Isle of Passion

by Laura Restrepo

  “We have come for Benita.”

  “She is staying with me, and you’re not taking her away from here.”

  “Benita, do you want to stay?” shouted Alicia.

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m staying,” came her voice from inside.

  For several weeks the women did not meet either of them, until one morning while collecting shrimp by the ocean-bathed cliff. It was Rosalía who found Benita’s body. Her head was split, and she had red marks all over her body.

  “She fell off the cliff and broke her neck, poor thing!”

  “What are those things on her body? All those red marks.”

  “They are Judas kisses.”

  “An octopus sucked her dry.”

  “No,” Tirsa said slowly and with sorrow. “Victoriano beat her up, then killed her. And he’s coming to take another one of us with him.”

  That same night, they heard him come near, invisible in the dark. When the air turned rancid and they heard femurs and tibias clatter, Alicia and Tirsa came out to face him, pushing their big pregnant bellies ahead of them.

  “You are a murderer, and you’re not coming into the house.”

  “I can go in anywhere I want to, because now I am the governor.”

  The clouds that were hiding the moon parted like a curtain, and a chalky light spread over everything. They were then able to see the ferocious aspect of the tattered leper pirate: he had three daggers tucked under his belt, a rifle in bandolier, and he was wielding a heavy club.

  “Why did you kill her?”

  “I killed her for being a disrespectful lazybones. Now I am the governor, see. I’m in command, and all the women are mine for whatever I want. I’ll take you two with me after you give birth.”

  “You will pay for your crimes, Victoriano,” Alicia threatened.

  “Oh really, ma’am. And who will make me pay? You?”

  “Justice, when we are rescued.”

  “Nobody is going to come, and if they do, I’ll kill all of you first, so there will be no tattletales left. If you don’t want a beating now, don’t stand in my way, because I’m going in.”

  With a hard swipe of his left arm, he broke into the house and grabbed Altagracia. He jostled her, brought her down, and dragged her by the hair. Her long, blue-black, shiny hair.

  “I’m taking this one with me,” he said, “so she can cook for me and be my woman.”

  He walked away, tottering painfully on his shaky legs, with Altagracia on his shoulder. Eyes closed, ears and mind closed in order not to see, not to hear, not to feel, she let herself be carried like a sack of flour. Her hair was dragging, sweeping the floor and leaving a track through the pebbles and seashells.

  A few hours later, Alicia went into labor prematurely. It was a baby boy, ethereal and fragile like a sigh, and no one doubted that such an angelical face would soon return to heaven. In order not to let him be held back halfway there, suffering in purgatory, they baptized him immediately with water on his head and salt on his mouth, and they named him Angel Miguel after Ramón father. Alicia was not even able to breast-feed him.

  “You’re so anguished the milk cannot come down,” Tirsa told her.

  The baby was kept alive with teaspoonfuls of coconut water and booby egg whites until Tirsa’s delivery. She had a baby girl, big and strong, and named her Guadalupe Cardona. Tirsa breast-fed both babies and neither was ever satisfied. They cried all the time. Lupe screamed loudly, and the boy squealed like a sick little bird. But neither wanted to die, and both consciously clung to life.

  Alicia and Tirsa knew that the time had come to face Victoriano. They had some weapons, a few guns and regulation rifles, but no ammunition. They had run out of that years before.

  “It is as useless as still keeping your mother after she’s dead,” Tirsa commented.

  In spite of his condition, Victoriano was still powerful and an excellent shot. Adversity had made him evil, cruel, and fierce. He presented a terrible challenge for them, like an unconquerable mountain.

  “We must kill him, no matter what. It’s our duty.” Tirsa was really firm on this.

  “Our only duty is to stay alive, for the sake of our children,” Alicia countered, equally firm.

  Their disagreement and their fright paralyzed them, and even though they were overwhelmed by the certainty that for Altagracia each minute could be her last one, they spent evenings discussing what to do, but without taking any action. They finally found a compromise. They would try to kill him, but without risking getting killed by him.

  “Poison,” Alicia said, running in search of whatever remained of Ramón’s pharmacy. Most of the bottles were broken, empty, or dry, but the blue flask she was looking for was intact. It had never even been opened. It still had its original label: “Agua zafia (Arandula vertiginosa),” and Arnaud’s handwritten red label, which read, “Potentially lethal,” and included instructions for its use: “One drop dissolved in a half cup of water taken after meals, good for heartburn; two drops, at eleven, improves appetite; five drops, excellent aphrodisiac; ten drops taken daily, great tonic for the heart, prolongs life; but thirty drops taken at once endanger it; two tablespoons of agua zafia will kill anybody.”*

  They needed Altagracia’s complicity, and they were looking for a way to communicate with her without Victoriano’s knowing. They discovered that the best time was early in the morning while he was in deepest sleep. They found Altagracia turned inward; protected, aloof, and untouchable in the fortress of her dreams.

  “Is he hurting you much?” they whispered, not to wake up the man.

  “He only hurts my body,” she answered, “because my mind thinks of the one who loves me, and it escapes with him very far away from here.”

  “The memory of your German fellow saves you,” Alicia told her, “and you are the one who is going to save us.”

  They prepared two full tablespoons of agua zafia dissolved into a thick fish soup and explained to Altagracia that for him to die, she had to make him eat it. That she should not taste it, not even a sip. She could tell him she had prepared it especially for him.

  “He’s not going to believe me,” protested Altagracia. “I don’t cook for him, even when he hits me for it.”

  They convinced her, embraced her, gave her their blessings, and returned home. For the following two days they had no news, either from Altagracia or from Victoriano, and they tormented themselves with the possibilities.

  “He must have swallowed only enough for the dose to be an aphrodisiac, and he’s going to come now and rape us all.”

  “Or maybe he took the dose that prolongs life, and then not even a bolt of lightning could touch him.”

  “Or the poison opened his appetite, and he wants more soup. . . .”

  On the third day he reappeared, furious like a wild beast, more haggard and horrible than before because, he growled, he had eaten the soup and kept vomiting, nonstop, for three days. He beat up all the women, dragged them by the hair, and then took away all the rifles, guns, tools, and even kitchen knives so that they could not use any of them against him.

  “Bitches, you wanted to kill me! I’m going to kill you all, and save your tender daughters for later. I’ll teach them to love me while they are still young, and not to stab me in the back.”

  One day Alicia woke up quite determined. She could find no rest after Victoriano had threatened the girls. She had a responsibility, even though it meant doing something horrible. At dawn, she prepared her children’s breakfast. She wrapped Angel in a rebozo and slung him on her back as the women had shown her. She grabbed Ramón by the hand and called Alicia and Olga.

  “Where are we going, Mom?”

  “To the southern rock.”

  The children were happy, remembering the times their father used to go on outings with them. Though their mother did that frequently now, it was not the same. When they got to the top of the rock, she would stand at the edge of the cliff in utter silence. She did not show them the stars, as he u
sed to, or talk to them about the direction of the winds. She just stood there, lost in thought, while they played. Then suddenly she would say, “Let’s go back home, children, our excursion is over,” and it was of no use to plead with her to stay a little while longer, or to ask her to let them go down to the bottom of the rock through the center hole. But it didn’t matter: they were happy to go anyway.

  The girls ran ahead, and Alicia had to run to catch up with them. When they were close, with the sun already out, she asked them, as usual, to be silent so as not to wake up Victoriano, and to crouch as they walked so he could not see them in case he did. Nervous but with shiny eyes, the children obeyed, trying to hold back their laughter with their hands.

  Alicia was climbing up with the baby, but he was so small that she didn’t feel his weight. Her older boy guided her, told her where to step. She trembled, determined to do what she had not dared do on other occasions. It was different now, they were running out of time. It was now or never; if she waited any longer, it would be too late.

  The girls clambered up the cliff, holding on to the rocks. They were naked, suntanned, electric, and agile like monkeys.

  When they reached the top, Alicia looked down, and her heart shrank. This is utter madness, she thought. She had stood there several times, reviewing all the proceedings in her head, rehearsing it all mentally in order not to fail at the moment of truth. Night after night she had prepared herself for this moment. But now, when it was real and there was no turning back, nothing seemed according to plan, even in her darkest forebodings. The cliff felt more hostile, more merciless. Its height, which had seemed tolerable to her, opened into a black void, terrifying and abysmal. It would take them ages to fall to the bottom, they would hit the rocks on the way down, their bodies would be mangled before reaching the water. They would not die quickly, as she had thought, but, instead, descend slowly through the morning mist, and the children would have time to realize what was going on, to feel the panic, to scream at her for help, and not to forgive her for all eternity. “Let’s forget it! This time we’ll go back the same way we came,” Alicia said, but then she remembered Victoriano, his threats to kill them and rape the girls. If he ever touched her girls, if he mistreated them, could she ever forgive herself? Would Ramón forgive her? I’ll jump with the children now. There is no other solution, she thought.

  Then she realized that the children were not going to stand still waiting for her to push them. They were going to run helter-skelter, to squeeze by and defend themselves. She would have to run after them. This had not occurred to her before, perhaps because it wasn’t ever real. She had imagined them holding hands with her and jumping into the void, unaware, half asleep, tired of living, resigned to their fate, accepting death. But the creatures ahead of her, playing and jumping around, were full of vitality. They were life itself, and they would cling to her with overwhelming energy. “Oh Lord, forgive me for planning such a stupid atrocity. What I must do is kill Victoriano.” She felt strong and determined. She had been hiding Ramón’s sword. She would do it. She and Tirsa would kill him. Could they do it? Would the enormous and rusty sword be serviceable? No, they could not do it. What would probably happen is that he would kill them first, and that the children would be left at his mercy. There is no other way out, she thought. Today there is no turning back.

  The extent of her pain surprised her. Even though in her soul she knew, or wanted to convince herself, that this time they would not jump either, she suffered as if they were going to. She firmly believed that she had suffered all the pain that a human being could withstand, that she knew suffering deep and wide, that it was already familiar terrain with no surprises. But her suffering now was a hundred times, a thousand times worse than all she had been through before. She was horrified at the intensity of the anguish her heart could tolerate.

  The children found the hole that led to the interior of the big rock, used by Ramón and his men in search of treasure years ago.

  “Look, Mom! Look at all the bats!”

  “Come here, Mom, the toads are so ugly!”

  “Mom! Help me catch one, Mom.”

  Alicia suddenly realized that her children were happy. Many times before, she had watched them behaving in the same way, saying the same things, playing in the same manner, but she had not realized that. Now she saw it clearly: that all her years of tragedy were for them just everyday life. They had nothing to compare it with; they missed nothing. Like other times before, she convinced herself that she should go down the cliff, walk back home, and forget about demented solutions. How was she going to kill her own children, when neither hunger nor Victoriano had yet been able to? It made no sense. It was absurd. Horrible. She was not going to do that. She wouldn’t do it for anything in the world. Her pain diminished, allowing her to breathe again. An unexpected joy of life came over her, and to see the children alive, alive in spite of everything, made her happy.

  She almost told them, like often before, “Let’s go back home, children, our excursion is over.” But she remembered the three years they had been abandoned on the isle without hope. They would be in the same situation after three more years, and in three more, six; and three more, nine, and three more, twelve, and three more, fifteen. The words died in her throat. It was better to jump and be done with it.

  Over and over she made up her mind, got close to the abyss, looked at the children, and changed her mind, anguishing in her doubts. Her heart could not take it any longer. The sun had not reached high noon yet, and there was still a layer of green mist over the ocean.

  Behind the fog, on the horizon, Alicia saw a radiance. Points of light were moving, shining. They twinkled, died down, they reappeared suddenly, to disappear again as quickly. She remembered watching the sky as a child in Orizaba when sometimes she had been able to see, very high and far away, the fireworks celebrating a neighboring town’s patron saint. But now the lights were low, at water level.

  “The last thing I need,” she said. “A ghost ship.”

  She felt light-headed, and shivers went down her spine.

  “Oh, Ramón, don’t do this to me. Don’t send me mirages also; we had to pay so dearly for yours.”

  She rubbed her eyes, bit her lips, but the brilliant points of light were still there. They were compacting, becoming a solid mass.

  “Please, Ramón, don’t make fun of me, not now. Take away this vision and give me strength to jump, before the suffering makes me hesitate again.”

  The children, lost in their world, were making a lot of noise, holding on to her legs, pulling her to and fro. As usual, they wanted to go into that hole inside the rock, catch a toad, or wanted to know if it was true that bats could smoke. She remained mute, motionless, and stunned, without being able to free herself from her hallucination. A big gray thing was advancing toward the isle, cutting through the waves and dispersing the fog.

  “Ramoncito!” she summoned her son. “Come here. Tell me, what do you see over there? But don’t lie to me, don’t pretend. Just tell me what you see.”

  “It’s a ship, Mom.”

  There it was, facing them, in the water. Metallic and solid, identical to the one she had seen reflected in her husband’s eyes before he died.

  “Make some signals, son,” Alicia ventured in a weak, brittle voice.

  The boy waved his arms. Alicia did not dare to, she did not want to fall into that trap. Her body was paralyzed, but her heart was racing. She would not make any signals. She would not shout at a ghost to ask for help. It was all a dream, and she was bound to wake up. Since everything was lost, at least she would keep her composure, her reason. She remembered her own dictum: only what one can touch exists. That ship was intangible; it did not exist. Ramoncito was screaming: “Here, we are heeeere!”

  The two girls came to see what was going on, and they went crazy when they saw the ship. Ramón took off the piece of material he was wearing as a loincloth, and waved it over his head. The girls soon imitated him. They let th
emselves be carried away by their enthusiasm. They were running in every direction, yelling for help, waving their rags as if possessed.

  “Help!” Alicia heard herself shout, to her surprise.

  This first shout was like a door opening in her throat, letting out all the hopes she had held back, after so many years of stifling them, of not giving them wings. Now she, too, was running, screaming, laughing, and praying, kissing her children.

  “This is the real thing, Ramón. This is really it!” she repeated, looking upward, more in an effort to convince herself than to inform her husband.

  The ship was closer now, and she could see the flag: it was the U.S. flag. A sharp panic stunned her: What if nobody on board saw them and the ship went back? It was not a Mexican ship, and therefore it would probably just cruise by. Unless they could manage to make it stop.

  “Let’s yell loud and clear, so they hear us!” she told the children, and she herself put her whole soul into each yell.

  In the furor of all the clamor, Alicia tore off the saintly bedsheet she had wrapped around herself. Naked like her children, with Angel on her back, and brimming with the joy of her renewed desire to live, she waved the white sheet in the air.

  “You rag, better be good for something,” she commanded. “Make them see us!”

  High Seas, Aboard the Gunboat Yorktown, 1916

  IT WAS STILL AS DARK AS night at six fifteen on Wednesday, 18 July when Captain H. P. Perril came to the bridge. He was hit by a milky curtain that, at first, he could not decipher as fog or as the nebulae in his still-sleepy brain. Nobody on board the Yorktown had been able to sleep due to the choppy seas and the extreme heat. A few of the men had tried to sleep on deck, until various scattered but recurrent rainstorms forced them to go back in. At four o’clock, even the captain had managed some light sleep, which had just become deep sleep by the time he was awakened, as usual, at six.

  Slowly he began to connect with the real world: a strong wind was blowing from the southwest, and an impatient sea jolted the ship without mercy or rhythm. He asked the helmsman if he could see anything, and he answered, “Only the fog, sir.” There was no visibility until nine fifty, when the lookout shouted that he had sighted land.