Sand Dollars: IV

He opened it, and it creaked.  Bright light flooded out.  Squinting, Alvaro saw the Old Hermit prancing about as if a wild dog were chasing him, and singing in a beautiful old voice, the kind that scratches like sandpaper as it rubs the air.  Throughout the whole room, sand dollar sculptures stood near the walls, decorated sand dollars hung on the walls, and in the middle of the room, on the sand dollar table, stood a giant sand dollar statue of the Virgin Mother herself, towering above the compact hermit.  At the far end sat a leather satchel.  A number of candles sat on a rock ledge running the circumference of the room, and the glow they gave was intense.  Further adding to the glow was the lighting of the statues and sand dollars themselves, well known to have luminescent properties.  Not knowing how to proceed, Alvaro decided thanking the Hermit would be a wise start.
    “Thank you, Kind Hermit.  Thank you for caring for me.  But why did you knock me unconscious?”
    The Hermit stared at him and didn’t reply.  Alvaro took another gulp.  He looked about the room.  He shifted his weight uneasily.  Then, uneasily shifting the subject, he asked, “How do you have so many sand dollar pieces?”
    The Old Hermit looked confused for a moment.  “Oh, these meager accoutrements?  They mostly provide light for me in the back of this dark cave.”
    “But how did you come by them?”  Alvaro looked over to the feet and legs of the Virgin.
    “Well, as any poor man comes by great wealth.  I simply stole them.” 
    “You stole them?”
    “My father was a great hermit.  He loved the solitary life.  The ascetic life.  I, however, do not.  If I tried to live in the village, I would be a fool.  Everyone would look at me as an outcast.  And I am.  But that doesn’t mean I cannot have any luxury.  So, over the years, I obtained a decent collection of sand dollar goods, both before and after the sand dollars disappeared.  At first, I stole for the thrill of it, for the beauty of the sculptures and hangings.  Now, though, I appreciate them mainly for their light.  A few small candles will light this entire room like midday with all these sand dollar articles.”
    “But these are no ordinary candles.”  Alvaro motioned with his hand toward one.
    “No,” said the Old Hermit, “they are sand dollar candles, too.  I learned after the disappearance of the sand dollars that they give off intense light if melted and mixed with regular wax.”
    “You melted down statues to make candles?”  Alvaro said incredulously.
    The Old Hermit looked down sadly.  He wriggled his hands together.  Alvaro sat staring at him, awaiting an answer.  After a few moments, the old man looked up.
    “Let’s have a look at your leg,” he said. 
    Alvaro pulled his pant leg up, revealing two small punctures on his calf.  Around them, the leg was already red and swollen.
    “Hmmm.”  The Old Hermit scratched his shaggy, white hair.  “You do not have to die.  I can help you.”
    Alvaro smiled for the first time since his child was born.  “Oh thank you, thank you, thank you.”
    “And I will take a look at your son as well.”
    “Your kindness is exceeded only by your wisdom,” Alvaro replied, a common saying of reverence to old men in the village.
    “No, my friend, it is not.”  The Old Hermit looked about uneasily.  “You see, I am a ripe 121 years of age.  My father died in his 120th year.  We hermits, despite our solitary arts and great earthly magic, cannot live forever.  I am still healthy, but I feel the creeping cold of death at night in this cave.  It starts in your toes.  They get cold at night, and soon during the day as well.  And then your hands.  Your whole body then gets the shivers in this dank cave.  You walk with blankets piled over your whole body, stooped low underneath their weight.  Eventually, your body cannot heat itself anymore.  It dies of cold in a lonely cave.”
    “Oh,” cried Alvaro.  “Is there anything I can do?”
    “Yes, there is,” replied the Old Hermit.  “I will not let you or your son die.  But then, you must give him to me.  Until his 17th birthday he will live with me, and learn everything that I know.  Then, his destiny will be his own choice.  He can live here without reliance on anyone, or in the village subject to others’ whims and desires, subject to cruel circumstance and near-sighted fate.”
    Alvaro turned pale.  “You are asking for something that I cannot give.”
    “Then, I am sorry, friend.  The Terciopelo bite will rot you from the inside before the end of the week.”
    Alvaro pictured Magda cooing over their child.  How could he tell her?  The bright room whirled about him.  His leg pulsated pain.  Their new child?  But, it was the only chance for life, for both him and the sick Jose Alguno.  He bit his lip.  In a moment he would transform his son’s life.  “Okay,” he said with resolution.  “You shall hold my child until his 17th birthday.” 
    The Hermit grabbed the pale sand dollar drink and in one smooth motion splashed some on Alvaro’s leg.  It fizzed and cooled on contact; Alvaro could feel the healing concoction saturate his wound.  Almost instantly, the leg stopped throbbing.
    “Is that all?” Alvaro asked with amazement.
    “No, my friend.  That will enable us to get back to the village.  Once I have your child I will finish the healing.”
    Alvaro nodded. 
    “Let us go.  If your child is sick I can heal him.  If he is dead I can only add to life, I cannot reinvent it.  Your leg will hold you.”  The Hermit took a satchel with him from the end of the table.
    They left the brightly lit inner cave and walked out to the dark outer room.  Crickets chirped outside.  It was night.  Jaguars lurked in the jungle.  As did more Terciopelo snakes.  Alvaro shuddered at the thought.