The Furthest City Light

by Jeanne Winer

  “I guess I’m next,” the female student said. “My name is Veronica and I’m a sophomore at CU.” She blushed. “I guess I’m also the youngest person on this brigade. I heard about Nicaragua in a class and decided to come. My parents are worried about my safety, of course, but mostly they’re supportive—they’re old lefties. Anyway, I’m looking forward to everything and I’m just open to whatever happens.”

  “God, she’s enthusiastic,” my cousin muttered.

  I stifled a smile and hoped no one else had heard him. I studied Veronica for a couple of seconds before making up her crime. Okay, I thought, what if her allowance covered her tuition and books, but not her expenses? To make ends meet, she’d started doing nude massages at a small spa on the outskirts of Boulder. One of her clients turned out to be an undercover cop and she was busted for prostitution.

  Before anyone else could introduce themselves, a Nicaraguan boy wearing a faded Mickey Mouse T-shirt ran into the room and told us the bus had arrived. We all stood up and stretched. Estelle suggested we continue the conversation on our way to the language school.

  The bus was sweltering and many of the windows were stuck in the closed position. I found a seat with some cross ventilation and slid over to the window. My cousin flopped down next me.

  “Hi,” he said, “my name is Allen and I’m an alcoholic.”

  “Hi Allen.”

  He laughed. “I’m not really an alcoholic, but I’ll probably become one. I hate Coca-Cola.”

  “Me too,” I said. “I’m Rachel.”

  “Hi Rachel.” He made a rueful face. “I have a confession.”

  “Oh good.” I crossed my arms and waited.

  He sighed. “I’m not proud of myself. I was interested in the situation here and I’m definitely sympathetic to the Sandinista cause, but I mostly came to annoy my father. That’s really terrible isn’t it?”

  I nodded. Now he was waiting for my story. Part of me wanted to tell him the truth, and part of me didn’t, so I compromised. “I came because I was having a nervous breakdown and wanted to have it in a tropical setting.”

  Allen laughed for a moment and then stopped, his dark brown eyes wide with concern. “I hope that’s not true.” What a sweet kid.

  “How old are you?” I asked.

  “Twenty-four.”

  “When I was your age, I was a wiseass too.”

  “I know,” he said. “I could tell.”

  In everyone’s heart, there’s an inner sanctum, a special place deep in the center where only a handful of people, living or dead, reside. They’re the people you not only love, but with whom you resonate on some mysterious level that makes them precious and indispensable, a reason to have lived. When you look across the vast expanse, they’re the ones that seem to be moving parallel to you, sprinting through the same perilous minefield. Some of them have already been blown to pieces, others have self-destructed all by themselves, and the rest struggle on, keeping you company.

  The inhabitants of my inner sanctum included my father, my childhood friend Leslie, Maggie, Vickie of course, and Emily. And now I could feel this young upstart—this twenty-four-year-old straight boy—knocking on that door, asking to be let in. Of course it was too soon to know whether he would get any farther; people often stormed my heart and never made it past the first barricades. But still, I could hear him knocking and it surprised the hell out of me.

  Meanwhile, the driver was trying to start the bus, but nothing was happening.

  “Oh-oh,” Allen said.

  We waited in silence, sweat dripping down our faces. After a few minutes, the driver got out and opened the hood. We could hear banging sounds and curses. My thin cotton shirt was soaked and sticking to the back of the seat.

  “I vote we stand outside until he fixes it,” I said.

  “Good idea,” Estelle agreed.

  Everyone climbed out and gathered around the driver who was banging on the engine with a small hammer.

  “This doesn’t bode well,” I said to Allen who’d followed me out of the bus.

  Eventually, the driver let the hood clang shut and began walking down the street in the opposite direction of the center.

  “Un momento,” he promised, but already we knew better. After less than twenty-four hours in the country, we were savvy veterans and gave the appropriate response. I called it the Nicaraguan shrug, a combination of helplessness and resignation. Tim led us back to the center where we resumed our places on the floor. After everyone settled down, Estelle motioned me to continue our introductions.

  On the bus, I’d considered various things I could say when it was my turn, but none seemed to strike the right balance between honesty and discretion. Hi, my name is Rachel and I have no idea why I’m here, it was a last-minute decision, and I’m just hoping it’ll be better than where I’ve been.

  “Hi,” I said, “my name is Rachel and I’m a recovering criminal defense attorney.” Everyone laughed. “While I figure out what to do with the rest of my life, I thought I might be of some use here.” I turned to Allen, signaling I was finished.

  “Lucky you,” he said. “Okay, my name is Allen and I’m hoping I’ll be kidnapped by the Contras so I won’t have to go to law school in the fall.” I started to laugh, but nobody else did.

  “That’s not funny,” the sharp-faced woman said. “The Contras have killed and kidnapped thousands of innocent people. They cut the breasts off women and toss grenades at little children. They burn and destroy clinics, schools and cooperatives.”

  Allen looked stricken. “I’m sorry. It was a joke. As usual, in record time I’ve managed to alienate everyone around me.”

  “It’s all right, Allen,” Estelle assured him. “There’s plenty of room for humor in this brigade. That might have been a little over the top, that’s all.”

  Allen nodded. “I think I’ll shut up now.”

  I glanced at my unlikely new friend—quick, bright and Jewish—then decided he’d been busted for selling an ounce of cocaine to an undercover police officer. His father was so pissed off, he was threatening to disown him but Allen knew he’d eventually come around and hire the best lawyer in town to defend him.

  Estelle pointed to the sharp-faced woman. “Let’s try and finish this. Why don’t you go next?”

  “Okay fine,” the woman said, her cheeks still flushed with indignation. “I’m Susan and this is my husband Richard.” She gestured at the teddy bear beside her. “We’ve been working in the Nicaraguan solidarity movement since 1982. We want to help rebuild the clinic in Jalapa and in that way express our solidarity with the people of Nicaragua.” She had light brown hair and might have been pretty if she was someone who delighted in the company of others, not someone who constantly expected to be disappointed. I decided to wait until her husband spoke, but I was leaning toward codefendants in a string of aggravated robberies.

  Richard stroked his beard and said, “As you already know, my name is Richard. I’m a third-grade schoolteacher. I love kids and I love helping people. As Susan mentioned, we’ve been involved with Nicaraguan solidarity work for a number of years.” If they were Bonnie and Clyde, Bonnie was definitely the leader of the duo, and poor old Clyde just went along to please her.

  Suddenly Veronica—the female student and occasional prostitute—made a noise and jumped up, flapping her arms around her head.

  “Ugh,” she said, “there’s this weird bug that won’t leave me alone.” I could see something huge, with thin delicate wings, buzzing near her fingertips.

  “Ugh, get away.” She was beginning to run in circles.

  Richard was getting to his feet.

  “Where are you going?” Susan asked, reaching out to stop him.

  “To help. She’s just a kid.”

  “It’s only a bug,” Susan said. She shook her head disapprovingly.

  Richard hurried over to Veronica and began batting the insect away from her.

  “Ugh,” he said, “it’s so big!”


  “I know,” Veronica screeched.

  He swatted wildly at her hair. “Let’s run outside and see if we can lose him.”

  They were both laughing and shrieking. Everyone in the circle was smiling except Susan.

  “Sorry about the Contra joke,” Allen whispered to me. “It was definitely in poor taste. But if they ever do attack us, I vote we offer up Susan and see if they’ll take her.”

  I smiled and nodded. He had the makings of a fine lawyer: good sense of humor, the ability to plan for contingencies, and a fresh creative approach to problem solving.

  When Richard and Veronica came back, we resumed the introductions. There were only two women left who hadn’t spoken, the nurse and the poodle lady. The nurse was a solidly built woman with a square, intelligent face. Despite her salt-and-pepper hair, I guessed she was in her late thirties. She looked around the circle and said, “Well, I’m a nurse and they need nurses here. After the clinic’s been rebuilt, I hope to stay on in Jalapa and work there.” She paused. “Oh, my name’s Liz and I used to live in Denver.” My game (Guess My Crime) was getting old, but this one was easy: forgery and illegal use of drugs. She’d started by stealing a few painkillers here and there, became addicted, and eventually began writing false prescriptions for herself.

  Finally, the group turned to the poodle lady who was sitting alone in the bleachers. She blew her nose and wiped it. “My name is Tina and I’m thirty-nine years old. My husband’s a principal in the Denver Public Schools. I told him I wanted to do something on my own and he suggested this.” She gestured at the empty room. “After reading the packet of information, I felt both nervous and excited. I hope it’ll be a positive experience.” She dabbed at her nose again and smiled anxiously. Wait until her husband found out she’d embezzled thousands from the Denver Public School system.

  Allen tapped me on the shoulder. “What packet of information?” he whispered.

  “It was everything you needed to know before coming here,” I said.

  “Shit. I’ve been in Chicago visiting my family, but Tim knew my address.”

  I shrugged. “Too late now. Just fake it. It’ll be good practice for when you become a lawyer.”

  “Okay,” Estelle said, looking at her watch. “I guess I’ll go check on the bus. Tim can answer any questions about our next two weeks in Managua.”

  Everyone took a swig from their water bottles, and then stood in line for the bathroom. When it was my turn, I peed and wiped myself with a piece of newspaper, hardly noticing it wasn’t from a roll of Charmin.

  I wandered around the room, ending up at the edge of a conversation between Tim and a few of the women. I learned that because of the water shortage, each barrio was officially scheduled to lose their water on different days. Our neighborhood, for instance, had no water on Tuesdays and Fridays from five thirty in the morning until nine at night.

  “But today is Monday,” I pointed out.

  Tim chuckled helplessly. “Yeah, I know.”

  “How come there’s a water shortage?” Veronica asked.

  “Because of the huge influx of refugees from the war zone,” Tim explained. “Managua’s population has doubled in the last six years from 500,000 to a million.”

  ***

  At noon, our driver announced he’d fixed the problem and was able to start the bus. Belching black smoke, we headed for the language school. I sat between Allen, who already felt like family, and Liz (the nurse) whom I wasn’t sure I liked, mostly because she seemed so clear about her mission here. Compared to her, I couldn’t help feeling a wee bit frivolous. Tina a.k.a. the poodle lady sat alone in front of us, still sneezing and blowing her nose.

  As we drove down a street filled with potholes, Liz searched through her handbag, and then tapped Tina on the shoulder.

  “Try these,” she said, handing her a couple of pills. “It should stop your reaction.”

  “You got anything in there to help me cope with four kids under the age of ten?” Allen asked. “I share a room with them.”

  “Even morphine wouldn’t help,” I said. “You need a tent.”

  Liz smiled at us. “The accommodations here are likely to be much fancier than the ones in Jalapa.”

  “I share a bed with a two-year-old who wets it,” Allen said. “I’d sleep on the floor, but the cockroaches are bigger than the two-year-old. How much worse could Jalapa be?”

  “You’d know if you’d read your packet of information,” I told him.

  As we drove through the city, I was stunned by how flattened it was. I knew, from the reading material, that Managua had suffered a major earthquake in 1972 that destroyed eighty percent of the buildings, but this looked like the aftermath of an atomic bomb. We passed block after block of wasteland before we saw a couple of movie theaters. Then, more vacant lots, a small middle-class neighborhood, a gaping ravine, and then a modern-looking shopping center. After the earthquake, millions in aid had poured into the country, but Somoza pocketed the money and never rebuilt the city. I realized with a rush of shame that Sonia’s outdoor kitchen, which I’d thought quaint, had probably been a regular indoor one before 1972.

  I stared out the window. What else didn’t I know? Actually, what else did I know?

  “Bubkes,” I imagined my mother saying. “You know bubkes.”

  It had been one of her favorite Yiddish words when I was growing up. Loosely translated, it meant I knew absolutely nothing. And she was right. What the hell was I doing here? But if I left, where would I go? Not back to Boulder, not back to where Emily in handcuffs had tried to wave goodbye as she was being escorted down a hallway by a couple of guards.

  As we passed a working-class barrio where the houses were constructed of tin and plywood, I decided I might as well stay put. This was a country in dire straits. Maybe I would be of use here, maybe I wouldn’t. At least I could try.

  “Hey, Rachel.” Allen tapped me on the shoulder. “You got any advice about law school?”

  I turned to face him. “Sure. Don’t go.”

  He nodded. “I don’t want to. My father’s a corporate lawyer who expects me to follow in his footsteps. I can’t think of anything more dreadful. What about criminal defense? Would you recommend that?”

  “No,” I said.

  The bus had turned into a dirt lane and was heading toward a pink stucco structure that looked dwarfed by the overgrown vegetation surrounding it. The grounds and building reminded me of Sleeping Beauty’s palace after she’d been asleep for a hundred years and unable to maintain it.

  “I wonder if they’d let me do a little work around here,” Lenny said to the group. He was the handsome retired architect from Denver.

  “You know, I like him,” Allen said, referring to Lenny. Liz and I both agreed we did too.

  “Are you married, Liz?” Allen asked. I wondered why he didn’t ask me.

  “Amicably divorced.”

  Allen looked thoughtful. “You know, Lenny’s in pretty good shape for someone who’s sixty-three.”

  “No thanks,” Liz said, shuddering. “That’s one area of my life where I’ve been a complete failure. I never want to get involved again.”

  At that moment, I decided I liked her after all. As a rule, I’d never liked or trusted anyone who hadn’t suffered at some point in his or her life. Even Vickie, who seemed fairly content, had had an unhappy childhood.

  As soon as the bus pulled up to the entrance, everyone scrambled to get out. It had been a long uncomfortable ride. Although a pitcher of margaritas in an air-conditioned restaurant would have been perfect, we settled for a drink of water on the grass under a hot sun. When the ants began biting us, we went inside.

  There were four classrooms, each outfitted with a blackboard and about twenty wooden chairs. We filed into one of the rooms and learned that our teacher, Mrs. Rodriguez, had suddenly become ill, and would be unavailable until Wednesday or Thursday.

  “Which means Saturday or Sunday,” Allen murmured. He and Liz were sitting next to
me in the back row. Tina had tried to join us, but her chair collapsed and she’d had to move on to find a sturdier one. Two high school students who looked about fourteen had volunteered to help out until Mrs. Rodriguez returned. There were no books in sight.

  “This doesn’t bode well,” I said.

  “No,” Liz agreed, “it doesn’t.”

  Allen raked both hands through his frizzy hair. “At least both of you know enough to get by. I’ve watched you. But I’m in deep shit because I don’t know any Spanish at all. I’d assumed a lot more of the people down here spoke English.”

  “Too bad you didn’t read your packet of information,” I said.

  Liz started to laugh. “Okay, enough. I’ll lend him mine tonight.”

  The group voted to eat lunch and then figure out how to utilize our two high school assistants. We ate in the school cafeteria where a man in a wheelchair served us rice and beans. The regular students, we found out, were on vacation. We sat together at a long table, joking about our misadventures. Toward the end of the meal, one of the assistants told Estelle she had a phone call from Jalapa. Both Estelle and Tim left the room.

  When they returned, they looked pale and serious. Everyone stopped talking and waited for the news.

  “Well,” Estelle said, “last night about fifty Contras slipped over the border from Honduras and attacked Jalapa. They killed twelve people, including an infant, and kidnapped a couple of women. Some of the townspeople found one of the women today. She’d been raped repeatedly and her eyes had been cut out.”

  “Jesus,” Tina said.

  Tim took a deep breath and sat down at the head of the table. “We’re telling you this because we don’t want to mislead you. We’re going into a war zone and we want everyone to be prepared. So far, no North Americans have been harmed, but we can’t guarantee anyone’s safety.”

  “Are we still planning to go in two weeks?” Veronica asked. She was young and game, not scared.

  Estelle nodded. “Unless the government won’t let us.”

  “Well, if it isn’t safe—” Tina began.