‘Don’t worry. I explained things to them. They don’t want it back,’ says Sepelio as he reaches the container truck. ‘You’ll see. We’ll have them out of there in seconds.’
‘You explained things to them? Fucking hell … Why do I even bother? … Why do I put up with you?’
‘See? I knew it … Fits perfectly!’
Jumping over the ramp, Epitafio grabs Sepelio by the throat and, this time to himself, he mutters: ‘I don’t have to put up with you forever … It’s been years now. When you’re done here, you take it straight back and you tell them it was just a joke.’ Then, squeezing Sepelio’s throat, which still bears the mark of the branding iron at El Paraíso, Epitafio mutters ominously, ‘And they’d better fucking believe it was a joke!
‘But right now, shift your arse,’ says Epitafio. Releasing Sepelio and turning to his men, he bellows: ‘Everyone get ready!’ Then he takes several steps away from the container, takes off his cap, cursing the bright sunshine, wipes his face with the back of his hand and says: ‘What are you waiting for? … Open her up!’
The five men who dragged the huge ramp here hoist themselves on to the Minos, slide back the lock-rods sealing the doors, loop ropes round the bolts and jump down on to the volcanic rock. The piercing sounds of their bodies against the steel echo inside the container, and those who left their lands many days since begin to sob, to speak one by one: they know that the words they hear are seeds with fruit of infamy.
Every time we relaxed the noise would start up again … and we knew by now that noise was not good … the silence lasted thirty minutes at most … maybe forty … never an hour … I thought it would be better if we could not hear …
if we were deaf.
Using the weight of their bodies, the men who help drag the ramp here pull on the ropes, but in vain: still welded shut by warm solder, the hinges of the doors refuse to budge. ‘Come on! Don’t just stand there staring!’ Epitafio yells at the men still clutching their guns … ‘Quick, before they run out of air in there!’
One after another, the men loyal to Epitafio put down their weapons, approach the container and lend a hand, but though many are pulling on the ropes, they cannot open the Minos. What the fuck is going on? Thunderhead wonders as he watches the men heave, and thinks, If they run out of air in there, my giant will die. Then he booms: ‘Put your backs into it, like real men!’
When finally the hinges of the container begin to creak — Estela ordered her stowaway to weld them shut — Epitafio peers into the Minos, but before he can make out anything, he and his men are thrown backward by a dark, dense living cloud that billows out with a deafening clamour.
Humiliated by what they can see, Thunderhead and his men shamefacedly pick themselves up; meanwhile, the cats that followed them from the house give a frantic yowl and dart towards the container. The cloud of frantic, beating wings wheeling aimlessly in the sky serves only to fuel Epitafio’s rage: ‘What the fuck is going on?’
In the silence that follows, Epitafio watches the cats prowl, maddened by hunger and the sudden appearance of the flock, until the silence is broken by a booming laughter that echoes inside the hulking Minos.
Tearing his eyes from the jaws of the cats fighting over the three or four animals they managed to catch, Epitafio watches as the figure of a laughing boy emerges from the shadows: ‘She told me … “It’ll scare the shit out of him,” she said!’ ‘How did you get into my container? … When did you sneak in?’ says Thunderhead, taking two paces forward, shooing a cat with a bat in its jaws that scurries off and hides in the undergrowth.
‘What the hell are you laughing at …? How did you get them in there?’ Epitafio says angrily and the boy, who has now stopped laughing, comes down the ramp and explains what happened. Suddenly Sepelio appears from nowhere and slaps the boy. ‘What are you doing?’ Epitafio barks and slaps Sepelio. ‘Go stand over there, let the boy talk.’
‘That’s another thing she said … “Sepelio is bound to interrupt,” she said … Tell him I send my love to him, too … Tell him: “Maybe we’ll see each other next time” … It’s been a while since Epitafio brought you along,’ says the boy, glancing at Sepelio. Then, looking into the eyes of the man in command, he says, ‘Did you shit your pants or just piss yourself?
‘That’s what she told me to say: Did you shit your pants or just piss yourself?’ says the boy who stowed away in the Minos. ‘And she also said to say: Maybe this will teach you a lesson … You’re not the only one who can pull cruel pranks!’
Unable to contain himself, Epitafio bursts out laughing and the men clutching their guns, who until now have been standing to attention, relax and go back to their appointed posts, while Sepelio and his boys climb the ramp and go into the container.
Hearing the sound of footsteps circling their bodies, those who came on foot to the clearing called El Ojo de Hierba, those who will shortly be dragged from the metal box and tortured in the courtyard of El Teronaque, curse God, their ancestors, their race, their seed and that of their descendants.
When everything started again, I have to admit I cried … I have two children, I made this journey because I have no money … no future … This is why I was making the journey … and this was what God had done to me … I hated Him, I hated my parents and my homeland.
Still laughing, Epitafio takes his phone from his pocket and sends a message ‘LMFAO!!!’ then, slipping it back into his pocket, he conjures the face of Estela and is about to speak to her absence, when the voice of Sepelio interrupts: ‘They nearly fucking suffocated!
‘They’re pretty much cooked!’ Sepelio laughs, and it is his laugh rather than his words that brings Epitafio back to earth and he feels a rush of concern. I don’t want the giant to suffocate … I want my giant to be all right! he thinks as he stares at Sepelio and shouts, ‘Stop wasting time and get them down here! … Get them out here right now!’
‘You heard him!’ Sepelio calls, assigning tasks to his men, who set about doing what they should already have done; the men who put the ramp in place go inside the container while those clutching their rifles form a guard of honour in the courtyard of El Teronaque.
But just before Sepelio and his men begin to carry out those who have come from far-off lands, there is another cry from Epitafio: ‘Look around, there’s a big guy in there … Bring him out before the rest of them. Bring him here to me … Sepelio … Bring the giant to me here and then you can bring out the others.’ Then, turning to the boy sent by Estela, he says, ‘Don’t move from this spot.’
Clearing his throat and aping Epitafio’s words, Sepelio, whose face seems to have shrunk in his head, goes back inside the container, cursing those lying on the floor as he steps over them. As he scans the container for the giant, Sepelio starts to hum the song he sings every time they unload: ‘Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.’
Just as when the fog lifts and the eyes refashion the form of what was merely insinuated by the mists, those who hail from other lands but not from other tongues recognise the song being sung above their heads, and so they realise they must abandon all hope.
‘Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, catch the giant by the toe,’ sings Sepelio, stumbling around inside the container, where the temperature is several degrees hotter and the air as dense as it was in the jungle. ‘Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, catch a giant by the toe. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, catch a giant by the toe,’ Sepelio counts off until he finds the one he is looking for and points.
‘Catch the giant by the toe … Catch the giant by the toe …’ Sepelio sings as he and his men surround the giant, grabbing his arms and legs: ‘Has to be this guy, there’s no one bigger in here.’ Taking the blindfold from the giant’s eyes and the gag from his mouth, Sepelio brings his constricted face close to that of the young man now suddenly begging: ‘Please don’t hurt me!’
‘He wants you out before the others,’ Sepelio whispers, cutting the ropes th
at bind the giant’s hands, then, ordering him on to his knees, adds: ‘Who knows, maybe this is your lucky day?’ Unable to understand what has been said, the giant again fires off the words burning his tongue: ‘Please, don’t hurt me … I never did nothing to no one!’
Turning on his heel, Sepelio reaches the entrance to the container, waits until the giant is by his side, and shouts: ‘Shift your arse! The boss is waiting and you don’t want to make him angry!’ But one step before he reaches the edge of the ramp, the giant’s terror betrays him and he stumbles and falls on his face.
Laughing at his fall, the men loyal to Sepelio lift the big guy from the floor and deliver him to their boss, grabbing him by the elbows and dragging him down the ramp: ‘You were right … He’s a giant … but his legs don’t work … or his head … He’s afraid something is going to happen to him … that you’re going to do something to him!’
Hearing the tezontle crunch beneath the weight of the giant, whose pleas trailed off as terror numbed his throat, Epitafio says: ‘Leave him with me and go unload the others … You need to work quickly … We’ll need some rest. It’s going to be a long night … If we don’t get some sleep now we’ll never get it done … We won’t have the strength, you and me.’
‘So I’m going with you … You’re taking me with you tonight?’ Sepelio asks, feigning surprise, and his shrivelled face expands once more as he listens to the words of Epitafio, who feigns surprise that Sepelio is surprised: ‘I’ve told you a bunch of times … tonight you come with me.’ As they stare at each other, the two men are planning to put an end to each other before the day is done.
A second before Sepelio and the giant reach him, the phone in Epitafio’s pocket beeps and he fishes it out with two fingers: YOUR MESSAGE CANNOT BE DELIVERED, read the twenty-eight characters that, in the mind of the man who so loves Estela mean: So you’re up in the sierra now … Let’s see whether you heed me this time. Let’s see whether you show up at El Paraíso.
Taking advantage of Epitafio’s inattention, Sepelio looks over his shoulders and calls to his men: ‘Untie the rest of them quickly … I’ll be there in a minute. In the meantime, make a start … We haven’t got all day … We have to lock them in the rooms … We have to get some sleep … I want to feel strong for tonight.
‘Here’s your giant,’ Sepelio says when Thunderhead finally looks up from his phone and they both listen in surprise to the disjointed, half-finished words of the giant: ‘Where are … They think that … came with m … don’t want hu …’
Eagerly examining the giant that has been delivered to him, Epitafio responds and at the same time issues a new order to Sepelio and the first of many orders to the boy who stowed away in the Minos: ‘Don’t pretend to know what you want and what you don’t want … You might have been misinformed … You, go back to the container … and you, go and help him … No one stands around idle here.’
When Sepelio and the boy who welded shut the hinges of the container have disappeared inside the truck, Thunderhead looks into the eyes of the giant, and, seeing them scan for Sepelio, he says: ‘Don’t be afraid of the fuckwit … My dogs don’t bite unless I tell them to … Anyway, he’s not going to be around for much longer.’
Epitafio wraps his arm around one of the giant’s arms and, turning him around, they walk to the place where the tezontle is interspersed with tufts of the yellowed grass that extends all the way into the shadows of the trees and shrubs of the forest, where every creature has fallen silent, beaten down by the sun still rising in the sky.
‘You’re with me now … Nothing bad is going to happen to you … No one is going to hurt you if I say so,’ Epitafio whispers into the ear of the giant, and then adds: ‘This is your lucky day … Thanks to me, this is your lucky day. You can relax now … I mean it, stop that quivering,’ says Epitafio, causing them both to halt and, turning both bodies once more, points back to the trailer.
‘I want you to see what they do to them now,’ says Thunderhead, sitting down on the anaemic grass. ‘What I am not going to let them do to you.’
‘…’
‘See the guard of honour the men have formed? Watch the terrified creatures come out.’ Epitafio gestures, then, pretending he had forgotten he hastily asks, ‘How rude of me … I haven’t even asked what you’re called.’
‘What I’m call—?’ ventures the giant only to be immediately interrupted.
‘No … Don’t say anything … Better I give you a name,’ says Epitafio, increasingly excited. ‘But don’t look down … Watch what our men are doing over there … What is not happening to you.’
‘…’
‘That’s right … Watch and learn,’ says Thunderhead, then, turning back to the giant, ‘What was I saying? Oh yes, I was going to give you a new name … So, tell me what you used to do.’
‘Boxed and gave lessons,’ sputters the big guy, barely registering that he has spoken and eager to tear his eyes from what is happening in the courtyard. ‘I even won an Olympics once.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘I had a medal … It got lost … out there in the jungle,’ babbles the giant not knowing what part of him is still speaking. ‘After I gave lessons … not long … the gym closed.’
‘What was the name of it … of the gym?’ asks Thunderhead, his eagerness mounting.
‘El Mausoleo.’
‘The Mausoleum? That’s your new name … Mausoleo … It fits you perfectly.’
Throwing a few punches at the empty air, Epitafio repeats: ‘The Mausoleum!’ Then he turns back to the giant, who closes his eyes, picturing his medal: the medal that now lies beneath the body of the elder of the two sons of the jungle: the two boys who are back in the home, sleeping like the dead, despite the fact that the puppies have begun to whimper again. Then, growing angry again, Epitafio growls: ‘How many times do I have to tell you? — Don’t look away.
‘Open your eyes … You need to see what the men are doing … What’ll they say about Mausoleo if he can’t even bring himself to watch? … What do you care that they’re bawling like babies? … If even one of them could hold it in … stifle their screams … maybe he would be lucky like you … But no, not even one … They don’t even have the balls to choke back tears!’
First they lashed out with fists and feet … then they beat us with boards … we sank to the ground, legs splayed and they started to hit us … every day I dream they’re killing me … that the boards are bursting my heart … by now we were not ashamed to sob, we were howling dogs, animals.
When Mausoleo finally looks up towards the courtyard of El Teronaque, Epitafio throws another couple of punches, remembering the boxing matches he had with Estela and, smiling at the memory of this woman he has always loved, he takes out his phone and types: TOLD YOU HED B VALUABAL. EX-BOXER, OLYMPIC TEAM, MY GIANT. EVEN 1 A MEDELL!!!
Hearing her phone beep, Estela reaches an arm across the steering wheel and suddenly resurfaces from the abyss — her thoughts have strayed again to Cementaria and her suicide — grabs the device she left on the dashboard and reads the message that, this time, has been delivered. Her mind whirls, three thoughts intertwine: the memory of the friend she loved, the message from Epitafio, and the excitement at finally being able to get a signal.
But before the excitement she feels can be transformed into joy, the signal disappears and IhearonlywhatIwant screams: ‘Fuck it!’ Meanwhile, silently thinking to herself: I need to get a move on … I need to get to the summit soon. Then she tosses the phone on to the dashboard, shifts up a gear, floors the pedal of the Ford Lobo and, spotting a rocky outcrop in the distance, thinks: I can call him from there.
VI
Incredulous, the drivers who, only seconds before, had seen their boss make a second unscheduled stop, watch as Estela clambers out and runs up the path. They are even more surprised as they see IhearonlywhatIwant climb the escarpment and walk to th
e cliff edge.
Staring down into the vertiginous abyss that gives birth to the wind that whistles through the mountains, Estela holds up her telephone and complains: ‘Shit … I had a decent signal a minute ago!’ and at the same time silently grumbles: Why didn’t I say something … or at least send you a message? … What the fuck am I saying? How could I explain all this in a message?
Two metres from IhearonlywhatIwant, in a nest built into the rock face, two hatchlings cheep and the sound attracts the attention of this woman, who, on seeing the nest, shifts her thoughts to another person, thinks for a moment about Cementeria: back in El Paraíso, they were responsible for feeding the chickens.
Turning back from the sheer drop, Estela stares at the fledglings and once again wonders what happened to Cementeria, where she was all that time she was missing, and why the hell she took her own life. But her mind quickly accepts that now is not the time to think about such things, and her friend’s suicide is once again replaced by thoughts of Epitafio: Fucking hell … I didn’t even respond to your message!
I bet you’re pissed off … You probably won’t want to hear me out … Even if I could get through now you probably wouldn’t talk to me … One missed message and you go mad! Estela thinks, transforming her worry into nervousness. So why bother calling you? IhearonlywhatIwant adds silently, but before she can extricate herself from this new spiral of doubts and fears, she hears a cry in the distance, looks up and sees a falcon returning to the nest.
Suspending its flight less than half a metre from the rock face, the falcon folds its wings, contracts its body and, as though walking on air, enters the nest. Disgusted by the sight of the hatchlings eating what the falcon vomits over them, Estela looks away, her gaze plunging into the void as she thinks: I’m not going to let you get angry … I’m not going to give you an excuse … Your whole life, you’ve been like this. Even when we were kids you’d get mad if you couldn’t get an answer.
Among the Lost Page 5