Free B0040702LQ EBOK by Margaret Jull Costa;Annella McDermott Page B

patients tell
him; he merely nods, occasionally asking questions and more
questions: `Do you cough during the night?' `Have you ever
had diphtheria?' and other equally mysterious things. In the
end, he says that it's obviously some kind of allergic reaction;
he prescribes a special diet and 500 units of penicillin. As the consultation is about to end, he mentions a Swiss school for
the partially disabled where they can teach you to write with
your left hand in about six months.

    Back in the street, Espol feels the charm of his newly
acquired importance. He goes to his girlfriend's house and
tells her everything. At first, she experiences a rush of maternal solicitude; she insists on applying hot compresses to the
clenched fist and, when Espol refuses to let her, she declares
the bandage horrible and says that she will knit him a mitten
for his fist. The idea appeals to her and, forgetting about him,
she phones her mother:
    `Listen, Enric's life was just about to escape, but he caught it
in his hand. Now he has to keep his hand closed all the time so
that it doesn't escape once and for all.'
    `I see.'
    `And I was thinking that perhaps we could knit him a kind
of bag, in a pale colour, so that he doesn't have to wear the
bandage.'
    Her mother shows a discreet interest.
    `Hmm,' she says, `like the one we made for Viola when she
hurt her paw.'
    Mother and daughter are immersed in their conversation.
Feeling neglected, Espol leaves and is accompanied to the
door by a murmur of. `No, I wouldn't use plain. I'd go for rib
myself ... You knit a few stitches then decrease, knit a few,
then decrease ...'
    Walking mechanically across the invisible sands, Espol
heads for his best friend's house. He finds him and tells him
about this singular event. And his friend (why, no one will
ever know) feels jealous and tries to change the subject: `It's
nothing, forget about it. Now something really extraordinary
happened to me - about two years ago in May - one Monday
... While he talks, he is thinking what he would do to
make the most of a situation like that, and the unease he feels
gradually stops the flow of words.
    A silence falls, broken by the lightest of breezes rippling
over the dunes. The friend pretends he's bored and doesn't
even listen to his visitor who, as he's leaving, says:

    `It's my life, you see. Here, look,' and he raises his fist and
holds it at eye level. `I can feel it right now, like a cricket. If I
squeeze with my fingers, I start to feel breathless again.'
    He leaves, because he needs some fresh air. It's a big city,
and he is heading towards the east. On his way, he passes the
shop of a bookseller whom he knows slightly. The bookseller,
who is rather slow-witted, thinks long and hard ... Then, he
goes over to Espol and, with his forefinger, touches the fist.
    `Does it hurt?'
    `No.'
    The man suddenly becomes very excited. With his face
aglow, he takes Espol by the arm and says:
    `Since time began, it has always been up to the individual to
do what he thinks best, but, if I were you, I would go up onto
the roof, take off the bandage and, when the first flock of
pigeons flies by, I would open my hand.'
    When he returns to the street again, its crowded solitude
casts a shadow over his heart. He is reminded of a familiar
address by the destination on the front of a bus, and he runs to
catch it. A sister of his mother's lives in a house near Parque
del Este. She is an old lady, who likes to live surrounded by
marquetry work, by furniture inlaid with mother-of-pearl
and by walls lined with red velvet. She whiles away the hours
making wax fruit and figures of saints, which she places under
glass domes with a mahogany base.
    Espol kisses his aunt's hand and launches straight into his
story. At first, his aunt takes a very firm line. She advises him
to stop all this nonsense, to take off the bandage and unclench
his fist this instant.
    `But just the thought of it makes me feel