heard sirens in the distance around the same time the young man came outside and lit a cigarette. Up close, I could see his white shirt had been washed so many times that it was now turning grey. He looked up and down the street, but his eyes kept coming back to the woman. I stood in between them, and he smiled, pulled a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and put them on. They looked like the kind of sunglasses you'd buy at a gas station.
"Here they come," the woman said needlessly when the ambulance came around the corner.
I started to lift my hand, but the young guy stepped in front of me and pointed to the old man with both arms, like one of those guys at the airport directing planes. The ambulance drove up onto the sidewalk beside us, almost hitting the woman. At the same time, a fire truck came around the corner from the other direction. Now the people driving past slowed their cars to watch us, and a few people standing at the traffic lights down the street began walking our way.
The paramedics came out of the ambulance fast but slowed down when they saw the old man. Both wore latex gloves and belt holsters carrying scissors. The one who opened the back doors of the ambulance had a grey beard even though his hair was brown. The other one walked in between us to kneel beside the old man. He was wearing knee pads the same colour as his uniform.
"He's been like this for half an hour," the woman told him.
"I tried to wake him up," the young guy said.
"No, I tried," I said, but the paramedic didn't pay attention to any of us. He held the old man's wrist loosely between his fingers, like he didn't want to touch him either, and looked at his watch for a while.
Gus came out and squinted at the fire truck as it pulled up in front of the bar. "There's no fire here," he said to me. "Why'd you call them?"
"I didn't call them," I said, but he just shook his head and went back inside, closing the door behind him.
Both paramedics were kneeling on the ground now, and the bearded one was shaking the old man by the shoulder. "I hate these calls," he said. I wasn't sure who he was talking to, though, because the first paramedic didn't pay him any attention either.
Two firemen climbed down off the fire truck and came over. They were wearing those fire-resistant pants and boots but no jackets, only T-shirts. All these people to help one man. I almost couldn't believe it.
"It's all right," I told them. "We've got it under control."
They glanced at me and then looked down at the old man. They didn't say anything.
"You live around here?" I heard the young guy ask the woman.
"He's probably just heat-stroked," I said to the watching crowd, which now numbered six or seven people. "He just needs to sleep it off."
The old man chose that moment to wake up. He half sat and looked around at all of us, then pulled the margarine container of bread to his chest with both hands.
"You see?" the bearded paramedic said to his partner, but I didn't know what that meant.
"How are you feeling?" the other one asked. The old man didn't answer. He kept staring at the gloves on their hands.
The bearded paramedic sighed and went over to the ambulance, closed its back doors.
"Aren't you taking him to the hospital?" I asked.
One of the firemen - a short, squat man with a sunburned face and a lazy eye - came over to me. "You the one that called this in?" he asked.
I glanced around. Everyone was watching me. "That's right," I said.
"And you couldn't wake him up?" The lazy eye drifted away from me, staring somewhere over my shoulder.
"Well, we tried."
"Well, he appears to be awake now." He walked back to the fire truck, his partner following along behind him. They climbed up into the cab but then didn't move, just sat there like they were waiting for another call.
The bearded paramedic had put on a pair of Ray-Bans now and was leaning against the side of the ambulance, his arms folded across his chest. His partner was still talking to the old
"Here they come," the woman said needlessly when the ambulance came around the corner.
I started to lift my hand, but the young guy stepped in front of me and pointed to the old man with both arms, like one of those guys at the airport directing planes. The ambulance drove up onto the sidewalk beside us, almost hitting the woman. At the same time, a fire truck came around the corner from the other direction. Now the people driving past slowed their cars to watch us, and a few people standing at the traffic lights down the street began walking our way.
The paramedics came out of the ambulance fast but slowed down when they saw the old man. Both wore latex gloves and belt holsters carrying scissors. The one who opened the back doors of the ambulance had a grey beard even though his hair was brown. The other one walked in between us to kneel beside the old man. He was wearing knee pads the same colour as his uniform.
"He's been like this for half an hour," the woman told him.
"I tried to wake him up," the young guy said.
"No, I tried," I said, but the paramedic didn't pay attention to any of us. He held the old man's wrist loosely between his fingers, like he didn't want to touch him either, and looked at his watch for a while.
Gus came out and squinted at the fire truck as it pulled up in front of the bar. "There's no fire here," he said to me. "Why'd you call them?"
"I didn't call them," I said, but he just shook his head and went back inside, closing the door behind him.
Both paramedics were kneeling on the ground now, and the bearded one was shaking the old man by the shoulder. "I hate these calls," he said. I wasn't sure who he was talking to, though, because the first paramedic didn't pay him any attention either.
Two firemen climbed down off the fire truck and came over. They were wearing those fire-resistant pants and boots but no jackets, only T-shirts. All these people to help one man. I almost couldn't believe it.
"It's all right," I told them. "We've got it under control."
They glanced at me and then looked down at the old man. They didn't say anything.
"You live around here?" I heard the young guy ask the woman.
"He's probably just heat-stroked," I said to the watching crowd, which now numbered six or seven people. "He just needs to sleep it off."
The old man chose that moment to wake up. He half sat and looked around at all of us, then pulled the margarine container of bread to his chest with both hands.
"You see?" the bearded paramedic said to his partner, but I didn't know what that meant.
"How are you feeling?" the other one asked. The old man didn't answer. He kept staring at the gloves on their hands.
The bearded paramedic sighed and went over to the ambulance, closed its back doors.
"Aren't you taking him to the hospital?" I asked.
One of the firemen - a short, squat man with a sunburned face and a lazy eye - came over to me. "You the one that called this in?" he asked.
I glanced around. Everyone was watching me. "That's right," I said.
"And you couldn't wake him up?" The lazy eye drifted away from me, staring somewhere over my shoulder.
"Well, we tried."
"Well, he appears to be awake now." He walked back to the fire truck, his partner following along behind him. They climbed up into the cab but then didn't move, just sat there like they were waiting for another call.
The bearded paramedic had put on a pair of Ray-Bans now and was leaning against the side of the ambulance, his arms folded across his chest. His partner was still talking to the old
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