Bitten

by K. L. Nappier

  Max and David had to push against the current to get off the bus. The driver muscled his way through, too, climbed onto the top of the bus and started catching luggage tossed to him as the riders jockeyed their way in. About half of the would-be passengers were edged out, and somewhere inside a man and woman began calling in a panic, realizing one of their children was still among the unlucky ones outside. Several people pushed and shoved the little one through the crowd until she could be grabbed by those pressed against the bus's entry and pulled inward. The driver finished lashing down the luggage, climbed down and squeezed back into the bus.

  Those left behind backed off to sit beneath the plaza's shade trees, with nothing to do now but wait for the late afternoon run, when they would begin the struggle to board once again.

  "God in Heaven," Max said. "This town is close to being emptied."

  The people were eyeing him and David curiously as the two of them looked around. Most of the buildings were shuttered or boarded up. The only activity was in the plaza itself or far past the west end, where the dirt road became a rough stone and concrete wharf. There, Max could see a few fishermen returning from their early morning runs, lashing their little two-man barcas dockside and hoisting their catches to shore. But most of the simple wooden vessels were idle; abandoned and bumping against the wharf, their masts bare of canvas.

  "If this town gets much emptier, the Beast'll be on the move soon," Max said. Maybe Papo Salvador -the suspected host- was on the bus right now as it trundled eastward. "I hope to hell whoever translated Se?ora Maya's letter is still here."

  "My guess is that he is," David replied and nodded toward the north end of the plaza. There sat Luperón's little church. About the size of the one in Imbert, this one didn't have stucco over its bricks, although the bricks themselves had been white-washed.

  Max nodded. If anyone in this fishing village spoke English, he'd most likely be the priest. David paid a man the equivalent of his family's bus fare, and the villager helped lug the weapons trunk and suitcases across the plaza and into the church.

  Inside, with all the windows to the little sanctuary shuttered, the gloom still held the coolness of the night before. There was the smell of old, varnished wood and sea air dampness. Max and David walked down the aisle between the pews, and Max called, " Hola ! Hello? Anyone here?"

  They were wandering around the altar when a door to the left opened and a woman -tall and pale for a Dominicana - approached. In the gloom, her face floated disembodied like a ghost's, an effect of the floor-length dress and long, black head covering: a nun's habit. But the aura of melancholy she wore was no effect.

  " Buenas ," she greeted, fatigued but pleasant, offering a smile. Then she tilted her head in surprise and said in fluent, accented English, "But you're not Dominicans. British? German? Did I hear you call out in English?"

  "Yes, we did," David replied.

  "But neither your accent nor your face, sir, is British .."

  "American."

  "American! Both of you?"

  "I'm the original," David replied, "he's the knock-off."

  She laughed and seemed relieved to have a reason for doing it. She was young. Max guessed not even thirty (but, hell, as Max got older everyone seemed younger).

  "My gracious! Goodness ... welcome, I'm sorry, welcome to Luperón. It's just that we get very few foreigners here, and even fewer Americans. Let me open some of these shutters .."

  Max and David helped her and, as the light entered, the growing heat of the day wafted in with the sea breeze.

  "Please, sit with me," she said, moving to the front pew. "I'm Sister Veronica Maria."

  "I'm Mark Stonehill," Max replied, "and this is Daniel Johnson." He and David sat to either side of her.

  "Stonehill? What a coincidence." The sister tilted her head again, a mix of curiosity and concern in her eyes. "Or is it?"

  Pay dirt . "No, sister, no coincidence. Lloyd was my cousin ..."

  Her expression plummeted. "Was ...?"

  "Yes, Sister. He passed away a few weeks ago."

  " Madre Mía " She was visibly shaken by the news and crossed herself slowly. "May God rest his soul. What happened? "

  "An infection." Of a sort .

  "Oh ..." Her gaze drifted, as though she was contemplating all the tragic news coming her way lately. "Poor, poor Mr. Stonehill. Did he suffer?"

  "For a little while, yes," David said. "But not as long as some."

  "Ah ... dear. This is dreadful news. He was a hero here, you know."

  Max smiled. "That's not the way he told it."

  "That would be the way of such a man, I suppose."

  "Did you know Lloyd well?"

  "No one here knew him well. He and the other men on his boat were with us only a short time. Their stay would have been even shorter had he not been injured in that awful attack. They had come around from re-fueling in Puerta Plata and had only anchored here to wait out some rough seas and weather."

  "He was always reluctant when he talked with us about it," David said. "But he did admit to helping save a man while he was here ... a Se?or Salvador. That's his name, right? Se?ora Maya's husband? She kept in touch with Lloyd."

  "He said he only helped? He was being modest. He was the only help, until others arrived afterward."

  "We thought so, once we found this in his effects."

  As he had in Imbert, David fished Se?ora Maya's letter from his back pocket and showed it to the sister. She looked at it, her smile sad and wistful.

  "Yes, I remember writing this for her. She didn't speak English, you see. In any case, like most here, her education was limited. Trujillo sitting in his government palace cares very little about schooling so far away from Santo Domingo. Father Bartholomew and I do what we can ... I mean -rather- did what we could." She gave the letter back to David. "But ... there's something you should know ..."

  To spare her, Max interrupted. "When we came through Imbert, we heard about Se?ora Maya and her children."

  Sister Veronica looked at him, her expression pinched and stricken. "After such joy over the recovery of Papo and Mr. Stonehill, we cannot bear what has happened to Rosa and the children ... and to Bonito ... and to Father ..."

  Max swallowed. One thing at a time , he told himself. First, he and David had to find out all they could about the twinned incarnation. "We were hoping to meet Se?or Salvador. That's one of the things that brought us here. But, now, after hearing the news, we thought he might have moved away."

  "Papo? No, he's still here. I'm sure it would please him to meet a relative and a friend of Mr. Stonehill's."

  Without a trace of irony, David replied, "We're relieved to hear that. Can you tell us where to find him?"

  "Well ... of course, but ... please understand. Life here for us has become ... difficult. And in all of Luperón, Papo has suffered the greatest. He lost his entire family less than three months ago. I'm sure you're very curious and want to hear about Mr. Stonehill's bravery but ... Papo remembers little of that night. And so much has happened here since then." Sister Veronica was looking at David, but seemed to lose focus for a moment.

  "We understand," Max said. Se?or Salvador's amnesia was no surprise. A lot of hosts couldn't recall much about being bitten. "Maybe it would be too painful for him, asking him to talk to about what he and Lloyd went through. "

  "Could you tell us about it, Sister?" David asked.

  "Oh, yes, everyone in Luperón can tell the tale." Sister Veronica finally managed to smile again, if only a little, and crossed her hands in her lap. "The Saints guided Mr. Stonehill's hand. He could not have done what he did without a miracle. The night is much darker down at the dock than in town, you see. There are no buildings or generators near. In the wee hours before dawn, when the men ready their boats, they do so by lamplight. Papo had gone there early because he had neglected to change out his fishing nets the day before. They have to be bundled in such a way for proper casting. That was when he was attacked.

>   "Clearly, divine grace put Mr. Stonehill there. The Britain and Bahamian he was sailing with had stayed behind at ... well ... to be frank, sirs, every Dominican settlement or town big enough to have its own cock fighting ring also is big enough to have its own bordello. You understand? Luperón is no different."

  "Of course ..."

  "As I said, Papo remembers nothing of the attack. He was bent over his nets and was struck from behind. Dear Mr. Stonehill ... he blamed himself for not acting more quickly. By his own admission, he was bleary-eyed from rum and beer. The creature was already stalking Papo when Mr. Stonehill chanced upon it. The creature had a remarkable pelt -a silvery sheen that is difficult to describe- and against the white of the road under the moon, Mr. Stonehill didn't realize what he was seeing until the animal moved.

  "At first, Mr. Stonehill's drunkenness played tricks with him. From a distance he thought it was not one large creature, but two smaller ones ... dogs, slinking up to beg for scraps. The satos here -the strays -are always doing so. No one could have expected to see what he saw.

  "Before Mr. Stonehill could even begin yelling, the creature had Papo in its jaws and was dragging him along the wharf toward the mangroves. Mr. Stonehill was running toward it, pulling the only weapon he had from the sheath at his belt, when the animal turned. He had only enough time to thrust the knife forward before the creature was upon him. The force of the animal slamming into him pushed his knife -and the hand holding it- deep into the creature's throat."

  "That's incredible," David said.

  "What it is, sirs, is miraculous," the sister replied, "as was the healing of both Papo's and Mr. Stonehill's wounds. Papo should have died that night. Indeed, he very nearly did. But Mr. Stonehill didn't allow it." She looked at Max. "I'm sure you already know your cousin was a war veteran ..."

  Max nodded. "Merchant Marines."

  "He credited his service for his life-saving skills. Dragging himself out from beneath the dead creature, he went to Papo and -while he couldn't entirely stop it- he kept the bleeding to a minimum and breathed life back into him every time Papo's own breath stopped. This he did in spite of his own injuries. His wrist was broken from the force of the attack. And the thing's fangs had imbedded between his shoulder and breastbone. He had to pull himself off those fangs before he could go to Papo's aid.

  "By the time he had Papo's chest and arm trussed, men were coming to their boats. They hurried to fetch our grocer, who owns an old truck ... all there is in Luperón ... and Mr. Stonehill kept Papo breathing all the way to Puerto Plata."

  "Lloyd left a lot of that out," Max said. "It was hard to get him to talk about it very much."

  Sister Veronica nodded. "Who would want to recall such a horror? The entire town prayed day and night for them. And what joy it was, when our prayers were answered. Beyond expectation. Word came from the Puerta Plata clinic that both men were healing at a remarkable pace, although Papo's left arm was too badly mangled to be saved. The doctor removed it from the elbow downwards. Yet, even with such injuries, Mr. Stonehill left the clinic in a matter of days and, Papo, less than two weeks.

  "But now you bring word of Mr. Stonehill's death. After all he endured, to be taken by an infection ... was it somehow related to his wounds?"

  "Yes, it was," David replied.

  Sister Veronica shook her head and seemed to lose herself in thought. Then she said, "With what is happening here, your news is grief upon grief."

  "We saw all the people leaving," Max said. "And while we were in Imbert, besides the news about the se?ora and her children ... well ... we heard rumors ..."

  The sister's hands fluttered toward her face and shielded her eyes. From beneath her palms, her voice was muffled. "Grief upon grief," she said again, then wiped tears from her lashes before folding her hands back onto her lap.

  Max leaned toward her and coaxed, "Sister, what do you think is happening here?"

  Sister Veronica hesitated a moment, then said, "You know, until the attack on Papo and Mr. Stonehill, I believed only in the grace of the Holy Trinity, the Blessed Mother and all the Heavenly Saints. When I was a little girl growing up in Spain I also believed in Satan, though that belief had been fading long before I took my vows. Perhaps ... perhaps I'm beginning to believe again."

  "Sister," David began, "you didn't once name the animal that attacked Se?or Salvador and Lloyd. You don't seem to think it was a dog -even an impossibly large one. Or even a wolf."

  Sister Veronica looked at him. "You didn't see the carcass. You'd have to see it to understand. That thing was no dog. And a wolf? Wolves have never been native to this land."

  "But people have been known to keep exotic animals. Maybe some wealthy land owner liked the idea of owning a wolf pup-"

  "This was no wolf, sir."

  "Why are you so sure?" Max asked.

  Sister Veronica's eyes flashed. "It was no wolf." Then she sighed and lifted her hands from her lap in a momentary, helpless gesture. "I don't expect you to understand. You didn't see the thing."

  Max said simply, "Chupacabra."

  Sister Veronica looked at him with a start. But then, seemed disappointed. "Oh. I see. The rumor you heard in Imbert."

  "What if we told you we believed in Chupacabra, too?"

  The sister cocked her head warily. "Why would two Americans believe in such a thing?"

  "We're acquainted with a mystery or two ourselves," David replied.

  "Sister," Max said. "Do you believe what attacked Se?or Salvador and Lloyd that night was Chupacabra?"

  There was still a wariness in her eyes, but she replied, "Anyone who'd had the chance to see the carcass before Trujillo's men took it away named it Chupacabra. Though, I did not. Nor Father Bartholomew. Not at first. But even if I had agreed with the others, it's my duty to care for these people not send them into a panic. But then .. but then, the mutilation of Rosa and her children." The sister put her hand to her mouth a moment, swallowing hard, before lowering it again. "They were all ... the house was smeared ... The younger three were so close in age that we're still not sure if the remains were properly matched to each child ..."

  Gently, David asked, "How is it that Papo Salvador survived?"

  "He is still adjusting to life with half an arm, you see. So until he feels capable to return to fishing, he has taken up harvesting the freshwater shrimps -what would you call them in America- crayfish, yes?" She measured the air with her index fingers; about five inches or so. "They grow large in this country. He makes ends meet this way. He was away when his family was killed. Up in the forests making camp near the streams." Sister Veronica's gaze wandered once more and she shook her head slowly. "To go through so much. Having to leave his family for days at a time so he might feed them, so soon after returning from the clinic ... then to come home to ... to that."

  Max cleared his throat. "It's ... it would be horrifying." And it'll be even more so, once Papo remembers he's the one who butchered them .

  "A few weeks later, Bonito Alvarez was killed. And then ... then Father Bartholomew ..." This time the sister thrust her head upward, blinking back tears and breathing hard. "Both of them the same as the children and Rosa."

  Max and David fumbled around their pockets. David was the first one to come up with his bandanna. He tucked it into the sister's right hand, then glanced at Max with a sudden, distressed look. Sister Veronica leaned forward and sobbed.

  Max and David waited. Eyebrows arched in a question, Max looked across the sister's back at David. David mouthed the word, "Later." Max, with the sour taste of dread in his mouth, nodded.

  Slowly Sister Veronica righted herself, wiping her eyes. "So, yes," she said, bitterly. "Yes. I believe, now, in Chupacabra. God's Saints sent us a miracle through Mr. Stonehill to thwart Satan's approach. Satan answers by bringing Chupacabra back from the dead to tear Luperón apart."

  "Will you go, too?" David asked, doing a hell of a job of sounding calm. But Max knew David too well not to know what his dueling hopes wer
e: one, that she would go, and, the other, that she would stay. If David had seen what Max thought he had seen, then, because of Sister Veronica, the Beast was staying, too.

  "How can I go? How can I leave them?" The sister gazed wearily ahead, trembling a little.

  "It looks as if most of them are already gone," Max said, knowing he sounded too eager for her to leave, but he couldn't help it.

  "No," she insisted. And, as if trying to convince herself more than Max or David, she added, "If only one person remains I must, too."

  They all went quiet then, until Sister Veronica drew a deep breath, mustered a weak smile and returned David's bandanna. "But enough. You want to meet with Papo. I'm sure he will welcome your visit. Let me draw you a little map."

  She left through the door beside the altar.

  Max whispered, "You're sure you saw it?"

  "Not as sure as I want to be. We need a better look."

  Max mumbled an oath. Sister Veronica came back with a pad, a pencil and something wrapped in a clean cotton cloth. She began jotting away: lines for pathways, squiggles for river beds, squares for shacks. She drew little arrows, pointing the way through the landmarks to Papo Salvador and the Beast.

  "This should get you there," she said as she worked.

  "Sister," David said, "our Spanish is passable, but, to tell you the truth, we could use your help as a translator. Is there any way you could go with us to Se?or Salvador's?"

  She stopped drawing for a moment to consider. "If you can wait until tomorrow morning, I can accompany you then."

  "What about this afternoon?" Max asked. "Or this evening, maybe?"

  She shook her head. "I'm sorry, this won't be possible. Without Father Bartholomew, I am all that is left for the people. Soon they will begin wandering in for prayer and solace, and that will happen off and on until the late-day bus leaves. Then anyone who is left behind this evening will stay the night in the sanctuary. No one here risks a venture after dark now. But I will be happy to meet you early tomorrow morning."

  "Sure, sister, thanks," Max said, and took the map when she tore it from the pad.