Life goes on (El Loco – Part 6) (Five minutes freewrite)

marie-jay (61)in #freewrite • 6 years ago (edited)

The return of Don Tomasso to Santa Clara was not met with any particular interest. Some jeers, yes, as they all knew he'd be back. Nor did anyone feel the need to offer any support to the poor man, now faced with making adjustments to his new condition. They'd all been through that and they knew it's a lot to process, but also that there are no words to bring comfort at such a time. Talking to someone still in the adjustment phase could lead to arguments and crazy recriminations like 'you should have warned me before it was too late'. The residents of the town did not tolerate discord and, anyway, what can you say?
'Oh, well, you fucked up, your life is pretty much wasted, but look on the bright side...'
There is no bright side, as, at this point it's too late for second chances. Once you end up in a place like Santa Clara, that's the end of the road for you.

Don Tomasso spent a week drinking heavily and only went out at night, when the streets were almost deserted. He did not want to see or hear anybody. Especially hear.
He didn't know what hurt more – the child's screams or the mother's indifference. Lucia didn't even try to stop him from fleeing. She made no move. She did not smile. He was dead to her. Truth is what hurt most was his present predicament, which, he realized, was not temporary.

He could not face himself in the mirror. Literally, as he had no face left. But that was easy to deal with. He just covered the mirror over the sink with a black piece of cloth and that was that. At least, he didn't have to shave every morning now.
What drove him crazy was the noise, the constant rattling. Even when he raised his arms to pour another glass clatter of his bones sent shivers down his spine. Or when he lay in bed at night the click-clack of people walking down the street would keep him awake for hours.
Maybe he would have drunk himself to death, to real death, that is – if that was at all possible – but the news of the old priest's death drove him into action. He had a duty to perform, he had responsibilities. Life goes on.
He did a wonderful job at Don Faustino's funeral, everybody congratulated him. Dona Juana invited him for supper and, he had to admit, the old girl looked better dead, without the heavy layer of powder and those eyebrows heavily drawn in black pencil.
Life in Santa Clara became bearable again, even pleasant. He had no worries left, no one to impress. He had finally found a crowd where he fit in perfectly. Now that he understood everything, nobody thought him crazy anymore.
One Sunday, after Mass, he was surprised to hear a new doctor would be coming to their town in a few days. None of them had a real need for a doctor, but still they liked to complain about imaginary problems.
'There is one drawback, though' the mayor said, 'the guy, a certain Senor Felix is bat-shit crazy.' It was a very old joke of theirs, but they still laughed. And Don Tomasso joined them.
'Let's see how long it'll take El Loco Senor Felix to figure things out'.