Page 14 - Unlikely Stories 5

Don Quejarse

I saw an old comrade-at-arms at another table. I waved at him. He
blinked and tried to move his lips. He looked like a fish gasping for
air. No, I would rather remember him as he used to be, when we
were able to fight the good fight. I will remain here, gathering my
strength for another battle.”
Primo automatically picked up the television remote control,
turning on the TV on the other side of the room as he handed the
device to Don. This was the best babysitter ever invented, a labor-
saving device for nurses and a tranquilizing hypnotic for patients.
“I’ll be back in a couple of minutes,” said Primo.
“Go right ahead, you coward,” said Kaiser contemptuously. “I can
handle this alone.”
Rather than appear ignorant or dismayed, Primo left the room with
the professional smile still stuck on his face. He would have to go
back to the nurses’ station for more pills, but he stopped just outside
the door and listened, expecting to hear the toilet flushing down the
first dose. Instead there came a blast of sound from the television
and a hoarse yell from Don Quejarse.
He entered the room immediately, just in time to grab the handles
of his patient’s wheelchair. The old man was trying to advance
toward the TV set while brandishing the remote control in one
hand—a hopeless quest: able to turn only one wheel with his other
hand, he was moving in a slow arc that would have led to a collision
with his bed. As soon as Primo arrested his movement, Don turned
his attention to the invisible restraining force behind his back.
“What? Back already? Let me go! I must slay the dragon. No:
better yet! Help me: push me straight into it! I’ll slice it to ribbons!”
Primo snapped down the brakes on the wheels and pried the
remote control from the old man’s white-knuckled grip.
“Now, take it easy, Señor. If you break the television, you might
not get another one. What program do you want? Maybe I can find it
for you.”
“No! You cannot find its weakness. I must cut off all its heads. My
sword’s invisible beam will do it, if only I can get close enough. The
Hydra must die. Its breath is slow poison, its claws dig deep into our
brains. Don’t you see? Every time I kill one head, it grows another.

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