The Extraordinary Life of Sam Hell(100)

“Dr. Rodriguez thinks so.”

I sighed. “Give me a minute.” I had become the most experienced doctor on staff.

I finished my consult and walked down the short hallway, mentally bracing myself for what was likely a complex medical condition. Lynn Rodriguez stood outside the door.

“I know you’re tired,” she said.

“We’re all tired.”

She pushed open the door. The young boy sat on the rolling stool with his back to the door. I guessed from his size that he was six or seven. An older woman, one of the caretakers from the orphanage, sat in a chair along the wall. She spoke to the boy in Spanish, and though I had picked up much of the language, I was not fluent and did not understand everything she said. From what I could surmise, she was trying to get the child to turn around and face me, but the boy would not do so.

“What’s his name?” I asked Lynn.

“Fernando,” she said.

At the sound of his name, the boy spun on the stool. When Fernando looked up at me, it took my breath away.





2

Just as quickly as he had looked at me, Fernando lowered his chin and turned his head. It was a self-defense mechanism to avoid my stare and stunned reaction. His mop of curly brown hair flipped across his forehead, seemingly too thick for his thin, small frame of caramel-colored skin, but long enough to cover his eyes.

Lynn whispered, “The children call him el hijo del Diablo.”

The son of the devil.

As I approached, Fernando glanced sideways with distrust and trepidation, a child who had been rejected and bullied and grown wary of the world and everyone in it.

“Hola, Fernando,” I said, trying to sound cheerful. He did not answer. I sat in the patient chair and allowed him to swivel atop the doctor’s stool, swinging his legs. “?Cuántos a?os tienes?”

My question was again met with silence. I looked to Lynn Rodriguez. “Supongo veintitrés,” I said. I am guessing twenty-three. I noticed the corners of Fernando’s mouth twitch, but he kept them from inching into a grin.

The woman seated with her back to the wall answered for him. “Seis.”

“?Seis?” I said. “No es posible.”

“Sí,” the woman said.

“But I understand he is as smart as a twenty-three-year-old,” Alejandra said, continuing to speak Spanish.

“I can tell,” I said, considering a blank sheet in my file. “It says here that this boy is extremely bright and . . . that he is also very strong.” Fernando wore a T-shirt with the green image of the Incredible Hulk on the front. “It says that I do not want to shake his hand because he is as strong as the Incredible Hulk—so strong that he might crush my fingers.”

Now I had Fernando’s attention. He could not hide his grin, which was electric. It lit up his face and the room. I tentatively stuck out my hand. He eyed it with suspicion. Then, willing to play the game, he placed his hand in mine, but so lightly it barely touched my skin. When I squeezed, he also squeezed. I grimaced and flinched. “It is true, Alejandra. It is true,” I said in Spanish. “He is crushing my hand.”

Fernando giggled, a sound as pure and true as the chimes of the bells that rang from the steeple of Our Lady of Mercy.

“Please, do not crush my hand,” I begged. “I have patients I must treat.”

He released his grip.

I sighed and flexed my fingers. “Thank you, Fernando. Thank you. I’m Dr. Sam,” I said. “Alejandra, I’ll bet you that Fernando likes Popsicles; do you think you could find one for him while we talk?”

Alejandra left to find Popsicles. I said, “Fernando, can I share a secret with you?”

His brow furrowed, and his eyes narrowed.

“It is a secret that no one else knows. Tus ojos son extraordinarios,” I said. He lowered his chin. “Muy especial,” I continued. When Fernando retreated into his shell, I said, “You don’t believe me?”

He shook his head. “Ellos son los ojos del Diablo.”

“No,” I said. “They are not the devil’s eyes. You are one of God’s children.”

Again, he shook his head.

“But I can prove it,” I said. Fernando looked skeptical; so did the woman seated in the corner. A gold crucifix dangled from a chain around her neck. “I have been all over the world, Fernando, and I have searched for someone with eyes so extraordinary, but you are the first person I have found to be so blessed. Now, are you ready for my secret?” I asked.

He nodded, becoming curious. The woman, too, leaned forward.

I walked to the sink, washed my hands with soap and water, and slowly removed my brown contact lenses. Fernando watched with fascination, perhaps never having seen anyone do such a thing. I did not bother to put them in a contact case. For the first time since I had started wearing contact lenses at eighteen years of age, I was ashamed of myself. I turned on the tap and allowed the water to wash them down the drain. When I returned to my chair, with my sight slightly blurred, Fernando’s eyes widened. The woman made the sign of the cross, lifted the crucifix to her lips, and kissed it.

“They used to call me the devil boy,” I said. “But you see, I am not the son of the devil, and neither are you. God gave me extraordinary eyes so that I would live an extraordinary life. And I have, Fernando. If God had not given me these eyes, I would never have met you.” Fernando’s lower lip quivered. “God did not make you different, Fernando. He made you special.” I put the tip of my finger to his chest. “But what is most important is not the color of your eyes. What is most important is what is inside.” All my mother’s lessons came pouring out of me, along with the need to console someone who had likely never been consoled. “Now you know that you are not alone. Now you know there is someone like you. And I am going to make you a deal, Fernando. I am never again going to hide the color of my eyes or be ashamed of them. And I want you to promise me that you will also never be ashamed.” I put out my hand. “Is it a deal?”