Before the sun rose, the boy left his farm. He snuck away quickly and speedily. He told no one where he was going, not even Pedro, his best friend. Not even his mother or his father or his brothers or the baby girl.
The boy found his way back to forbidden village in hopes of finding the ugly man. The boy was determined to get assurance from the ugly man that the baby, bella sol, would be safe.
As the boy hid in a tree, watching and waiting for the right time to come down, he saw the ugly man. The man was walking alone. His back was hunched over, his green eyes sad.
The boy noticed how thin the ugly man was, how hungry he looked. The ugly man walked slowly, ignoring some people that passed by him. The ugly man kept his eyes on the ground until he reached his house and went inside.
The boy climbed down from the tree and cautiously tip-toed around the ugly man’s cave. He peered through the opening and saw the ugly man pouring some hot brown liquid into a cup. The boy noticed that the cave was very small and seemed to have no room inside except for its owner.
The boy wondered if the ugly man had a wife or children. He wondered why the ugly man was so alone. Why he had no one to cook for him or to pour him something to drink.
As the boy watched, he saw the ugly man sit down on a chair to sip from his cup. As the man drank, he reached out to caress a picture that was framed in a beautiful silver frame, the only beautiful thing in the ugly man’s house.
The boy caught a glimpse of the picture and saw that it was of a woman. Her cheeks were rosy and round as she stood with one arm akimbo and the other pressed to her very swollen stomach. The woman looked happy and confident, apparently excited at her impending motherhood.
As the ugly man caressed the frame, he began to hum a soft tune. It was a sad and forlorn melody, perhaps mimicking the ugly man’s mood.
The boy suddenly decided against confronting the ugly man. It is not the right time, thought the boy. He slowly backed away from the cave, then turned to run away from the ugly man’s village….
The Plan
Señor Pedro was unconscious. He had been fluttering in and out of consciousness for the last week. At times, he seemed alert and alive and at other times, like now, he was in slumber repose as if death was at his door.
I pulled my chair closer to his hospital bed and leaned towards his ear.
“Señor Pedro, I hope you can hear me,” I said.
His body gave me no response except for his eyelids, which briefly twitched.
“Señor Pedro, they took my brothers. Diablo and his men came into your house and took Chū-Cho and Luis. My brothers had come to Santa Elena from Chile when they heard you were hurt. But they did something stupid when Diablo came to take the farm. Diablo fought back and kidnapped them. I know he took them to Barranquilla,” I whispered.
Señor Pedro did not respond. His eyes did not twitch.
“Señor Pedro,” I continued. “Remember those stories I told you about? Papa’s stories? Well, I realized that Papa had told me everything through the stories.”
Señor Pedro laid still. He was breathing with the help of several machines that hummed and beeped as I spoke. I grabbed Señor Pedro’s hand and squeezed it.
“Señor Pedro, I’m scared. This is the only way I know how to fight back…through my little writings. But I’m scared that my own life or maybe even Mama’s will be at stake. Look at what they did to you,” I said.
Suddenly, I felt Señor Pedro’s hand squeeze my fingers.
“Señor Pedro?” I said.
He did not awaken, but his eyelids danced as if he was trying desperately to claw his way back to life. I squeezed his hand again and waited for him to squeeze back.
“Señor Pedro, I-I’m going to persuade Mama to come with me to Barranquilla tomorrow. I’m going to go to the building where they used to take Papa. I know the way very well. I’m going to go into that room, that yellow room, and I’m going to demand that they release my brothers and leave us alone for good,” I said.
Señor Pedro’s hand squeezed my fingers.
“Señor Pedro, I’m sorry you are here. I feel like this is all my fault. I know you were just trying to protect me and now look at you!” I said.
As I looked at Señor Pedro, I saw a tear sneak down his cheeks and softly plop on the pillow beneath his head.
“Señor Pedro!” I said.
I reached over to hug him, hoping that he would wake up. But he laid still in the bed. His arms did not move. His head did not move. But more tears chased down his cheeks.
“Is everything alright in here?”
A nurse stood in the doorway looking at me disapprovingly.
“Y-Yes. I was talking to him and he was responding. He squeezed my hand and he even cried,” I said.
The nurse walked towards his bed and checked the machines.
“Oh, they’re just reflexes. They all do that. It doesn’t mean anything,” she said flatly.
I waited for the nurse to leave before I spoke again.
“Señor Pedro,” I said. “I wish you could go with me tomorrow. I wish you could go with me to Barranquilla.”
“Barranquilla?”
I looked up to see Señora Rosano standing in the doorway. She smiled at me and walked towards Señor Pedro’s bed.
“He looks good. Peaceful,” she said softly.
She took hold of his other hand and rubbed it.
“Warm to the touch,” she said. “He’s going to be just fine. I know it.”
She looked at Señor Pedro for a few seconds that released his hand. Smoothly, she closed the door to the hospital room and sat down on a chair opposite from me.
“Okay, Marisol. Let’s have it,” she said.
I pulled out some clipped papers and handed them to Señora Rosano.
“These are the stories,” I said as she flipped through them.
“Interesting. Interesting. It almost resembles a child bedtime story,” she said after reading a few pages.
“I know. But it is anything but that. It is the truth,” I said.
“The truth to what, Marisol? Tell me this truth,” said Señora Rosano.
I let go of Señor Pedro’s hand and turned towards Señora Rosano.
“Well,” I began….
My Voice
I was sitting at Papa’s grave in the early dawn. Señora Rosano was supposed to borrow her boyfriend’s car and take Mama and I to Barranquilla in less than an hour. So I tried to make the most of my time, telling Papa about my plan and wondering if he would approve.
The lonely crucifix standing before his grave looked haunting in the shadowy morning light. But it did not scare me. I had a sense of Papa’s presence and of God’s presence with me. I knew they were both here, that both my Fathers were here.
I had taken my notebook and laid it at Papa’s grave when I had arrived. I told him about the stories. I told him that I finally knew what I had always wanted to know. That I understood why he had to protect me. Why he tried to honor such a superficial and silly deal. Why Grandpa Vega had made the foolish deal in the first place.
I asked my Fathers for victory. I asked them to release my brothers and send us back to our farm to rebuild and replant. I asked my Fathers to send the farm good rain and new soil and fresh plants. And if that wasn’t possible, I asked them to restore our lives in a new way.
As the sun rose, it splashed soft yellow rays over Papa’s grave. I took that as a positive sign. After making a quick sign of the cross, I left the cemetery and made my way back to Señor Pedro’s house.
Señora Rosano was already there. She and Mama were drinking Colombian coffee and eating toasted bread. They smiled when I walked in.
“Marisol, I hope you know what you’re doing,” said Mama as she greeted me with a hug.
“Mama, what else can I do? We have to try something to get them back,” I said.
“Yes, I know.
I just wish this country was not so corrupt! Aiy yai-yai! Colombia! Why? Why won’t they just help us?” cried Mama.
Señora Rosano reached over and patted Mama’s hand.
“Don’t worry. I have a good feeling about this. I have a very good feeling,” she said.
Several minutes later, after cleaning up and locking Señor Pedro’s front door, we piled into Señora Rosano’s two-door car. It was an old car with a strong engine. The exterior paint was chipped and rusted while the interior smelled of sweat and testosterone.
I sat in the passenger seat so that I could direct Señora Rosano to Barranquilla. I told her to turn here, then there, then onto that main road. She drove smoothly, expertly as she careened the small car through the vast Colombian landscape.
“Señora Rosano, have you ever met Diablo?” I asked her while she drove.
She shook her head. “No, I never heard of such a man. What mother would call their child that? Even if it is just a nickname?” she replied.
“Well, it seems he has been trying to live up to it!” quipped Mama from the backseat.
For about two hours, we drove. We drove as the sun rose. As the birds sung and flocked from tree to tree. As we passed Colombian families walking to church in their Sunday’s best. As old men hobbled on their canes. As children played loudly and joyfully, running around on the rich Colombian earth.
My stomach tightened with each mile. When I told Señora Rosano to take that exit towards the main street in Barranquilla, I felt nauseous. A pain appeared in my forehead, pulsating and throbbing. My throat suddenly felt parched, my tongue dry.
Squinting, I directed Señora Rosano towards the building. The building that Papa and I had visited month after month. The building where Papa had been beaten and threatened and robbed and warned.
“Park here,” I said almost inaudibly.
Señora Rosano parked the car along the street adjacent to the building. The scene was quiet save for several church bells tolling somewhere in the near distance. We climbed out of the car and stood there, facing the building.
“Is this it?” whispered Mama.
“Si,” I said.
I took a deep breath and began walking towards it, Mama and Señora Rosano following. When we reached the front doors, Señora Rosano tried to open them but the doors would not budge.
“No, Señora Rosano. The buzzer,” I said, as I pressed a button on the small rectangular shaped box affixed to the wall.
“Hello?” I said after I pressed it.
“Si. Who is this?” answered a gruff male voice.
“My name is Marisol. I’m here to get my family back,” I replied with all the authority I could muster.
The male voice did not respond. Seconds later, I heard a quick buzzing sound which unlocked the front doors. After taking another deep breath, I pushed them open.
It was like déjà vu. The grim, dimly lit lobby. The empty rooms. The sticky linoleum floor. The hollow building, void of furniture, void of life, void of love.
“Well, I see the princess obeyed my orders!”
Diablo spoke while smiling. It seemed he had been waiting for us. He was already in the hallway and quickly approached with several men in tow. His arms were wide open as if he was our uncle.
“Come, come! I’m so glad you came to see me! A gang of Colombian women! How sweet,” he said sarcastically.
“Diablo, where are my brothers?” I asked.
One of his men approached me menacingly, but Diablo motioned for him to stop.
“Princess, you will get your brothers as soon as I get the farm. Now, women, let’s get this over with,” he replied.
He turned around abruptly and walked away. His men looked at us sternly, expecting us to follow. Slowly, we did. I went first with Mama and Señora Rosano behind me.
Diablo led us into the yellow room. The room that Papa had shed so many sighs and grunts. The room that Diablo had secured Papa so he could beat him.
There were several chairs in the room, but nothing else. There were no tables, no desks, no plants, no sign of life.
Diablo sat in one chair while his men stood guard behind him. I sat down in another while Mama and Señora Rosano dragged some chairs next to mine and sat down.
“Now,” said Diablo. “Let’s try this again. Señora Vega, I want your signature on these papers…now.”
He pulled out the same folded papers from his jacket pocket and opened them. Giving them to one of his men to give to Mama, Diablo sat back and stared at Mama while she took the papers and looked at them.
“Um, Diablo,” I said between nervous swallows. “How can we sell you the farm without receiving any money?”
Diablo smiled. “I’m not giving you anything for that farm because of your father’s debt. That land is mine,” he said.
“No,” I replied. “It is Vega.”
Diablo sucked his teeth. “Look, princess, shut up! You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said.
“Yes, I do. I know that you don’t want our farm any more than you wanted to kill my father. You’re just trying to avenge your anger against your father, Señor Ladrano...but you have it all wrong,” I said.
Diablo scowled. “Shut up!” he said in an uncharacteristically high-pitched voice.
“Mama,” I said, turning to her. “Don’t sign it.”
“But, mija,” whispered Mama.
“Shut up!” yelled Diablo. “Sign the papers,” he ordered to Mama.
“Diablo, you are an angry offshoot from your father,” I said.
“Shut up, princess!” he roared.
“Señor Ladrano, the Colombian man with the deep green eyes was your father. The man you loved. The man you worshiped. The man you tried so desperately to love you back,” I said.
Diablo eyes suddenly watered. His face crumpled as I spoke.
“But you couldn’t get him to love you back. At least not as much as he loved his daughter. The little girl that died in his wife’s womb. The little girl that died with his wife when she was in child birth. How old were you then?” I said.
“Princess, you have crossed the line. If you don’t stop, you will go home to your Papa!” taunted Diablo.
“Marisol, please,” said Mama.
“And then,” I continued. “When your father couldn’t take the grief, he took it out on Grandpa Vega who had just married.”
“Shut up!”
“And although your father was Grandpa Vega’s best friend, he grew jealous of him. He hated that Grandpa Vega was married and that his farm was successful and that his wife was pregnant.”
“Stop it!”
“And when Grandma Vega gave birth, your own mother died in childbirth along with her only daughter, your sister. Your father lost his mind and picked a fight with Grandpa Vega. Then Grandpa Vega picked a fight back and brought in the police. Then your father turned to the F.A.R.C. and the gangs for help. And Grandpa Vega didn’t know how to fight that so he came up with a stupid agreement so your father could leave him alone.”
“That’s not true!”
“And Grandpa Vega foolishly promised that Señor Ladrano’s sons would inherit the farm after the death of any sons Grandpa Vega might have. That the birth of one Vega daughter would void the agreement. Grandpa Vega made this stupid deal to make peace, to send your father away and out of his hair. And your father agreed to this stupid deal.”
“Stop it!”
“And all was quiet for many, many years because Grandpa Vega only had sons. And all of his sons had sons with the exception of one son, my father, who had me. You made my father pay you because of me. Because you would no longer inherit Papa’s farm according to that stupid agreement.”
Diablo stood up and walked towards me. He no longer looked like the middle-aged Colombian man that he was. He now looked like a child, a little boy dejected and unloved.
“You know nothing!” he spat at me.
<
br /> “But your father mourned his dead daughter more than he loved you,” I said. “You grew to despise your father even after he died. And once you learned of that stupid deal, you sought to avenge your anger by beating my father. By taking his life. By setting fire to our farm.”
My heart was beating loudly now. I sensed Mama was frozen in her chair. Señora Rosano was quiet and frightened.
“There is no debt, is there?” I said.
Diablo raised his hand as if to strike me but Mama stood up and stopped him.
“You will not touch her,” she said, her voice unusually strong.
Diablo simply deflected Mama and pushed her back into her chair.
“Princess, your mouth has cost you and your family their lives. You are a foolish girl,” he said.
“My mouth is not as powerful as my true voice,” I said.
Diablo looked at me with a smirk.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“The truth. I wrote the truth. And one day I will publish it. Then everyone in Barranquilla and Santa Elena will know. They will know that you were nothing but a coward. A criminal. A thief. And an arson,” I said.
Before Diablo could respond, the sound of a bullhorn suddenly flooded through the small windows in the yellow room. I heard what sounded like throngs of voices outside.
“Señor Ladrano! Come out with your hands up! You are surrounded by the National Police of Colombia!” said the voice through the bullhorn.
I looked to Señora Rosano who beamed softly in response.
“Come out now!” ordered the voice again.
Diablo grew angry. He quickly walked out of the room with his men behind him.
“Marisol, I am so proud of you. I am so proud of you,” whispered Mama.
“I’m proud of you, Mama. You stood up to Diablo,” I said.
“Shh! They’re coming back,” whispered Señora Rosano.
Diablo walked through the doorway. His movements were frantic. There was a wild look in his eyes. He seemed unsure of what to do.
“Put them over there,” said Diablo to a couple of his men.
The men disappeared then quickly reappeared with Chū-Cho and Luis. My brothers were bound by their wrists and had black cloths tied around their eyes.
“Chū-Cho! Luis!” cried Mama upon seeing them.
Diablo’s men threw my brothers on the floor in the corner of the room. They moaned and groaned in pain, but did not speak. Mama, Señora Rosano and I stood up to go to them but Diablo ordered us back in our chairs.
“Sit down! No one moves unless I tell you to,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Come out, Señor Ladrano!” repeated the voice from outside.
Diablo put his hands to his ears. He was in obvious distress. His men questioned him, fervently asking him what they should do.
“I don’t know! I don’t know!” he said in nervous reply.
“How much do you owe them?” I said to Diablo.
Diablo turned and looked at me as if I was a piece of rotten, putrid-smelling meat.
“How much do you owe the gangs?” I said.
He ignored me and turned away.
“It was not Papa who had the debt, but it was you, wasn’t it? You got caught up in the wrong crowd and now you owe them, don’t you? Isn’t that why you wanted the farm? You took my father’s life out of angry revenge. But the farm…you need the land to pay back something that you owe, right?” I said.
“Come out now! We are giving you five minutes! Five minutes Señor Ladrano! Then we are coming in. Don’t do anything stupid!” yelled the voice through the bullhorn.
“Diablo,” I said. “You are stuck. Your ties to the criminal gangs have been exposed now. If you run, they will get you because you are a traitor. If you surrender, the police will get you because you are a criminal.”
Diablo pulled out his gun to point it at me.
“No!” cried Mama.
Suddenly, a loud boom shook the building, causing Diablo to drop his gun. His men scrambled to their feet and raced out of the room.
In seconds, the building was flooded with National Police. Their fresh uniforms and shiny badges overwhelmed me with the knowledge that this horrid ordeal was finally over. The police untied Chū-Cho and Luis who had been lying quietly in the corner seemingly drugged. They embraced Mama and endured her kisses and hugs as the police ushered us out of the building and into the streets.
We were greeted by a throng of people in the streets. News reporters were feverishly detailing the events that just unfolded. People clapped and hollered approvingly as Diablo and his men were handcuffed and thrusted into police vans.
I even saw General Moreno and several other Santa Elena police officers in custody. They frowned at me as they sat in the police car, perhaps entertaining thoughts of revenge.
“Marisol Vega?”
It was a Colombian officer holding a notebook in his hand.
“Y-yes,” I said.
The officer smiled. “We have been trying to uncover this ring for years. They were hiding in Barranquilla and some parts of Santa Elena. They have ties to the F.A.R.C., you know,” he said.
“Even General Moreno?” I asked.
“Todo. All of them. But thanks to you, we’ve got them now,” he said.
“Do you think we should leave Santa Elena?” I said.
The officer shrugged his shoulders. “You do not have to. No one should be bothering your family again. These guys are going to spend a long time in prison. I don’t know. Sometimes it’s better to hide in plain sight and sometimes it’s better to start over,” he said.
The officer peppered me with more questions before sending me back to Mama who had been preparing to ride in the ambulance with Chū-Cho and Luis. After waving off Señora Rosano and thanking her for her help, I joined my family in the back of the ambulance.
Chū-Cho smiled at me wearily.
“Little sister, I’m impressed. I heard about everything. I never knew you were so brave,” he said.
“Yeah,” said Luis. “How did you know all that?”
“Papa told me,” I said.
“You were always his favorite,” said Chū-Cho.
“No,” interrupted Mama. “We are all his favorites. My husband loved all of you. And now we are going to move on for him.”
“Mama, do you think we should stay in Santa Elena?” asked Luis.
“It doesn’t matter. As long as we are together,” she said.
Chile
We did not stay in Santa Elena. Months later, Señor Pedro made a full recovery and returned home. After helping him for some time, we decided to leave. Chū-Cho suggested that Mama rent the farm to a Colombian family, which she did.
The extra rental income allowed us to pack up our meager bags and rent a house in Chile. There, Mama found work in a restaurant while Chū-Cho and Luis returned to their jobs.
Me? I enrolled in the University of Chile. Although I was younger than most students, Señora Rosano had managed to persuade the school to allow me to complete my high school work in my first semester, then move on to become a student of literature.
She encouraged me to show my writings to the school board, revealing to them my troubled and disturbing family drama. But they accepted me anyway with Colombia paying my school fees due to my bravery in helping them close down a long-standing Barranquilla criminal ring.
Peace slowly began to settle around me and within me. No longer a farm teenager, I was now a city chica.
I had honored Papa’s memory with love and faith in God. I had faced a strange and undeniable enemy and conquered him. And I, through my newly found written voice, had saved my family and helped us to breathe new life on new land.
May 3rd Books, Inc.
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Michelle St. Claire
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My Name is Marisol Page 5