When the pain turned unbearable, he quietly walked to Ingeniero Rodrigo’s tin office and told him he would go to the nearby hospital “just in case,” as he had suggested earlier. Ingeniero Rodrigo wished him good luck, asked him to keep him informed.

“Let me know tomorrow how it goes at the hospital,” he told him, knowing that any health issue in Colombia without private care took a long time to resolve, often involving a bureaucratic process of days or months. Pedro was unlikely to be back that afternoon. The engineer’s tone was also meant to remind him that he was expected to return the next day.

Pedro was still unable to ask if his pay for the day would be reduced on account of leaving early to go to the hospital. He preferred to rely on his “amanecerá y veremos.” He would find out soon enough and possibly resign himself to whatever the bosses decided was right under the circumstances. He needed his wages, but lower pay was better than no pay.

To reach the bus stop a few blocks downhill, Pedro took slow, tiptoeing steps, unintentionally attempting to keep the earth from waking up. Slipping, falling, or having another earthquake on the same day scared him more than ever. He did not want to fall ever again, to feel more pain than he was already struggling to cope with. His body was shaken, and the persistent intense headache made it difficult for him to move and to breathe. He chose to believe that the scent from the eucalyptus trees was healing him. He decided to ignore the painful irritation of his nostrils with every breath.

Once on the main road, a mixture of dust, noise and smoke from the cars and trucks hammered his skull. He curled his body into a cocoon and sat on the ground, indifferent to the looks of drivers and people waiting at the bus stop. The bright sky forced him to squint his eyes, and he pretended to focus on the vanishing point at the horizon where the bus should eventually appear.

Pedro suddenly came back to his body thanks to a loud siren coming from an ambulance next to the hospital’s entrance door. He seemed to have dozed off in the waiting room marked with a professionally painted EMERGENCIAS sign in big black letters on the wall in front of him. He didn’t remember how he arrived there. The bright lights forced him to close his eyes again; his mouth felt dry, and he was desperate to find a way to stop his headache and the unpredictable bursts of pain randomly attacking his body. A nurse touched his shoulder believing him to be asleep, but he jumped in surprise, feeling the sudden pain caused by the weight of her hand.

She took him to a small room filled with light, like the rest of the building. He was told to lie on the bed and wait for the doctor to arrive. Contrary to what he expected, the nurse didn’t make eye contact or small talk. He desperately attempted to get her sympathy and perhaps a pill or two to stop the pain, but there was no hint of compassion or interest. He took his shoes off and lay on the bed, closing his eyes again. He had never noticed before that his eyelids were thin enough to allow light through and hurt his eyes.

“Buenas tardes,” said a male voice, to which Pedro replied by opening his eyes and instinctively sitting up.

“No, no, stay where you are,” commanded the doctor looking at the bandage and caked blood on Pedro’s head.

Pedro began to tell his story while the doctor continued checking Pedro’s vitals and making notes, but his explanations did not seem to be heard by the doctor. He continued quietly until he asked Pedro how much he had been drinking on account of the smell of alcohol in his breath.

“Solo una cerveza,” Pedro answered, unaware of the doctor’s own conclusions about the accident.

The doctor and the nurse cleaned the blood off his face, now almost non-existent since he himself had wiped it, trying to dry the sweat on his face with the sleeve of his old working shirt. Pedro’s bandage was changed after both of them looked at a now closed wound on the back of his head.

Since there was no more bleeding, and X-rays were expensive, he was told he should go home and rest. They knew Pedro didn’t have the money to pay for a private exam. The doctor warned him about the dangers of drinking alcohol and asked him about his diet, while the nurse judged him in silence, arms crossed, looking down at his ragged clothes. Pedro responded with the submissive attitude he had been taught to display – what was expected from him. He controlled his pain, rejecting the idea that at some point the doctor would instruct the nurse to provide him with pain killers, an injection, a magic potion. The doctor told Pedro to put his shoes on and go home. His case was not an emergency, and further care should be handled at San Juan de Dios Hospital, the charity hospital near his home. There was no obligation from this institution to look after anyone walking into the building unless it was a genuine emergency.

“Go to bed, sleep, and tomorrow morning you will be as good as new.”

End of consultation.

Pedro did not ask for a prescription; he did not ask to stay in the hospital. He was no one to question authority. The doctor was another Ingeniero Rodrigo. Their word was final.

The next day and the days after the accident, Pedro continued to experience waves of pain that appeared and disappeared at random, causing him to constantly be on alert, stressed and exhausted. Although Antonio and Joaquín helped him with every task he was assigned, his mistakes grew in frequency and severity until Ingeniero Rodrigo threatened to sack the three of them for covering each other’s stupidity. Pedro walked away from that threat while another throbbing headache drilled his skull. He threw the tools on the floor, poured a bucket of cold water on his head and shouted to no one in particular:

“F–k this.”

After that day, he never visited another doctor or looked for another job.

Pedro’s headaches continue to come and go without apparent triggers. At times, a burning pain throughout his body demands absolute stillness before it disappears. He is certain that nothing, not even life and death, is predictable. All the more so as he sits and waits for someone to demand a shoeshine in Parque de los Periodistas day in day out.

Dora’s new job, like anything else, may or may not be what she expects. Just wait and see. Amanecerá y veremos.

(…the end…)

by Adriana Uribe



Transadaptation Volume 7 – Via Ellipsis – Continuation of Uncertainty, Instability and Extremes Transadapted

January: An Unexpected Trip Down Memory Lane – Sarah-Leah Pimentel (South Africa)

February: Blow-up – Veronika Groke (Austria)

March: Futuros Murguistas – Alejandra Baccino Uberti (Uruguay)

April: The Nomenclature Man – Paulius Limantas (Lithuania)

May: Amanecerá y veremos – Adriana Uribe (Colombia)

June: Finding Light in Yerevan – Armine Asryan (Armenia)

July: The Last Judgement – Nadia Silva Castro (Brazil)

August: Who’s Afraid of the Big, Bad Worm? – Narantsogt (Natso) Baatarkhuu (Mongolia)

September: Second Steps – Jonay Quintero Hernandez (Spain)

October: New Normality – Svetlana Molchanova (Russia)

November: Pandemic Love – Li Xiakun (China)

December: Beyond Comprehension – Rahaf Konbaz (Syria)



Background – Context

Transadaptation Volume 6: Meaning? – Uncertainty, Instability and Extremes Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2025)

Transadaptation Volume 5: Of Flowing Vicissitudes – Life Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2024)

Transadaptation Volume 4: Material Dissent – Adulthood Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2023)

Transadaptation Volume 3: Evanescent – Young Adulthood Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2022)

Transadaptation Volume 2: Conceived – Childhood Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2021)

Transadaptation Volume 1: In the Middle – Prelude to a Contemporary Transadaptation, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2020)

Peripatetic Alterity: A Philosophical Treatise on the Spectrum of Being – Romantics and Pragmatists by Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2019)

La Syncrétion of Polarization and Extremes Transposée, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2019)

The Codex of Uncertainty Transposed, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2018)

L’anthologie of Global Instability Transpuesta, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2017)

From Wahnsinnig to the Loony Bin: German and Russian Stories Transposed to Modern-day America, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2013)



Emblems and stories on the international community

Perception by country – Transposing emblems, articles, short stories and reports from around the world



Credits

Background photo: Medellin, Colombia – Stacked – Carlos Martinez (Unsplash)

Insert photos from top left (clockwise): 1. Medellin, Colombia – A person – Carlos Martinez (Unsplash); 2. Bogota, Colombia – Time will tell – Carlos Martinez (Unsplash); 3. Medellin, Colombia – Waiting – Carlos Martinez (Unsplash); 4. Bogota, Colombia – Walking home – Carlos Martinez (Unsplash); 5. Bogota, Colombia – Taking a break – Carlos Martinez (Unsplash)