Sand Dollars: III

As Alvaro walked and hummed he grew confident. “The jungle is not such a scary place,” he thought. “I will be back by first light with the fermented sand dollar juice, and my little son will live.” By this time, he planned on traveling back at night through the jungle, in order to save his son. Naturally, he would also become a hero in the village if he not only crossed the jungle twice, but once under the darkness of night. He walked and sang and had no clue that 23 Terciopelo snakes followed him in the shadows just behind.
He would have had no clue either if he did not stop for a rest. Wanting to save his energy for the trip home, he sat down to sip from his canteen and try to decide how much farther he had to go before he reached the cave. He found a suitable log, cleared it of debris, and sat in the semidarkness. He slunched down, pulled out his canteen, and looked around at the imposing jungle. And he gasped. Twenty-three Terciopelo snakes would scare any man, let alone someone sitting down with his canteen open as they slithered closer. He did not know that he only had to sing and they would become enchanted again.
Alvaro threw his canteen at one. It did nothing. He pulled out his machete and stood, his hands and eyes alert, the hair on the back of his neck standing at attention. The image of tiny Jose Paolo passed before him, with Magda cooing over his child. They moved slowly, dreamlike. Magda rubbed her hand over Jose’s head, and his black hair waved in approval -- her hair now filled the corners of the room where she stood, as it missed its regular cutting due to Jose Paolo’s birth. It was a true apparition, showing his family exactly as they were at this point. For the first time in hours, the babe did not cry. The sickness still ravaged his body, but his mother’s touch finally quieted him. Magda kissed their child and told him to pray for his papa.
The snake that struck Alvaro’s leg jerked him out of his apparition. Instinctively, he sliced it in two with a quick movement of his machete and began running. The snake wriggled in two pieces as Alvaro ran from it and the twenty-two others. “’The rumors are wrong. I have more than three steps,” he puffed to himself as he ran. It was one of the rare lucky moments in his life. He ran toward the cave, though now he was lost and didn’t know it. Through the jungle he ran, past 500 year old trees and sloths high in their limbs, past howling monkeys and unseen sleeping jaguars; he ran for his life and knew it.
After a time he found that he was climbing a steep hill; rocks poked out of the ground, like the earth’s skin was pulled back. He ran and climbed with grace over the rocks, up the steep incline. He then found himself on a level area, overlooking the jungle-plain to Lamanca, the village itself, and the limitless sea beyond. He could even see the Great Piedras River from this perch. And, looking far down to his right, toward the Great Piedras River, he saw a cave opening. He ran to it.
As he got to the cave mouth he realized it was wasn’t a cave at all. It was a black linen sheet spread out over the side of the mountain. It was round, like the cave mouth you could see from the village, yet tattered on the edges where the linen was frayed by the wind and rain. He touched the sheet. It was solid underneath. He banged on the sheet -- or on whatever was behind the sheet. It made a hollow thud. “Help!” he cried. He did not know the Old Hermit’s name, and felt it inappropriate to call him “Old Hermit,” so he continued yelling “Help!” and banging on the door. After a moment he heard a voice yelling back.
“What do you want, traveler?”
His face lit up and he replied, “I seek your help for me and my family. My son is coughing up blood. And a snake has bitten me.”
A long pause. Alvaro began to wonder if the Old Hermit heard him.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Well, I thought...I mean, you have fermented sand dollar juice and the knowledge and earthly magic of a hermit...I am a traveler in desperate need.”
Another pause. The Old Hermit was deliberating.
“I will give you refuge and do whatever I can to help. But my door does not open until after sunset.”
Alvaro looked up. The sun was straight above him. Dusk was hours away. “Kind Old Hermit, I may be dead when sunset comes.”
“And so may I, my friend, but no one can read what card fate will play next.”
“Can’t we read that the sun will make a circuit of the heavens from east to west, and the rains will come after the dry season, and the sea will rise and fall each day?”
“You are a wise traveler, friend. For that answer I ask you this: face the village and take off your shirt. Blindfold yourself with it. Yell to me when you are done. And I will come take you into my domain.” He paused. “But, if I come out and you have not followed my instructions, I will not let you in.”
Alvaro already had his shirt off by the time the Old Hermit stopped speaking. He yelled a moment later when he was ready, and heard a loud scraping noise. The Hermit grabbed him around the chest, beneath his armpits, and dragged him inside. He grunted as he worked him inside.
“Would you like me to help you and hold some of my weight?”
“No. Let me work.”
Alvaro could see the brightness of midday fall to darkness through his shirt as he moved inside the cave. He felt himself being set on the chalky, cool ground. Then, he felt an immense, blinding pain as the Old Hermit struck him on the side of the head with a plank of wood.
* * * *
He awoke to the sound of singing. His head ached. His shirt was on the ground next to him. A lantern spread soft light through this front room. Toward the back of the room the cave ceiling sloped down, and the walls came together, and another wooden door plainly led to another room. Light came from underneath the door, and the singing resonated through it. Alvaro slowly drew up his frame, both his head and his leg bit painfully, and shambled to the door.