Daniel Galera - Blood-drenched Beard

Did you hurt yourself? Do you remember what happened?

More or less.

Did someone attack you?

It was nothing.

His arms are covered in scratches, and his pants are torn at his thighs. He runs his hands over his face, hair, and beard.

You haven’t got anything on your face, says the man.

What about you? What’re you doing here?

Running. I’m training for a test to be a lifeguard. It’s part of a course.

When is it?

In December. It’s best to run barefoot in the sand to get used to it.

He puts his hand on the wound on his stomach and starts to get up but falls back in a sitting position again, breathing noisily through his nose. He swallows saliva as a reflex, but his mouth is dry.

You wouldn’t happen to have any water there, would you?

Nope.

No problem. Have a good run.

The man watches him without moving.

You can go, thanks.

You sure?

Yup.

Wait here, and I’ll give you a hand on my way back. Or I can let someone know in Garopaba. Is there someone who can come and pick you up?

It’s not necessary.

Take it easy with the bottle. It’ll do you in.

The man walks backward a few steps, then turns and runs along the sand toward Siriú.

He crosses his legs and sits there awhile, feeling the sun on the top of his head. He doesn’t remember arriving at the beach but is able to recall vivid fragments of the whole previous night. It seems rather like a dream, like the Fata Morgana that Jasmim saw too. He remembers Beta, and a sudden sigh, deep and long, is born in the middle of his chest and leaves his mouth with a sticky smack of saliva. He needs to go back to look for her, but he won’t be strong enough for a few days, and deep down he doesn’t really believe that she is alive or can be found. But he’ll go anyway. Judging from the height of the sun, it must be about nine o’clock in the morning. He can almost hear the sand drying in the dunes behind him. The tide is high. He still has a white cotton sock on one foot. He has to place both hands on the ground in order to lift his hips and stand up. He starts walking very slowly toward Garopaba. His joints all hurt. He is halfway down the beach when he hears someone shout behind him. It is the same man who woke him up, running back along the sand.

I got this for you in Siriú.

He accepts the bottle of mineral water without stopping walking. He tries to twist the top off but can’t.

Here, let me.

The man takes the bottle, opens it, and returns it. He takes a series of short gulps. They walk along side by side.

Thanks.

Are you going to make it, Tom Hanks? Are you?

Yep. Especially now, with this water here to save me.

Want me to help you?

No, man, finish your run. I’ll make it. I just can’t stop.

Put your arm here.

The man offers him his shoulder for support and puts his arm around his waist. They walk together, slowly.

Stop by the health clinic when you get there. You don’t look well.

It’ll pass.

They walk together for more than half an hour. The sun has disappeared again behind thick clouds by the time they arrive at the Garopaba Beach promenade.

I can make it on my own from here, man.

Don’t you want to go to the health clinic?

I want to stop off at home first. I live over there, overlooking Baú Rock. See? In the ground-floor apartment. Thanks for the help, and sorry I spoiled your workout.

Forget it.

Is there a swimming test also to be a lifeguard?

Yep.

What’s your swimming like?

Pretty lousy. That’s my problem.

Stop by my place in a few days’ time, and I’ll give you some tips to help you improve. I’m a swimming instructor.

Seriously?

Seriously. Don’t forget. Lifeguards have to swim well.

Okay, you’re on. See you later, Tom Hanks!

The man leaves and starts running back toward Siriú again. He continues on his own along the small stretch that remains, eyes trained on his front door. People arriving for lunch at the restaurants on the seafront observe him from afar and take a while to look away. Some fishermen working on their beached boats stop what they are doing to watch him go past. He gives the ones who stare at him longer a quick wave of the hand and gets almost imperceptible nods of the head in return.

His legs shake on the crumbling steps up to Baú Rock. The water at the end of the bay is incredibly smooth and calm. He enters the dark corridor between the buildings and retrieves the key hidden among the plants. Beta’s absence screams in the silence of the musty living room. He opens the windows, and the light comes in. The humidity is scandalous. Droplets of water slide down the walls and the sides of appliances and into puddles on the tiled floor.

He goes into the bathroom, looks at himself in the mirror, and sees an old man. He has spent his whole life seeing his face for the first time in his reflection, but now it is different. He can see the contours of his skull behind his forehead and cheekbones. His eyes are sunken in their orbits. His skin looks burned in spite of the weeks with no sunlight. His long beard is full of sand. He doesn’t remember what he looked like before, but he knows it wasn’t like this. He understands now what his grandfather saw. A ghost, a younger version of himself. Something that shouldn’t have been there.

He takes off his wet clothes and sees his bones trying to poke through his shoulders, his prominent collarbones, and his ribs. He is covered in scratches, but nothing looks serious. The cut at his waist isn’t deep.

He goes into the kitchen and drinks water from the faucet in short gulps. Some fruit and vegetables have withered or rotted in the fridge. There is a half-full tub of caramelized condensed milk. He rams a spoon into it and devours it in seconds. He wolfs down the rest of a jar of honey with a packet of crackers that was in the cupboard. After eating, he returns to the bathroom and takes a long shower on the highest setting. His tiredness crashes over him in the warm water, and he can barely stay on his feet. He has to sit on the toilet to dry off. Then he rolls himself in every available blanket and quilt and collapses on the bed, thinking that he needs to buy more food. And a toothbrush and toothpaste. And an umbrella.

• • •

F or two days he spends more time asleep than awake and goes out only to withdraw money and buy some food at the grocery store in the village center. He knows the name, location, and function of every muscle in the human body and knows exactly which ones are hurting at any given time. They all hurt. His face hurts. But the pain is normal. The kind of pain an athlete gets used to. It is always raining when he gets out of bed, and the few boats that haven’t been brought in are always anchored in the same place. The long waves roll up to the doors of the fishing sheds, one after another. The muddy water that washes down the creeks, ditches, and dirt roads invades the green sea, forming large coffee-colored streaks across the entire murky bay.

Cecina appears on the second day holding a flowery umbrella. He invites her in, but she stays in the doorway with a concerned smile.

You’re sick, boy. I told you you were sick.

He coughs before answering.

I’m fine, Cecina.

You’re sick. You look like a dead fish. Go to the health clinic.

I will, don’t worry.

Where’s the dog?

I lost her, Cecina.

Oh dear.

I know. It’s really hard.

She lowers her voice.

Did you talk to Santina?

I did. She told me everything. Or her version, at least.

There is no other version. Now you can stop going around asking about it. That’s also why I helped you. To see if you’d get some sense into you and stop.