The Heiress of Water: A Novel

by Sandra Rodriguez Barron

  Monica stood. “If you really want peace, Mom, then begin with Dad,” she said, remembering Marcy’s words on the Fourth of July about Alma’s ghost. The entire family needed this exorcism, this purging of the past, and Monica knew that her father had been the one most haunted. Monica briefly grabbed her father’s hand and said, “This man spent the last fifteen years thinking that he killed the woman he loved.”

  Now Alma was looking at her husband, her eyes heavy, her lips pressed together. With as much delicacy as she could muster, Monica said, “You let Dad and Abuela both live with that awful burden, Mom. It’s time for you two to talk about that. If my father can forgive you, Mother, then I can.” Monica turned and bear-hugged her father at the shoulders. She could see sweat beaded up on his scalp and his skin looked pale. “I’ll be up at the station with Claudia and Will. Call to me when you’re ready.” She got up and walked away, leaving her parents alone for the first time in fifteen years, the tension between them broiling in the thick, salt-laden air.

  BRUCE LEANED FORWARD. He pointed at his own heart. “She’s right—you could have saved us a lot of trouble by just asking me for a divorce.”

  Alma had her arms folded in front of her, a defensive position. “You just didn’t do that back then, in Salvadoran society. It wasn’t even an option.”

  “Bullshit. You weren’t a convent novice. You were a selfish coward.”

  “I blamed you and my mother. I wanted something far worse than a divorce.”

  “Ah, now we’re getting to the truth.” Bruce scratched his scalp and cocked his head to the side. “I understand punishment. I wanted to punish you for cheating. But I wasn’t going to take it out on Monica.”

  Alma pointed her finger at him. “I didn’t take it out on Monica, I spared her. That’s how I saw it at the time. You were a good father, and I was a bad mother. After I felt strong enough to resume my life and recognize my mistakes, I no longer had any right to her. Am I wrong?”

  Bruce raised an eyebrow. “No, you’re absolutely right. And I am the better parent. Take just now, for instance. All these years I’ve been trying to shield her from the knowledge that what she told me that day triggered your death, and you just blurt it all out.”

  Alma shook her head. “But I’m not dead.”

  “But others did die.”

  “Putting everything on the table is the best thing. She’s almost thirty, for God’s sake.”

  Bruce exhaled slowly. Alma gripped the edge of the bench with both hands and said, “I’m so sorry I ruined your life, Bruce. I never loved you, you know that. I should have been braver, I should have defied my parents and just followed my heart from the beginning.” She made a cutting motion with her hand. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I do want to say I’m sorry for my actions, because I am.”

  He stood. “Feel sorry for yourself. You’ve ruined every chance life gave you to be loved.”

  She looked down at her toes, pushed the sand about. When she looked up, he saw himself reflected in those impossibly dark eyes. Eyes were supposed to be the mirror of the soul, he thought. They weren’t supposed to reflect back your own image. He remembered suddenly that there had always been something terribly lonely about loving Alma, and that was it. You only saw yourself reflected back, you never got a glimpse of what was inside. She pulled at his wrist and said, “Don’t go.”

  He sat. “Why?”

  “Because,” she said, lifting her fringed eyelids to reveal those black-mirrored irises with no pupil, no center, no heart of vision.

  But she was right, there was more to say. He looked into her face, taking in the eternally swollen lips, the double accent marks of her eyebrows, the high swell of her cheekbones, and for a moment, he spoke to the face, not to the woman. “I accept responsibility for getting caught up in your beauty. I chose you despite the fact that you told me over and over you didn’t want to marry me or have my child. I saw you and Maximiliano together that first weekend your mother invited me to the beach and I chose to ignore it. When your father sent Max away to keep you apart, I seized the chance. That’s my contribution to the baggage than ended up on Monica’s lap. All I ask of you now is that you make sure that Monica never knows that you didn’t want to have her.”

  Alma winced, remembering the pain of that failed attempt at an abortion. “That was destiny. That child was meant to live.” She nodded her head and looked away. “I’ll do whatever you say, Bruce. I feel as if life is granting me another chance, if only to seize the peace that honesty can bring.”

  Bruce pursed his lips and nodded. “Good.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, then Bruce said, “I have some things to ask of you if you’re serious about starting a clean slate.”

  Alma just raised an eyebrow and looked at him.

  Bruce said, “First, you’re going to have to come out from under your rock. We’re going to get a good lawyer and you’re going to strip the Borreros of everything that belonged to your parents.” He held his hand up just as she began to protest. “I don’t care if it’s uncomfortable for you. I don’t care what your feelings about money are these days. You’re going to force your relatives, and the law, to recognize Monica as the rightful heir to whatever is left of her grandparents’ assets, which by now have tripled. You can start there.”

  Alma opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, then closed it. She held her chin up. “What else?”

  “And then you’re going to sit down with Claudia Credo”—he pointed toward the marine station—”and tell her everything you know about cone-venom-based drugs and that clinic. Let the health department know who you are and why you’re here and what concerns you have with what’s going on at Clinica Caracol.”

  Alma bit her lip and finally nodded. “Okay.”

  “And no disappearing act. Alma, you had better be reliable and available for this.”

  She put up her hands. “I promise.”

  He raised his chin and squinted at her. “I was married to you for thirteen years. I don’t trust you.”

  “Technically, you still are.”

  He frowned. “Well, I guess that’s the third thing. I’m going to need a divorce.”

  Alma nodded and stood. She picked up the dried seed of an almond fruit and tossed it at the spider monkey. “It’ll be my gift to you, Bruce.”

  Bruce kicked at the sand. “I won’t be seeing much of you again, but Monica is an adult and I’m not going to interfere with whatever she decides to do. You’re on your own with her, Alma.”

  “If I do these three things …” Her voice trailed off.

  Bruce nodded. “Then she’ll forgive you.”

  chapter 19 EMERGING

  To keep his hands busy and calm his increasingly frazzled nerves, Will began to play with the baby sea turtles. He was encouraging a wrestling match between the two most aggressive ones. While everyone else kneeled on the sand and played with the tiny creatures, Claudia sat with Alma on a cement bench nearby. Alma said, “As I moved from guerrilla camp to camp, I discovered that the poor and the idealistic can be just as arrogant and dishonest as the rich. I came to realize that my ancestors worked hard to obtain their money. They were intelligent, focused people who didn’t exploit anyone, and they deserved what they accrued.”

  “But your parents, if not your ancestors, were a bit of the elitist stereotype, no?” Claudia asked.

  “My parents were the third generation, and that’s when the fruit starts to rot,” Alma said. “My parents didn’t exploit the workers on our properties—at least not by local standards—but they were cold in their hearts, so removed were they from the humility of the poor. And as the sea carried me that day, I remembered exactly what drove Max to fight against the status quo. Everything came down to a memory, the story of which he retold many times. On the day of my seventh birthday party, he stood in line behind the other kids waiting for his turn at an enormous yellow piñata shaped like an airplane. Several kids took a turn at whacking it,
and still nobody could break it open. Max grew more and more excited as his turn approached. When someone finally passed the club to him, my mother stepped forward and said, in front of everyone, ‘These games aren’t for you, Maxito. Go get a garbage bag from the kitchen and help your mother pick up all this trash.’

  “I never forgot the humiliation and frustration in his face,” Alma said. “Turns out that the expression on his face foreshadowed the feelings of an entire nation.” She folded her arms and shook her head. “I never understood how you could work for the military, Claudia.”

  Claudia shrugged. “Some of us need jobs, Alma. I didn’t have a trust fund waiting for me in Miami.”

  Alma bowed her head, conceding the point. “We each make our decisions based on what we need at the moment, don’t we?”

  “That we do.” Claudia slid her sunglasses over her eyes and folded her hands together. She looked at Monica and smiled.

  “So, Monica?”

  Monica looked at all of them self-consciously. “So Claudia?”

  “So is everything resolved between you two?”

  Monica shook her head at the boldness and indiscretion of the question. While she really wanted to say something cutting, she knew it was a cultural quirk and was completely unintentional. She searched to find more gentle words. Alma seemed to sink into her own shoulders. “I feel more in control of my past, and therefore my life, Claudia.”

  “A very diplomatic answer, Monica,” Claudia persisted. “But is she forgiven?”

  Even Will looked uncomfortable. He put the turtles down and pretended to be interested in something he saw in the sand. Monica blanched with anger and chose to remain mute. Everyone fell silent. Bruce coughed. Will cracked his knuckles and Claudia’s stomach rumbled.

  Finally, Monica pointed at the pen of baby turtles. “Where is the mother?”

  “Somewhere at sea, of course,” Alma answered.

  ALMA LISTENED to Will’s story in silence until he came to the part about Yvette’s treatment. “She’s in danger,” Alma said gravely. “That’s why I’m here. A man was stung by a cone snail while we were traveling in Mexico, what you read about in Alternative Healing. The extent of his injuries makes it obvious that the cone venom prevented the ‘cascade of chemicals’ that typically causes as much injury as the blow itself. Also, there wasn’t the normal amount of intracranial pressure damage that follows. I was very excited because someone was smart enough to save the cone, but it wasn’t the furiosus, it was the exelmaris, which is very similar. I began to inject mice with the exelmaris venom, but their behavior became bizarre. The synthetic cone toxin Fernanda is using is not based on the furiosus, although I know they are fond of hinting that it is. It’s a copy of the exelmaris venom, the same one I used to immobilize that soldier fifteen years ago.”

  “They call it furiosus-based in the article,” Will said.

  “That’s either a lie, or if we choose to interpret the motivation more kindly—sheer ignorance. In fact, that claim is what tipped me off. The Conus exelmaris is similar to the furiosus in a lot of ways. But unlike the furiosus, the exelmaris produces a variety of adverse effects that can linger on indefinitely. Its ability to stimulate the brain is generally acknowledged, but not at all understood.”

  “It produces aggression?” Will asked.

  Alma held up her hand and began to count off her fingers. “Tunnel vision, hallucinations, delirium, paranoia, suicide, and self-mutilation.” She held up the other hand. “Another characteristic is that it is much slower to cross the blood-brain barrier than the furiosus.”

  “How do you know that a mouse is paranoid?” Bruce asked.

  “And how does a mouse commit suicide?” Claudia piped in.

  “We know the risks to humans because my team interviewed the spouses or parents of some of the patients who checked out of Caracol,” Alma replied. “Two committed suicide, one is suspected. As for the treatment that Dr. Fernanda Mendez is offering, the trials are so preliminary that we don’t know what the long-term neurological effects are, but even the short term is looking very bad. I do know, from my research”—she placed a hand on her heart—”that it’s best if you get her off SDX-71 immediately. Wait until the substance is reengineered.”

  “So who wrote the article in Alternative Healing?” Claudia asked.

  “Probably someone on the Borrero payroll,” Alma said.

  “Do the Borreros and Dr. Mendez know you’re hanging around El Salvador?” Claudia asked.

  “I think that only Francisca knows. I’m looking for a contact at the health department. I’m preparing a case against its use. But I was having trouble doing it quietly, without giving them the opportunity to switch data, shred documents, et cetera. Plus I wasn’t planning on having to deal with the whole issue of my identity.”

  “I can do it,” Claudia said. “I work for the president.” Alma nodded appreciatively and Bruce clapped his hands together.

  “I’m going to declare an all-out war with my mother-in-law,” Will said. “I’ve already contacted the U.S. embassy for legal support to get Yvette home. I discovered the name of the air transport company, but they don’t want to honor the leg home without Sylvia’s approval, since she’s the one who paid for the round-trip. It’s almost five thousand dollars each leg.”

  “Hold on, Will,” Alma said, holding up a hand. “I want to make it clear that in spite of all the risks I just told you about, SDX-71 does have the potential to stimulate certain people to emerge from stupor. Five patients already have.”

  “Yeah, but what good is it if she just wakes up to suffer all the more?” Will said. “I question the wisdom of waking up someone who doesn’t want to wake up. That’s my basic problem with this whole thing.”

  They all looked at each other, a sudden, unspoken feeling of dread spreading among them. Alma said, “Get them to suspend the injections today, Will. While you handle the logistics of your trip home, I’m going to need someone to record specific medical data on Yvette for a period of twenty-four hours. I also need someone to photocopy her medical stats.” She looked at Bruce. “Do you think you could pull it off? You can say it’s research for your article.”

  Bruce considered it, then nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”

  “I’ll help,” Monica piped in. “But I think they’ve figured out who we are.”

  Will shook his head, looked down at the sand. “I’m so glad we found you, Alma. I’m grateful for all of you,” he said, suddenly making eye contact with all of them, his voice full of emotion. “I can’t imagine dealing with this alone.”

  Ironically, Will’s distress over Yvette’s situation was providing Monica with a welcome delay in the long and painful process that lay ahead—of absorbing, understanding, judging, and ultimately choosing how she would feel about her mother. She was just beginning to get her heart and mind around the enormity of what had happened in the last few days. But now Will’s mission was top priority, and it had quickly forced them to shift their focus to the far more urgent matter of protecting Yvette. Monica could tell, by the dramatic shift in tone of her parents’ voices, that they felt the same way. “I don’t mean to take away your hope, Will,” Alma said. “Depending on the severity of her injuries, the treatment stands a chance of working.”

  “For how long?” Will asked. “… If she were to ‘emerge.’ ”

  “That’s the part we don’t know. People come in and out of this paranoid state and my lab rats are still affected after a long period. It’s like an LSD trip that won’t end. There isn’t any detox treatment we know of, not yet anyway. It shouldn’t be used on humans until we can control it on animals. For Fernanda, Leticia, and Marco to candy-coat the risks, in my opinion, is criminal.”

  Will was pacing. “Would you be willing to repeat everything you just said to my mother-in-law? I want her to hear this. It’s why I’m here and not with my wife right now.” He glanced at Monica, but she didn’t know how to interpret the look he sent her way. “I don’t wan
t to have to rip Yvette out of Sylvia’s arms and search the suitcases for the air ambulance contract, but I will, as a last resort. Alma, you’re my last hope at changing her mind.”

  “Why don’t we bring Sylvia to the posada tonight and have her meet Alma?” Bruce suggested.

  “I like the idea of appealing to her in this way,” Monica said. “She’s a smart lady with good instincts. I think she’ll pull back on her own if she hears what my mother has to say.”

  “Alma, would you be willing to talk to Sylvia?” Bruce said.

  “Of course,” Alma said, but it sounded more like a question, and she looked at her daughter for the answer, as did everyone else. Suddenly Monica understood that it all came down to whether she would allow Alma into their circle, if she was willing to give her wayward mother an opportunity to redeem herself. Monica remembered Will’s arms encircling her own waist the night before, and Yvette, so still and tragic, with yellow, parched lips and no future.

  “Mom,” Monica said, “can you meet us there tonight?”

  * * *

  THE DRIVER dropped Monica, Alma, and Claudia off at the guesthouse. Will insisted on walking Monica to her room. He rushed her into her room and closed the door behind them, not caring who saw. As she parted her lips to protest, he whispered, “Shhh. It’s okay,” and embraced her tightly. “Are you okay?” he said into her ear. “You look dazed.”

  She nodded, and when she looked up, he saw dark circles under her eyes. “I just need to sleep for a while.”

  “Okay. I know.” He pulled her to him again and said, “Thank you for asking your mother to come here. I have a feeling that this is all happening a bit too fast, so I thank you from the bottom of my heart.” Monica looked up at him, and her chin began to tremble, and it wasn’t long before her whole face broke up, and she began to cry. He sat with her on the edge of the bed, not saying anything, just holding her head on his shoulder. He didn’t get up when he saw the door handle turn and the door swing open, nor when he saw Bruce’s troubled expression as he stood in the doorway watching them.