“Zed, you want to explore, no one is holding you back. You are a free man in a free land.”
“And leave you to the dangers of this strange land? No way. Someone has to protect you when the going gets tough.”
Forbes laughs and says, “You are so full of shit.”
Zed pats Forbes on the shoulder. “Uncle Forbes, I am here for you. I’m the Robin to your Batman. You know that. We were a great team in the Congo and...” he drops his gaze to the sidewalk, “...besides, Sonnet is busy with the twin.”
Forbes gives Zed a sympathetic look. “Your partner in adventure is stolen away from you. I understand.” He looks past Zed, and his attention is drawn to a tall, dark, hulking figure across the street, standing silently and gazing beyond the police blockade. He observes people cutting a wide path around the long-haired man.
Zed turns to Forbes’ object of interest and makes a low whistle. “And I thought you were tall. That guy is pro basketball tall.”
Forbes stares at the man, noting the details of his impoverished clothes; the holes in his shoes, the dirt and grime on his coat. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out some loose Chilean bills, gives the Peso bills a quick once over and then heads across the street to the tall man.
Forbes’ presence doesn’t register with the man until Forbes is almost upon him, the tall man’s attention being on the area beyond the police blockade. When he finally notices Forbes, a look of apprehension crosses his face, yet he doesn’t move.
Forbes silently extends the money to the man, whose eyes drop to the cash and then rise to Forbes' eyes. Blandness replaces the apprehension. When the man makes no move to take the money, Forbes steps closer and shoves the money into the man’s coat pocket. The man is passive; neither acknowledging the generous gift nor backing away.
Forbes withdraws his hand and steps back. The man’s stench is overpowering this close, but he ignores it. He has smelled worse. This odor seems to be more defensive; something an animal would exude to keep predators away. Dropping his eyes to the man’s hands hanging at his sides, Forbes is overcome with a tremendous urge to touch them, to read him here in public, to see what makes him tick and find out why he is in such a filthy state.
“Don’t do it,” Zed says from behind him.
Forbes turns to Zed, who is only a few feet away. Zed is slowly shaking his head.
“You don’t know enough about this guy to do a read on him.” Zed knows his uncle so well that he is sure Forbes is contemplating a read. It’s a habit that Forbes has had since his youth; helping the injured and the castaways.
“You just came out of a bad read with the screamer. You want to walk right into another possibly worse read? Your sensitivity is too sharp right now. You don’t know where this could lead. Save it. This guy doesn’t look like he’s going far from here. Probably lives on some bench just around the corner. If you have to do it, wait until your defenses are recharged.”
Forbes knows Zed is right, the little shit. He turns back to the man and asks in Spanish, “What’s your name?”
The man stares through him.
Two kids passing by yell out in Spanish, “Hey Skunk Mountain! You making some new friends? Maybe they get you a bath, introduce you to a bar of soap.” Both boys laugh and stroll on.
“Skunk Mountain. Huh. Nice nickname you think, Mundélé Elombé?” Zed says using Forbes’ Lingala nickname from the Congo. “Poor guy.”
“You understood their Spanish?” Forbes asks.
“A little. What did they say?”
“That he needs a bath.”
“Can’t argue with that. Pretty ripe.”
“No. It’s something else. It’s a natural odor. Yeah, there is human stink here, but there’s another stronger animal odor. I doubt a bath would get rid of all of it.”
“There is a muskiness about the guy, that’s for sure. Look at him. He barely acknowledges our presence, just stands there watching us.”
“You got any loose bills, Zed?”
Zed empties his pockets of change and bills, and hands them to Forbes, who takes the money and stuffs it into the man’s pocket and says quietly to him in Spanish, “Our meeting doesn’t have to be an accident, my friend.”
Chapter 13
Day 1
Evening
Santiago, Chile
The odors of potato, squash, corn, and meat cooking in a pot fill Sister Mary’s small kitchen. The soup called Cazuela simmers over a small flame. Steam rises from a big bowl of it in front of Isabel, who is happily seated at the small two-person table in Sister Mary’s kitchen. A half-full glass of fizzy orange drink sits next to it. On the TV in the living room, the evening news drones on to no one. Sister Mary places a bowl of Cazuela across from Isabel and seats herself in front of it
“Would you like to lead the prayer of thanksgiving, Isabel?” Sister Mary asks in Spanish.
Isabel lowers her head, folds her hands just as the nuns taught her years ago and says, “Bless us, O Lord, and these your gifts, which we are about to receive from your bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen.”
She picks up her soup spoon, dips it into the soup and then blows on the steamy broth until it cools enough to sample. With a quiet sip, she tests it, finds it suitable and slurps the remainder.
Sister Mary watches her with interest. “Good?” she asks.
Isabel nods and says respectfully, “Yes, Sister Mary. It is very good. Thank you very much.”
It’s been quite some time since Sister Mary has had a chance to observe Isabel, and she is curious about her current social graces. Was she going to be sharing dinner with an undisciplined waif or had Isabel retained the manners taught to her by the nuns and her foster family? Isabel’s behavior so far is pleasing.
“Remind me, Isabel. You are ten years old?”
“That’s what everyone says.”
“And your birthday?”
“The sisters gave me January first because no one really knows when it was.”
“You don’t remember?”
“I forget things, Sister Mary.”
“Yes, I remember now. You have periods of memory lapse. Like you start over every so often and just go from there. No parents, no brothers and sisters to help you remember. No relatives. It’s like you just dropped out of the sky. Tragic.” Sister Mary’s face is sympathetic.
“Yes, Sister Mary,” Isabel says dutifully. She’s heard it all before and takes it as a matter of everyday life. Distinct memories go back only a few years or so. Vague memories go back further. Her very early childhood is a blank. There are small patches of memory that stick, like the thanksgiving prayer, but mostly she lives in the “now” and makes do.
She takes another spoonful of soup and blows across the hot liquid.
“Why did you run away from the Lopez family? Did Mr. or Mrs. Lopez hurt you?”
Isabel shakes her head.
“The boys?”
Isabel nods.
“Did you tell Mr. or Mrs. Lopez about it?”
Isabel swallows her soup and nods again.
“And they did nothing about it?”
Isabel nods again and says, “Mrs. Lopez made me clean the house every day. When I cleaned the boys’ room, the boys hit and teased me. When I scrubbed the toilets, Mrs. Lopez yelled at me that I wasn’t doing it right so I had to clean them every day. She took me to people’s houses and had me clean for them. Sometimes those people hit me.”
“She didn’t have you in school?”
Isabel shakes her head. “She said I was too stupid. Yelled at me when I tried to read books they had in their house.”
Sister Mary’s face reddens as her anger builds about Isabel’s mistreatment by the Lopez family. Treating Isabel as a maid or servant to be lent out to friends is unforgivable.
“But you had no trouble reading the book about Archangels? You understood it?”
“Most of it. The words weren’t too big for me.”
“Maybe we can sit down after dinner
tonight and you can read from one of my books. Would you like that?”
Isabel smiles widely and her eyes brighten. “Can I pick the book?”
“If that’s what you would like. Or if you have a problem choosing, I can help. What kind of books do you like to read?”
“I like books about animals.”
“Birds and fish and sheep and chickens?”
“Mountain animals like alpacas and pumas and foxes and eagles.”
“Well, I think I might be able to find something like that.”
“Books with pictures of them.”
“Do you have a favorite animal?”
“The puma,” Isabel says without hesitation with a strange gleam in her eyes. “Silent and sleek. I’ve seen videos of them. Most are light brown, but my favorites are the black ones, black like the night. Invisible, except for their eyes that glow under a flashlight.” While speaking about it, her demeanor changes dramatically. Sister Mary is surprised. Isabel’s eyes become feral and wild, fierce and fearless. Sister Mary is taken aback by the shift, and an involuntary shiver ripples across her back. Her nostrils expand when a fleeting odor of wildcat musk wafts into the air. An image of a huge black feline flashes through her mind.
Then it’s gone, as fast as it came, and Isabel is back to being the meek little girl whom Sister Mary rescued from the street. She lowers her eyes to her soup and demurely scoops up another spoonful of Cazuela.
Remarkable is how Sister Mary will describe it later to Father Donovan when she’s finished complaining about Isabel’s treatment at the hands of Mrs. Lopez.
In the background, the news moves on from student protests in the city to the lunchtime earth tremor that shook Santiago. The newscaster reports that there were no injuries and only minor reported damage. Geologists place the epicenter east of Santiago near Puente Alto.
To Sister Mary and Isabel, the news is just so much ambient noise. Neither pays attention to it. Isabel is focused on the home-cooked food while Sister Mary is lost in thought about her new charge.
The newscaster moves on to two more minor tremors that occurred North of Santiago, in the Atacama Desert, neither causing damage or loss of life. Geologists locate the epicenters near San Pedro de Atacama. An on-the-scene newscaster reporting from the ALMA Radio Telescope facility east of San Pedro stands before the array of telescopes talking about their construction and their ability to weather tremors. The image switches back to the in-studio anchor, who reports significant increases in released gas from the fumarolic vents in the Lascar Volcano southeast of the telescopes.
After Isabel empties her glass, Sister Mary goes to the refrigerator and retrieves more drink for her.
A car alarm goes off in the street outside Sister Mary’s building just as the news changes to a local report of an explosion, and the subsequent deaths of three boys in her neighborhood. There is no on-the-scene coverage and details of the event are vague. The boys’ names are being withheld pending notification of their relatives.
Curious about the noise outside, Sister Mary goes to the window and looks in both directions. When the alarm ceases she goes back to her dinner. While news of the temblors and volcano is everyday humdrum to be ignored, the more important news of the neighborhood event is missed completely.
After Isabel and Sister Mary finish their meal, they retire to her living room library, where Sister Mary directs Isabel to a large-format picture book of the wildlife of Chile. Together they have a wonderful evening bonding over beautiful pictures of animals and insects of Chile.
Chapter 14
Day 1
Evening
Santiago, Chile
The scent of Sister Mary on Isabel’s pillow and blanket is warm and assuring comfort to Isabel, like being embraced and protected by Sister Mary herself. Only Isabel’s dark hair and soft face peek out from the down blanket fabric-and-feather nest Sister Mary made for her on the couch. Isabel snuggles deeper into the pillow and pulls the down blanket in tighter. The emotionally draining day has finally taken its toll and in moments she is sound asleep.
The light from under Sister Mary’s closed bedroom door goes out with a click, and soon everything is silent slumber. Only meager illumination from the street light seeps in around the edges of the thick curtains. Stillness and torpor prevail.
Yet, for Isabel, sleep is but a transition from one reality to another. From beyond the small apartment, a low mountain calls to her, just as it always does when consciousness is suspended. On top of that mountain stands the white Madonna with outstretched arms. Towering high into the shimmering stars, the Madonna is a nexus for Isabel, the place where she and her protector and friend stay in touch with one another. The mountain is her home from where all things are visible and perceived. It beckons to her to be with he who understands her and knows her for what she is. For as much as the mountain is her lair, it is also his refuge.
Tonight she crouches down on all fours at the base of the majestic Madonna, and stares down into the surrounding city, where she can see the church where Sister Mary and she met earlier today. Its high spire with the cross at the top stands out amid the lower surrounding buildings.
Her big friend is at her side, tall and dark and full of scent. He too looks out over the city, just as the Madonna does; focused on the distant horizon.
Isabel presses her feline head against his leg and makes a low throaty purring sound that ends with a small chirp. He lowers his eyes to her black-furred body, sleek and rippled with wildcat muscle, and fixes his gaze on her glowing yellow cat eyes. She lets out a snarl that ends in a small roar as an acknowledgment to his attention. Her black furred tail twitches back and forth.
Dropping to his knee, he runs his hand over her soft animal fur. The familiarity of his caress soothes and relaxes her, prompting her eyes to close in comfort. But she senses that this state of well-being is to be short-lived. Guilt and accusing eyes are close at hand.
Their odor assaults her before their arrival. And when she feels their angry and sullen presence, she intuits them gathering below her, some sitting and some standing in the garden, all watching her.
When she opens her eyes, their forms, like ivory statues, are stark under the bright moonlight, every sorrowful one of them, all accusing. The boy–frowning and bitter–who choked her is flanked by his two younger friends, who appear confused and unhappy. The boys who taunted her on the roof are spread out like pieces on a chess board. They are somber and still. The one who struck her and held her, glares up at her with angry eyes. They are here because of her and she knows it. Yet, looking out at them, she feels no sympathy for them, nor does she give in to guilt. In fact, she feels nothing for them, neither anger nor concern nor fear.
Their lot is to only look on in silence because they exist in the Puimapu. Only when they are united with themselves will they be allowed to speak as a Nakmapu. This she knows. It is a belief carried over from her ancient past, and she knows it for what it is and loves it for what it gives her. It is what makes her Mapuche.
“Ignore them,” the big man next to her says. “They are of little consequence now.”
When he stands and resumes his watch out over the city, her ears twitch and turn until she fixates on what is commanding his undivided attention. She feels it under her feet; a low rumble, deep below the ground, originating somewhere to the north, on the other side of the mountain, in the opposite direction to which he is looking. And then she understands. His attention to it is not with his eyes or ears, but his mind. He is focused on something many miles from where they stand; something far away, something so massive that its presence is heard only subliminally and completely out of normal hearing range.
She pads around to the other side of the Madonna and looks out to the north. The emanation is a grinding and scraping, as if the earthen plate the countryside stands on were being dragged and pushed, rubbing against an underlying stratum, tearing and crushing. The vibrations are so deep, so far below the earth that they are almost lost t
o the world she and her friend inhabit. Only the two of them detect the effects of the movement.
Her large friend is now at her side, looking off in the same direction as she. He seats himself beside her, wraps his arm around her animal ribs and pats her like a pet.
“It is in preparation, but time for It is running out. Soon, very soon we will have our moment.”
Her tail waves back and forth and she pants in the evening air. She turns and looks up into his face. He looks down into her eyes and says, “The change is upon you. Already you flex your will. When you learn to control it, you will be at your strongest. I do not look forward to that time because I may lose you forever.”
She lets out a throaty purr that ends with a high-pitched chirp. She is impatient for the completion of the change. She is impatient to regain herself. She is impatient to be what she once was.
He strokes her fur and smiles down at her.
“Soon,” he repeats as if reading her thoughts. “Soon.”
Chapter 15
Day 1
Evening
Santiago, Chile
Seated across from Forbes at the dining table, Twizzle has barely touched her Pejerrey al Cacho. But, her glass of organic wine is nearly empty.
“Forbes, looking into the kids murdered today is dangerous,” she warns.
“Why?” Forbes’ mouth is half full of flash-fried calamari. His glass of Pisco Sour is barely touched.
Zed, who is seated next to Forbes and watching silently, listens and takes another bite of his seafood turnover. Rafa, seated next to Twizzle, is fiddling with his cellphone, momentarily ignoring the dish of razor clams in parmesan cheese in front of him.
The reserved Capitán room at the Coco Pacheco restaurant in which they dine is empty of all other patrons and personnel. The lone waiter, who stood off to the side near the stone corbeled archway into their dining room, left after being politely asked to give them privacy. They are alone and out of earshot of all other restaurant patrons and staff.
Girl with all the Pain Page 9