No.28[Reply]
"The doctor tells me your fever has gotten worse. They say this infection may kill you. Even if it doesn't, my doctor tells me again and again that you may never wake. And yet, I wait. I grew up quite poor. We lived in the hills. In a place my brothers built from things they found. Metal sheeting, plywood. When it rained, it smelled like hay. We were always hungry. But there was a lucuma tree. Scrawny. Barely alive. My family had given up on it years before. Never bore fruit. When I was seven, I became fixated on it. I watered it, tended to it. It took a long time, but the buds grew into green fruit. I was so proud. I didn't tell anyone. I plucked one and hid behind our shack. I ate the whole thing, I'd never tasted something so sweet. It was like caramel. At first, we ate the fruit ourselves. And then I began taking it to the village to sell. One day, much of the fruit was gone from my tree. Pieces were scattered on the ground, half-eaten. I thought it was probably a coati. Have you ever seen one? About the size of a large house cat. Opportunists. I built a snare, using branches and wire. It didn't take long for the animal to set it off. But the coati trashed so hard it broke out of the snare. Broke its leg as well. I tried to grab it, but it slipped away. It ran under the house. I knew it would show itself sooner or later. So I waited, for hours, into the night. When my brothers called for me, I did not answer. I didn't make a sound. I was so still. Finally, it came out. It knew I was there, but it was hungry. This time, I was ready. I caught it. It fought me, but I was stronger. The merciful thing would've been to kill it. I kept it. It lived for quite some time. I believe you will wake, Hector."