Tortuga by Rudolfo Anaya

dark, my cry echoed against the walls then died down, as the fire died down. I was panting and gasping for breath. The cotton lining of my cast felt moist with sweat.
    â€œWater!” I cried. “I’m burning up! Help me!”
    I jerked spasmodically on the wet bed. Then the newly wired nerves rested and the pain subsided, but I knew something had happened in the magic of my dream to help me tear loose from the paralysis. I felt the bedsores burning on my ass and my feet and still I felt like laughing. I squirmed and felt the ripple of a quiver run down my legs and tickle my toes. I looked, but it was too dark to see, still I was sure something had moved. I cried again.
    â€œHey! Dr. Steel! Nurse! Anyone! Come and see! Get me out of here!”
    I thought I heard footsteps and listened quietly in the dark, but no one appeared. Somewhere an owl called then flew across the river towards the mountain. The storm howled again, but now in the distance, farther south. I reached and touched the cast with my trembling right hand, felt the texture of the plaster which had become my shell, touched my face which was soaked with sweat. Good, I thought, good. I closed my eyes and slept again, smiling with joy, covered with sweat and stink, but glad to be quivering with the pain of the nerves and muscles which were coming alive. By the mountain, by the side of the spring, Ismelda waited.

3
    The daughter of the sun awoke to weave her blanket with pastel threads. Her soft, coral fingers worked swiftly to weave the bits of turquoise blue and mother of pearl into the silver sky. She had but a moment in which to weave the tapestry that covered her nakedness, because behind her the sun trumpeted, awoke roaring alive with fire and exploded into the sky, filling the desert with glorious light and scattering the mist of the river and the damp humours of the night. Dawn blushed and fled as the sun straddled the mountain, and the mountain groaned under the welcomed light. The earth trembled at the sight.
    Light pierced my dusty window and flooded the room. I opened my eyes and gave silent thanks for the new day. The night had been long and immense, full of dreams and pain, cold with the rattling of the wind. Now the shafts of light fell on my body and drove the chill away. I tested my legs and felt a tremble in my toes. I pulled with all my might and bent my arms slightly at the elbows. A strength had returned, so slight I could barely feel it, so weak it made me sweat and quiver just to test it, but it had returned, thanks to the grace of the mountain and the strength of the girl in my dreams … it had returned and I knew I could build on it. My first step towards freedom had come.
    I cried out for help, but no one came. Speed-o had unloaded me in an unmarked isolation room. There was no telling when I would be found. My lips were cracked with thirst, and in my stomach a hungry worm fed and made it churn and growl. I felt my body empty itself on the bed, and the mess and the blood from the open bedsores wet the sheets and mattress. I laughed and cried at the same time, felt the old hopelessness return, then I stretched and felt the movement I was guarding so carefully and felt better. For consolation I turned to the mountain, but the sun had risen quickly and a new bank of winter clouds swept over the barren height.
    â€œDamn you!” I cursed, and the sound echoed in the bare room. “Damn all of you! Can’t you see I need help!… I need help …”
    Maybe this bare room was a room in hell and I was condemned to spend eternity here, wallowing in my filth, taunted by just the slight hope of movement, shouting for help in an empty void … I cursed again and turned my rage and the ache on the mountain.
    â€œMove!” I cursed like Danny, “Move, Tortuga! Get your fat ass off the ground and move! Trample everything! Show us you can move. Move … please move …”
    A strange thunder rumbled