A Scarcity of Condors

by Suanne Laqueur

  “No.”

  “Liar.”

  Tej’s wicked laugh coiled above the pillows. “Get up here and fuck my cock.”

  Jude was so hard, he was dizzy. His head full of soft, tender thoughts while his body surged and sparked like a blown transformer. “All right,” he said, tearing open the condom packet. “But remember you asked for it.”

  “Baby, that was begging.”

  The laughter faded as Jude rolled the condom on Tej, who wore his gates-of-Disneyland expression, the whites of his eyes shining in the dark.

  “Oh man, I think I’m gonna hate this,” he whispered.

  Electric with want, Jude put a knee on either side of Tej’s hips. “Too late.”

  A pulsing, anxious beat as he guided Tej inside him. Tej hissed a breath through his teeth. Then Jude sank down and both men let out a ferocious, growled exhale.

  “Oh God, don’t move,” Tej said, fingertips digging into Jude’s hips. “Don’t move don’t move don’t move.”

  Jude’s mouth and body strained against the dark, neither speaking nor breathing. A wave of heat rushed up his spine and over the crown of his head. As he gave way and let Tej in deeper, the night broke in a stream of salty wet down his face.

  “Stay like this,” Tej said.

  “This,” Jude said, finding his voice and feeling a tremendous shift in the universe.

  Am I who is this?

  Something once backward and upside-down, now righted and pointing in the true direction.

  This is who I am.

  He pulled along Tej and pushed down again. Time bubbled up in his chest and dissolved in his throat. The tears slid down his laughing face and danced between their kiss.

  “Baby.” Tej slowly canted his hips up as he pulled Jude’s mouth in. “Cry if you want to. I know what it means.”

  Jude was crying, but out of freedom, not sadness. Crying because it felt so fucking good to be him. Because he could harbor himself by holding his lover down. Let Jude out by letting Tej in.

  So let it out and let it in.

  Hey, Jude. Begin.

  He slid his hands up Tej’s arms, twined their fingers and pinned them to the mattress. He moved on Tej, shifting this way to go faster, angling that way to go deeper. Taking control of the boat’s helm and fucking like he meant it. Filled up with heat and want. Filled up with the one truth within the mystery of his birth: this was how he was born to love.

  “Tim,” he called softly. Over and over against his lover’s body, he called, “Tim…”

  He wasn’t looking for anything. Only saying what he’d found.

  The morning was cool and grey. Jude poured a cup of coffee, added milk and sugar, stirred and tapped the spoon on the rim twice. He shuffled back into the bedroom and set it down on the side table.

  “Made you coffee,” he murmured.

  Tej’s one eye opened. “You did? You’re the best.”

  Jude fixed his own mug, sat down at his desk and jiggled the screen awake. He read over his notes and checked the website. He took a fortifying sip. An even more fortifying breath. Then he dialed the Chilean number.

  “Servicio Médico-Legal de Santiago, buenos días.”

  “Buenos días,” Jude said. “I’m looking for information on how I can locate my missing relatives…”

  “Take a sad song and make it better.”

  —John Lennon and Paul McCartney

  “Are you all right?” Jude asked Penny.

  She sighed. “Stop asking me. I’m fine. You look a wreck.”

  Jude looked at his father. “How about you?”

  “You know I’m a wreck. Ask me again and I’ll kill you.”

  Jude smiled at his shoes and flexed his cold fingers. The communal waiting room was chilly, or maybe he was just nervous. He got up and wandered by the three closed doors, reading the plaques beside each one, ending with the hypnotherapist.

  Dr. Rachel Mezeritz, Ph.D.

  Licensed Clinical Psychologist

  Certified Clinical Hypnotherapist

  Penny had already met Mezeritz for a consultation, during which they discussed her past history, her present situation and future goals. All week, Penny had been practicing the relaxation techniques that would be used in the sessions.

  “They’re really wonderful,” she said. “Even if I don’t remember a thing when all is said and done, I have some great new tricks for not losing my mind.”

  “Meditation makes your ass look fabulous,” Jude said.

  Today would be the first attempt at memory recall and, not knowing what to expect, Penny wanted both Cleon and Jude present.

  “Call me Rachel,” the doctor said, shaking all their hands. She looked to be in her late sixties, with an uncanny resemblance to Carole King. Her office was long and narrow, and she situated Jude and Cleon at its far end by the windows.

  “This is just for the induction phase,” she said. “Reason being that family members can be impressionable to the regression and end up going places they’d rather not.”

  Cleon raised a finger. “I believe you mean me.”

  She smiled. “We need you to stay in the present today.”

  He dug in his sport coat pocket and brought out his phone and ear buds. “I came prepared.”

  Penny got comfortable on the chaise section of the L-shaped couch. Shoes off, feet up. Rachel dimmed the lights a little, then sat in the armchair.

  “Become aware of your breathing,” she said, “and notice how your abdomen rises and falls with each breath.”

  Jude took a long breath of his own.

  Don’t hurt her, he thought as he exhaled. Don’t scare her. Don’t take her somewhere she can’t come back from.

  “Now take a long, slow, deep breath. In through your nose, all the way down into your stomach. Hold the breath for just a moment, and then exhale through your mouth. Allow your breath to carry away all stress and tension as the air floods out of your lungs…”

  Jude tried to watch without listening, but afraid he might go somewhere he didn’t want to, he pivoted his chair toward the window, took out his own phone and buds and listened to some music.

  He jumped in his skin when Cleon tapped his arm and tilted his head toward the couch. They were ready. Heart thumping, Jude took a seat by Penny’s feet while Cleon sat next to her.

  “Penny, I want you to take me to a place in Chile where you are perfectly content,” Rachel said. “Let your mind go back. Let your senses remember. Sight. Sound. Smell. Touch. Even taste. But above all, contentment.”

  “All right,” Penny said, as if agreeing to meet for lunch.

  After a few beats, Rachel asked, “Are you there?”

  “Mmhm.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I’m in the garden.”

  “Describe it. Let yourself narrate. I’m a stranger, I’ve never seen this. Tell me.”

  “My house in La Reina. It’s a double lot of property. Half used to be my father-in-law’s nursery. It closed when he returned to Austria. Whatever stock he didn’t sell he put into the ground. Fruit trees. Flowering shrubs. Drifts of flowers. He always told me to plant in groups of three and five. Repeat colors over and over, drawing the eye ever onward. A garden walk should be a journey. A story. Slip in things to look at. Places to sit. The point should be to meander and rest. Meander and rest.”

  “What do you hear?”

  Penny’s chin tilted up and to the right. “The wind. Hummingbirds. The Beatles.”

  Rachel smiled. “Who’s playing the Beatles?”

  “Ysidro, across the road in his workshop.”

  “What song?”

  “‘All Together Now.’”

  “What do you smell?”

  A deep inhale. “Roses. Honeysuckle. Flowering almond.”

  “What can you t
ouch?”

  Penny’s hands lifted off the throw pillow in her lap. The fingers curled and touched her palms, then stretched out again and rested. “Dirt on my fingers. I’ve been pulling weeds. There’s a strong breeze today. The sun is hot on my shoulders.”

  “Can you taste anything?

  A little chuckle. “Gum. Mint chewing gum. I’m so nauseous.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m having a baby.”

  “When are you? What year is it?”

  “February. Nineteen seventy-three.”

  “February is springtime in Chile?”

  “Summer. It’s all upside-down.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Happy.”

  “Take a moment,” Rachel said. “This place and this feeling are going to be home base. We’ll begin and end here. Whenever you encounter a painful memory that’s too much, we’re going to return to this place in the garden. Return to safety. All right?”

  “All right. There’s a bench where I can sit.”

  “Good.”

  Penny smiled and half sang, “Sitting in an English garden, waiting for the sun.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “The line from ‘I am the Walrus.’ Ysidro chiseled it into a big paving stone.” Penny’s hand lifted, gesturing out and down. “It’s over there, by the poppies.”

  “Will you take me inside the house now? Narrate as you go.”

  She prompted Penny through the guided tour, asking for details of sight, sound, smell and touch. Penny described doors and windows as if they were before her. Roof tiles and rugs. Furniture. Bookshelves. Throw pillows. Jude’s eyes flicked between his parents, watching Cleon’s reaction. How he closed his eyes and nodded. Wrinkled his eyebrows or chuckled. Murmured, “That’s right.” Or corrected, “No, no, that painting was upstairs.”

  “Where are we now?” Rachel asked.

  “In the kitchen.” Penny’s entire face smiled, as if reuniting with a long-lost schoolmate.

  “Is something special about the kitchen?”

  “Something is always special about the kitchen. Everything happens in here.”

  “What’s happening now?”

  A reflective pause. “I’m sitting at the table, peeling potatoes.”

  “Is anyone with you?”

  “Uncle Louis.”

  “Describe him to me.”

  “Nineteen seventy-three, I guess Louis is about fifty-five.”

  “Fifty-seven,” Cleon said quietly.

  “He looks much older though. Tall. Thin. Thick glasses. The kindest face but it’s haunted. Sweet smile with dimples, but behind it is a deep sadness. He’s beautifully dressed. Always. Even when he’s sculpting and covered with stone dust, he has a style.” Her hand touched her throat. “A scarf tied at his neck. He has three dozen. A different one every day.”

  “What is he doing now?”

  “Reading bits of the paper out loud.” A pained but affectionate giggle. “His Spanish is terrible.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Oh God, hungry. So pregnant and hungry and…” The color rose up in her cheeks and Cleon looked away, the corners of his mouth twitching.

  “Let’s move forward in time a bit,” Rachel said. “Just a few months.”

  “All right.”

  “Tell me when.”

  “June. The coldest month. The garden beds are bare. We spend a lot of time in the kitchen. I’m so hungry. Everything tastes so good. Louis reads the news about Tanquetazo. The putsch. Colonel Souper led a failed coup against Allende. It’s almost July now. The rainiest month. I’m blue and down and heavy. The air feels heavy. The news isn’t good.”

  “Where are you?”

  “In the kitchen. Helping my neighbor Daniela with her eyes.”

  Cleon made a startled “Hm” in his chest, chin rising, as if suddenly recalling something long forgotten.

  “What happened to her eyes?” Rachel asked.

  “She went to the Plaza de la Constitución for a protest. It was a women’s protest, against the rising costs of food and fuel. I almost went, too, but the day of, I was too tired. The women were dispersed with tear gas. Daniela’s at my kitchen table. I’m bathing her eyes.”

  “We’re moving close to September now,” Rachel said, her voice rising. “Closer to the hard memories.”

  “Yes.”

  “Take a moment to dial into your state of relaxation. Your body is in the here and now. Your husband is with you. Your son is with you. The memories are painful to recall but they cannot hurt you. Anytime you wish, we can go back out to the garden where it’s safe. All right?”

  “Yes.”

  “The danger is over. It’s safe to remember. Remembering will not hurt you.”

  “All right.”

  “When is it now?”

  “September eleventh,” Penny said. “Cleon called me a little after nine, said the armed forces had taken control of the country and declared Allende deposed. They’d taken over all of Santiago except for the city center.”

  A long stretch of silence.

  “What’s happening now?” Rachel asked.

  “Daniela and Fernanda and Louis are in my kitchen. Ysidro comes from his workshop across the street. We’re listening to Radio Portales. It goes dead. Radio Corporación isn’t broadcasting either.”

  “The air force bombed the antennas,” Cleon said quietly.

  “Radio Magallanes is still live. In the afternoon, we listen to Salvador Allende make his farewell speech. You can hear gunfire and explosions in the background as he speaks. It’s over. How can this… He’s done. It’s done. The city’s under a curfew. The radios are silent. The TV news channels are off. Cleon calls one last time. He doesn’t dare come home that night, he sleeps at the office…”

  Minute twitches under Penny’s skin. Winces and flinches in her face. Fingers curling and clenching. Tears collecting along the edges of her closed eyes.

  “When is it, Penny?” Rachel asked.

  “October.”

  “Where are you right now?”

  “En casa.”

  “Will you speak English for me, please?”

  “Sorry.” Penny shook her head a bit. “I’m at home.”

  “I want you to speak in English when you remember. English is now. Spanish is then. Speak in the language of now while you remember then, all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “What room are you in?”

  “All of them. I’m pacing around the house.”

  “Who is with you?”

  “No one. They’ve gone to look for him.”

  “Who is they?”

  “Uncle Louis. Ysidro. Tatán.”

  “Who are they looking for?”

  “Cleon.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Gone. He didn’t come home. He hasn’t called. No one is answering at the newspaper. None of his colleagues pick up the phone. Not at their offices. Not at their homes. I don’t know where he is. I’ve never not known where he is.”

  “How do you feel?”

  One of her hands began to glide up and down the throw pillow, tracing a remembered curve of her belly. “I’m so scared. The world’s gone crazy. I’m so afraid. My baby’s going to be born so afraid.”

  “Basta,” Cleon murmured.

  Enough.

  Penny’s head tilted a fraction toward him. “I’d like to come back now.”

  “All right,” Rachel said. “Let’s go out to the garden. Back where it’s safe. Narrate me from wherever you are out the door. Describe it.”

  She prompted for sight. Sound. Touch, smell and taste. Guiding the return journey to happiness and safety, pointing out buoys of happiness, until Penny was sitting in an English garden, waiting for the sun. B
ack in safety. Back in the here and now.

  Penny opened her eyes and smiled as she let out a long breath.

  “How do you feel?” Rachel said.

  “Goodness, it was so vivid. And so lucid. I thought it would be more dreamlike but I felt perfectly awake and…there.”

  The doctor brought her a paper cup of water. “Take your time. Let’s make sure none of your awareness was left behind. It’s important you feel safe and in the present before you leave.”

  Penny drained the cup and set it down. Her hands rubbed along her forearms, her expression astounded. “When I was sitting on the bench, I could actually feel the sunshine.” She laughed a little. “Look at me, I’m checking to see if I got burned. It was that real.”

  “Lo hiciste bien,” Cleon said, running a hand along the cap of her silvery hair.

  She smiled at him. A little hitch in her voice when she said, “¿Tuvimos una casa preciosa, po?”

  We had a beautiful home, didn’t we?

  Jude watched them, picturing the house and garden. Filled with a bittersweet affection. These were his parents.

  But that beautiful home in La Reina had never been his.

  The second session’s induction went much quicker. Jude didn’t even get through a song before Rachel beckoned him and Cleon to the couch.

  She repeated the visualization of the garden, affirming it as a place of happiness and safety, and the haven they’d return to whenever Penny wished. Then Penny narrated them into the house.

  “Where are you?” Rachel asked.

  “In the kitchen?”

  The doctor’s chin tilted. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “When is it?”

  “October. Nineteen seventy-three.”

  “What’s happening?”

  Her body seemed to gather itself, as if she were stepping off a high diving board. “Cleon’s been arrested. He’s in the Estadio. Fernanda’s husband and Daniela’s husband were also arrested. Everyone is terrified. Nobody can believe what’s happening. How could this have happened? We fought a war so things like this couldn’t happen.”

  A long pause.

  “How do you feel right now?” Rachel said.