Tortuga

by Rudolfo Anaya

  “Hey! Lookee!” somebody whispered.

  I looked and saw the doctor rub his hands. His eyes were wild with fever. He was done. Now he was ready for the final step. Damn the people and their fear of life. Now he would show them that the secret of life was his, he shouted. He threw the switch of his machine, the generator whined and green flashes of fire hissed across the poles. The monster jerked with life. I winced with pity, remembering how painful the rebirth of my own nerves had been. The monster’s face twisted with pain and the movie house vibrated with the terrible force of the generator as the pulses of fire went crashing into his brain.

  “He’s gonna do it—”

  “Shhhh …”

  The doctor laughed crazily and threw the switch again, and again I felt the fire flow through my nerves and spasm the muscles. The monster twitched again, his eyelids fluttered, he tugged at his straps.

  “Get up!” Mike shouted.

  “You can do it, Frankie!” Ronco added.

  “Shut up in front!” someone shouted from the back.

  “Damn kids!”

  “It’s the freaks from the hospital!”

  “Quiet! Quiet please—” the manager ran up and down the aisle like a shadow.

  On the screen the doctor walked away, broken hearted, his monster had not moved. In the dark Rosita giggled and told Buck she couldn’t reach him through his bandages.

  “I’ll sure fix that!” Buck responded, and he stood up and began to unwind his bandages. Even in the dark we could see him tossing the bandages in the aisle.

  “You crazy sonofabitch!” Mike shouted, “Take it off!”

  “All the way!” Ronco clapped his hands.

  Everyone began to clap and shout, “Take it off! Take it off!”

  “Quuuaaaaa-yet!”

  “Down in front!”

  “What’s going on down there!”

  “Damn creeps!”

  “Creeps yourselves! Can’t you see Buck’s doing it!” Ronco shouted back.

  Alone on the screen, long after his master had gone, the monster’s eyes fluttered open, he lifted his head and looked about the room, and he tore at his straps and freed himself. In the dark Buck finished tearing away the bandages, pounded his bare chest like Tarzan then jumped on Rosita. They disappeared behind a seat. Everybody cheered. Others followed Buck’s example. Braces and corsets were removed and thrown in the aisle. Crutches and wheelchairs and coats and sweaters joined the clutter. Kids crawled on the floor, groping in the dark, forming a twisting, squirming pile which became an orgy. The girls moaned and the boys kissed them frantically. Groans filled the dark corner we had moved into. On the screen, too, our hero had met his love; he gazed at the blonde woman with love-glazed eyes.

  A girl panted and moaned, “Oh my God, ooooh—”

  Even Billy was drawn into the panting, sweating pile. I heard him say, “Oh my … I can’t … no … Ohhhhh my—”

  I looked around and saw that only Danny and Cynthia and I remained outside the pile of wet, groaning bodies. Desire filled my stomach and tingled in my thighs, but I couldn’t move. I thought of Ismelda and wished she was here, wished I could hold her in my arms and dive into the pile with her, sucking, biting, ravaging her warm lips … then turned to the screen where our hero searched the misty marshes for his love. He, too, was driven by the human flesh he had inherited. He, too, braved the howling storm and the wrath of the aroused townspeople to reach his love. He, too, burned with the wet-acid of life and sought its release.

  Suddenly, I, too, was filled with the need to love. My grotesque hero on the tattered screen reached out and touched his woman. For a moment she responded. Love filled the movie house. I smelled it, wet and clinging to the pants of the frantic boys, smeared on groping fingers, confused on smacking wet lips and nipples which grew erect with caresses never felt before. Everyone was giving, everyone was receiving. The shadows moved from body to body, filling themselves with love. In the dark there were no twisted bodies, only the caresses of aching fingers which tore into the flesh to get to the soul.

  That’s what Salomón had said. That love was the only faith which gave meaning to our race across the beach. The path of the sun was the path of love. I needed to love!

  That’s it, I whispered to myself and laughed. I need to love! I need to reach out and embrace my life! Like one of Salomón’s butterflies I squirmed and struggled to crack the darkness of my chrysalis! I laughed and reached out. I felt the strength in my arms and legs and at that moment I thought I could stand and walk. I laughed and cried, come help me break this shell! Come help me beat this fear. Desire washed over me like liquid fire; my loins ached with love and my heart pounded madly in my chest.

  “Ismelda,” I whispered, “I am full of love—” I felt her body in my arms.

  “Tortuga,” Cynthia whispered, “I need your love—”

  She pressed close to me and put her arms around my neck. In the flashes of dim light her wrinkled face was soft with love. I reached out to hold her and felt the curse of her hump. For a moment my desire drained away. I remembered the night I came to the hospital and how Cynthia had met me in the dark, and for a moment her face was the face of the girl in the iron lung deep in Salomón’s ward. I cringed with fear. I turned away and on the screen our hero, too, had met his love. He reached out to hold her, and suddenly a scream formed on her lips and terror filled her eyes.

  “I know you love Ismelda,” Cynthia said to me, “but love me for now … just for now …”

  The woman screamed. It was a scream of fear and terror. We turned in time to see her strike at the monster. He cringed under her attack. I love you, he whispered hoarsely, surprised that she responded with blows.

  “Get ’er, Frankie!” someone shouted, probably Mike.

  “Yeah! Put it to her! Screw ’er!”

  Popcorn rained on the screen and hisses filled the small theatre. We were angry because she repulsed our hero’s love.

  “Eat ’er up!”

  “Give it to her!”

  “Yeah!” I shouted and cursed the stupid woman, “Give it to her!”

  “Kiss me,” Cynthia begged, clinging to me, crawling up my lap to press her twisted face against mine. “I’ve never been kissed before—”

  I looked into her eyes and swallowed the scream at my throat. I reached around her hump and drew her close to me. Somewhere beyond the clamor which filled the theatre I heard the rattle of the tambourines … and in the light which flashed across Cynthia’s face and in her eyes which held a love for me I suddenly saw the first communion girls waving at me.…

  Oh Cynthia, I cried, have you danced with the girls who held my innocence in their young hearts? Were your legs and arms once as supple as the limbs of my girls? Did you wave to me from across the river … that Sunday we took the host and felt the silence of God in our hearts … that bright spring day when they mixed the miracle of their god with the pagan rites of spring and dared to shout for all to hear, come dance with us! Oh pain of innocence! Oh pain of love … I am full of love …

  “Yes,” Cynthia whispered, “yes …”

  I tightened my embrace and the dread, which was never mine to begin with, melted away. Cynthia’s breath was warm and sweet on my face. Her skin was as soft as any woman’s flesh. My need to give my love pounded in my heart and ran hot and wet in my loins. I laughed and saw her as my woman, grown ripe from that first spring day, blossomed into a luscious fruit on the path of the sun, offering me her pure and crippled love … I ran my broken hand along her stomach and caressed her small, swelling breasts. She moaned and closed her eyes, and I drew her close.

  “My heart is full of love for you,” she whispered.

  “And I am full of love—” I answered. Her lips opened to receive mine, and I felt the flicker of her tongue push into my mouth as she opened me up to receive her love. I gasped then sucked as her saliva mixed with mine, warm and sweet and syrupy. Her small breasts, swollen with love, pressed against my chest and mad
e the fire of the kiss race into my stomach and legs. My blood throbbed with love. Her fingers caressed my face and hair.

  I reached eagerly into her, biting at the warm lips that dissolved in mine, tearing at the flesh which moaned so softly and made mine grow with power.

  In the still cottonwood air the tambourines vibrate; their soft resonance is like the swirl of butterflies filling the green spring day.

  I am full of love, I whispered, and widened my embrace, took Cynthia in, made her dissolve into my love. Somewhere Ismelda waved at me and smiled, and I turned and waved. I am full of love, I shouted, and she smiled and beat her tambourine tenderly, softly, bringing out its moaning song.

  In the suck of our kisses I heard Salomón hum a song for his cripples, and I turned and waved to him and saw the butterflies of love start their journey across the desert.

  Love sang and laughed in my throat. It tickled as we rubbed. Cynthia tightened her arms around my neck and pulled herself up on my lap, and I pulled her toward me, still clinging to the kiss, still sucking at the hot juices which mixed in our mouths, crushing each other in our mad embrace.

  “Tortuga, my brother … my lover,” she smiled, and the last brittle remnants of my shell fell crashing to the floor. Around me, in the dark groans and moans I heard other shells break and fall away. Love released us from our chains and filled us with its ache, a sweet pain whose only answer was the touch of a caress. I looked around and heard myself laughing in the dark. I laughed as hard as I could, and shouted, then turned to bury my wounded soul in sweet Cynthia’s body. I kissed hard and sucked the blood from her warm lips. She bit back and made my lips tingle with love. She laughed and moaned and twisted like a woman at the peak of love, pulled me into her web of love, shared her warm thighs with me, caressed my awakened body and pulled it into hers.

  On the screen the woman had screamed again. She beat back our hero and called for help. I cursed her and the hollywood hero who ran to help her, and I cursed the men who gathered with torches to destroy the doctor and his creation.

  There is no fear in love, I felt like shouting, like Salomón would shout.

  Look! I cried, don’t you see! And I turned and kissed Cynthia, and Ismelda and Dr. Steel and KC and Danny, Tuerto, Mudo, Mike, Ronco, Sadsack, and yes, the poor creatures who rested in the iron lungs deep in Salomón’s ward, I cradled them in my arms and cried and kissed their frozen lips and mixed my tears with theirs.

  I reached into my dream, made it appear before me, made it appear on the screen for all to see, saw myself running across the river, my chest naked and glistening in the bright sun, shouting, waving at the communion girls who waited for me with open arms. I’m coming! I shouted, I’m coming!

  I embraced them, finally, broke the web of separation, turned and embraced the monster on the screen, cursed the woman who feared him but embraced her also, kissed my grandfather’s beard and his bald head, my mother, my father, everyone I could find I kissed in anger and in joy! My love and passion flooded the desert. I was drenched in sweat.

  Cynthia trembled and pulled me down, but I couldn’t hold her. Her weight pulled us sideways, my hand slipped from around her hump and the chair tipped over. Her braces scratched my legs as we went down. I reached out and tried to brace our fall as we tumbled to the floor. And as quickly as it began it was over. Cynthia balanced herself then scrambled up and righted the chair. She helped me sit.

  “I won’t tell Ismelda that you loved me,” she whispered and slipped into the dark.

  The catcalls and cheering turned in my direction.

  “Hey! Is that Tortuga? Is Tortuga getting some?” Mike called.

  “Yeah! Tortuga’s making out!” someone answered.

  “Híjola! Tortuga’s getting some!”

  “He’s not a turtle anymore! He’s a lizard!”

  “Oh my, el Lagarto—”

  Everybody laughed and cheered three times for el Lagarto. I laughed with them. My heart was pounding and my legs and arms were trembling, but I felt great. Yeah, I thought, el Lagarto on his way home.

  Flashes of fire returned our attention to the screen. A mob of angry men armed with rifles and torches had hunted down the monster. They cursed at him and taunted him.

  I raised my fist and cursed back. “You sonsofbitches! You can’t kill our hero! He’s going to screw your women and screw all of you!”

  “Yaaaaaay!” the kids took on the cheer. “Leave our hero alone!” “You tell ’em Lagarto!”

  We hissed the angry men and cheered our hero. Popcorn, candy wrappers, a pair of panties and dixie cups full of ice splattered against the screen.

  “Down in front!” the people in the back shouted. “Shut up!”

  “Fuck all of you!” Mike shouted. “Can’t you see our hero’s in trouble!” But it was too late. The monster had been driven back in confusion. All he wanted to do was to talk to them, because he, too, was a man, but they had turned on him. For a moment he turned and looked at us, but we couldn’t help him. If we could have we would have warned him about the fear in people, but now it was too late. Hate curled on his lips and anger burned in his eyes. He had no choice but to protect himself.

  “Get ’em, Frankie! Get ’em!” we cheered when we saw him raise the club.

  “Don’t let ’em push you around, Frankie!”

  “Give it to them!”

  “Down in front!” “Quaaaaaaaaa-yet!”

  The mob pulled back, cursing the creation of the mad doctor, and setting fire to the castle. Inside the laboratory our hero turned on his creator. Full of anger and frustration he blamed the mad doctor for his torment. They clutched at each other and stumbled around the laboratory like two giant bears locked in a death dance. Outside the mob cheered as the flames licked at the castle walls. The roaring fire danced in their evil, frightened eyes.

  I shuddered and turned away. Our hero and the doctor crashed against the same machine which earlier charged the monster with life. Now it sputtered with fire and hissed as it burned them alive. A loud explosion rocked the theatre as the castle collapsed in a shower of sparks.

  In the bright light the mob cheered. We remained silent, tears wet our eyes. Someone sang a mournful,

  Poor ole Frankie

  He never got a kiss …

  Poor ole Frankie

  He don’ know what he miss …

  “That was a dumb ending,” someone whispered in the dark, but we were too tired even to throw popcorn at the screen. We felt double-crossed by the ending.

  Then Sadsack started screaming in the dark. I couldn’t tell what was happening but Mike later told me that Sadsack had tried to make it with a girl who wore leg braces and had gotten his tool caught. He screamed bloody murder until Mike and Ronco pulled him free.

  “You damn weirdo,” I heard the girl curse, “no wonder they call you Sadsack! You can’t do anything right!” Then she stalked away. Everybody was laughing and trying to find out what had happened.

  “My tool! My tool!” I heard Sadsack groan, “Oh, it’s ruined!”

  “What’s going on here? What’s the matter?” the manager cried. A crowd had formed around Sadsack, wanting to know what happened.

  “It’s okay, everything’s under control,” Mike assured the manager. “Okay, gang, let’s go home!”

  The clothes from the pile had already been reclaimed, the wheelchairs righted and crutches returned to their owners. We filed out, leaving the nervous manager scratching his head and shaking it from side to side. We were exhausted but happy.

  On the way out Buck slapped my back and said, “Damn that Rosita’s a beautiful woman … I’m goin’ marry her someday. And that Sadsack’s crazier than a bronc that ate loco weed! Whooo-wee, did you see what he tried to do?”

  We laughed. “It was crazy,” I said.

  “Fantastic!” Buck said.

  I had to agree. I looked for Cynthia, but I couldn’t see her in the crowd and when we got outside into the blinding, glaring light we heard a loud commotion
and I forgot about her.

  “Something’s up!” Buck shouted and pushed his chair forward. I followed. Right outside the theatre the jocks had surrounded Mike and Sandra. They were razzing them in a bad way.

  “Hey, the movie freaks got loose!” the ring leader laughed.

  “I didn’t know there was a circus in town,” his girlfriend added.

  “Step right this way and see the one-legged woman—” I heard him shout. I broke through the crowd in time to see Mike swing and the big jock double over.

  When his girlfriend leaned over to help him Sandra rammed her with her crutch and shouted, “Step this way and see the girl with a crutch up her ass!”

  The girl screamed and jumped up. Sandra swung her crutch again and drove it into the girl’s stomach. One of the high school boys grabbed Mike from behind and they spun on the sheet of ice. Then Ronco shouted his war cry and went crashing into them.

  “Eeeeeeee-jola! Chingasos! Blows!” He crashed his chair into the kid that held Mike, swung him around and hit him as hard as he could in the face. I heard the jock’s nose crunch and saw the blood spurt out. Mike and Ronco had powerful arms, and the jocks had underestimated that. That and the fact that on the ice the wheelchairs were steadier than sliding feet.

  A third boy jumped in, but by that time Buck had whipped out his rope. The lariat zipped through the air and when Buck jerked the noose tightened around the boy’s neck and flipped him off his feet.

  We cheered. Cries of “Fight! Fight!” filled the cold air. The Nurse, who had spent the movie time drinking coffee across the street, rushed into the pile shouting, “Stop it! Stop it!” and when she hit the ice she slid into the free-for-all and went under. “Saaaaaam-son! Help me!” she cried out.