The promise of Aeropajita…

I was born exactly three weeks after the spring equinox. I am part mother and part father, half-life, and half-death. I harbor both love and hatred. I breathe in tandem with the cycles of holding my breath. I am afflicted by the lightning effect, a fleeting five minutes each day when the sun rises, casting its glow upon the triangular expanse of my body. In those moments, I gain insights into the events of the day, involving beings both familiar and unknown. As I breathe, walk, and work, I become aware that everything I experience during the day has already unfolded in those five minutes, like a preview of the day's occurrences. The lightning effect unnerves me, for I have witnessed things I would rather not see. I daydream about occurrences that later come to pass. When the phone rings, I recognize what will be said before answering. I make a conscious effort to avoid falling into a trance, to shield myself from receiving information ahead of its time. It's an energetic perception of temporal situations preceding not only my life but the lives of others. Fortunately, I haven't glimpsed my own death, though I've witnessed the deaths of many others.

When I sleep, the effect slumbers as well. My dreams are devoid of omens or horror stories; sometimes, they don't exist at all. Sleep is most pleasant when I haven't experienced a recent event involving my loved ones. The effect dissipates when I consume alcohol. An event foreseen through my lightning effect is an event I cannot escape. I've witnessed the collapse of the Twin Towers amid fire and tears, seen hundreds of hungry black children succumb to the plague, felt the force of a hurricane, observed the soul detach from the body, witnessed traffic accidents, and discerned the inception of an internal malignancy rooted in the earth. These are portents that render the earth inhospitable for future life.

I'm uncertain whether to label this effect a gift or a curse. My mother possessed it. With her premature death, the gift intensified in my life, as if the ghosts of her soul transmitted their sensory experiences to me. Since her departure, I perceive more things, some intriguing and others of trivial nature.

As a young teenager, I was taken to the house of a medium. A medium is someone who claims the ability to communicate with spiritual beings, spirits of the deceased, or other non-physical entities, serving as an intermediary between the material and spiritual worlds. The medium entered a trance, smoked an inverted cigar, and my mother was pleased to hear that she should "use her gift for good." The medium was devoted to the Virgin, just like my mother. I attended a Marianist school, also devoted to the Virgin.

The story I'm about to narrate is genuine, experienced one autumn equinox morning when the morning lightning invaded my mind with ensuing events. The initial rays of the sun set the film of the future in inexorable motion. What was destined to happen would unfold, and no one could prevent it. I merely possessed a slightly advanced awareness of the events compared to those who would experience them.

That first morning of autumn, a hurricane with winds of 180 kilometers per hour had escaped overnight to the north of our town, moving more than 200 kilometers away from my home on the Atlantic coast. As an atmospheric consequence, the waves that day surpassed eight feet, with some reaching up to twelve feet in height. The white foam, accompanied by the roar of the sea, was both wonderful and deafening. The salty breeze lifted, claiming the skin and transforming it into a salted being. Moisture-laden mist colored the floor and walls of the room. It was a spectacular day, anticipating the convergence of events, subjects, and situations in time and space.

The high waves prompted young enthusiasts with aquatic ambitions to grab their surfboards and challenge the danger of maintaining natural balance. Each wave was a passionate event, carrying with it a tale with more substance than mere foam.

At that time, I worked as a janitor at the Municipal Hospital in my hometown. My schedule ranged from seven in the morning to three in the afternoon. My duty involved keeping the rooms and toilets of patients on the third floor of the hospital clean. This included toilet and shower maintenance, sweeping, mopping the room, and cleaning all trash receptacles, excluding those with biological waste. The third floor of the hospital housed the surgical wing of the institution.

I recall it vividly, twenty years ago, and it still sends shivers down my spine. The gift, or lightning effect as some may call it, did not encompass the resurrection of the dead until that time. However, something extraordinary happened. That morning, when I woke up, I witnessed Aeropajita, a ninety-nine-year-old patient of the institution five days prior, rising from the dead, draped in a gray hospital sheet. I saw her get up from the autopsy table after a period of unconsciousness, requesting some water from the faculty members who watched in astonishment, on the verge of commencing the required autopsy. The rule was that when a patient dies after surgery under unknown circumstances, an autopsy is performed to determine the cause of death. As soon as the distinguished Aeropajita moved the sheets and stood up, confusion erupted among all the residents, medical students, and hospital staff who were about to witness her autopsy. Aeropajita still had yellow sclera in her eyes. I had seen it clearly two days before it happened. I didn't mention it. It wasn't my intention to raise Lazarus from the dead or assume the role of a resurrector. I had to let destiny fill the part that belonged to it.

Aeropajita had been admitted a week ago when she noticed the whites of her eyes turning yellow and she lost her appetite. The initial diagnosis suggested malignancy. Studies revealed that Aeropajita suffered from gallstones and had stones lodged in her bile ducts. Surgery was necessary for a ninety-nine-year-old woman. Aeropajita, an only child, with both parents and her husband deceased, had no descendants except for some second cousins who barely knew of her presence in life. In an elegant manner, she had informed the surgical practitioner who saw her every day that if she died during the surgical procedure, she wanted to donate what little she had so that students and practitioners could have well-starched white coats. She noticed how these trainee doctors looked terrible with their coats stained with blood, sweat, and difficult dirt. They did not inspire confidence in their patients; they seemed like slaughterhouse butchers for cattle and goats, official throat-cutters in a slaughterhouse.

Doctor Vicente had met the expectations of a safe surgery on the old woman's head. She refused to be intimidated and playfully questioned the young resident to be careful not to damage the surrounding pieces of her body since, jokingly, "these don't get produced anymore." Young Vicente had grown fond of the sweet old lady. In some way, she reminded him of his own grandmother, who had passed away some time ago. A grandmother who bestowed affection, love, and even twenty pesos a week so he could have something to eat during his medical training. A grandmother who shed tears of joy when she heard her grandson declare his ambition to become a doctor at the tender age of five. He had told her, "Just like that sign you see there, grandma, that's how big my name will be." She revealed and cried with joy. Vicente saw his lineage in that white-haired and silvered old woman.

Once the anesthesiologist explained to Aeropajita that they would use general anesthesia, the patient was taken to the operating room for the planned surgical procedure. During the induction of anesthesia, the electrocardiogram had marked irregular rhythms, which the physicians had overlooked as evidence of a heart tired of beating. Surgeon Vicente proceeded to cut the old woman's body and remove the stones from the bile ducts. The operation concluded with a plastic tube protruding from Aeropajita body. Minutes before finishing suturing the old woman's skin, the electrocardiogram went haywire, displaying severe arrhythmia. Quickly, the doctors applied resuscitation measures for twenty minutes without any response. At ten fifteen, they declared Aeropajita dead. The tubes were removed from the old woman's throat, and the corpse was transferred to the morgue, awaiting relatives and the customary autopsy.

No one stepped forward for Aeropajita, as if no one cared that this old woman had died. It was remarkable to see how someone who had lived alone for most of her life did not die of grief. The court issued an order to proceed with legal proceedings, and the corpse underwent an autopsy. That morning, I had seen the old woman on the way to the operating room and had wished her luck, even though I had already seen her rise from the dead. It's inevitable, but when you witness as much as I do, death loses its significance over life. Perhaps it's because I've spent a long-time cleaning human detritus, whose excrement hasn't changed its genetics in centuries.

Aeropajita bore a sad expression on her face. When the old woman rose from the gray sheets of the hospital in the autopsy room, two people fainted. It all began with an involuntary muscle contraction considered a postmortem reflex. She moved her right leg, and the doctors deemed it unusual for someone with rigor mortis. It's known as the Lazarus reflex of the dead. Then the entire body straightened up, dropping the blanket that covered it. A commotion erupted in the room, and two people needed to be rescued from fainting. What exactly had happened was a mystery to medical science, but Aeropajita had returned from the world of the dead. Only she knew why she had come back. We return because those with big hearts and souls have a promise to fulfill before they die. Aeropajita had expressed that the light gave her a few extra days to fulfill an old promise to her beloved. No one knew what, or who, the old woman was talking about.

Aeropajita had promised, before any disruption in her life, to clean with ample detergent the grave where her beloved husband, who had passed away forty years ago, rested. One never knew when she would lie beside him, keeping Rigoberto company. Unfortunately, the pain from stones and her yellowish complexion led her prematurely to the hospital before fulfilling her promise to her beloved. It was an additional detail she needed to overcome in her life.

Eight days after returning from the dead, and after the entire hospital population had gathered around the old woman, Aeropajita departed for her home. She still had a tube hanging, which they had left in her bile ducts. A tube to be removed two weeks later upon her return to the clinic. Two days later, Aeropajita, bucket in hand, took a lot of detergent and cleaned the tombstone of her beloved Rigoberto. She noticed the space beneath Rigoberto's name and the date of death, enough for hers to be added when the time came. The grave gleamed, and the small daisies that had grown wild gave it a spring-like appearance. She said her prayers and thanked God for her quiet and contented life.

On the day of Aeropajita appointment, something unusual happened to me. While cleaning the clinic toilets, I saw Aeropajita again in the morning, but this time she was happier, accompanied by another person, a middle-aged man. That afternoon, during the sweet old lady's appointment, Dr. Vicente received her with a smile. She returned the smile, and he removed the tube that had been inserted. The extraction caused a bit of pain. The yellowish tint of her body had disappeared, and Aeropajita had been eating better since then. In two months, she would turn a hundred years old.

Aeropajita thanked Vicente, extended her calloused hands, and told him that she didn't want Rigoberto to see her with a tube in her stomach. When Vicente asked who Rigoberto was, Aeropajita replied that he was her husband. Vicente was thoughtful since the family history indicated that her husband had passed away forty years ago. He thought that this old woman might have mentally deteriorated, something they call senile dementia. Aeropajita also mentioned that she had already cleaned their abode and was just waiting for the moment of return.

That night, the room of the adorable old woman filled with the pleasant scent of roses, reminiscent of her wedding day with Rigoberto. Around a circle of carnations, there appeared a bright light illuminating her frail body. Her soul rose from the aged body and went to lie with her husband forever. The next morning, I learned that Aeropajita had been found dead for the second time, but this time, she had a smile on her lips and a rose in her hands.

Due to the sudden impact, only I knew the reason behind the smile on the face of the old lady.

…titolugo©mmxxiii

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