by Tom Epperson
“I was just thinking about Diego.”
“Yeah. Poor guy.”
“That’s not what I meant. What if he told them about us?”
“The soldiers?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s he going to tell them? He doesn’t even know our last names.”
“How hard will it be to figure out? How many reporter-photographer teams are there with the names Roberto and Daniel? I mean, you’re leaving the country tomorrow, but what about me? How long before they come for me?”
“Calm down, they’re not coming for you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“We’re not even sure what happened to Diego. He could have been seriously wounded, he could have died already.”
“Or else he’s still alive and he’s being interrogated. Tortured. Who knows what he’s told them? They could be looking for us right now.”
“I think you’re overreacting. Like with your fish and the crazy boyfriend.”
“Come on, Roberto. This is nothing like that.”
Roberto takes a sip of his coffee, and thinks about it. He sees the waitress glaring at them. Waiting for them to begin eating.
“Look,” says Roberto, “the Army didn’t know we were in Tulcán, so they’d have no reason to ask Diego about us. And I don’t think he’d volunteer any information. But if it’s something you’re really concerned about, maybe you should think about leaving the country too. At least for a while, till this all blows over.”
Daniel looks gloomy.
“Shit. I knew this was going to bite me in the ass.”
* * *
When they come out of the restaurant, Roberto takes the wheel of the Twingo and drives it out of San Lorenzo. Beside him, Daniel crosses his arms and turns away and is quickly filling the car with snores. Roberto thinks about Diego. Despite what he said to Daniel, he doesn’t think it’s unreasonable to be concerned about what Diego may have told Army interrogators. Diego knows not only that they were going to El Encanto but that they were present at the massacre in Jilili. If by some chance the Army’s already looking for them, there’s no way they could know where they are. If Roberto’s luck holds, he should be able to slip out of the country tomorrow, but what about Daniel? And even if Diego dies without telling the Army anything about them, what happens when Roberto’s story comes out? It’s possible that the photographic evidence the Army massacred the people of Jilili and the fact General Oropeza was there when it happened will be more important than his story itself. Won’t the government want to know who took the pictures? Roberto and Daniel can deny all they want that it was Daniel, but he’ll still be an object of suspicion. And in this country, suspicion is often all it takes to get you killed.
Roberto sees the half moon rising over the sugarcane fields. He’s starting to get drowsy. He turns up the music on the radio and lowers the window and the wind rushes in. It won’t be long till they get to Robledo if he can just stay awake. But his eyelids keep drooping, and his chin keeps dropping toward his chest, and then he snaps his head up and gives it a little shake. He’d rather be in a soft bed with fluffy pillows by himself than have the most beautiful girl in the world with him because all he wants to do is sleep. The bed begins to bump and jump and then he opens his eyes. They’re no longer on the road but are headed into a ditch. Daniel wakes up cursing. Roberto twists the steering wheel and returns the car to the road.
“Roberto,” Daniel says, “what the fuck?”
“Sorry. I fell asleep.”
“We need to stop someplace. We can’t go through all this and then get killed in a car wreck. Like those German tourists.”
“I agree, let’s stop. At the next motel.”
“You know, we’re not far from Ramiro Navia’s house. We should stay there instead of some fleabag motel.”
“Fine with me.”
Daniel gets his cellphone out, punches in a number.
“You said Ramiro’s not there, right?” says Roberto.
“No, but the caretakers are always there,” and now he says into the phone: “Gabriel! It’s Daniel. What’s happening, man? I didn’t wake you up, did I? Listen, I’m in the area with a friend, we were wondering if we could stop off and spend the night. Great. No, we already ate, all we need’s a couple of beds. Okay, we’ll see you soon. Bye.” He puts his phone away. “Do you think you can stay awake till we get there? Or do you want me to drive?”
“No, I think I’m okay.”
“Maybe we should think of something that will keep you awake.”
“Like what?”
“I could recite some Swinburne to you. There are parts of ‘Tristram of Lyonesse’ that are really amazing.”
“If you promise not to recite Swinburne to me, I’ll promise not to go to sleep.”
Daniel laughs, and lights a cigarette.
* * *
The road begins to rise into the mountains. Rain splatters the windshield. Roberto turns on the wipers, peers through them at the twisting road. It rains hard, but soon the splatters turn into speckles and then cease altogether. Just a passing shower. The wet pavement gleams in the headlights as he takes the Twingo up and up, and then Daniel says, “Slow down. It’s just around the next curve.”
Roberto turns left onto the eroded dirt road. It goes straight up the hill, and is dauntingly steep. Immediately the car starts sliding around.
“Gun it, Roberto!” says Daniel.
Roberto pushes the gas pedal, and the tires begin spinning and the car goes nowhere. The rain seems to have lasted just long enough to thwart their ascent.
“Get out,” says Daniel. “I’ll drive.”
Roberto shrugs. “Okay.”
He stops the car and they both get out. Roberto starts to walk around to the passenger side but Daniel says, “No, you walk up. We need to make the car lighter.”
Roberto stands by the car as Daniel gets behind the wheel.
“So you really think you can do better?” says Roberto.
“I can take this car up Mount Everest.”
The car moves forward, and Daniel skillfully slithers his way up the side of the hill in it. He stops at the top and waits for Roberto to walk up. He slips a couple of times in the mud and nearly falls as he did so many times in the jungle, and then he climbs back in the Twingo. Daniel regards him with a smirk.
“Don’t feel bad. You’re good at some things, just not at driving.”
“Shut up. Let’s go.”
Daniel laughs. He drives a minute or two along the road and then turns down another road, at the end of which a tall white wall and a wooden gate are lit up by the headlights. The gate is open, and a young man is standing there, along with two yellow Labrador retrievers. Daniel drives up to the gate, and the young man comes around to the driver’s side. His nose is covered with a white bandage.
“Hey, Gabriel,” says Daniel, “what happened to your nose?”
“I was clearing brush, and my machete hit something hard and bounced back and—” Gabriel shrugs and smiles. “I don’t know what I did, but I did it.”
“Sounds like me. Gabriel, this is my friend, Roberto.”
Gabriel and Roberto exchange greetings, then Daniel drives through the gate. He takes the car down a sloping brick drive and parks in front of the house. They get out and Daniel opens the trunk as Gabriel and the dogs come down the drive. The dogs jump up on Daniel as he pets and rubs them.
“Hey, Tantar, hey, Ramón, how are you guys?” and then he says to Gabriel: “Ramón’s gotten big.”
“Yes, he’s not a puppy anymore. But he’s still crazy.”
The house is white stucco with a red tile roof, with small palm trees and plants in pots all around. Gabriel grabs Roberto’s suitcase and Daniel’s backpack, and they follow him inside. They’re met by his wife, María, who’s slim and pretty and has a warm, welcoming smile.
“Are you hungry?” she says. “Let me make you something. Or let me get you something to drink.”
But they both want only to go to bed. Gabriel conducts them down a hallway. He opens a bedroom door and takes in Daniel’s pack. Daniel turns to Roberto.
“Well—see you in the morning, Roberto.”
Roberto nods. He and Daniel look at each other with one of those looks that convey more than millions of words, and then they hug. Then Daniel goes into his room and shuts the door and Gabriel takes Roberto down the hallway to his room. Gabriel puts the suitcase down on a carved wooden chest at the foot of the bed.
“If you need anything,” he says, “just let us know.”
Roberto thanks him and he leaves. The rough plaster walls are painted a soft green. There are lace curtains on the windows, and a very skinny and elongated Christ is nailed to a cross above the bed. It’s a little warm so Roberto turns on the ceiling fan. He goes in the bathroom and pees. The bathtub and shower look very inviting; he’ll enjoy them in the morning. He’d like to brush his teeth, but he realizes he doesn’t have a toothbrush or toothpaste; he left them in his backpack in El Encanto. There’s a glass by the sink and he fills it with water and takes it in the bedroom.
The bed’s been turned down. A bath towel folded in the shape of a swan and tied with a ribbon has been placed between the pillows. He puts the water on the bedside table and takes off his clothes and turns off the light and crawls into bed. The window’s open. It’s very quiet outside except for a cicada or two. No hooting jungle birds or growling beasts. The ceiling fan is loose in its fastenings, causing it to move back and forth and make a noise that sounds like tapping.
The day Roberto is to die
When he wakes up, the room is filled with light. He doesn’t know what time it is, since his watch was stolen, and his cellphone is still dead because he forgot to charge it last night, and there’s no clock in the room. It doesn’t feel late, but the last thing he wants to do is miss his flight out of Robledo. He gets out of bed and pulls on his jeans. He walks over to the window. It’s lovely outside: so green, so many flowers. At the bottom of a long slope is a blue swimming pool and an arbor with a table and chairs beneath it. In the far distance, he sees bluish mountains with clouds floating around their tops.
He finishes dressing, puts his cellphone in its charger, turns off the ceiling fan, and goes out. He walks down the hallway toward the sound of voices. He passes through an arched doorway, and then another arched doorway. When he came in last night he was too tired to notice how beautiful everything is. Tile floors of a rich red color and Persian rugs, yellow and blue and red plaster walls, vaulted ceilings with wood beams, crystal chandeliers, candles in bronze sconces, dreamy landscapes in gilded frames, furniture in an engaging hodgepodge of styles, Spanish Colonial, Victorian, Mediterranean. He hears Daniel laughing, and comes out into an expansive dining room and kitchen. Daniel’s sitting at an old mahogany table, drinking coffee. With him is a cute little girl with a long brown braid hanging from each side of her head. She’s holding a cat in her arms.
“Good morning,” says Roberto.
“Good morning!” calls María from the kitchen, where she’s cooking breakfast. “Would you like coffee?”
“I’d love some.”
The little girl looks at Roberto as he walks up to the table.
“Sofía,” says Daniel, “this is Roberto.”
“Hi, Sofía,” Roberto says.
Sofía smiles, adorably revealing two missing front teeth; Roberto’s reminded of Abril, Franz’s daughter.
María comes over with Roberto’s coffee. He thanks her, and sits down at the table. He adds some cream to the coffee, and looks at the cat.
“Who’s this?”
“Doki,” Sofía says shyly.
Doki’s a skinny white cat with a little yellow in his ears and faint tiger stripes on his tail.
“Doki’s got great eyes,” Daniel says, as he rubs a finger under Doki’s chin. “He’s cross-eyed, see?”
His eyes are great. Piercing blue and slightly crossed.
“Sofía, take Doki outside!” María calls from the kitchen; some kind of meat is sizzling and popping in a pan. “I don’t want him in the house, he scratches the furniture!”
Daniel looks at Sofía and shrugs, and Sofía shrugs too.
“Come on, Doki,” she says as she walks toward the door, holding her cat. “We’ll play.”
Roberto drinks his coffee and looks out the windows at the lush greenness, at the mountains and clouds.
“Don’t you love this place?” says Daniel.
“Yeah. Wish we could stay longer. What time is it?”
Daniel checks his watch. “A little after eight.”
“We should go soon.”
“We’ve got plenty of time. Anyway, we’re not leaving till we take a swim in the pool. That pool’s fucking paradise.”
María brings in eggs and arepas and sliced mangos and golden-brown chorizos and tangerine juice. It’s delicious, Roberto can’t eat it fast enough, he’s like a man who’s escaped from prison and has been wandering without food for days. Daniel’s eating in the same way, and when María comes over with a pitcher of juice to refill their glasses, she laughs at the speed with which they’ve cleaned their plates.
“Would you like some more?” she asks.
They both nod eagerly, and María laughs again and goes back to the kitchen. Roberto wipes his mouth with his napkin.
“I think you should come with me,” he says.
“To the airport?” Daniel says. He’s eating his last chorizo with his fingers. “Of course I’m coming, I’ll keep you company. We can have a few beers.”
“No. I mean come with me to Saint Lucia.”
Daniel stares at Roberto. “Are you serious?”
“I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I think you’re right: Diego’s something we need to be concerned about. But even if it turns out he didn’t tell them anything, I think you should still be out of the country when our story comes out. There’s no way it’s not going to be huge, and some people are going to put two and two together and think you took the pictures.”
“Damn it, Roberto! I told you this was a bad idea.”
“I’m sorry.”
Daniel’s quiet for a moment, and then he sighs. “Look, even if I wanted to go with you, I can’t now, I don’t have my passport with me. And I can’t just walk away from my life. What about my apartment, what about my fish?”
“Take me to Robledo. Drive back to your apartment and get your passport. Go to the airport and catch a plane out of the country. To anywhere, you can worry about getting to Saint Lucia later. And as far as your apartment goes, do what I did. I’m renting it out furnished. You have a great place, you won’t have any trouble finding a tenant. And you can even put it in the lease they have to take care of your fish. And then you can go back there when the heat dies down, and you and your fish can live happily ever after.”
Daniel lights a cigarette, exhales some smoke. He looks amused.
“What?” says Roberto.
“I was just imagining how Caroline would react if I showed up at her doorstep in Saint Lucia.”
“She’d be fine with it. Especially after I tell her everything that’s happened,” and then Roberto leans toward Daniel across the table. “Listen. I got you into this fix, so just let me help get you out of it. Just think about it. It all makes sense.”
* * *
Roberto returns to his bedroom with a toothbrush and toothpaste and a pair of swim trunks with a pattern of blue and white checks. It feels great to brush his teeth, and even better to step into the shower. He handles his right arm gingerly as he soaps himself up. It carries a physical record of encounters he had on his journey: the kids in Tarapacá, the ants in the jungle outside Jilili, Colonel Luna on the pavilion in El Encanto. The bites, both ant and human, look okay, but the knife wound is red and swollen and could be infected, and the broken finger is still fat, purple, and painful. As Roberto washes around his neck and shoulders, he misses the St. Jude medal being there. There were t
imes over the last few days he felt like it might actually be protecting him, though having possession of it didn’t do Vladimiro much good.
He takes the ribbon off the towel shaped like a swan and dries himself, then he puts on the swim trunks and goes outside. It’s warm and humid, but not like the jungle. Winding stone steps lead down the hill to the swimming pool. Daniel’s already in it. The dogs are running around like they want to come in too. Daniel splashes water at them, and they jump back and bark. As Roberto goes down the steps, he sees Gabriel pushing a wheelbarrow piled high with dirt. Gabriel waves and smiles and the white bandage on his nose is bright in a beam of sunlight.
Ramón, the younger dog, sees Roberto coming and runs up the hill to meet him. He jumps all over Roberto then races back to the pool barking joyfully as if announcing his arrival.
“Come on, Roberto,” yells Daniel, “jump in! Make a big splash!”
But he eases into the water till it’s up to his waist, then launches himself forward and swims around slowly. Trying not to get his glasses wet. Looking at the trees, the flowers, the sky. Daniel is right, this is like paradise.
Neither of them says much. The contrast between here and where they’ve been is too obvious to point out. Roberto finds himself wondering, why did the ceiba tree appear before his eyes in the swamp as it did? He and Daniel almost certainly never would have gotten out of the jungle alive if it hadn’t. It seems like there must be some kind of meaning to it, like it couldn’t have been mere chance. But if Roberto and Daniel were favored by fortune that night, then how come Lina and Ernesto and Quique weren’t? The two of them are floating in a swimming pool at the same time as the bodies of the others are decaying in the tropical heat, where’s the meaning in that?
After a few minutes, María comes down the steps. She’s carrying a tray with two bottles of beer and two glasses on it. She puts the beer and the glasses down on the ornately tiled table under the arbor, then goes back up the hill. Roberto and Daniel climb out of the pool, water sluicing over them. Daniel’s big stomach hangs over his swim trunks, which are red with white stripes down the sides. They sit down at the table and pour their beer into the glasses.