Read The Wind From the East Online
Authors: Almudena Grandes
Tags: #Fiction, #Literary, #Contemporary Women
The Wind From the East (9 page)
“Alfonso was scared of him,” concluded the doctor.
“Terrified. He couldn’t stand being alone with him. It was all right if there were other people around, but when they were on their own, Alfonso would suddenly start crying, or wet his pants, which only made things worse.”
“I see,” she said simply, before scribbling a long paragraph on one of the forms from her folder. “This kind of thing can have serious consequences, but you mustn’t blame yourself. It’s very common, unfortunately, even among educated people, who you would expect to know better. Let’s talk some more about Alfonso.You’ve signed him up for the bus service, so I take it that he’s obedient and fairly independent.”
“Yes, I’m sure he’ll be perfectly OK making the journey here and back. I’ll bring him myself next week, on my way to work, and I’ll collect him on the way home, but after that I’d like him to take the bus. I’ve told the hospital where I work about the situation, and they’ve let me off night shifts for three months, until Alfonso gets used to the routine here, but it’s only a special concession until after Christmas. Anyway, I have a lot more expenses than before, so the night shifts will come in handy. I thought I’d hire someone to stay overnight when I’m not at home, and I think it’s best that Alfonso gets used to being fairly independent as soon as possible.That’s why I decided he should start today, even though it’s a Friday. Anyway, I don’t think he’ll give you too much trouble. He hates change, that’s true, he doesn’t feel secure in new surroundings, but he’s quite docile and sweet-tempered—he doesn’t often get angry or violent. He’s never harmed himself, or attacked anyone. He gets on well with people and he’s very affectionate. He can control his bladder and bowels, get himself dressed in the mornings, feed himself, brush his teeth, and do small errands. He has the mental age of a child of six or seven.”
“Which is quite a lot.”The doctor nodded.“Is there anything special I should know?”
“Yes. He loves tomato ketchup.We put it on everything for him—meat, fried fish. It’s a way of guaranteeing he’ll eat it.And he also likes to masturbate. This was what infuriated my brother Damián the most. The thing is, he’ll do it wherever and whenever he can, and it doesn’t bother him if someone else is looking. I’ve managed to convince him to go to the bathroom when my niece is at home, but that’s about as far as I’ve got.” He smiled, and the doctor smiled back.
“Does he reach orgasm?”
“Not necessarily. Sometimes he does, but sometimes he just stops halfway through. For him, it’s just a way of passing the time.”
“Right. Well, don’t worry, nobody here will be shocked. We’ve got enough recreational masturbators to make a couple of soccer teams. It’s fairly common. Anything else?”
“Yes, I . . .” Juan paused for a moment, searching for the right words. “You might find that he’s a little spoiled. I can’t really explain it properly but, after everything that’s happened, I find it hard to be strict with either him or my niece. We’ve all been through so much in the last couple of years, that I’m probably spoiling them both. The thing is, I love my brother very much.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Dr. Gutiérrez stood up, bringing the meeting to an end. “We’ll do our best for him. Well, I don’t think there’s anything else. Ah yes, I always forget.There’s something I should tell you, but we can do that en route. I’ll walk you back to the entrance.”
They left the office and headed back along the corridor with the aspidistras.
“What I wanted to tell you about is the wind,” said Dr. Gutiérrez. “We should have mentioned it to you back in July, when you came to enroll your brother, but I was on holiday at the time and my secretary only told me this morning that she had forgotten to say anything.The thing is, she was born here, and I get the feeling she doesn’t really take it seriously—she thinks I’m making too much of it. But it can be a real issue.You should be careful of the east wind because it’s still dangerous in September. Later on, in autumn and winter, it’s not so much of a problem, because, it’s very strange, the characteristics of the wind change with the temperature. Don’t ask me why. I’m from Salamanca and though I’ve lived here for over ten years and I’m married to a native, I still don’t quite understand it. The east wind can be very pleasant when the weather’s cold, because then it’s a warm, dry wind, but in spring it can have a very bad effect on people, and even more so in summer with the hot weather. People with learning difficulties often feel it much more intensely than we do, because they have less self-control. So, when the east wind is blowing, you’ll need all the patience you can muster. It’s very likely you’ll find that your brother is more irritable, more impatient, more depressed, and he may even be more violent than usual. It might seem like a lot of nonsense, but that’s how it is. For instance, what kind of mood was Alfonso in when he woke up this morning?”
“Terrible,” admitted Juan. “He said he didn’t want to come here, he was complaining and crying and calling me names; he even spilt a cup of chocolate over himself.”
“Because the east wind has been blowing since yesterday evening.”The doctor nodded emphatically.
“But, I don’t know, it all seems a little far-fetched. I don’t think it can . . .” Juan made no attempt to hide his skepticism, but neither could he complete his sentence when he looked the doctor in the eye.“Or can it?”
“Well, the courts here allow the east wind to be cited as an extenuating circumstance in cases of assault and battery, physical abuse, even murder. And there is a higher number of mentally disabled patients on the coast around Cadiz—particularly near the Straits, where the winds blow even stronger than here—than anywhere else in the country, with the exception of the Costa Brava, where there’s the
tramontane
, which is more or less the same thing.This is why you need to be on your guard. You might not feel the wind change, but Alfonso will. Remember that.”
tramontane
, which is more or less the same thing.This is why you need to be on your guard. You might not feel the wind change, but Alfonso will. Remember that.”
Her warning still echoed in Juan’s ears when he emerged into a hot, sunny morning and it accompanied him as he drove to the hospital, along a road lined with peaceful fields, a reminder that even the most serene of landscapes can conceal malevolent forces. Later, as he met his new colleagues and found his way round a new building and a new system, Juan Olmedo’s mood improved. He was sure he was going to like it here in Jerez. His old friend and new boss, Miguel Barroso, had thought of everything. He introduced him to all the staff, took him round every last corner of the department, and had even filled in all the documents Juan needed for his transfer, so that all Juan had to do was sign on the dotted line. “And I’ve collected your post,” he said, handing over an envelope bearing the letterhead of the Puerta de Hierro clinic and a postmark dated 22 August. Inside there was another smaller envelope, long, cream and with his name and old address written in purple ink, in a pointed elegant hand that Juan recognized immediately as that of the fragile and bewildered figure of Señora Ruiz.
On Saturday, 24 April 1999, Dr. Olmedo went on duty at the Orthopedics Department of the Puerta de Hierro Clinic in Madrid at eight in the evening. Just before nine o’clock, the first car-accident victim was brought in, a boy of nineteen who’d decided to jump a red light in the Plaza de España just as a jeep was heading down the Gran Vía at eighty kilometers an hour. It struck him from the side and he ended up with a broken arm, two broken ribs and a broken collarbone. In contrast, the motorcyclist who came in at eleven thirty hadn’t been wearing a helmet and there was nothing anyone could do for him. Juan Olmedo didn’t even see him, because he was dealing with an old lady who’d recently had a hip replacement and had fallen over in her bathroom. At two in the morning, a car came off the road on one of the slopes of Dehesa de la Villa and crashed into a tree.The driver, who was drunk, had confused the pedals and pressed the accelerator instead of the brake. Both he and his girlfriend arrived at the ER completely bathed in blood, but neither was seriously wounded. Dr. Olmedo treated the girlfriend’s injuries. At four thirty in the morning, as a porter was wheeling his patient to her room, Juan checked to see if anyone else was waiting to be treated, then sat down and smoked a cigarette, staring morosely at the bed ready for the next patient. He hated weekend shifts so much that from time to time he even considered changing to another branch of medicine, leaving the distressing discipline of shattered bodies for a more pleasant field; but then he’d spent too many years working in a hospital to believe that other jobs were as stress-free as they appeared.Anyway, he didn’t have time to think much during these Saturday shifts, and the night of the twenty-fourth was no exception.At twenty to five, he was informed that a young girl had been run over by a car outside a nightclub. It sounded horrific, but her injuries were only superficial. At six, he decided to lie down for a moment, and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Fifteen minutes later, a nurse woke him.
“Yes?” he said, at once fully awake.“What is it now?”
“No, no, it isn’t that . . . It’s just that your brother’s here, asking for you. It seems a member of your family has had an accident, but he wouldn’t tell me any more. He looks very upset.”
“Thanks.” Juan leapt to his feet.“Where is he?”
“At the nurses’ desk.”
Damián was circling the spot where the nurse had left him. He was quite alone in the soulless corridor with its greenish walls, hung at regular intervals with lists of instructions about what do in the event of an accident, and pictures of muscles and bones shown in full color that, in Juan’s opinion, always made them look more sinister than they did in real life. Perhaps this was why, when he saw his brother pacing round and round, trapped in that sad place, he realized that he was still capable of feeling compassion for him, as he did when they were children.This unexpected rush of empathy made him greet his brother with a kiss on the cheek instead of a simple pat on the back. He realized that he hadn’t kissed Damián since the day of their mother’s funeral, five years earlier.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.“Is it Alfonso?”
He was sure that the emergency must involve Alfonso. It was the first thing that had occurred to him when the nurse told him his brother was there to see him, and he’d repeated the thought to himself as he crossed the tiled floor that led to the corridor.Alfonso was capable of all sorts of mischief. Maybe he’d burned himself, or hurt himself jumping off a piece of furniture, or maybe he’d had a fall or even escaped from the house—it could be anything.This certainty both calmed and worried him at the same time. “It must be Alfonso,” he repeated one last time as he waited for Damián to answer. But before his brother had uttered a single word, the look in his eyes told Juan that he was mistaken.
“No.” His wary, furious expression was not that of a man who was simply alarmed.“Charo.”
“Charo?” Juan dug the nails of his right hand into the palm of his left hand, but he couldn’t control his breathing, and he could hear himself gasping as he broke out into a cold sweat.“But how?”
“That’s what I’d like to know!”The nurse who’d come to fetch Juan and was now back at her desk motioned at Damián to be quiet, a finger to her lips.
“Don’t shout, Damián,” said Juan. Suddenly he felt a furious wave of resentment towards his brother.“This is a hospital.”
“I’m sorry.” He glanced at the nurse and then went on in a whisper, gritting his teeth with the effort,“The police called a short time ago to ask if a María Rosario Fernández was related to me.They confirmed the address and so on, and then they told me that she’d just been involved in a car crash on the old Galapagar road. I told them it was impossible, that my wife had left for Navalmoral de la Mata yesterday, to see her mother.The officer said he couldn’t tell me any more for the time being. I’ve called Nicanor and asked him to go over there, to talk to them. He said he would come and pick me up, but I wanted to go with you, in case it really is her . . . if she has to go to hospital, you’ll be able to tell me what’s wrong. Shit! I don’t know . . . I’m in a real state. I don’t know what to think.”
Juan relaxed his hands and stared at the white marks his nails had left on his palm, wishing he had other, longer nails to jab into his brain. He shook his head and forced himself to think, automatically falling back on the discipline he’d acquired through many years of dealing with emergencies.
“How are things here, Pilar?”
“Pretty quiet,” answered the nurse, who had listened in silence to Damián’s story. She glanced at her watch.“I think the worst is probably over, it’s nearly six thirty. I can have a word with Dr.Villamil, if you like.”
“No, thanks, that’s OK, I’ll go myself.” Juan took hold of his brother’s arms and spoke slowly, making sure he was understood.“Did you come here by car?”
“No.”
“Good. We can go in mine. I’ll drive. Go down to the cafeteria and order two large espressos.You have one of them and wait for me there. If you think it’ll do you any good, order a brandy and drink that, but do it quickly. I’m supposed to be on duty for another hour and a half, so I’ll have to go and tell my boss that I’m leaving. I’ll get changed and I need a coffee too, because I haven’t slept. I’ll see you in about five minutes.We’d better get there as quickly as possible, because there’s always a lot of confusion at an accident, and if more than one car’s involved, they can get mixed up about the ambulances and which hospital the injured have been sent to. Do you understand me?”
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