No longer having to look after Jennie’s Café Literario (serving customers, planning purchases, menus, staff, cleaning, accounting…) gives him time—plenty of it.
Although he regrets having had to close it, he also feels relieved. The café was, for him, a very rich personal experience (certainly not an economic one). People came for him. If he was not there, they would ask:
“But where is the Caballero (Gentleman)?”
It was gratifying.
He enjoyed talking with people: about music, books, art, chess; introducing a board game; playing with the children…
Sometimes, when entering the café to receive and attend to customers, he felt a certain nervousness, like an actor before going on stage. Then the “role” would take over.
The time he now has in abundance he spends in his room, on his floor, on his terrace. But he knows that in a few weeks the same time he now enjoys, with greater mobility, will have to be devoted to his children and to household tasks (the ones he now does with such eagerness, but which will once again become routine)…
His responsibilities will return: solar panels, wastewater treatment systems, commitments, work around the house…
Three or four more weeks?
His body is urging him on: his recovery is going very well. At his last visit to the orthopaedic surgeon, he was told he could now put both feet on the ground as he pleased, according to the pain he could tolerate.
He was already doing so.
Pain. He does not know whether it is luck or unconsciousness, but he seems to have a very high threshold.
As soon as he felt he could put more weight on his right foot, he began to do so more and more.
He stands up, takes one step, two, three… The crutches serve only for balance.
It is in the kitchen that he realises how much more he can do: take something from the fridge, carry it to the counter to chop it, fetch a knife, a colander, return to the counter, take out a frying pan, light the gas stove, leave a couple of utensils in the sink…
The wheelchair annoys him; it is in the way.
His body urges him to act.
More than that, it presses him, hurries him:
“Come on—you can do it.”
His mind has to follow, has to accept the rhythm. He can no longer remain so long in bed.
The next morning he wakes early. He wants a coffee. Everyone is asleep. He stands at the top of the staircase and calls out; no one answers.
He wants a coffee.
He looks at the stairs.
He goes down one step… another… concentrating on each movement.
Another.
Another…
And he is downstairs.
Eighteen steps of the spiral staircase.
Making the coffee is the least of it.
What a taste that coffee has.
Yes, his body is urging him on. It wants to resume the role he once had. Long before the accident—before he let things drift, roughly a year earlier.
There were matters he would have to look at again.
Coming soon
Leave a Reply