Carswain’s eyes opened to mere slits but saw the room was still revolving. He closed them again and drifted off to a fitful sleep.
He dreamed of loping through the desert. He was naked. He was being chased by a coyote. He was a jackrabbit. As the jaws of the coyote snagged his tail he woke up with a start.
The maid at the foot of his bed started to see him still in bed. “Oh! Lo siento mucho, señor! Lo siento!” she said, scurrying out of the room. Carswain tried to speak, to say something, anything – but still dream and reality, his body still believed he had a rabbit larynx and the forlorn death-wail he made only strengthened the maid’s resolve to get the hell out. She’d come back when the gringo was either gone or dead.
Carswain collapsed back on the bed. After a time, he got up, woozily walking to the toilet where he dry-heaved. “Oh, cool porcelain,” he said after he was done. “Only you understand me,” and he curled up next to the bowl on the tile and slept dreamlessly.
When he awoke, the long shadows of the afternoon painted the drab walls in bright golden swatches. He got up, found some aspirin and washed them down with water from the tap, then went back to bed.
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He didn’t want to leave this room. But he knew he had to. Eventually he got up again, threw on his pants and shirt and brushed his teeth. He left a handful of pesos on the bed to make up for the mess the maid was going to have to deal with.
Finally, he went out onto the balcony to look out onto the city. The crowd gathered below erupted in adulation. They all wore various interpretations of rabbit costumes, hands outstretched towards him in abject adoration.
Carswain smiled weakly, waved, and leaned against the balcony ledge. And he pondered the turn his life had taken since he lost that card game.