to be
sure about my heart. Please, Socorro, tell this young man here that I have many more years left in me. Tell him Celestino
Rosales is not going anywhere.” He held his hands out for her to come closer.
She walked to the bed and kissed him on the cheek. It was a common enough gesture, one she had repeated countless times throughout
her life, though never with anyone whose house she cleaned. And as his white whiskers brushed against her cheek, she wanted
more than anything to believe that the differences in their ages and positions were gently being swept aside.
7
S alinas was coughing on the other side of the curtain. The greenish glow of the monitors added the only bit of light to the
dark room. Don Celestino had briefly introduced himself when they’d brought the man in that afternoon. He might have spoken
more to him then, but the man’s wife stayed around until late in the evening, leaning back in a recliner and watching novelas
and talk shows. She wore at least one ring on almost every finger and a gold fifty-peso medallion that rested on her broad
chest like the hood ornament on an expensive car. Occasionally she talked back to the philandering men or the scantily dressed
women on the screen, but otherwise hardly any sound came from the other side of the retractable curtain. The few times he
had caught a glimpse of Salinas, the man had looked back in a tortured sort of way.
Sometime after midnight Don Celestino stepped off the bed to go relieve himself. He waved as he passed his neighbor’s bed,
but the man was turned away as if trying to fall asleep.
On his way back, he noticed him staring at the ceiling. “Trouble sleeping?”
“Already for a long time,” Salinas said. “Maybe when that old woman of mine comes in the morning.”
Don Celestino only nodded as he pulled along his IV unit and climbed into bed.
“And you,” Salinas asked, “are you married?”
“My wife died last year,” Don Celestino replied. “I’m alone now.”
After a moment Salinas cleared his throat. “Forgive me.”
Don Celestino fell in and out of sleep, for a time gazing out the window and later just lying there with his eyes shut. It
struck him that if he were to pass during the night, his family wouldn’t be there to even notice he was gone. This was the
same hospital where they had come when Dora had been feeling sick, and her doctor, after so many other tests, couldn’t figure
out why she had become so bloated. It had taken opening her up to find that the cancer had by then spread throughout most
of her stomach. One day he had been married more than half his life, and a few weeks later he was alone. And alone he had
stayed for the first couple of months, rarely leaving the house and refusing to go see his children when they pleaded with
him to at least come visit. A man who had never lived by himself and suddenly he was doing his own cooking and cleaning. It
was his own illness that finally drew him out some. His doctor urged him to attend the diabetes classes and take control of
the disease. For a few days he questioned if it might not be better to stay at home and ignore the new diet. With no one there
to watch after him, it wouldn’t take long before his health declined. Which might have happened had the doctor not arranged
for a nurse to come help him for the first couple of weeks, until he was comfortable with checking his sugar level and taking
the insulin. Then his neighbor recommended a young woman who could come clean the house for him.
Until their first afternoon together, he’d been afraid Socorro might see him only as the man who paid her $35 every week but
beyond this had little interest in him. It had started this way, as a curiosity more than anything. Was she, could she ever
be, interested in a man more than thirty years her senior? Not that he necessarily showed signs of his age (other than this
unfortunate visit to the hospital). The fact
sure about my heart. Please, Socorro, tell this young man here that I have many more years left in me. Tell him Celestino
Rosales is not going anywhere.” He held his hands out for her to come closer.
She walked to the bed and kissed him on the cheek. It was a common enough gesture, one she had repeated countless times throughout
her life, though never with anyone whose house she cleaned. And as his white whiskers brushed against her cheek, she wanted
more than anything to believe that the differences in their ages and positions were gently being swept aside.
7
S alinas was coughing on the other side of the curtain. The greenish glow of the monitors added the only bit of light to the
dark room. Don Celestino had briefly introduced himself when they’d brought the man in that afternoon. He might have spoken
more to him then, but the man’s wife stayed around until late in the evening, leaning back in a recliner and watching novelas
and talk shows. She wore at least one ring on almost every finger and a gold fifty-peso medallion that rested on her broad
chest like the hood ornament on an expensive car. Occasionally she talked back to the philandering men or the scantily dressed
women on the screen, but otherwise hardly any sound came from the other side of the retractable curtain. The few times he
had caught a glimpse of Salinas, the man had looked back in a tortured sort of way.
Sometime after midnight Don Celestino stepped off the bed to go relieve himself. He waved as he passed his neighbor’s bed,
but the man was turned away as if trying to fall asleep.
On his way back, he noticed him staring at the ceiling. “Trouble sleeping?”
“Already for a long time,” Salinas said. “Maybe when that old woman of mine comes in the morning.”
Don Celestino only nodded as he pulled along his IV unit and climbed into bed.
“And you,” Salinas asked, “are you married?”
“My wife died last year,” Don Celestino replied. “I’m alone now.”
After a moment Salinas cleared his throat. “Forgive me.”
Don Celestino fell in and out of sleep, for a time gazing out the window and later just lying there with his eyes shut. It
struck him that if he were to pass during the night, his family wouldn’t be there to even notice he was gone. This was the
same hospital where they had come when Dora had been feeling sick, and her doctor, after so many other tests, couldn’t figure
out why she had become so bloated. It had taken opening her up to find that the cancer had by then spread throughout most
of her stomach. One day he had been married more than half his life, and a few weeks later he was alone. And alone he had
stayed for the first couple of months, rarely leaving the house and refusing to go see his children when they pleaded with
him to at least come visit. A man who had never lived by himself and suddenly he was doing his own cooking and cleaning. It
was his own illness that finally drew him out some. His doctor urged him to attend the diabetes classes and take control of
the disease. For a few days he questioned if it might not be better to stay at home and ignore the new diet. With no one there
to watch after him, it wouldn’t take long before his health declined. Which might have happened had the doctor not arranged
for a nurse to come help him for the first couple of weeks, until he was comfortable with checking his sugar level and taking
the insulin. Then his neighbor recommended a young woman who could come clean the house for him.
Until their first afternoon together, he’d been afraid Socorro might see him only as the man who paid her $35 every week but
beyond this had little interest in him. It had started this way, as a curiosity more than anything. Was she, could she ever
be, interested in a man more than thirty years her senior? Not that he necessarily showed signs of his age (other than this
unfortunate visit to the hospital). The fact
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