“Scalpel!” A nasal voice barked in the operating theater. Una watched from above, something was very wrong. The fat doctor’s mask rode below his nose, there was mustard on his gown. A pockmarked nurse brought over a tray cluttered with paint brushes and tiny soldiers. They clattered to the floor as the surgeon grabbed an Exacto knife. His surgical gloves were smudged with paint.

NO! Una tried to scream and beat at the glass but she had no voice and her arms had no strength. The body under the shroud began to convulse. The doctor reached into the cavity and pulled out a set of bloody dice.

“Roll them bones!” The doctor roared and flung the dice.

“Critical hit!” the nurse cried.

There was a wet, wretched sound as fluids gushed from the patient and spattered the green felt of the floor.

“Stop it!” Una screamed.

The surgeon and the nurse noticed her. Their yellow eyes rose to the galley, they tugged down their masks and smiled. Their mouths were full of crocodile teeth.

Una woke with a terrible jolt and groped for her glasses. The awful sound from the dream went on and on. It took her a moment to understand it was just Robin, throwing up in the bathroom. She padded over to check on him.

“I’m sorry Tita,” Robin gulped, and quickly flushed the toilet. His nose ran and there were tear streaks on his face. He looked so pale and sick in the fluorescent light Una nearly cried too. She clenched her teeth, and drew air through her nose. He needed her to be strong now.

“Oh conejito, it’s fine, it’s fine. Do you need a doctor?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I can make you something to eat.”

He shook his head.

“Ok, If you need me just call out and I’ll come. Don’t forget to brush your teeth.”

“I won’t.”

Una sat in her reading chair under the afghan and worried. The Kit-Cat clock in the kitchen ticked as Robin brushed his teeth, then the floorboards creaked as he shuffled back to bed. She looked at the clock, the cat said 3:16 AM. No chance she could get back to sleep, not after that dream.

Una put the kettle on for tea. Just as the water was about to boil, she realized the whistle might wake Robin. She hurried over and took the kettle off, which her bad hip didn’t like one bit. She poured the water into a pot, let it boil, and made her tea. It all felt so sadly familiar. When Hector got sick, there were many sleepless nights, just like this.

Her rosary was on the reading table, on top of the family Bible. She murmured a decade of Hail Marys, and ended with the Fatima prayer:

“O my Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of hell; lead all souls to heaven, especially those in most need of thy mercy.”

The clock ticked on. No grace came. Some nights she could pray, tonight it felt very far away. She set the rosary aside and reached for the Bible. The aged Douay-Rheims had belonged to Una’s mother, and her grandmother before. When Robin was born, Una gave it to his Lucinda. It came back after she passed. The covered edges were frayed, the gilt had faded, but the words remained unchanged.

Una laid her hand on the cover, searching for strength. Anger came instead. How was this part of the plan? Her Hector, her rock, gone. Her lovely, willful Lucinda snatched away. Now, the devil wanted Robin, an innocent child. How could He ask so much? How much could one person bear? The clock ticked on, impossibly slow.

“Please,” Una whispered.

She lifted the cover, closed her eyes and turned the ancient pages. She opened her eyes, her finger fell on Romans 3:12.

The night is passed And the day is at hand. Let us, therefore cast off the works of darkness and put on the armour of light.

Una glanced back at the kitchen, which faced east. The clock’s tail swayed and its bakelite eyes flicked back and forth. 4:24. Dawn was a long way off.

At the back of the drawer of the reading table was a black velvet pouch. She took it out and held it in her palm without opening it. Again she closed her eyes and flipped pages.

Ezekiel 13:23:

Therefore you shall not see vain things, nor divine divinations any more, and I will deliver my people out of your hand: and you shall know that I am the Lord.

“It’s just a game,” Una whispered aloud. The words felt hollow.

“You tell me what to do then,” she said.

One last time, she closed the book and turned pages. Her finger landed in the middle of Ezekiel 23. With a scowl, she closed the bible and put it away in the drawer. Confession would be rough this week.

She took out the deck. The packet had yellowed with time, it was nearly as old as the bible. Above and below a drawing of a rooster it read:

GRAN FABRICA DE NAIPES

DE TODOS ESTILOS

Clemente Jaques y Cia.,S.A.

C DE CINTURA NO 2

MEXICO D. F.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

With great care, Una drew out the cards and shuffled the loteria deck. Like the bible, they belonged to her grandmother. Abuela would have never allowed a tarot deck or an Ouija board in her home, those were clear conduits to Satan. Somehow, loteria was permissible. Whenever someone was sick sick or laid up in bed she would make tortilla soup and they would all gather around and play. Grandfather Domingo was the cantor, he had a radioman’s voice and he knew all the lines and rhymes. They marked their cards with pennies and the winner shouted Loteria! and got to keep their pennies. Wonderful memories.

It was Una’s mother Gloria who taught her the cards could be more than a game. Gloria believed the cards could reveal if a man was lying, if money would come or go, or if a sick horse might get better. Once, a lover had offered to bring her mother on a cruise to New York City. She consulted the cards and refused. That ship was the SS Morro Castle and the lover was one of one hundred and thirty seven who perished in a terrible fire. After extracting a promise to never tell grandmother, Gloria taught Una to read them too.

First, she lit three candles. Then she shuffled the deck, and cut it seven times, each time she prayed the novena of Saint Lucia, hear my prayers and obtain my petitions. Then, the question, clear in her mind.

How can I help Robin get better?

She dealt the spread of seven cards, face down. One by one, she turned them over.

First, El Gorrito, The Bonnet.

Take care of those close to you. Someone needs looking after.

Next, La Perra - The Pear.

Time was short.

Una felt a tightness in her chest. She did not like the direction this was going, it wasn’t too late to stop and put the cards away. But if she did, she would worry about that pear for days. She turned over the next card.

El Pajaro - The Bird.

Nervousness, a danger of flying off before the work was done.

What did it mean? The three flames drew higher. Perhaps a danger of not following through with the treatment. She would be wary of an unexpected change in the plan. There was a sudden chill in the air.

Next, La Palma - The Palm. Hard work was needed.

Una nodded. It was a better card. The road would not be easy. There was some labor ahead. Labor meant agency, far better than helplessness.

Next, El Soldado - The Solider.

The path would be followed, there would be no exceptions to the rules.

Another good card, more inclination to stay the course and follow the plan. Then of course, the toy soldiers today and the dream. She remembered how Robin’s eyes had been so bright in the store. There was something there.

Next, La Bandara - The flag.

Victory!

Una’s heart beat faster. There was one card left. Her hand trembled a little as she reached for the card.

It’s only a game, she chided herself. It did not feel like a game, the air was very still and the candles burned high.

She needed to stop this, she’d gotten carried away. Cards could not tell the future, only god could. She would put them away, forget the whole thing, and go to confession in the morning. The tension grew until she felt ridiculous. It was only a card.

She turned the last card over. A skeleton held a scythe.

La Muerte - Death.

* * *

“Dr. Suarez! Can I speak with you?” Una pressed.

Dr. Suarez was walking briskly, probably trying to escape to lunch. The annoyance flew from her face when she recognized Una Martillo.

“Yes, of course.”

“I’ll be right back,” she assured Robin. “Take a look at your position here. There’s something good you can do.

“Ok Tita.”

She left Robin to ponder the chess board and walked with Dr. Suarez to her office. It was small and tidy, without a mote of dust or a single thing out of place. Her degrees and awards were hung on the wall, vastly outnumbered by pictures of her two daughters and three dachshunds. On the other wall were pictures of Dr. Suarez hugging her patients, the lucky ones. Above the door was a crucifix, perhaps for those less fortunate. All these things made Una like and trust Dr. Suarez, but most important was she could speak Spanish. Even now, after so many years in the States, it was hard to talk about emotional things in English.

“How is he?” Dr. Suarez asked, looking over his chart. Una scrutinized her face for the tiniest sign of a reaction.

“Not good. I have to force him to eat and it’s exhausting for both of us. He doesn’t sleep well, lots of nightmares and vomiting in the night.”

“Those are all normal, unfortunately. It’s a difficult treatment, but it’s the best we have. Is he speaking with a counselor?”

“Yes, and also with our priest. I feel like they aren’t getting through. Navega sin vela. He drifts through each day with a shadow over him. Less than a year since he lost his mother, in a new city with no friends, no family.”

“How is he at church?”

“El no cree,” Una admit.

The women shared a look.

“His mother,” Una explained. Dr. Suarez nodded, she understood.

“Keep trying. Faith helps so much. It’s more than anyone can take on their own, especially a child. Does he play an instrument?”

“No.”

“Does he read? Or draw? Any hobbies?”

“Only what the school makes him. He used to play fútbol with his friends, they were all hinchas for Cruz Azul. Now, he won’t even listen to games on the radio. He misses his friends and he doesn’t think he’ll ever play again.

“This is very serious. Robin needs something to keep him going. Comic books, music, games, friends, family. The most important thing in treatment is hope. Any interest you see in him, encourage it. Try bringing him to a library, see what books he gravitates towards.”

“I’m trying to teach him chess now,” Una said.

“I saw! That’s very good. He’s very fortunate you’re here to care for him. What about you, how are you doing?”

“Better than him,” Una shrugged.

“Don’t forget about yourself either in this. It’s hard to be strong for someone else, easy to exhaust yourself trying. You have to care for yourself too, not just Robin. Make sure you’re eating well, getting good sleep. Don’t ask more from yourself than you’re capable of.”

Una took a deep breath and swallowed the unkind thing she wanted to say. It was hard to be talked that to that way by a younger woman.

She means well, Una told herself. She looked at the wall of patients. The woman knew what she was talking about.

“Thank you Dr. Suarez.”

Robin’s eyes were closed when she came back, but he was still awake. The chess board was unchanged.

“Did you find it?”

Robin opened his eyes. With a little smile, he moved his knight to F7. Her queen and rook were caught in a fork.

“Very good,” Una said.

The little smile faded.

“Are you just letting me win?”

“Oh, you think you’ll win?” Una smiled. “Take the rook, see what happens.”

She moved her queen onto the file with Robin’s king.