After he had worked through the line of patients in the waiting room he might be called to ride out to one of the outlying towns for some patient too unwell to make the long journey to the clinic. He never refused, and tried to keep as busy as he could. When he was with his patients he didn’t have to think about anything else, and he especially didn’t have to think about Elena. He worked on his schoolboy Spanish; ‘cough medicine’ was tos, ‘stomach-ache’ was dolor del estómago, ‘antibiotics’ was antibióticos.Every morning he woke to the sound of a cockerel right under his window. He would jerk awake, not remembering where he was, then he would hear the chickens and pigs fussing outside and he remembered he was in Mexico. His first thoughts were always about Elena. What was she doing right now? Had she changed her mind?He still could not break the morbid habits of Boston, no matter how he tried. At least here she was in a different city, in a different country, there was no temptation to try to email her or text her.
What do You think about The Black Witch Of Mexico?
