Vincent, the fool

Vincent, the fool 

Vincent was a simpleton. Demented. He was also scrawny, ugly, and crooked. From a psychological perspective, he was a child trapped in a man’s body. A kind-hearted soul who suffered from a twisted sense of judgment through no fault of his own. Not the kind of madman who needed to be locked away. Not at all, he even earned his own living. He had a job and performed it diligently, putting his all into sweeping the corridors of the Vita Nova Hospital.

He was loved by everyone: doctors, nurses, receptionists, ambulance drivers, and, when not too fleeting, even by the hospital’s own patients. It is true that he caused some trouble; just ask poor Diana, the cleaning department manager, who was constantly scolding the fool, always asking him if he had taken his medication. And she had good reason to ask, since Vicente often forgot. He’s condition was overly eccentric, childish, and amusing to the hospital’s longtime staff, but disdainful and bothersome to newcomers, who, unaware of his pathological condition, often found his behavior deeply offensive.

Vicente had the strange and defensive habit of rudely keeping any man away from him. If a man approached him—no! If someone crossed the corridor on the way to the bathroom and passed nearby—no! If they even came too close… Vicente would hurl one of these incivilities: “What are you looking at?”, “You’ve got no business here!”, “Get out, man!”, “Go away!” and sometimes, ending with the ill-fated “I’ll kill you, I swear”.

He spat these insults in a frantic and impersonal, almost mechanical manner. He kept his head down, his gaze lost in the infinity of his madness, mumbling almost unintelligibly, so great was his fear of men. Few heard his insolence. In general, it went unnoticed, but from time to time, a more attentive patient would appear and, outraged by the inexplicable hostility of the employee, would demand an explanation. Yet such convalescents were quickly informed of the situation, replacing their indignation with affection and pity.

So beloved was the madman!

It should be clarified that Vicente was cheerful and friendly, and these outbursts were followed by a sudden change in demeanor. There was a certain pattern. First came the rudeness and disrespect, then he was overtaken by a sudden and inexplicable affection, followed by jokes and remarks like “I’ve missed you so much” and “How’s the family?” addressed to people he had never seen before.

Many curious patients inquired about his condition: “But was he born this way?”, “I can’t believe it!”, “What happened to this poor soul?”, “That can’t be!”, “Really?”, “How do you know?”, “And who takes care of him?”, “Do you know him well?”, “So, he has no family?”

Little is known about his childhood, except through whispers and rumors never confirmed. A shy and reclusive child, it was said he grew up in an orphanage, a place where he had been violated and hurt by two men, supposedly, caretakers from the orphanage. And ever since that time, he became a little “loony” and develop a deep aversion to men. At first, people spoke of two men; over time, it became three, then four, and now they say five or more. His mother had died of some kind of cancer, his father had been hanged (a death as horrible as it was mysterious), two brothers had abandoned him, and he had a sister who only visited him when her guilty conscience screamed too loudly.

It was truly Mrs. Rosa who took care of him (with a strongly pronounced “r” since she was Spanish). A loving person, also beloved by all the hospital staff. She took Vicente in when he was already an adult, and only God knows how he ended up in the hands of this woman, a saint! “La Madre Teresa de Calcutta” (as some of the less educated staff called her, thinking they were referring to a Spanish saint, not an Albanian one…). Mrs. Rosa was the only one willing to end the little retard’s helplessness, as she herself called him, with that “r” that could make your tongue tremble. She was a saint, but not gentle.

Vicente was like a child. Mrs. Rosa would tell him to take a bath, and he would grunt, stomp his foot, say he didn’t want to, and lie that he had already done it. Until he finally obeyed. Quickly, she’d take his dirty clothes because, otherwise, el little retard usa la misma de nuevo. In the morning, she’d give him the bus fare to go to and from the hospital, and how long it took her to teach him which bus to take, holy patience!

“The little retard”, Mrs. Rosa would tell others, “once ended up donde Cristo perdió el gorro! To find him… you wouldn’t believe the trouble it took!”

Recently, Vicente had been going through certain changes, expanding his repertoire of violent rants. The ever-instructive doorman of the building where Vicente lived with Mrs. Rosa, a man named Edinaldo, had taken to showing the simpleton some suggestive and sassy magazines. Because, according to the doorman, “at fifty, it’s high time he learned about life!”. Vicente had taken a liking to it, awakening in him, quite late in life, a passion for beautiful women. And now it had become a matter of a “get lost” to the men and a “come here” to the ladies.

Due to these newfound tendencies, Vicente ended up losing his job at Hospital Vita Nova. A fact that he would bitterly complain about it to anyone he encountered on the street, unjustly defaming (not out of malice, but due to his lack of reason) his former manager, poor Diana, who had tried to keep him on the team despite his growing inconvenience.

He began to enjoy the company of the doorman in the morning during his shift, and, after the toil of the day, in São Paulo's bars at night. His new friend made light of all the imprudence Vicente displayed.

“Oh, kid, you're in heat, huh, stallion? I mean, fifty years and no… no one can hold out that long!”, he said, laughing alongside one of the bartenders at the bar. And he went on. “I'm heading to the bathroom; don't you go getting tangled up with any of these girls, you hear? Women are cruel creatures, you just have to tease them, and they'll go crazy like you!”.

“That's what they like, right? I know, I know, I say, ‘Come here, gorgeous’, just like that, just to say I said it”, replied Vicente.
taggered off to the bathroom, drunk. Meanwhile, Vicente spotted a woman entering the bar in a beautiful summer dress and decided to show off. For whom? It’s unclear, as the doorman was still stumbling his way toward the restroom. Vicente did as he’d learned, letting loose obscene compliments about the accentuated curves and beautiful hips that the “gorgeous thing” carried.

The poor fool, enraptured by the glory of past revelries with his colleagues, paid no attention to the presence of the woman’s husband, who marched toward him like a bull, shoving him out of the bar. A mean, brute of a man, the kind who tolerated no offense. His wife pleaded, “Please, don’t,” “There’s no need,” “That’s enough,” “He must be drunk, darling,” and “Please, let’s go!”

But nothing. He was deaf, immersed in the display of virility, completely possessed. “How dare such an ugly, puny, twisted thing… and in my presence! Without the slightest fear!” the brute mused. He delivered violent blows to Vicente’s face. The poor fool, terrified, summoned all his traumas, screamed, and cried out! He wept and moaned, losing control of his bladder, bowels, and tears. And as was to be expected… he descended into his usual pathological excesses.

“What are you looking at? Did you lose anything, huh! Get out of here! Go away!” he yelled like a madman, repeating himself like a parrot, hurling insults whose exact meanings escaped him. It all culminated in a threatening and ill-fated “I’ll kill you, I swear!”

The aggressor stood stunned, incredulous at the boldness of the idiot. The onlookers, unaware of Vicente’s mental condition, mistook his defiance for a kind of reckless bravery, given his frail and foolish demeanor, especially in the face of such a merciless brute. And what a brute! Enraged by the insolence and insulted by the fear he thought he inspired, the man delivered three final strikes, now armed with a pocketknife, slashing Vicente’s abdomen.

The beautiful woman screamed, in a shrill and agonizing tone, breaking the silence of the incredulous spectators. The murderer ran away, frightened. She leaned over Vicente, tearful.

Meanwhile… Edinaldo left the bathroom, still drunk and confused by the grim atmosphere, finding it all very comical and absurd. He headed toward the waiter to investigate the cause, but on the way, he understood everything, becoming lucid in an instant. He ran to Vicente, stumbling over stray chairs, and knelt beside the poor madman.

“Call an ambulance, you useless idiots!” he shouted at the waiter, who was frozen in shock. “What the hell happened, Vicente!”

But Vicente could only repeat those old and foolish insults mechanically, in a fading tone, wasting away. In the end, his madness seemed to dissolve into the atmosphere, searching for some justification.

“I did as… Mr. Edinaldo, I swear! Sorry, sorry. I didn’t want to… I didn’t want to…”, he cried out with difficulty.

He moaned his last words, unintelligible, and then closed his little eyes. His soul slipped away, his life draining with each breath, leaving madness behind. Violence had marked both the beginning and the end of his insanity.