by Jeanne Winer
Susan pointed across the courtyard to the front of the house. “They’re over there, conferring.”
The gunshots sounded louder out here, but I still couldn’t tell how close they were. There was another small explosion that lit up the sky, followed by more gunshots. A few townspeople were shouting in the street. Tim and Estelle finished talking and hurried back to us.
“We’re going to run over to the mayor’s house,” Estelle told us, “and see if we can find out what’s happening. Everybody needs to stay put until we get back. Okay?” Both she and Tim were dressed in dark green shirts and pants that they must have bought at the army store in Boulder.
“Oh my God,” Tina whimpered.
“Do you think we’ll have to evacuate?” Lenny asked. His face was lined with worry. All our faces had aged a little in the past few weeks. The day I left Colorado, Vickie warned that I was jumping from the frying pan into the fire. “In which case,” I joked, “I’ll probably feel right at home.” She’d sighed and then wished me good luck, which I now thought for the first time I might need.
“I have no idea,” Tim was saying. “Right now, the fighting is at least half a mile away. If it gets any closer, we’ll consider it.”
“Isn’t this close enough?” Tina asked, her voice quivering with fear.
“Jesus, get a grip,” Susan muttered.
Richard turned to his wife and said, “Shut up, bunny. I mean it.”
“Well she doesn’t belong here,” Susan said.
“Maybe not,” he conceded, “but she’s here anyway.”
Liz put her arm around Tina’s shoulder. “What should we do in the meantime?” she asked Estelle.
There was a long burst of machine-gun fire that seemed to last forever. When it stopped, Estelle suggested we all find hiding places until she and Tim returned.
“But don’t leave the grounds,” Estelle repeated. “Unless it’s an emergency.”
Veronica looked pale and scared, but was staying calm. “My bedroom door is so warped, it won’t even close.”
Richard took her hand. “There are plenty of places to hide upstairs.” He turned to the rest of us. “Come on, let’s go.”
Liz began pushing Tina toward the front of the house. “I need to find my first-aid kit. I think it’s in the kitchen. I’ll take Tina with me.”
There was more shouting in the street and a couple of neighborhood dogs had begun to howl. Estelle and Tim rushed off, and then everyone else ran toward the house. I was standing alone in the middle of the courtyard watching the sky, wondering why I wasn’t scared. Maybe it was too unreal, or maybe I’d lost the ability. I knew it wasn’t smart to remain outside, but I didn’t think I was in any imminent danger. A few minutes later, I heard a couple of sirens going off and wondered if they signaled something new or if they’d suddenly just started working. There was so much noise now that in an odd dissonant way it seemed eerily quiet, almost peaceful. My heart was beating faster than normal, but it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, more like a state of high alert, as if I’d just downed a twenty-ounce cup of coffee.
Then the night lit up with another explosion that sounded closer than the ones before. I thought of Sonia and decided to hide in the outhouse. I crossed the courtyard and tried the outhouse door, which was locked. I knocked and heard Allen ask, “Who’s there?”
“Me,” I said.
A second later, I heard the door unlock. “What if I’d been a Contra?” I asked, sitting down on a plank of wood between the toilets.
Allen sat down next to me. “You wouldn’t have understood my question.”
“Right, but then I would have shot you.”
Allen thought for a moment. “You’re not supposed to shoot North Americans.”
“Gee, I’m really sorry.”
We heard a large boom, more shouting, and then people running through the courtyard. Allen grabbed my hand as we propped our feet against the outhouse door. We paid close attention, but no one seemed to be lingering. Eventually we relaxed a little, but continued to sit without speaking, listening intently to the erratic sound of gunfire, of rockets exploding in the air, and imagining various scenarios that might or might not be happening. After about forty minutes, the gunfire began to subside.
Allen broke the silence first. “There’s a huge hairy spider on the wall across from us.” Although it was dark, our eyes had adjusted and we could see more than we wanted to.
“I know,” I said. “I’ve been watching him.”
“He’s really enormous.”
“I know.”
“Bigger than a catcher’s mitt.”
I nodded. “Maybe we should go outside. It’s probably safe now.”
Allen hesitated. “I think we should wait a little longer, although if he comes any closer, I’ll probably change my mind.”
“All right,” I said, “but don’t wait until he’s within striking distance.”
Allen let go of my hand. “Rachel?” He sounded very young.
“Yeah?”
“I think I might not be suited to a long-term commitment here. I think maybe I’ll stay for another month and then go to law school and become a public defender. Like you were.”
“It’s a plan,” I said.
“What about you?”
I shrugged like a native. “No se.” I don’t know.
“Do you think I’d make a good public defender?”
“Yes, but don’t stay too long.” I paused. “It’s amazing, isn’t it, how we can choose to come here and put ourselves at risk and how we can decide to leave whenever we’ve had enough.”
Allen blew out a long breath. “Whew, that’s pretty privileged, isn’t it?”
“Obscenely privileged, but don’t waste your time feeling guilty. It doesn’t help.”
We could hear Estelle calling everyone to come out of hiding. As if we’d been playing an extended game of hide-and-seek and it was late now, time to go home and be somebody’s kid again. Time for supper and then a bedtime story with a happy ending. Come out, come out, wherever you are.
“How will we get past the spider?” Allen asked.
“I don’t know. Let’s just make a run for it.”
After we were all together again, we learned that the Contras had attacked a farming co-op on the edge of town and destroyed their grain silo. Eight people had been killed, five had been wounded. A woman and her teenaged daughter were missing.
“It was terrible,” Tim said, shaking his head, “but as a group we were never in immediate danger.” He looked at his watch. “It’s almost two. We should all try to get a few hours of shuteye.”
Liz and I both fell asleep with our clothes on. When my alarm clock beeped at five thirty, I wanted to smash it against the floor. I felt dangerously tired. My eyes burned as if I’d spent the night in a sandstorm. My limbs refused to obey even the simplest command.
Liz groaned as she sat up. “God, I dreamed I was working at the hospital and everyone on the ward had a heart attack at the same time.”
“What did you do?” I asked, my face still pressed against the mattress.
“I think I was running around trying to decide which patient to save first.”
“Do you think you could peel me off this mattress?”
Liz helped roll me out of bed, and then we packed up and walked out into the courtyard. The sun was just beginning to rise against a pink and orange sky. Tim and Estelle were sitting cross-legged on the ground, leaning against each other, looking tired but resolute. They’d been holding hands, but stopped when they saw us.
As soon as everyone was present, they shared the bad news: the Contras had taken over a stretch of road between Ocotal and Jalapa. Nobody was allowed to go through until the Contras were driven back into Honduras. The army wanted us to wait at least another week before escorting us to Jalapa. Everyone was silent.
Finally, Estelle stood up and shrugged. “This isn’t a vacation,” she reminded us. “This isn’t a tour. We’re here to h
elp in whatever way we can. I’m sorry we can’t get to Jalapa right now, but there are plenty of things to do in Managua while we wait. All of our host families can take us back. We’ve checked.”
They must have been up all night.
After another round of silence, Lenny said, “Well, unless you need me somewhere else, I think I’d like to do some carpentry at the language school. Half the chairs are broken and the front porch needs shoring up.”
Tim nodded approvingly. “Estelle and I can interpret for some of the newer brigades.”
Susan and Richard then expressed interest in a building project in Matagalpa. “We’ll come back in a week,” Richard promised. Susan nodded and patted Richard’s hand. For the first time since they’d stepped off the plane, they looked like a happy couple.
Liz, of course, could work at any of the local hospitals, which desperately needed professional help. “There’s actually one within walking distance,” she told us. “I visited it last Tuesday. They told me to drop by whenever I had the time.”
At that point, Allen stood up and volunteered to do childcare for the mothers who lived in the barrio. Veronica immediately offered to assist. They both looked proud of themselves.
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Estelle said. “I’ll find out if you can use the community center.”
Which left just Tina and me. After clearing her throat, Tina announced her decision to leave the country as soon as possible. Nobody tried to talk her out of it.
“Thank God,” Liz whispered.
Which left just me. I’d spent the last twelve years of my life learning how to cross-examine police officers. What the hell could I do in Managua? I didn’t really like children, I knew nothing about carpentry and my Spanish was mediocre at best.
It was a perfect time to leave. I could have flown back to the United States, patched things up with Vickie, then collapsed onto my firm, comfortable mattress and slept for the next three months. After I’d fully recovered from the latest knockout, I could have decided whether I was ready to step back into the ring again or not. In any event, I could have made an informed decision.
Instead, I simply nodded to let everyone know I was still on board. Tomorrow or the day after, I’d figure out something worthwhile to do. In the meantime, I could help Sonia around the house, try the dollar store again. On the way back to Managua, I snoozed for a couple of hours, woke up with a headache and a slight fever, but figured I was basically fine. If the world was still reeling around me, then that’s just the way it was. As any battered woman will tell you, a person can get used to anything.
Chapter Twelve
We’d headed back to Managua with no assurance that the road from Ocotal to Jalapa would be open anytime soon. As we drove down out of the mountains and into the capital, it was getting dark and the atmosphere felt thicker and clammier. There was also a scent in the air that reminded me of an overripe fruit salad; inhaling deeply, I could smell mangoes, bananas and papayas, every ingredient a few days past its prime. Or maybe I was just getting hungry. I realized, then, that the tropics no longer alarmed me, that I was beginning to adapt to the too muchness of it all: the noise, the smells, the heat, the vegetation, even the bugs. A few minutes later, as if on cue, hundreds of fireflies suddenly swarmed in front of the truck giving us a great phosphorescent light show.
Liz was bouncing up and down next to me. “A good omen,” she said, smiling.
“What, the fireflies?” I asked.
She nodded. “Sure.”
I should have left it alone—it was just a careless happy remark—but for some reason it irked me. “Do you really believe that?”
She looked amused. “Why not?”
“Then would you say that the fighting last night was a bad omen?”
“Oh, stop being a lawyer. I thought you quit.”
I rubbed my eyes. “Well, it bothers me when people assign meaning to random acts of nature.” I paused. “Maybe I’m jealous. Maybe I’d like to think the fireflies are a good omen too, but it seems so arbitrary. So fanciful.”
She patted my shoulder sympathetically. “It must be tough to be so rational all the time.”
I sighed. “It is. And not only that, it makes no sense. Why not have faith in things? Why not believe in good omens? There’s no real downside as far as I can tell.”
Liz laughed, then looked at me the way a nurse might if I’d shown up in the emergency room complaining of a headache and racing thoughts. “You need to get more sleep, Rachel.”
As we pulled up to the community center, it was hard not to feel sheepish. After all, we’d been gone less than two days. None of our host families, however, seemed at all surprised that we’d been forced to turn back. Making plans that actually worked was a luxury most Nicaraguans hadn’t enjoyed for years. Despite how late it was (we’d had more truck problems outside of Esteli), a representative from each of our families was waiting on the sidewalk, ready to welcome us as if we’d just arrived in the country.
I was surprised Sonia hadn’t simply waited at the house, but there she was waving as enthusiastically as everyone else. When she caught sight of me, I could see the relief and pleasure in her smile, which touched me more than I would have expected.
“Jeez,” Tim said, “I called from Esteli just to give them an idea when we might be rolling in. I didn’t expect them to stay up and meet us.”
That night, I sank into my cot at Sonia’s humming an old Bob Dylan tune about being stuck inside of Mobile with the Memphis blues again. But in fact I wasn’t at all unhappy. I actually loved how unstable my life felt. For the first time since entering law school, I had no idea what I’d be doing in the coming days, weeks or months. Finally, I’d managed to escape the ubiquitous rules of both civil and criminal procedure. The dizzy free fall—without an appointment book in sight—was exhilarating. But of course I hadn’t landed yet.
***
As it turned out, I spent the next two days picking up garbage and ashes from the field next to the community center. Instead of joining a building brigade in Matagalpa, Richard and Susan had concocted an unlikely plan that involved cleaning up the field and turning it into a playground for all the kids in the barrio. After returning to the States, they intended to convince local elementary schools to donate their used playground equipment. Despite the embargo and the prohibitive cost of shipping, they believed that some organization would be willing to take on the project. I wasn’t as confident as they were, but what did I know? Maybe I was already too acculturated and my imagination had withered accordingly. At least the field was clean.
On Friday, Susan had wanted me to help move a gigantic pile of rocks from one section of the field to another, but I told her my host needed me, which wasn’t a complete lie. While I was in Ocotal, Sonia decided she could make some extra cash giving manicures. She’d done it years ago in Panama and had saved all of the necessary utensils. To build up her confidence, she wanted to practice on me and on some of her neighbors. I couldn’t imagine who in Managua would shell out their precious dwindling cordobas on a manicure, but Sonia thought there was a market. And so, despite how much fun it would have been to spend the day moving rocks with Susan in one hundred and fifteen degree heat, I had to support my host.
On Friday morning, as soon as I finished breakfast, Sonia plunked down a bowl full of soapy liquid in front of me. She was wearing a light blue, professional-looking smock, like a dental hygienist’s, which made me smile. I’d been dawdling over my rice and beans, worrying about her health again. Something was up. For the past couple of days, she’d been more preoccupied than usual, her face looking drawn and set, reminding me of my mother’s when she was in pain after my father’s death but determined not to show it.
“So, what do I do?” I asked, staring at the bowl.
Sonia looked amazed. “Haven’t you ever had a manicure?”
“No, this is my first one.”
She clapped her hands together as though wonders never ceased. “Well, t
hen, put your fingers in the bowl and let them soak.”
I plunged my hands into the liquid while she busied herself laying out various metal utensils as if she were a nurse in an operating room.
After about five minutes, Sonia determined I was ready. First, she massaged my hands and fingers, kneading them like dough, then cut my fingernails. Finally, she spread my hands on the table to examine the state of my cuticles.
“Horrible!” she exclaimed.
I pretended to look concerned. “It’s that bad?” I asked, glancing down at my fingers, which looked much better than usual now that I wasn’t climbing.
“Almost beyond repair.” She picked up a thin, ominous-looking instrument and began pushing the skin back to where it belonged.
I held still although it hurt a little. “Thank God I got to you in time,” I joked.
She didn’t respond. After a while, I looked up at her face and noticed a couple of tears rolling down her cheeks. “Sonia, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She switched to my other hand.
“Yes, there is. You’re crying.”
She wiped her face, tried to keep going, but I pulled my hand away.
“Please tell me what’s making you sad. Whatever it is, I want to know.”
Unlike my mother, thank God, she wasn’t a true stoic. “It’s Jorge,” she said. “He’s missing.”
Oh no. My nagging little headache suddenly felt worse. “For how long?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I got the letter on Monday saying only that Jorge was missing in action. His whole patrol is missing.”
“His whole patrol? Well, maybe they’re chasing the Contras back into Honduras?”
She nodded, looking unconvinced.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” It wasn’t until the words were out of my mouth that I could hear how presumptuous, how classically North American, they sounded. I’d been her guest for all of three weeks. Why in the world should she confide in me?
Sonia, however, took no offense. “I didn’t want to worry you,” she explained.
No, of course not, I thought, then took her soft, tanned hands in mine. “I’m so sorry, Sonia. Is there anything I can do?”