Island

from the novel Días de entrenamiento

He wasn't wearing the tracksuit, but it was him. I recognized him the moment he appeared before me. How could I forget his aquiline nose, the gray and not particularly dense beard, or that index finger—long, bony, sharp? It was him and he was in his wheelchair. Wearing all olive green—gold-trimmed epaulettes, military cap, highly polished medals and buttons, leather boots. Smiling.

He had seen me in the tumult of people looking for a place on the sidewalk of Avenida Paseo; the old Civic Plaza was going to be the setting of a military exercise. And the old man had come out to meet me. I, for one, had yet to see him and didn't realize that the profanities, complaints, and harsh words I'd heard flaring around me were happening in his wake—apparently, not wanting to lose sight of me, he'd decided to catch up as if the devil were on his tail. The old man was adept at steering the wheelchair, but there were too many people between him and me.

And I felt a hard whack.

On my left leg.

Then I heard the greeting:

"Good morning, kid! I saw you from way over there. You don't know how happy I am to see you."

He was next to me, smiling as he watched me bend down to lift the leg of my pants. Smiling and shaking his head slightly.

"Kid, today is our day. Doesn't it seem like a joyous day? Just over three and a half months ago I turned eighty springs old. I'd like to share that with you. But to be clear, I'll share just the joy, the years I'll keep. Stop making that face, there's nothing wrong with your foot, if anyone knows about problems of the left leg it's me."

After clapping me on the back a couple times, he jabbed me with his index finger: "I want to take you to the grandstand. Let's go."

________

He didn't just seem excited, the old man really was excited. If one detail gave him away it was the gleam in his eyes—which usually looked tired—or the smile that exposed the perfect dentures, or the endless looking around, or the words he said aloud for me to hear: "It's a joy, seeing you again. Isn't it truly a joy to reach eighty springs? A whole life."

And I felt a sharp pain in the ribs. I turned to the old man, who had elbowed me to let me know the military parade was starting.

We looked at each other.

He smiled.

With his long sharp index finger he gestured at the avenue.

On that December morning—in addition to the mambises on horseback, the thousand pioneers, the soldiers marching in platoons or parading by in jeeps or manning the ground artillery and anti-aircraft defense—gathered in the old Civic Plaza were politicians, artists, ministers, an enormous delegation of foreign guests, and the Provisional President. The military band, on the sidewalk opposite the grandstand, was going to perform the national anthem and the music that would accompany the procession. The spectators along the avenue would be facing the military exercise.

________

In the middle of the year, as soon as I'd learned the Armed Forces were organizing a military parade, I'd decided I would come to the Plaza. I didn't want to miss the procession. Except on TV or in the newspapers, I'd never seen one, and neither had my friends: my kodama, Orlando L., and the two Raizas. And we agreed to meet at 8:00 am in front of the National Library. The military parade was going to start at 10:00 am, but it was the old man in the wheelchair I saw first.

"I want to take you to the grandstand," he had said, jabbing me with his index finger. "By the way, I have something for you."

Then the old man reached for the...