Conquistadora - Esmeralda Santiago [101]
“Let me see him, let me hold him, please!” she cried, and Eugenio loosened his grip.
The men stood so that Leonor could peel back the hammock folds and look inside. She recoiled. Eugenio grabbed her before she collapsed, and half carried her to the chair under the breadfruit tree, where Elena and Flora tended to her. Once Ramón was transferred to the cart bed, Damita and Ana assessed and bandaged the wounds. Ramón moaned pitifully, and his voice brought Miguel from where his playmates had taken him.
“Papá! Papá, why do you cry?” He tried to scrabble up to his father, but Indio and Efraín dragged him to Inés, who carried him off, all of them crying uncontrollably.
More composed now, Leonor climbed onto the cart. Through her tears, she wiped blood and grime from Ramón’s face as Damita and Ana took care of his right leg. The splintered bone poked through the skin below the knee, and his ankle was turned at an unnatural angle. A belt tourniquet had been applied, but there was much blood. Ramón’s face was scraped, his nose raw. Tiny pebbles and gravel pocked the skin on his hands and arms. Damita gave her a clean rag to cool his forehead. Ana was stabilizing the leg between two boards secured with strips of cloth. She looked angry, but Leonor had seen that expression on field doctors and nurses working on difficult breaks. Her quick, efficient movements were devoid of emotion.
“Be gentle, please,” Leonor said.
Ana looked up quickly, then returned to her work. “I’m doing the best I can.”
Leonor pressed the cool cloth on Ramón’s forehead, and in that moment, he screamed and fainted. Damita seemed startled and looked from Ana to the leg, which was now straighter than before, fastening it to the board. Damita retrieved a vial from her apron and passed its contents under Ramón’s nose until he revived.
“We should go,” Severo said. “It’s a long way to town.” Ana squinted in the direction of the path away from the batey and her hands trembled. “It’s better if you stay, señora,” Severo suggested. “Siña Damita can tend to him.”
“I’m going,” Leonor said. No one dared contradict her. She looked defiantly at Ana, who shrank under her gaze as Severo helped her down from the cart.
“Someone … must … stay here.” Elena put her arms around Ana’s shoulders and held on to her as the cart rolled away.
Severo rode ahead, but Eugenio followed alongside, keeping an eye on his son and another on his wife, who held on to Ramón’s hand with the ferocity of someone extending a short rope to a drowning man.
Ramón’s breath was labored, and several times Leonor thought that life had left his body as his hand went limp and his eyes fluttered uncontrollably. But just as she thought he was dying, he shuddered and moaned and resumed his shallow breathing. Once, he opened his eyes fully and looked into hers. His face softened into the trusting expression of the helpless infant she had nursed at her breast.
“Aquí estoy, hijo.” He smiled and she summoned all her strength to remain calm. She held his hand and prayed. Every once in a while Damita handed Leonor a wet cloth to put to Ramón’s lips, and he sucked at it thirstily. Damita applied compresses to his forehead, and with impressive dexterity, given the pitching and bouncing of the cart in the uneven terrain, she used her fingernails to pick out every tiny stone and shard from the broken skin on Ramón’s face, arms, and hands, and cleaned around them with a rag moistened with a fragrant liquid.
The doctor and his assistant met them less than one hundred meters from the turnoff to San Bernabé. Eugenio, Leonor, and Siña Damita sat under a tree while Dr. Vieira examined Ramón. The doctor clicked his tongue and slumped his shoulders in apparent defeat as he examined the improvised splint. With every poke and prod Ramón screamed, and Leonor assumed the pain as if it were being inflicted on her own body. Eugenio helped her stand when the doctor approached.
“I’m sorry, Colonel.” Dr. Vieira spoke with a Portuguese accent whose hard consonants