The air conditioner in the room was fading in its ability to ward off the exterior heat. Seven was sweating out the remainder of his meal from the previous evening. He lay uncovered on the motel mattress. His entire body was damp with perspiration, but he was sleeping, not comfortably, mind you, but he was sleeping. The vomiting episode from the previous night had left him weak and exhausted. He was finally able to relax and rest. The room was quiet except for the low hum of the struggling air conditioner. Seven was resting and recharging from a rough night. Everything was going fairly well until he was awakened by a child’s hand beating violently on the door to the room.
The beating startled him awake and the horrified voice sent a shock wave through his body. He wasn’t sure if it were a dream or perhaps the beginning of a new round of power vomiting.
“Siete…Siete!” the boy shouted from the other side of the door.
It took a brief second, but Seven looked around the room and quickly found his bearings. It couldn’t have been anyone else but Goat at the door. His voice was panicked, and the knocking became progressively louder. Seven pulled himself out of the bed and he hopped over to the door, opening it cautiously.
The boy was alone, and he began shouting and speaking rapidly in his native language. Seven was confused but knew this was the beginning of something bad, very bad. He pulled the boy into the room and placed his hands on Goat’s shoulders. He held him firmly and looked at his panicked face.
“Calma te,” he said to the boy, quietly at first and then progressively louder as Goat continued his erratic behavior.
“Slow down, I can’t understand you,” he said in English.