by Roger Bruner
And so with those simple but strategic words, Alazne became an accepted part of village life.
But how long would it continue?
28
I couldn’t imagine how long my adjustment to being back in Santa María would take. Missing Nikki and Mother Chalina so much I cried myself to sleep every night didn’t make the transition any easier.
Although the villagers treated me far better than they used to, I didn’t feel at home. Not the way I’d felt at home in Tomás’s apartment with Chalina and Nikki.
Arranging and rearranging the few pieces of basic furniture people brought as welcoming gifts didn’t fill much of my time. Many of the villagers surprised and pleased me, however, by stopping by periodically with smaller items they thought I could use.
During those visits, I learned how terrified the villagers were. What would happen now that Tomás was dead? If no one took his place smuggling the marijuana to San Diego, how would they—how would we—get the things we needed for our survival?
Regardless of whatever agreement the Elders had made with Tomás, providing for Alazne and me would prove impossible. Unless…
~*~
“Do you suppose Tomás arranged for someone else to take his place if something happened to him?” one villager asked.
“Would he have trusted anyone not to take his place…prematurely?” another responded with extraordinary perception.
“Perhaps someone will show up by accident to help us,” a third person suggested. Only a couple of people laughed.
“That would require magic, not an accident. When did the last stranger find his way to this village?”
“None of us is old enough to remem—”
“The founder of the village,” someone quipped. “And he probably couldn’t have found his way here a second time.”
Even I laughed at that statement. But then I shook my head. The villagers couldn’t fully appreciate how isolated Santa María was.
“No one remembers him, anyhow.”
“That’s what I thought. This spina bifida problem won’t matter if we starve to death first.”
I shared their concerns. Fearful that the villagers would soon see Alazne and me as a burden, I longed to become a productive member of the community and help solve our mutual problems.
But how? They wouldn’t allow me to participate in the “village commerce” even if another smuggler showed up. I wouldn’t have wanted to, either.
If the villagers had known about the drug-related violence I had read about, witnessed on television, and learned even more about firsthand from Tomás, they would have agreed that their livelihood wasn’t simply illegal, but dangerous and morally wrong.
Perhaps that was why Tomás forbade them to involve me. Someone had to remain free to view the situation objectively—and to see the larger picture.
Their lack of other options was a severe problem. In my reading, I had learned the meaning of Catch-22 and understood how accurately that concept described the villagers’ dilemma. They had to grow and process marijuana in spite of the many compelling reasons to quit.
I didn’t have a solution. Any more than I knew who might take Tomás’s place until an answer was found.
But at least we hadn’t starved to death.
Not yet.
~*~
I was thrilled to discover that Nikki was knocking on my doorframe rather than one of my kindly-but-overly-curious neighbors.
Several weeks had passed since Tomás’s death, but our parting was still fresh in my mind. Although I’d felt like someone had ripped my heart from my body when she left for San Diego, I got too caught up worrying about the survival of the village to dwell on her absence except at night while trying to fall asleep.
“You are well?” I asked when we quit hugging and crying.
“As well as can be.” She smiled. “But I’m still grieving.”
No way could I say I knew exactly how she felt. I had never loved a man the way she loved Tomás, and I had never lost a man I truly loved. Even though Tomás had died in my arms while I pretended to be his sweetheart, I didn’t feel the things Nikki was feeling. I couldn’t.
“Grief is a terrible thing.” Such a trite thing to say, but nothing else came to mind.
She nodded.
We spent hours catching up.
~*~
The funeral arrangements had included a viewing and a brief service. She called it a mass. Finding a priest courageous enough to officiate had been difficult.
The only person Nikki recognized at the viewing was Juanita, and she remained inconspicuously in the background, present only in case of trouble. Nikki suspected that other law enforcement officers had been close by, conveniently out of sight.
Although Tomás didn’t have any remaining family, a number of impressive-looking strangers attended the viewing. Dressed in fancier clothes than Tomás’s finest, they also drove automobiles that were more luxurious than anything Tomás had owned.
Several of the strangers rode in limousines with tinted windows. Like the ones that had hidden Alazne’s conception.
They kept to themselves, and not one of them demonstrated even the slightest sign of grief or sadness. Or of regret.
Judging by the way they kept staring and pointing in Nikki’s direction, she’d trembled at the realization they might be the enemies Tomás had been so terrified of. The very ones he had sought to protect her, me, and Alazne from. The ones who had apparently rigged the car bomb that killed Señora Isabel.
Surely they hadn’t come to pay their respects to the deceased, but to confirm and report to their superiors that Tomás was actually dead. After looking into the open casket, each of them turned away, apparently satisfied. Looking quite pleased, actually.
One man took numerous photographs of the body, smiling with each click of his expensive-looking Nikon.
Several days earlier, when Nikki had gone to the funeral home to make the arrangements, she learned that someone had already selected and paid cash for the costliest casket available. The same nameless individual had also purchased a plot in the city’s priciest cemetery and ordered a sizeable gravestone.
The anonymous donor had left a note—in English. “Señorita Nikki, please do not offend us by refusing to accept this casket, plot, and marble gravestone as a gift from the deepest places in our hearts. Yours truly, Friends of the Family.”
She spent hours trying to figure out who the donors were. Thankful she hadn’t refused their “gifts,” she quit wondering when she saw the strangers at the viewing.
~*~
“That’s why it’s taken so long to get back to Santa María. I was so terrified of those men and what they might do that I refused to return to the apartment at first. I postponed going back as long as I could, making every worthless and ridiculous excuse I could think of.
“But I couldn’t postpone the inevitable. Packing and moving things out had to be done, and Juanita was impatient to put it behind us.
“Several days after the funeral, when the interrogations were complete and I had given my depositions to the police, I agreed—still against my better judgment—to return to the apartment. Juanita had promised around-the-clock, outside and inside protection until I was safely on my way back here.
“In fact, she helped me. Good thing. It took several days longer than either of us had expected.
“I encouraged Juanita to take whatever the police might want of Tomás’s possessions. I wasn’t sure they needed my permission, but I wanted to cooperate in every way I could to break the cycle Tomás had been part of.
“Juanita carefully tagged and bagged each piece of potential evidence she found.
“I kept everything she didn’t take. Everything but Tomás’s clothes and the furniture. I had Goodwill pick those things up.”
“At least you are here now and you are safe,” I said as we hugged again.
“Yes.” She smiled before continuing. “I am here and you are here and what? Are you
safe? Are you well? Are you happy? I’ve already talked too much about me. Tell me what you’ve been up to.”
I gave her a complete run-down of life during her absence. Then I mentioned the villagers’ fear of starvation. Maybe she would have a helpful suggestion, although I wasn’t counting on it.
She giggled. Then the giggling grew into loud howls of laughter.
My face grew hot. Not in anger, but frustration. “Nikki, this problem is serious. How can you take it so lightly? We will starve to death in a matter of months, perhaps only weeks.”
My best friend had never upset me like this—not once could I recall a cross word passing between us—but my resentment was bubbling now, about to boil over. I didn’t want that to happen.
“Rosa, my beloved girlfriend, you are concerned over nothing.”
I looked into her eyes. “What do you mean? Why are you laughing and talking crazy this way?”
“You must not realize I drove Tomás’s big truck today. I needed to bring a lot more than just your belongings, and my car wouldn’t begin to hold it all.”
I scrunched my eyebrows. What in the world…?
“Dr. Morales helped me secure and pack more food, clothing, and staple goods in that truck than the villagers can use in six months. Although he claimed those things had been charitable contributions, I think he paid for them with his own money.”
“He would do that? For people he barely knows?” I had never heard of such generosity.
“Whether he would or not, I can’t be sure. Would you gather some of the villagers for me, please? We need to unload the truck. Do you want to handle the distribution? Do you have time or should I ask someone else?”
I should have said, The Chief Elder will be responsible for that. But I didn’t.
“Count on me.”
29
I was about to discover that distributing the supplies fairly would require more wisdom than most young women possess.
As I pondered my options, however, I realized I had more knowledge, common sense, and, yes, probably even more wisdom than the villagers realized. I could do the distribution and do it more efficiently—more fairly—than anyone else.
I was thankful Dr. Morales had sent a good supply of binders, folders, loose leaf paper, legal pads, clip boards, writing tablets, pens, and pencils. He’d even sent bankers boxes.
He must have known I would need each of those office supplies eventually.
Nikki gave me a note from Dr. Morales…
“Your momma kept a detailed journal about her most important life experiences. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have remembered all the details she included when writing to you before her death. (Yes, Nikki told me what her letter said.) Most of your background would still be a mystery—lost forever.
“Rosa, your children will want to know about your background and theirs someday, and you won’t remember the details as clearly as you do now. I urge you to keep a journal of your own. You don’t need to include minute details about everything, but you are free to write as much about your life as you wish.
“Please commit to paper anything and everything that may interest future generations. Write first about your late childhood. Then write about your more recent past. After that, write about the important things that occur in your day-to-day life. Among the office supplies is a thick blank book for you to use as your journal.
“If Santa María should ever get electricity, I promise to bring you a laptop computer and teach you to use it.”
As deeply as his thoughtfulness moved me, I laughed aloud when I noticed he had failed to send any erasers. If my life up to now was any indication, how could I hope to do something as simple as keep a journal without continuing to make mistakes?
~*~
Before distributing any of the supplies, I would conduct a census. I would list the head of each household, the other occupants in the house, and each person’s status and special needs. For my household, I wrote, “Rosa: single mother, possibly pregnant (if so, needs vitamins with folic acid); Alazne: four-year-old child, crippled, must have crutches to walk; baby: if exists, believed healthy (so far).”
That seemed like the fairest way to make sure each family got what it needed. No one would starve before I finished—our existing supplies wouldn’t run out for a few weeks—and my interaction with the villagers would renew my relationship with them.
Or should I say, establish a relationship? The villagers and I had basically been strangers while I was growing up.
Once I compiled the results, I could distribute the supplies without slighting anyone. Despite pressure from a few of the pushier villagers, I wouldn’t deviate from my plan. I wouldn’t give anyone anything I hadn’t designated as his. Not the lowliest item.
That way I wouldn’t run out of supplies before I ran out of people to give them to. I wouldn’t have to return to anyone and say, You talked me out of more than your fair share of thus-and-thus. Give the extra portion back, even that bite of uneaten food on your plate.
I had suffered enough hatred and violence to last many lifetimes. I would handle the distribution of supplies in a peaceful and orderly way. Only the greediest villagers would be dissatisfied with my efforts.
As I walked from shack to shack with clipboard, pad, and pen in hand, chatting with my neighbors and jotting down my findings, people were amazed that I had learned to read and write.
It hadn’t occurred to me before that the villagers hadn’t known any literate Latinos but Tomás, and they didn’t realize how close to illiterate he was.
So I began to earn respect from the villagers—not just for my reading and writing, but for my fairness and ingenuity.
But would that good will last?
~*~
Nikki had remained in the village several days to visit. I looked at her one morning while we were eating breakfast and frowned. “I hate to sound like an ungrateful worrier, but how will we survive once these supplies are gone?”
She winked at me. “I’ll bring more.”
“But can Dr. Morales continue to secure ‘contributions’ from ‘charitable organizations’? Surely they—surely he—will run out of funds sooner or later. He shouldn’t use up his life savings for our benefit, anyhow.”
“You are a worrier, Rosa, but you have a head and a heart.”
I didn’t know what the proper response to her statement would be, but the corners of my mouth instinctively turned upward into a tentative smile. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“In your case, good. Very good.”
My slight smile grew into a big grin. After so many years of rejection, I would probably never outgrow the need for approval from the people I loved.
She didn’t wait for me to respond. “Several issues are involved, although you may not realize it yet. Preventing the villagers from dying of starvation is of primary importance. Since I’ve assured you I will keep bringing supplies, you should take starvation off your worry list.”
I nodded and made an erasing motion in the air with my hands.
“Now, paying for those supplies is something else. You are right. Dr. Morales cannot and should not support the village of Santa María. Who knows how many hundreds—probably thousands—of dollars he spent on this first shipment alone?”
“We must reimburse him for what he has already done,” I interjected with such fire and determination that I blushed at my own brashness. Regardless of my good intentions, I didn’t have any notion how to repay him.
“That’s a fine idea, Rosa, but Dr. Morales wouldn’t accept anything for this first shipment even if the villagers were able to pay him. He’s not that kind of person. He’s a rare kind of man—kind-hearted, unselfish, and more concerned for others than for himself. No wonder Mother Chalina loved him so deeply.”
I smiled at her generous praise of Dr. Morales. “How perfectly you have described him. I can’t believe I ever felt ill-at-ease with him.”
She smiled without responding.
“So the issue of payment for future supplies remains unsolved?” I puzzled at Nikki’s seeming lack of concern.
Hesitating just a few seconds, she reminded me of a cat pawing at a mouse’s tail before making a final, fatal attack. “That’s no longer an issue, either. Dr. Morales has proposed a solution. He has a physician friend who does legitimate research on the medicinal uses of marijuana.”
When she saw I was about to interrupt, she held up one finger. “His friend uses it to treat his patients for specific conditions and illnesses. He has many patients, and he always needs more marijuana. He can’t grow and process it himself, and buying it from legitimate sources would be prohibitively expensive. So I will be doing something worthwhile if I smuggle the village’s marijuana and sell it to him at a reasonable price.”
I didn’t even hear most of what she’d said. “Medicinal uses? I can’t imagine such a thing.”
“It’s true, Rosa. I’ve agreed—I’ve just made my final decision since you and I started talking—to place Tomás’s truck in the storage building overnight. I’ll never know what it contains—if anything—or where it is or how it got there. I honestly won’t know whether I’m smuggling drugs or not.
“Dr. Morales will look out for my safety. He really cares about me. He said to have the authorities call him if I ever run into a situation I can’t handle. He will testify that I am only a driver following the instructions of her employer. That way the guilt passes to him.”
“I don’t like that, Nikki. It still sounds dangerous. What if Tomás’s enemies follow you?”
“They won’t care. Who knows?” She laughed heartily. “Their profits may increase without Santa María’s marijuana competing with theirs on the streets of North America.”
“Nikki, I hate to think of the villagers continuing to be involved in something illegal—even for what sounds like a good cause.”