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There was no evidence and no case, only accusations, he said, repeating<br />
what the police had told him.<br />
“<strong>My</strong> heart is ripped out and still bleeding, Rosita. She might as well<br />
have stuck a knife through it,” he said angrily, trembling from the gripping<br />
memory of such betrayal.<br />
“Feel sorry for her, Don Elijio, because she will have to pay a high price<br />
for this sin,” I said.<br />
He nodded <strong>with</strong> such sadness in his eyes, as if her fate were the real<br />
tragedy. “Oh yes. She will die a painful, miserable death. Like one who is<br />
set out on a hilltop and tied to a tree, only to be eaten by the birds, piece by<br />
piece, until her hands rot off.”<br />
As if this tirade and confession had restored his fighting spirit, he said,<br />
almost defiantly, “I’ve been thinking, though. She really did nothing to me.<br />
I’m still here, neither more nor less. I have my dripping faucet of money<br />
going. It may never be a flowing creek, but it’s a constant drip.” With that,<br />
he folded his arms. “She hurt herself much more than she did me. God will<br />
punish her. I put revenge in his hands and commend her destiny to God.”<br />
As much as he longed to put this tragedy behind him, I could see he was<br />
still terribly upset. He kept muttering about feeling stupid and naive, as if he<br />
were a schoolboy who had learned nothing from ninety-two years of living.<br />
Could such a man be fooled by this evil woman? he asked, <strong>with</strong>out needing<br />
a response.<br />
“Don’t blame yourself for being a loving man. She was the one who<br />
made a big mistake, not you,” I kept trying to soothe him. “We are naive<br />
and trusting, but that’s what makes us good doctors. It allows us to care<br />
deeply about other people’s troubles. God made us that way, papá, and most<br />
of the time we do all right.”<br />
He was disturbed by the policeman’s advice to put a lock on his door to<br />
keep out thieves. How could he do this—a lonely, old healer who opened<br />
his heart and home daily to strangers who wanted much more from him<br />
than his collected belongings?<br />
But he did as the officer instructed, tacking up a metal bolt lock on a<br />
flimsy door that was made out of old scrap plank lumber. When we left the<br />
next morning to gather medicine, Panti bolted the lock and handed the key<br />
to Angel, who promised to guard it until we returned.