C4 antho - Chamber Four
C4 antho - Chamber Four C4 antho - Chamber Four
~140~ The Chamber Four Fiction Anthology slower at others. He wanted to pass his hand through the shadowy Javier Castillo, the one about to become air. But he could never get himself to do it. Javier Castillo was always watching him carefully, and Ricardo feared that Javier Castillo knew what he was thinking. What must such a life be like? Think about it. To live with a man half shadow, half something, something that you could not explain to someone else, much less yourself? Even after three years of living with Javier Castillo, after lying in the one bed next to him night after night, after sitting out on the balcony and smoking cigarettes watching the smoke coil into shapes that only disappeared, Ricardo did not understand Javier Castillo. Ricardo never asked any questions. He just didn’t know how to do so. He simply lived there, simply existed. He did not work. He did not worry about money or his wife and sons. The time simply passed, and the man known as Javier Castillo moved in and out of air. And finally that day arrived, the day that Ricardo could not recall with any great detail―Javier Castillo faded away and did not return. Ricardo thought nothing of it at first. A week passed, and then a month. Ricardo had no money to pay the light bill or the utilities. He had no money to pay for anything. He had never questioned the fact that Javier Castillo always had money, was always able to pay for anything they needed. Two whole months passed before Ricardo realized Javier Castillo was not coming back. Without electricity, Ricardo walked around the dark house occasionally flipping switches to see if something would happen. The air was still most nights, the heat of the desert coming in through the windows carried along by the echoing howls of the coyotes hunting the nearby canyon. Ricardo was alone and without a dime. Within a day or two, he began to wander the streets. He did not remember how to go home, and he wasn’t sure how he
The Affliction ~141~ would get back to Los Angeles. He wandered into the parking lot of the Travel Lodge just as I was stepping out of my rental car. I don’t usually talk to homeless people. It isn’t that I am afraid of them, but that I have no idea what to say to them. But Ricardo’s eyes were green, that dark forest green, and he looked haunted. I don’t really remember what I said to him, but he followed me, asked me if he could come up to my hotel room to take a shower, promised me he would not rob me. I have no idea why I agreed. He showered and then came into the room and sat staring off into space. I offered him some whiskey, and we sat and drank it. I told him stories I had heard in my years of traveling as a salesman, told him stories of the small island in the Caribbean where I had grown up, the people there, the way we swore the cats were spies. We sat in our jockey shorts and t-shirts drinking whiskey. We lapsed into and out of Spanish. It seemed as if we had known each other for a very long time. Over the past three years, I have heard much about Javier Castillo, too much, really: the disappearing, the timing of it, the various places he had visited. I have never actually seen Javier Castillo, but there are times when I feel quite certain I know what he looks like. And Ricardo, though he never says so, sits sometimes staring at the chair in my bedroom as if waiting for Javier Castillo to appear. Do I believe in gods? In angels, in miracles? No. No, I never have. I am more like Ricardo than I want to believe. Before he goes to sleep most nights, Ricardo says the very same thing to me. He says: “Carlos, sleep now. Sleep.” Night after night, he says this, says it faithfully. And it makes me wonder if he had instructed Javier Castillo to go to sleep in much the same way. Lately, at night, lying in bed, Ricardo breathing deeply the way he does when he is lying down, I cannot sleep. I find myself staring at the empty chair. I half-expect Javier Castillo to appear. I would love to be able to say I just want to make
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- Page 127 and 128: The Naturalists ~127~ “Pardon?”
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The Affliction ~141~<br />
would get back to Los Angeles. He wandered into the parking<br />
lot of the Travel Lodge just as I was stepping out of my rental<br />
car. I don’t usually talk to homeless people. It isn’t that I am<br />
afraid of them, but that I have no idea what to say to them.<br />
But Ricardo’s eyes were green, that dark forest green, and he<br />
looked haunted. I don’t really remember what I said to him,<br />
but he followed me, asked me if he could come up to my<br />
hotel room to take a shower, promised me he would not rob<br />
me. I have no idea why I agreed. He showered and then came<br />
into the room and sat staring off into space. I offered him<br />
some whiskey, and we sat and drank it. I told him stories I<br />
had heard in my years of traveling as a salesman, told him<br />
stories of the small island in the Caribbean where I had<br />
grown up, the people there, the way we swore the cats were<br />
spies. We sat in our jockey shorts and t-shirts drinking<br />
whiskey. We lapsed into and out of Spanish. It seemed as if<br />
we had known each other for a very long time.<br />
Over the past three years, I have heard much about<br />
Javier Castillo, too much, really: the disappearing, the timing<br />
of it, the various places he had visited. I have never actually<br />
seen Javier Castillo, but there are times when I feel quite certain<br />
I know what he looks like. And Ricardo, though he never<br />
says so, sits sometimes staring at the chair in my bedroom as<br />
if waiting for Javier Castillo to appear. Do I believe in gods?<br />
In angels, in miracles? No. No, I never have. I am more like<br />
Ricardo than I want to believe. Before he goes to sleep most<br />
nights, Ricardo says the very same thing to me. He says:<br />
“Carlos, sleep now. Sleep.” Night after night, he says this,<br />
says it faithfully. And it makes me wonder if he had instructed<br />
Javier Castillo to go to sleep in much the same way.<br />
Lately, at night, lying in bed, Ricardo breathing deeply the<br />
way he does when he is lying down, I cannot sleep. I find myself<br />
staring at the empty chair. I half-expect Javier Castillo to<br />
appear. I would love to be able to say I just want to make