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Si. Un desastre.

In that little girl voice with a giggle signifying she sees the humor in an impossible situation. Not sure who´s she´s talkng to on her cellphone. I remember a dull series of pricks in my scalp and perhaps an inhaler. Was the doctor´s name Claudia? Or was that the nurse in the emergency room? Isadora´s eyes open wide. She´s staring at me and realizes that I´m now awake.

Ya. Ya. Esta despierto. Besitos.

She hangs up and moves quickly towards me, then slows down as she reaches my bed. She takes my hand and her eyes moisten but she doesn´t cry. We seem to be a few stories up from the light coming in through the windows which show mostly sky.

Where am I?
La EMHSA. On Juan B. Justo.
When did I get here?
It´s Friday morning.
Christmas?!!
No boludo. That´s next week.
So ...
We come yesterday afternoon.

He´s maybe in his mid thirties and with fairly expensive loafers and a white coat and he breezes into the room and kisses Isadora on the cheek and turns to me and asks,

Como estas?

I tell him I´m feeling a little fuzzy and dazed and then I ask who hit me and he exchanges glances with Isa. Speaking softly and quickly he tells me I have a mild concussion from my contact with the table´s edge or the floor. The paramedic had reported it was the table but the doctor was covering all reasonable possibilities I suppose. I had fainted apparently just as the fat lady had jostled with the policeman and perhaps I had been pushed but from everyone´s evidence I had mostly just fainted. Isadora nods emphatically as the doctor explains this and tells me I have a few sticthes in my scalp and it´s inconclusive if I actually suffered a concussion but he´s playing it safe. I just want to go home. He reviews the medication he´s prescribed with Isadora and then hurries off after tapping my elbow encouragingly.

Como pagaste?

But she shushes me with a finger to her lips. We´re in a shared room with several other beds and she doesn´t want anyone else listening in. I´ll have to assume she paid with most of what´s left from the Krugerands.

Amor, voy a bajar a la farmacia al lado.

Her voice is anxious. I nod and as she reviews the prescription I stare out the window. It´s late afternoon isn´t it? No. Early evening. Silly me. With daylight saving the sun sets quite late this time of year. My vision is clearing and I see a dusky turquoise - the color of the sky blue in their flag.

Y la hora?
Casi las 21.

So she heads to the door, returns and kisses my forehead and then leaves in a soft rush. Hopefully she´ll make it in time to the drugstore. Strange, she kissed my forehead like a passionate mother. I can´t remember the echo of her steps in the hallway. The room is quite and all the beds are occupied. Most are napping - if you can call a post operative stupor napping - and one is reading a newspaper. Everyone´s older but he looks fairy vigorous. If he talked to me what would he say? Perhaps he was from Quilmes on the south side of Buenos Aires´s suburbs. A Florencio Ramirez Sokovitch say. Croatian- Italian heritage. Proud former owner of a small chain of butcher shops who is now retired here in Mardel and is about to undergo minor surgery. Kidney stones? He puts down his paper, gives me a sharp look and rolls over on his side with his back towards me, muttering something to himself.

It takes a while for Isa to return with a white paper bag with blue lettering on one side. She gets a pticher of water from the side table and removes the paper covering from the glass beside it. I stare at the gold-flecked pitcher with it´s black plastic top, straight out of the seventies, and feel comforted by this slightly anachronistic, utilitarian vessel. She fills the glass and hands me the pills. I feel protected in this room and old memories of childhood stays at Nuestra Señora del Coromoto in Maracaibo flood back. The medication starts to do battle with an increasingly strong headache. I feel nauseous and listless and Isa wipes my forehead with a damp towel. We talk in whispered tones about the robbery at the Bingo del Sol. My concentration loses focus and my gaze wanders between the darkening sky in the window and Isa´s face. I try to hold onto details of what she´s saying but I slip into and out of sleep. I hear Isa talking but it might be a dream or maybe I´m only dozing. I open my eyes and the room is dark and I don´t see her. I lower my lids and hear her voice again but am unsure where it comes from.

Sunlight. It´s morning. Isa walks through the door her shoulders hunched from fatigue and bags under her eyes. She´s spent two fucking nights here. Her loyaltly is astonishing to me. I would have headed home to get a few hours of sleep. But here she is filling the glass and handing me some more pills and telling me Doctor Esquivel will soon be here to have another look and if all´s ok we can go home. I sit up and swallow a little weakly and hope the medicaton works soon. Like most, I want a shower and my own bed. I gaze at Isa slumped in the chair. So quick to anger if she feels slighted. So ready to protect. So desperate for unconditional love. She, a little more like an angel. I, a little less.