me to do it or somebody at the funeral home?”
The old man sat back and looked at his brother in the mirror.
”If you really wanted to help me, you would get me out before I die here with all these strangers.”
”So I can be struggling with you at the house? We would have to hire somebody to come help you, and then if you got sick on me in the middle of the night? No, you're better off staying here.”
”It sounds like the one who would be better off is you.”
”You know what I mean.”
”It would be good for you to have company, someone to talk to.”
”I already have someone to talk to.”
”Who?” Don Fidencio asked.
”A friend.”
”Who?”
”Just a friend.”
”A woman friend?”
”I don't know,” Don Celestino said, ”maybe it is a woman.”
”You haven't checked?”
”This isn't so you can go telling everybody.”
”Yes, like I have so many people I could tell your news to.”
”Still.”
Don Fidencio rubbed the bill of his cap, then shook his head.
”You didn't waste no time, eh?”
”It just happened, without us planning it.”
”Does she have a name, or is this a secret, too?”
”Socorro,” he answered. ”Now are you going to let me cut your hair or not?”
Don Fidencio removed his baseball cap and waited for his brother to snap open the black cape.
”We need to find another chair,” Don Celestino said. ”The back is too high on this one for me to reach your neck.” He turned to the resident in the next bed. ”Excuse me, but can we borrow your chair?”
”TAKE IT, TAKE IT,” the old man said, flinging his hand in the air. He had a couple of pillows tucked beneath him and was tilted toward the opposite wall. ”IF I NEED TO GO SOMEPLACE, I CAN TELL THEM TO BRING ONE OF MY HORSES.”
But when Don Celestino pushed the wheelchair to the other side of the room, he found his brother motioning back and forth with his index finger like a tiny winds.h.i.+eld wiper on its lowest setting.
”No, what?”
”No to that chair.”
”Just for me to cut your hair, Fidencio.”
”For nothing. Not for a haircut, not so you can clean the wax out of my ears,” he said calmly enough and put his cap back on. ”For nothing.”
”You see what I mean about struggling with you?”
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