TWELVE
Someone shakes him.
Hey! Hey!
He opens his salt-sealed eyes with difficulty and is blinded by the light. The person helps him lift his torso.
Sit up, man.
He shades his eyes with his hand and sees a muscular man crouching in front of him, dripping with sweat, barefoot, wearing only shorts.
Are you okay?
He is gripped by a fit of convulsive coughing, almost vomiting, but nothing comes out. It doesn’t last long, and as soon as it is over, he tries to get up but can’t and falls back into a sitting position. He looks to both sides, and all he sees are two strips of white sand blazing in the sun. Behind the man is a light blue sea of docile waves.
What’re you doing here? What happened to you?
What beach is this?
Siriú.
The Siriú next to Garopaba?
Is there another one?
He starts laughing and coughing.
Would you like me to call someone?
No, no, he says, pulling himself together. Help me up?
The man grabs him under his arms and sets him on his feet.
Have you seen a dog around?
No. What happened to you? Did you drink and go for a swim?
I fell in.
You look like Tom Hanks in that movie, man.
It’s stopped raining.
It’ll be back soon. It’s been raining for almost a month.
What day is it today?
Wednesday.
I mean the date.
I think it’s the fifteenth.
Of what month?
October.
The man puts his hands on his waist, glances to both sides, then stares at him with a tilted head and squinting eyes.
Man, you need help. Stay here. I’m going to call someone.
He shakes his head and makes a gesture to say it isn’t necessary. His eyes have adjusted to the sunlight, and now he can see the houses on Siriú Hill to his left, and, to his right, in the distance, Garopaba, stretching all the way to Vigia Point. His tongue is swollen and salty in his mouth, plastered with thick saliva. He feels a twinge of hot pain near his waist and groans. He lifts up his wet T-shirt and sees a white cut in the middle of a reddish oval.
Did you hurt yourself? Do you remember what happened?
More or less.
Did someone attack you?
It was nothing.
His arms are covered in scratches, and his pants are torn at his thighs. He runs his hands over his face, hair, and beard.
You haven’t got anything on your face, says the man.
What about you? What’re you doing here?
Running. I’m training for a test to be a lifeguard. It’s part of a course.
When is it?
In December. It’s best to run barefoot in the sand to get used to it.
He puts his hand on the wound on his stomach and starts to get up but falls back in a sitting position again, breathing noisily through his nose. He swallows saliva as a reflex, but his mouth is dry.
You wouldn’t happen to have any water there, would you?
Nope.
No problem. Have a good run.
The man watches him without moving.
You can go, thanks.
You sure?
Yup.
Wait here, and I’ll give you a hand on my way back. Or I can let someone know in Garopaba. Is there someone who can come and pick you up?
It’s not necessary.
Take it easy with the bottle. It’ll do you in.
The man walks backward a few steps, then turns and runs along the sand toward Siriú.
He crosses his legs and sits there awhile, feeling the sun on the top of his head. He doesn’t remember arriving at the beach but is able to recall vivid fragments of the whole previous night. It seems rather like a dream, like the Fata Morgana that Jasmim saw too. He remembers Beta, and a sudden sigh, deep and long, is born in the middle of his chest and leaves his mouth with a sticky smack of saliva. He needs to go back to look for her, but he won’t be strong enough for a few days, and deep down he doesn’t really believe that she is alive or can be found. But he’ll go anyway. Judging from the height of the sun, it must be about nine o’clock in the morning. He can almost hear the sand drying in the dunes behind him. The tide is high. He still has a white cotton sock on one foot. He has to place both hands on the ground in order to lift his hips and stand up. He starts walking very slowly toward Garopaba. His joints all hurt. He is halfway down the beach when he hears someone shout behind him. It is the same man who woke him up, running back along the sand.
I got this for you in Siriú.
He accepts the bottle of mineral water without stopping walking. He tries to twist the top off but can’t.
Here, let me.
The man takes the bottle, opens it, and returns it. He takes a series of short gulps. They walk along side by side.
Thanks.
Are you going to make it, Tom Hanks? Are you?
Yep. Especially now, with this water here to save me.
Want me to help you?
No, man, finish your run. I’ll make it. I just can’t stop.
Put your arm here.
The man offers him his shoulder for support and puts his arm around his waist. They walk together, slowly.
Stop by the health clinic when you get there. You don’t look well.
It’ll pass.
They walk together for more than half an hour. The sun has disappeared again behind thick clouds by the time they arrive at the Garopaba Beach promenade.