The Combover by Adrián N. Bravi Page B

beast was heading downhill to hide in the woody undergrowth, pursued by a hunter. The wind carried on blowing strongly. No shelter could protect me. I was ready to give myself up. I preferred to end up in Giuseppina's hands rather than in the clutches of a hunter. I therefore retraced my steps. I pulled up a few clumps of herbs and rubbed them between my hands to savor their aroma. I knew that by continuing on through the woodland I would reach the stream. It couldn't be too far—I could hear the sound of water. My shoes were caked in mud. When I reached the strip of grass beside the stream, I peered into the clear water that flowed among the smoothed rocks, forming eddies. A trout with flashing fins stayed motionless in the current. But as soon as I approached, it darted away with an imperceptibly quick flick of the tail, moving further away from my reflection, each time challenging the current head on. Many blue dragonflies skimmed over the surface of the water. I carried on down through the woods until I was close to the cave. I could hear voices a short distance away, including Giuseppina's. A group of sick and infirm were hanging about in front of my cave. I had to keep quiet so as not to be discovered.
    "But why are these people obsessed about my combover?" I asked myself. I had already helped out quite a few of them. (I'd gotten rid of Giuseppina's migraines, her husband's slipped disc, the kidney stones of the boy with the crooked eye, someone else's depression . . .) "Enough!" I said.
    I had to be patient. It would soon be getting dark, and everyone would have to go back. I tried to get as close as I could. They were rummaging through my things, I felt sure. I was convinced that if I ran away from the cave forever, Giuseppina would have expected me to cut off my combover and leave it there, on display. It would be a reliquary for the sick and infirm who would come up to the cave each day to touch it.
    "No, I can't," I said. "I've been battling with this hair for a lifetime."
    I took my comb from my pocket and combed my hair forward, as always. But this time I tried to line myself up with the wind, which was still blowing through the branches of the trees and through the bushes behind where I was hiding.
    "He can't have gone away, he's left everything here, you see?" This was the voice of Giuseppina once again, trying to convince the others.
    "It's criminal to do a thing like this . . . How long do we have to wait?"
    "He'll be back, I know him, he's a good man," she continued.
    "I reckon he's gone and won't come back—he's a fraud, that one."
    "No, something's obviously happened to him."
    Once the sun had dropped behind the mountains it began to rain again, and the pleasant pitter-patter of drops could be heard once more on the foliage. From my hiding place behind the bushes, I could hear the voices of the sick and infirm. "Let's go, let's go," they said.
    Then I could see silhouettes going back down to the town with their umbrellas up. I was hungry and tired of having to hide. I went into the cave. No one was there and all my things were where I had left them that morning. I could be sure no one else would be turning up for a while. They had brought a small camping table with four chairs, and on the table, on a flowered tablecloth, they had left two sausages in a bag, a piece of pecorino cheese, a fruit tart, a small loaf of bread, and a bottle of wine. I was sorry to have repaid such kindness by running away, but I couldn't have done otherwise.
    Once I had eaten I slipped inside my sleeping bag. My legs were aching all over, and I began wondering whether I had been right to run off like that, leaving people to suffer and wait about impatiently. No, it wasn't right. All they were asking me to do, after all, was to sit there with my head down. I had a gift and could offer it for the good of others: that was why it had been granted to me. I could, of course, have established certain visiting