“I’ll telephone,” Pinto said.
Before Cade took the sedative, he thought of what Juana had told him. He was going to have to face a financial mess when he left the hospital. He felt a qualm of uneasiness about giving her a blank cheque. He hoped she wouldn’t clean out the account, but of course she had to have money. Then he remembered he had still to pay for the watch; there was this garage business. Would he have to compensate the owner? He felt suddenly as if his safe, easy comfortable world was falling to pieces. He welcomed sleep when eventually it came.
A week slid by. Cade was kept under sedation. His head ceased to ache, he was relaxed and he could feel his strength returning. What pleased him and helped him more than anything was the daily bunch of flowers that were delivered with a card always bearing the same message: My love, Juana, written in a small, untidy hand and the first time Cade had seen Juana’s handwriting.
On the eighth day, Cade asked Pinto if he could see Juana.
The doctor shook his head.
“Not yet. People bring trouble. You’re in no state for trouble. I’m not saying your wife would upset you, but she must have her own personal problems. That is only natural. So if you want to get well quickly, be patient. In another week, the fracture will be healed. You’ll be surprised how quickly you’ll be up and about once it is healed. But get a setback now, and you could be here for another month or more. So no visitors for another week.”
“Tell her, please.”
Dr. Pinto looked at him and then away.
“I’ll tell her,” he said.
At the end of the second week, Cade was sitting in an armchair by the open window. He was feeling pretty good, a little weak still, but he hadn’t had a headache for three days and he was determined to see Juana without further delay. He told Dr. Pinto so when he came in for his daily visit.
“Yes,” Pinto said, his face expressionless. “I think you are out of danger now. All right, I’ll telephone. How about tomorrow afternoon?”
“This afternoon,” Cade said firmly. “I’ve waited long enough. I can’t imagine why there is no telephone in this room. What kind of hospital are you running?”
Pinto shrugged.
“This is where we treat head injuries, Senor Cade. People with bad head injuries don’t need a telephone.”
“How much longer am I staying here?”
“Another week. I’ll need to see you from to time just to be sure you’re going along all right.”
“All this cost money,” Cade said, frowning. “I’m feeling fine now. Frankly, doctor, I have to get back to work.”
“You will in another week.”
Cade picked up the pile of cards and flicked through them: each bearing Juana’s simple message. There were fifteen of them. A new one with a bunch of carnations had arrived that morning.
“My wife’s got to stop this,” he said with a sudden grin. “We can’t afford it.”
Dr. Pinto looked down at his finger nails, hesitated, then said, “I have to get along. I’ll see you tomorrow,” and he left the room.
Cade stared after him, suddenly a little uneasy. What was the matter with the man this morning? he wondered.
Visiting hours at the hospital began at 15.00 hours. Cade sat by the open window, waiting impatiently, his eyes continually going to his watch. During that waiting period, he thought of Juana. He thought of their first meeting on the hot sands of Acapulco, their first love-making, his proposal at the foot of the Pyramid of the Moon, the wedding and the house. He drew in a deep breath. With her he had found the one great thing that had been missing in his life: love and the security of a background. In a few minutes, she would walk in, and they would be together. With her, he wasn’t scared of the future nor of his debts. He could always earn money. They would have to go slow at first, but that didn’t matter. What did matter was they would be together again.
A tap sounded on the door.
“Come on in, sweetheart,” Cade called, his face flushing with excitement.
The door opened and Adolfo Creel came in. He looked a little more seedy. There were fresh food stains on his light suit. His fat face had a fine film of sweat on it. As he moved into the room, he didn’t look at Cade. He closed the door and stood hesitating, a soiled handkerchief screwed up in his sweating hand.
“Why, hello, Adolfo, I wasn’t expecting you,” Cade said, staring at him. “What are you doing here?”
Creel looked at him. His black eyes were sad and moist. He didn’t say anything.
“I am expecting Juana, Adolfo,” Cade said a little impatiently. “Could you come back tomorrow?”
“She won’t be coming, Senor Cade,” Creel said.
Cade stared at him. A chill began to grow around his heart.
“Is she ill?”
Creel shook his head.
“Well, what is it?” Cade demanded. “Don’t stand there like a goddamn dummy! Why isn’t she coming?”
“She is not here.”
“Of course she is! I had her flowers this morning!”
Creel stared down at his dusty shoes. He didn’t say anything.
“If she’s not here... then where is she?”
“She’s in Spain, senor.”
“Have you gone mad?” Cade’s voice rose. “Spain? What is she doing in Spain?”
Creel licked his lips.
“The bull fighting season in Madrid has begun.”
Cade tried to keep calm. He felt a nerve jumping by his temple. His body was cold and damp with sweat.
“What has bull fighting to do with Juana? Will you please tell me what you are hinting at? Has Juana left me?”
Creel nodded dumbly.
Cade picked up the fifteen cards and shook them at Creel. They flew out of his hand and scattered on the floor.
“You’re lying! You’ve gone crazy! Only this morning she sent me flowers, damn you!”
“I sent them, senor. I am very sorry to have deceived you, but the doctor said you weren’t ready to hear such had news.”
“You sent them?”
“Yes, senor. I wanted you to get well quickly. That is my writing on the cards. I thought it was unlikely you would know Senora Cade’s handwriting. I took a chance.”
“But there are fifteen of them,” Cade said, his voice beginning to shake. “How long has she been gone?”
“She went the day after her first visit to you, senor.”
Creel shut his eyes. She had come only for his money, he thought. He began to shake.
“Well, go on. There’s more, isn’t there? Who is she with in Spain?” He knew without asking. It had suddenly become clear and horrible: like a nightmare that had materialised into three dimensions.
“Pedro Diaz,” Creel said.
Cade slowly clenched his fists.
“Thank you, Adolfo. Now please go away.”
Creel began to say how sorry he was, but the expression of agony on Cade’s face silenced him. Moved to tears, for he had come to love Cade, the fat man went out of the room and eased the door shut.
Alerted by Creel, but delayed by a patient for some thirty minutes, Dr. Pinto hurried as soon as he was free to Cade’s room.
He found Cade dressed and putting on his jacket. Cade looked briefly at Pinto, his face white, his eyes stony, then began to put his personal things into his pockets.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Pinto said sharply. “You are in no condition to get dressed. You must get back to bed!”
“Shut up!” Cade said. “I’m leaving. Do you want me to sign anything?”
“Senor Cade, I know what has happened. I am truly sorry, but you must act like a responsible person. You are not fit to leave.”
“Shove your sorrow,” Cade said. “I’m leaving. You’ll get paid. Send the account to my agent. Now, get out of my way!”
Pinto saw by Cade’s desperate expression that it was hopeless to try to reason with him.