People start trying to separate them, first pulling at them, then with punches and kicks, but he doesn’t let go until he recognizes the voice of a woman who has been shouting at him for some time.
Look at me! she says. Let him go. Look at me!
He lets go. After a long, apparently lifeless, pause, the man starts to cough and choke on the sand and is rescued by his friends.
He sinks his fingers into her curly hair.
Dália. I can’t see you properly.
My God! Get up, come on.
What’re you doing here?
Me? I came for a fucking caipirinha! And I find you two mauling each other on the beach like animals. You need to go to the health clinic. Jesus, your forehead’s really hot. Come here.
Hang on. Just a minute.
He gets up and staggers over to the gate with everyone looking on. He goes into the driveway and kneels in front of Beta.
There, Beta girl. Everything’s okay now.
He can’t undo the knot with his fingers. A man comes over and holds out an open penknife.
This’ll help, champ.
Thanks.
That’s the dog that swims in the sea, isn’t it? And you’re the guy with the beard who swims with her. I can see you guys from my front veranda.
He cuts the collar off and pats Beta’s ribs. Dália comes over and scratches Beta’s back.
Get up, you nutcase. The police’ll be here soon. Let’s try to get to the hospital beforehand — otherwise it’ll take a while.
Soon.
You’re not thinking right.
He staggers out of the gate and over to the bar with Beta behind him. He has a coughing fit before he is able to order.
I’ll have two of those caipirinhas with bergamot leaves.
You serious?
One for me, and one for the lady here. And a bit of ice in a plastic bag, please, if it’s no trouble. Are those motherfuckers still here?
They’re over there on the other side of the street. I’ve seen you here before, haven’t I? I remember the beard.
I think so. But my beard didn’t used to be so long.
They’re going to shave it off at the hospital.
That’s okay — it’s about time it came off.
The barman hands him a plastic bag of ice cubes and starts slicing limes. Dália sits down next to him, covers his whole face with the bag of ice wrapped in a tea towel, and presses on it. When she removes the compress a minute later, blue and red lights are licking the wooden facade of the bar.
I feel a bit dizzy, Dália. I might pass out.
The barman brings the caipirinhas to the table and puts his hands on his hips.
Where are you from again? You’re not from here.
He’s Gaudério’s grandson, someone says.
• • •
The nurse handing him a glass of water is wearing a name tag that says “Natália” and her uniform reminds him of a scene from a porno movie he watched over and over on the Internet a few years back until he got sick of it. All that is missing is the hat with the red cross on it. She has blond hair, a big nose, and eyes the color of a swimming pool. With an accent from western Santa Catarina, she asks if he knows what his name is and where he is. He thinks about it. He doesn’t know. He is in the São José Regional Hospital, Natália tells him, and he was brought in by a woman called Dália, who said she was his friend and left a few hours after checking him in. The same woman phoned in that morning to give the hospital his full name and ID number. He thinks about that too. He doesn’t remember a thing, much less having spoken to Dália recently. Natália and Dália, he stammers. Dália, Natália. The nurse grins and squints at him as if assessing how lucid he is. He turns his head with difficulty on the soft pillow and sees hospital-green curtains around him, his own body wrapped in a pink blanket like the ones that used to cover the cozy sofas and armchairs in his grandmother’s living room, and pieces of the metal frames of the other beds in the room. The dog? he asks. What have they done with my dog? Natália remembers that the woman said to tell him that the dog was fine and not to worry. She’s at her mother’s place or something like that. Another nurse, very thin, with a name tag that says “Maila,” appears, and she and Natália celebrate his waking as if they have all known one another for a long time. He asks how long he has been there, and Maila smiles and says it’s been almost twenty-four hours. Natália goes off to check on another patient, and Maila goes to look for the doctor. He feels stitches and bandages on his face when he wrinkles it. His jaw and neck feel cool, a sign that his beard has been shaved off. There is a needle in the back of his right hand, hooking him up to a saline drip or something of the sort. A woman in an adjacent bed has an intermittent hacking cough. The doctor, whose shaved head makes him look like an undergraduate student, says he was transferred by ambulance from the health clinic in Garopaba the night before with hypothermia, hypoglycemia, dehydration, and bacterial pneumonia, which is being treated with intravenous antibiotics. He has a fractured nose and rib, and cuts and abrasions on his face. The doctor asks if he has had a drowning incident or inhaled a lot of water in the last few days, and he replies that yes, he took in a lot of seawater, a great amount, about four days ago. He can see that the doctor is thinking about something else much more serious. He discusses something with Maila in a low voice and hurries down the corridor.
Dália shows up the next day with Pablito. She brings the key to his apartment, his cell phone and battery charger, a slightly musty change of clothes, two books of crossword puzzles, the most recent issues of Playboy and O2 magazines, and a Tupperware pot containing slices of chocolate cake. She says she came with him in the ambulance and left only when the doctor assured her that everything was going to be fine. He wouldn’t wake up for anything, and she didn’t know what was going on and thought he was going to die. She had never felt anyone so hot with fever. Beta is in her backyard, being looked after by her mother, who said to tell him that she had already seen it all in dreams and tried to warn him, but he hadn’t wanted to listen. She stopped by his apartment that morning and found the door locked but went to find Cecina, explained the situation, and got a spare key so she could go and get his ID and some clean clothes. Cecina, who had found the door open and apartment empty, asked if he had a drug problem. Later in the afternoon, Dália picked up Pablo from school and came to São José by bus to visit him. Pablito offers to let him play his Nintendo DS a little. Can I hang on to it until I’m released? I’ll give it back in a few days. Pablito hugs his video game and shakes his head, and he says he is only joking. He asks Dália about her contractor boyfriend from Florianópolis, and she says they’re getting married in March. She is going to move to Florianópolis with her mother at the beginning of December. When the invitations are ready, I’ll send you one. Great, he says. I’ve always dreamed of standing up in the middle of a wedding and saying I object to this marriage. She holds his hand, and he squeezes hers back. Thank you, Dália. I don’t deserve any of this. Yes you do, she says.
When he wakes up the next morning, Bonobo is sitting next to his bed, talking to the nurse. Would you like to take some time off and spend a few days hanging out at a bed-and-breakfast in Rosa? Have you ever thought about being a model? Natália’s mouth is half open, and she looks both shocked and intrigued by the figure in front of her, but she turns back to her patient as soon as she sees that he has awoken. As she takes his temperature, Bonobo tells him that he tried to visit the day before, but Lockjaw broke down halfway there, and he had to have her towed to Paulo Lopes, where he left her at a garage. Today he got a lift with a girl who was going to Curitiba. You’re looking uglier than me, swimmer. I already know the name of the dickhead who did this to you. They say he’s at home, can’t walk, and his neck is black. How can a guy go and steal your dog like that? In times past I would’ve finished the job for you. I’d have ripped his balls off and thrown ’em to the sharks, but nowadays I only plant kindness and compassion. And anyway, no one else’ll ever give you a hard time in this town. Someone told Altair about the fight, and Altair told me. People are saying your attackers left you unconscious on the sand, but you got up and went after the guy. Wish I’d seen it. It’s a bummer that it happened, but I wish I’d seen it. Natália takes his temperature and writes it on a spreadsheet. Don’t you have those thermometers that you stick up the patient’s ass, Nati? He prefers that sort. Natália makes a face, excuses herself, and leaves. Man, what a babe, says Bonobo. Don’t you think? I’ve never seen anything like her. Get her number before you leave. When the effect of Natália’s presence wears off, Bonobo asks, What’s this story about you meeting your granddad? He thinks for a moment and then says that he has come to the conclusion that it was just a dream or that he was delirious with fever. Not only does he lie, but he embellishes. I went off hiking through the hills in the rain and got sick. I didn’t look after myself and came down with a fever, drinking and going out of my mind at home. Beta disappeared, and I didn’t even notice. I had hallucinations. I was pretty confused when we spoke on the phone. This whole story of my granddad is over for me now. I know I told you that before, but this time I’m serious. Bonobo places a hand on his shoulder. Everyone who comes here goes out of their mind a little in their first winter here, swimmer. It’s a rite of passage. I hope you make it through. I hope you stay. You’re my brother now. Remember that. If you need something, we’re brothers. Bonobo leans backward and looks serious again. I know I still owe you that money, but I’ll only be able to pay you back after the holidays. Money only flows here in the summer, as you know. I’ve got big plans for the bed-and-breakfast. This summer looks promising. There’s always a way. I’ve got plans to expand and diversify the products and services we offer. I want to target two kinds of customer: those who sympathize with Eastern religions; and hipsters. Two strong behavioral trends for the coming decade, thus two strong consumer trends. Spiritual materialism and ironic consumerism. Zen tourism and self-conscious metatourism. The first is right up my alley. It’ll be easy. Talks and courses in Buddhism, meditation sessions before breakfast included in the daily rates, a small shrine, a whole program of activities that feel like a game and makes guests feel that they’re fulfilling stages toward spiritual enlightenment, letting go of the material world and attaining happiness for themselves and others. A list of activities that they score points for and that lead to rewards. They’ll take home some kind of certificate. And there’s always going to be something under construction on the premises so people can volunteer to help. It’s kind of bad karma, but I’ve got bills to pay. The hipsters are a bit harder. They need to feel that they’re doing something authentic, but it can’t be truly authentic. The atmosphere needs to be retro and a little antiestablishment, but without these terms ever being mentioned. Hipster guests aren’t tourists. They’re authentic, alternative individuals consciously acting like tourists in touristy settings, which turns the spiritual poverty of silly commercial tourism into something cool with the wave of a magic wand. The good old long weekend at the beach repackaged as a fetish. We’ll offer authentic package deals with an old-fashioned flavor. I’ll have to work out how to exploit it. At any rate, I’m going to go ahead and get a gramophone and set up a thrift shop in the front foyer. I’ve worked it all out on PowerPoint. I’ll show you later. If you grow a seventies-style mustache, you can be my concierge. Whaddya think, swimmer? Interested?