The Girl in the Glyphs

by David Edmonds

  Alan touched my arm. “Catherine said you found that letter in Spain.”

  “The Seville Archives.”

  Over at the comandante’s table, Luz Maria was on her feet. “I don’t take orders from you! I’ll ask him what I damn well please!”

  She snatched up her purse and marched to our table. “We need to talk,” she said to Alan, and stormed out the door.

  The comandante drained his glass and followed.

  “Christ,” Alan said, “Why can’t they leave me out of their quarrels?”

  A little stab of jealousy shot through me. “Are you and Luz Maria like…an item?”

  “Nothing like that. One of these days I’ll tell you.”

  Right, I thought. Women like Luz Maria didn’t create that kind of stir unless something was afoot. But why should I care? This wasn’t a date. I had enough problems with Stan.

  More people came in. A ceiling fan turned lazily in the overhead. I finished Father Antonio’s letter and handed it back to him. “Well?” he said, and stuffed it into his pocket.

  “Well, what?”

  “Is the cave on Zapateras or not?”

  “I thought you invited me for dinner, not an interrogation.”

  “Christ, Jen, all I’m trying to do is keep you from ending up like Catherine. Gonzales wants that gold. That’s why he went after her. That’s why he’s after you.”

  “Gold? You’re saying there’s gold in the cave?”

  “Pirate gold. Spanish escudos.”

  “Those stories are nothing but rumor. Catherine knew that.”

  “Rumor or not, that’s what got her killed.” He leaned closer. “Listen, Jen, the reason I’m pestering you about Zapateras is there’s some bad stuff going on out there.”

  “What stuff?”

  The lights flickered a few times, dimmed, and went out.

  Chapter 14

  The music stopped. Groans followed. A girl giggled and said, “Don’t,” and again the word “Nicaragua” buzzed around as if it were an explanation instead of a country.

  Matches and cigarette lighters flared. Servants hurried in with scented lamps, candles, and our dinner. The mood in the room softened. Conversation took on a hushed tone. The comandante and Luz Maria came back in, holding hands. Then Alan shifted his chair closer.

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re a dead ringer for Salma Hayek?”

  “Let’s get back on the subject. What’s happening on Zapateras?”

  “Squatters. They took over the island—peasants, nihilists, Communists, veterans of the war. They’re saying the government promised them land but didn’t deliver. Now they’re shooting at anyone who comes near. It could be dangerous.”

  “I’m an archaeologist, Alan. We’re used to danger. Besides, where that cave is located is nothing but jungle. Inhospitable. Squatters wouldn’t go near the place.”

  “Wait, wait.” He held up a hand. “Are you saying you’d go anyway?”

  “I didn’t come all this way just to chat about it.”

  “I think you had too much wine.”

  “I thought you were the adventuresome sort.”

  He clutched his chest as if I’d shot him with an arrow. “Ouch, that hurts.” He drained his goblet, poured a refill, and reached across the table, putting his hand over mine. “If we went—and it’s a big if, it’d have to be clandestine.”

  “How about tomorrow?”

  “I thought you were going to a Saturday night embassy party.”

  “Who told you I was going to an embassy party?”

  “I hear things.”

  “Okay, so you tell me. When’s the earliest we can go?”

  “Early Monday, zero-three-hundred hours. That’s three a.m. civilian time.”

  I raised my glass in a toast. “Monday, zero-three-hundred hours.”

  We ate, we plotted, we ordered a second bottle of wine, and by the time the tiramisu came to the table, we were sharing bios like a first-date couple. I told him about my childhood in the Yucatan and growing up torn between the evangelical Christianity of my dad and the spiritualistic beliefs of my mom. He told me about growing up in Texas, serving a stint in the army, and becoming an economics professor in Colorado before taking a temporary assignment with US/AID, the Agency for International Development.

  “I love this country,” he said. “Volcanoes to climb, jungles to explore, orchids to die for. There was this clear creek where I was stationed with the Peace Corps.”

  “You were in the Peace Corps?”

  “Dinky little village in the jungle. I used to think I could live there forever, go native, but the war changed everything. Now all I think of is Colorado. Get me a cabin, a fireplace and a dog.”

  I giggled. “Just you and a dog?”

  “Hell, no, I want someone to share my pillow. A woman who’s not afraid to hike up a mountain or go skinny dipping.”

  “Like a Peace Corps woman?

  “I’ll settle for an archaeologist.” He reached over and touched my cheek. “What are your dreams, Jennifer? Where do you want to be a year from now?”

  “Probably New York, finishing my doctorate.”

  “I don’t like that scenario—you in New York, me in Colorado.”

  “We just met, Alan, and now you’re proposing?”

  A server came by to pick up. After he left, Alan said, “All I know is my little heart’s been aflutter from the moment you walked into that lobby. I’m not saying run off and marry me. Hell, no. But I really, really want to spend more time with you. See what happens.”

  This kind of talk was getting too mushy. He probably used the same line on all his women. Like Luz Maria. When I realized I was playing with my hair like a flirt, enjoying his come-on, I picked up my purse. “I need to get an early start in the morning.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re going back to Ometepe?”

  “You could go with me.”

  “I can’t, but maybe…” He pulled out his cell phone, excused himself and stepped into the lobby. A minute or so later, he came back. “Paco’s going with you.”

  “Paco?”

  “My driver.”

  “But I don’t want—”

  “Not to worry. He’ll keep his distance…watch your back.”

  He signed for the bill. I thought he was going to walk me to my room. Instead, he guided me out a side door onto the verandah. The place was so dimly lit I could see the glow of the Milky Way through the palms of the plaza. Other couples sat back in the shadows. The wind blew cool gusts over the railing. On the street below, a trio of guitarists was serenading guests with a happy rendition of La Media Vuelta, a song about a man who tells his woman if she finds someone she cares for more than him, then he’ll just turn around and walk away, do la media vuelta…

  “Why did you bring me out here?” I asked.

  “Because I’m in love and I don’t want this evening to end.”

  “That wine is affecting your judgment.”

  “In that case I need more wine.”

  We settled into chairs and ordered Baileys. Alan put an arm around me. “You have the most incredible dark eyes, and you speak with this soft exotic accent.”

  I leaned into him as if drawn. My heart raced. God, was he sexy, so unlike Stan, and I was wondering what it would be like to kiss him when a taxi stopped in front.

  Out of it climbed an attractive young woman, her face visible in the cab’s lights.

  “Christ,” Alan groaned. “That’s Elizabeth Alvarado, the TV woman.”

  We blew out the candle and cowered in the darkness like cheating spouses. Elizabeth breezed past us, pulling her luggage. “What do you think she wants?” I asked.

  “You; she wants you. Don’t be surprised if she’s on that ferry tomorrow.”

  “How would she know I’m getting on a ferry?”

  “She’s got more spies than Gonzales.”

  “What do I tell her if she asks about the cave?”

  “Push her overboard. You’ll be do
ing yourself and a lot of other people a favor.”

  He laughed, I laughed, and then we were back to snuggling. Funny how I’d never felt this warmth with Stan, never wanted to put my head on his shoulder.

  “This is crazy,” Alan whispered, tracing a finger down my cheek. “We’ve known each other for only a day and now I don’t want you out of my sight.”

  His breath was warm on my cheek, as intoxicating as his words, and his hand on the back of my neck, beneath my hair, when I twisted around to face him and our lips met in a wonderful moist fusion of tenderness, right there on the veranda in the darkness, with other couples sitting around us and the guitar players belting out the last lines of La Media Vuelta.

  “Excuse me,” said our server. “I hate to interrupt, but we’re about to close.”

  I straightened up and wiped my lips. What was wrong with me, kissing a stranger in a public place? Alan settled with the server. The guitarists finished their song and began packing up. Other couples left. We finished our Baileys and headed into the lobby.

  It was dark and shadowy, lit by one low-burning lamp. The Baileys, the wine, and the exertion of the day’s climb found its way into my legs. The alcohol had taken effect on Alan too, and he danced me across the floor singing La Media Vuelta.

  He pointed to the stairway wall. “Tomorrow I’m going to nail a plaque right there.”

  “Oh yeah? What’ll it say?”

  “I’ll think of something sufficiently dignified.”

  I laughed and we trudged up the stairs saying “something sufficiently dignified” like a couple of drunk sailors. Alan unlocked my door, followed me into the darkness, and lit candles with a cigarette lighter.

  “If you don’t promise to see me tomorrow night,” he said, “I’m going to my room and dive out the window. Plunge to my death in that beautiful courtyard below. Die beneath the jacarandas with your name on my lips. They’ll play La Media Vuelta at my funeral.”

  “We’re only two floors up.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’d die anyway from a broken heart.”

  Maybe it was the intrigue. Or the fuzziness in my head. Or my anger at Stan and a desire to get even, but when I looked into his eyes and sensed the same longing I felt, I came into his arms and our lips met again. A fire ignited inside me, something I’d never had with Stan, and suddenly he was kissing me on the side of the neck, beneath my chin, and down to my breasts.

  “Don’t,” I said. “This is going too fast.”

  He backed away and held me at arm’s length. “Tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow,” I whispered, and kissed him again.

  Chapter 15

  In spite of my weariness, I drifted in and out of sleep. One minute I’d be in a boat with Alan, heading to Zapateras. The next I’d be awake, the wind rattling the balcony doors. I caught the scent of orange blossoms. I heard the toll of two on the cathedral clock, and from down the street came the sounds of the watchman, dragging his stick along a railing and singing “How Peaceful is the Night” like a night crier from a thousand years ago in the other Granada:

  Tan-tranquila-es-la-noche…

  The next time darkness closed around me, I found myself strolling along a sandy beach with Alan. Not as Jennifer the archaeologist, but as the girl in the glyphs. Glyph Girl. A smoking volcano in the background, stars above us, Alan with his hand on my back.

  “Why wait until tomorrow?” he whispered.

  He eased me onto a blanket, and even in my dream, I accepted the theory of the old couple that I was a woman in need of a man. I felt those wonderful, moist kisses again. I felt his lips on my thighs, on my stomach, on my breasts. It was his body I embraced around the pillow, his body I lay beneath. He entered me. We were one, and just when I thought my heart would burst with love, the volcano behind us exploded with a loud boom.

  Damn that crazy old priest! It was five in the morning. The room was spinning. My stomach felt as if I’d eaten a can of dog food. The pillow that had been Alan was now a crumpled mass. Surely there was more to the single life than erotic dreams and a hangover.

  I downed another Advil and was heading for the bathroom when I saw the sketchpad on the table. There she was, Glyph Girl, strolling along a beach with her man. Just like in the dream. I flipped to the next page: Coitus. Oh, God, how could this be happening? A little wine, a little charm and, just like Humpty-Dumpy, I’d fallen into the story in the glyphs.

  Somehow I showered, dressed in hiking boots and khakis, drank coffee, and got to the Asese landing in time to climb aboard the ferry with the locals and their cardboard boxes.

  Dreadlocks was nowhere in sight, but Paco, a stout little man who looked like he could bash in a head with a pickaxe, was easy to spot. He nodded. I nodded back. The pain in my head faded to a dull throb. I needed more coffee, and was heading for the refreshment bar when I heard Elizabeth Alvarado’s voice.

  “Over here, Jennifer. Saved you a seat.”

  She wore a floppy hat, big sunglasses, white jeans and a Miami Hurricanes pullover. Her fair complexion and attractive European features contrasted sharply with the indigenous looks of other passengers, reminding me of the leading women in Mexican soap operas.

  “Sit down, Jennifer, I’m not going to bite.”

  “I’m going for coffee.”

  I took my time, hoping Elizabeth would fall overboard, but when I went back with a latte in hand, she was still there, patting the chair. Worse, her camera operator was leaning against the railing with his cap backward on his head and his camera aimed at me, light blinking.

  “Is he filming me?” I asked Elizabeth.

  “Why not? You’re an archaeologist on a mission.”

  I pulled my cap over my face. “Tell him to stop.”

  “Oh, come on, Jennifer. You’re going to be famous. We need background footage.”

  “I’m counting to three. If he hasn’t stopped by then, I’m getting off this boat.”

  “A little touchy, aren’t we?”

  “One…two.”

  She waved off her cameraman. “Come on, Jennifer, sit down and let’s talk.”

  There being no other vacant chairs, I sat beside her.

  She touched my arm. “How was your date with the gringo?”

  “It wasn’t a date. We were discussing business.”

  “Of course you were, but you do seem a little pale.”

  “You said you wanted to talk.”

  She pulled a recorder from her bag.

  “No, no recorder either. This is off the record.”

  She sighed in frustration. “Okay, no camera and no recorder. Why don’t we start by you telling me why you came to Nicaragua?”

  “To photograph glyphs. It’s for an exhibit at the Smithsonian.”

  “Oh, please. Let’s cut through the nonsense. When are you going to Zapateras?”

  “What makes you think I’m going to Zapateras?”

  “Please don’t put me through this. I know about Father Antonio’s letter. I know about the cave. I know about Catherine. I also know about the gold.”

  “There’s no gold.”

  “That’s not what Catherine told me.”

  If Catherine had been there, and wasn’t dead, I’d have strangled her and shoved her overboard. “Well?” Elizabeth said.

  “That story is nonsense. People always talk about buried treasure in lost places.”

  “You’re saying there’s no gold?”

  “All I’m saying is there’s no evidence of gold.”

  “So why are you so obsessed in finding the cave?”

  “My interest is purely archaeological.”

  “Aha, so you admit it. You’re here for the cave.”

  I pushed back in my chair and stood.

  Elizabeth also stood. “I’m not your enemy. All I want is one thing—an exclusive. I want to go with you to the cave…be with you when you step inside, get it on film.”

  My headache came back. Just about everyone on deck was staring. Probably because they
thought Elizabeth was interviewing someone important. I turned back to her. “Let’s say I find the cave. Further suppose it’s stacked to the top with pirate gold, and has evidence of a Moses with commandments for Native Americans. You couldn’t put it on television.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because every treasure hunter in the world would be knocking on your door. Religious fanatics too. You could end up like Catherine. We both could. Ever think about that?”

  “I’m not stupid. I’m willing to sign a contract with you. The story wouldn’t get aired until the place is sealed and secured by the government, all the valuables removed.”

  “That could take awhile.”

  “I’m a patient woman.”

  “Yes, I see that, a poster girl for patience.”

  A whistle blew. Engines whined. The hydrofoil lifted out of the water, and then we were roaring into the lake, leaving a trail of spray.

  “What about it?” Elizabeth shouted above the noise. “Do we have a deal or not?”

  “Maybe I missed something. What is it you’re offering in return?”

  She pointed to her cameraman. “What I’m offering is to keep your face off the tube.”

  “You’d risk my life for a story?”

  “Oh, come now, let’s be reasonable. We’ll make a documentary like no other. Call it the ‘Moses Commandments for Native Americans.’ You’ll be famous.”

  “I need more coffee,” I said, and left her sitting there.

  Chapter 16

  Isla Ometepe

  Elizabeth and her cameraman were first off the ferry. I thought they’d given up, but when I headed down the ramp with the other passengers, I found them waiting with their mini-cam, their camera trained on me. I pulled my cap low on my head and hurried past.

  Elizabeth followed me into the parking lot. “Señorita McMullen, what is it you’re searching for on Ometepe?”

  People stared. Paco motioned me toward the open door of a tourist van. I was about to hop inside when I saw Blanca with a cigarette in her mouth, leaning against her Datsun.

  She opened the door for me, but when she saw Elizabeth and her little army of followers, she brushed back her hair and began smoothing her clothes.