Tabula Rasa

He’d been dreaming of oranges. Whole fresh ripe oranges. Plucking them from the tree as a light wind stirred the leaves of the citrus grove making them clatter and shake. The acrid smell of the leaves mingling with the hum of overripe fruit. There was another knock at the door and he could hear hushed discussions occurring on the other side. He eased himself up from his position on the bed, stood up and smoothed down his suit. He’d taken to wearing formal suits every day after an unfortunate event a a dinner party many years ago. To cover his embarrassment of arriving overdressed, he had put forth that this is how he dressed every day, and had done so ever since. He crossed the room and opened the door. A wave of heat rolled in. A small gathering of townspeople were at his door. ‘Mr Fernandez, you have to come quick.’ One of them cried. ‘It is Maria, she is sick again, very sick. She is calling for you’. Without another word he went inside and retrieved his hat and his bag and he followed the small group across the square to the house where Maria lived with her husband. The sun glared sharply off the whitewashed buildings and he could feel a trickle of sweat starting to work it’s way down his spine. Entering the cool interior there were more people congregated around the doorway to the next room. He pushed through the throng and entered the room where he could barely move for the amount of people crowding around Maria’s bed. He loudly announced his appearance and shooed a number of people from the room, leaving just the husband, Maria and some particularly important aunts and cousins. He indicated to the husband that he would like to take his place and sat down beside Maria, placing his bag on the floor, he rested a hand on her forehead. ‘Everyone must leave.’ He announced to the room. ‘At once. I must have space and peace in order to work.’ The particularly important aunts and cousins started to file out the room in order of their particular importance, leaving just the husband. ‘You as well señor, I must have complete peace.’ The husband left the room with many worried glances towards his wife. Mr Francesco followed him to the door, closing it behind him and locking it. Maria sat up in bed. When Mr Francesco left his third wife she cried so much she nearly drowned. They had to cut down the door with an axe and the water gushed out into the square, eventually evaporating a leaving a thing crust of salt behind. Since then he had fallen in love with Maria, a patient of his who had been suffering from migraines. Those had long subsided, though he paid visit to her often. He crossed the room and they embraced. Her hair smelt of oranges and he remembered his dream.