There was something wrong with the boy's voice.There was something wrong with the boy's voice. He spoke quietly, almost whispering as though he was hoarse or his throat was sore. "Hi Rafael!" I said gently, "My name is John". I reached my left hand across to the boy. He looked at it suspiciously and then he smiled slowly as he allowed me take his small moist hand. We didn't shake. I just squeezed lightly. "They were gonna kill me," the boy blurted out. I looked at the boy in surprise, "Huh? What did you say? Who was going to kill you?" The boy looked away furtively, "The men who left me there,... Near the freeway.... I got away...." I overshot the turnoff to the 'hospital' and I braked quickly. I reversed back up to the intersection. "What men?" I asked. But the boy had said enough and his jaws were clamped tightly together. A minute later I pulled up in the driveway of a small clinic, certainly not a 'hospital' by any stretch of the imagination. It was a single story building with window air-conditioners buzzing loudly. I turned off the engine and leaned over the boy and very carefully eased his shorts and underpants back up and closed his zipper. I went around to his side and lifted him out of the car. He was very light and I easily carried him up the three stairs and into the reception room. An overweight receptionist came around from behind her desk as I stood there looking around me impatiently. She moved like a sloth. "The boy's been injured," I said abruptly. "He needs a doctor now." The woman nodded, "Well now,... and just what,... is the matter,... with him?" she drawled in a deep-southern accent. "He's in a great deal of pain," I said. I breathed out trying to control my rising temper. "Can you just get a doctor, NOW?" I said loudly. My raised voice was enough to bring a nurse-type out from an adjoining room, "What's the problem here? What's wrong with the boy?" she asked with concern. "I don't know. He's been injured. Seriously I think. It looks like he's been kicked in the groin or something. |