Escape Through the Andes
Page 17
Usually quiet and unoccupied, Melones Beach was obviously the scene of some event this morning. This was not an ordinary, sleepy, Puerto Rican morning. People were gathered at a spot at the edge of the parking area just at the bottom of the hill. Many were talking; some seemed excited about something. We walked over to see what was happening. There, to our great surprise, was Gonzalo and with him, Rosemary. Kneeling on the ground, Gonzalo was splinting the arm of a boy maybe twelve years old.
“When he fell off of his skateboard he broke his wrist,” Gonzalo said to a woman who was evidently the boy’s mother. “I am splinting it, but he will have to go to the Caribbean Medical Center in Fajardo to have it properly set and secured in a cast. We’ll get him on the next flight to Fajardo. Do you have a car to drive to the airport?”
“No,” she said. “Well, we do, but it won’t run now. It needs repairs that we cannot get done here on Culebra. And without those repairs, we cannot drive it to the ferry to take it to Fajardo. So no, we do not have a car. Or a car that works.”
“My wife and I can drive him and you to the airport to catch the next flight to Fajardo.”
“Can’t we take the ferry tomorrow?” the woman asked. “It’s much cheaper.”
“No, I’m afraid not” Gonzalo said. “But after it is properly set and casted, you could stay overnight in Fajardo and return on the ferry tomorrow. But getting the bone properly aligned should be done right away, not tomorrow.”
“We have cousins there with whom we can stay. We stay with them when we go to Fajardo to shop.”
Looking up, Gonzalo spotted Susan and me. “Paul, Susan, what are you doing here? I mean, welcome to Culebra. It’s great to see you, but how—”
Susan smiled and said, “Well, what are you doing here? We didn’t expect to see you two here. We’re vacationing. In fact, we’ve come to Culebra a number of times. Not every year, but fairly often. And we certainly didn’t expect to find Dr. and Mrs. Mamani here.”
Initially Susan and I had kept in touch with Gonzalo and Rosemary while they were in Cleveland. But they had their lives and we ours, and so we had drifted away from one another. We were embarrassed now that we had not kept up with our friends.
“Look,” I said, “you need to take care of your patient. Dinner tonight at Barbara Rosa’s? Our treat. How about it?”
“Sounds fun,” Rosemary said, “but you should be our guests here on Culebra.”
“Not at all, but you can bring some beer—Medalla.”
“Great.”
Eating fried shrimp at Barbara Rosa’s front porch restaurant and enjoying the Puerto Rican beer, we heard the Mamanis’ story.
“Well,” Gonzalo said, “after I passed the USMLE exam for licensing and finished my year of internship at Cleveland Metropolitan General Hospital, I stayed on there in general medicine for a second year rather than join you at University Hospitals.”
“Yes, I was disappointed in you for that,” I commented.
“Then I started looking for practice opportunities. But first, some vacation for the two of us. That was important. And having heard about Culebra from some of my Puerto Rican patients in Cleveland, we decided to take our break here.”
“We loved it on first sight,” interjected Rosemary.
“They had no doctor, and the population won’t really support one. Even with Medicare and Medicaid. The island is just too small,” said Gonzalo. “Not enough people living here to support a full-time medical practice. But,” he continued, “my years in the spy business have left me with enough money to live very comfortably for more years than I expect to be around.
“So now I am the island’s doctor, and Rosa Maria the island’s nurse. There is a small clinic—you passed it on the way to Melones Beach—where we see patients. There are four beds there, where we can keep an occasional patient overnight. But I don’t like to do that. Sick people should be flown to Fajardo.
“We are part of the community now. We live in the barrio (neighborhood, commonly used on Culebra for a particular hillside neighborhood). Rosa Maria is on the town library board.”
“So here we are,” added Rosemary. “And in another seven months there will be another one of us!”
“Fantastic, wonderful!” Susan responded, with a warm, wide smile.
Driving back to Tamarindo Estates after dinner, Susan commented, “This story, their story, your espionage caper story, couldn’t have a happier ending.”
Author’s Notes
This novel is a work of fiction. All of the characters in it are products of my imagination. Evo Morales was, in fact, president of Bolivia at the time Parts I, II and IV are set, and he still is as of this writing. He is the only historical person in the book. However, any actions, policies, or programs attributed to him are fictional. The Bolivian National Security Agency (Agencia Nacional de la Seguridad Boliviana, ANSEB) described in Part IV is fictional. I do not know if an agency of this type exists in Bolivia. If such an entity does exist, I have no knowledge of it.
I have lived in Bolivia and traveled extensively in both Bolivia and Peru. I have been to all of the places described in this book, from Suapi to Salaverry, from Coroico to Culebra. To the best of my ability, I have accurately described all of the sites in which this novel is set, although in many cases I have relied on decades-old memories. Many of the events described in Part II are drawn directly from my experiences in 1970–71. The Hotel Europa in La Paz is new since my last visit to Bolivia; the Gran Hotel Bolivar in Lima is described as I remember it. Other hotels in Puno and Cuzco are fictional.
I give thanks to many persons who have read drafts of my manuscript. Their comments have made this a better book. I especially thank my wife, Janet; my daughter, Ginnie; my brother, John Daniel; and my friends, Margaret Fissinger and Patricia Eldredge.
I have chosen to write in the first person. The protagonist in this work is, in fact, an individual such as I was during my biomedical career—an academic research scientist studying immune responses in persons with tuberculosis. Some of the studies described in Part II are drawn directly from work done by me and my colleagues. On the other hand, Dave, Jennifer, Gonzalo, Rosa Maria, and the Quispes are entirely fictional; they are not based on any persons known to me.
That the world’s major sources of lithium ore are in Bolivia, China, and North Korea is, in fact, true.
About the Author
Thomas M. Daniel is an emeritus professor of medicine at Case Western Reserve University. In his retirement years he has turned to writing. His previous works include seven nonfiction books focused on medical history. Escape is his first work of fiction. He has lived in Bolivia and traveled extensively in the regions in which this novel is set.