Sanibel Flats

by Randy Wayne White

  Rivera held up one finger as if asking her for a little more time, then looked at Ford. "Women," he said; one of those flat declarations that, even in formal Spanish, communicated a matter beyond control.

  Ford switched off the light; switching from one world to another. "A new wife, General?" He stepped away from the water and walked until he was beside Rivera.

  "Ah, Marion, you should not make sport of me. I have only one true wife, the mother of my children, the woman I love. But out here in the jungle one must find comfort where one can. This girl who waits for me in the tent—" He nudged Ford, whispering like a confession. "—she makes demands of me. Unrealistic demands. Then has a way of smiling when I cannot fulfill her every whim that makes me furious. I have threatened to send her back to her parents in Masagua City. Many times I have threatened this, and I am not a man who makes threats lightly." He lowered his voice even more. "But in some strange way her smile makes me even more determined to please her. Is that not odd? She makes demands of me and sometimes even presumes to tell me how to run my army. There is a demon in that little girl, I tell you. A demon, and she is bossy, too. So many times I have had to remind her who is the general and who is the simple village girl. Even then she just smiles. Yet I let her stay."

  Ford said "Women" in the way it was always said—not sure he meant it; not so sure he didn't.

  "What man of the world does not know it?" Rivera looked at Ford, shaking his head as if the burden of this unknowable thing was understood now that they had shared it. "But you, you are still not married, Marion?"

  "No, not yet. Perhaps one day. I would like to have a child."

  "Do you know why I think you have never married? I think it is because your heart belongs to one you cannot have." A statement that would have sounded sappy in English, but which came off as fatherly in Spanish.

  "My heart belongs to one I cannot have?" As if the whole idea were too dramatic to be taken seriously.

  "It would not be so surprising if you had listened closely to the gossip when you lived here. There was much talk about Pilar Balserio, my friend. No, do not give me that evil look. It was not that kind of talk. It was the talk people make when they admire a person. It was well known that she ran the government for a time. People loved her for the good things she did; for her kindness and her wisdom. Even though her husband forced her into seclusion, the talk continued. It was said she went to live in the convent across from the Presidential Palace. It was said she went there not because of her husband, but because she had fallen in love with a foreigner, a gringo, a man with hair the color of Quetzalcoatl's."

  Ford said, "You never seemed like the superstitious type to me, Juan. Nor a man who gives credence to Mayan legends."

  "I am not superstitious. Nor have I ever believed someone from outside our country will come to save us—but I am a Maya. I am a student of our culture, as is Pilar Balserio. The old stories are important even if they are not true. I remember that she spent many months doing research at a Mayan site by a lake in the mountains." Rivera was smiling. "You only recently mentioned the name of that lake; the lake near which you feel Zacul has his camp. Yes, Eye of God, that is the lake's name. She lived on the lake at about the same time you and I first met. Remember? It was before your government sent you to work in Masagua City, and you lived on the shore of the lake in that thatched cabana, the one with the stone cooking place and the dock where we drank beer. You said you were there to study the sharks."

  "I was studying the sharks."

  "You also fell in love with Pilar Balserio. No, do not deny it. I felt very dense when I heard the rumors later. When you two were together those few times, I saw no sign of love in your faces. Usually a man can tell. Even when the woman is married."

  "That was a long time ago, Juan."

  "Yes. But with a woman such as that, the heart scars but it does not heal. It makes me sad, thinking of your predicament. For you, of course, there has been no other woman."

  Ford was chuckling. "You are a romantic, Juan. All of you Latins are romantics. Even you Maya Latins. There have been plenty of other women. "

  "Women for the body, yes, but maybe not for the heart. Not a woman who makes you furious with her smile like my little demon Teresa who waits for me in the tent. Not a woman, Marion, you will let stay."

  "You're getting nosy in your old age."

  "Is it that I am nosy or because I am right that you evade the question?"

  "I have no reason to evade anything. If you really have to know, there was one. A woman in Florida. An artist. She is as pretty as Pilar and almost as intelligent. A woman to share children with."

  "Your Spanish is too good for you to make an error in tense. You said there was a woman."

  "Perhaps there still is. I'm not sure. Not yet."

  "If you are unsure, then you must try and speak with Pilar while you are here. You must not let the opportunity pass. We are men together, and I tell you to do this thing. Such opportunities are rare. It is possible that you may never get a chance to speak with her again."

  "I've checked with the people I once worked with, and no one knows where she is."

  "You did not check with me."

  Ford wasn't sure he wanted to pursue it, but he felt the old longing and he heard himself say, "I would be interested in anything you might know. There are reasons I need to speak with Pilar; reasons that have nothing to do with love."

  Rivera's head was bobbing, nodding, saying I-told-you-so with his expression. "I thought you would be interested. First let me explain that I cannot tell you how it is I know the things I know. Let's just say I've heard it from the people of the mountains. They are my people and have no reason to lie to Juan. It was from these people I heard that, in the weeks after you left, Pilar went once again to that lake in the mountains to continue her investigations. You knew that there was supposedly once a great Mayan temple built on a hill above that lake?"

  "Yes," said Ford, "I knew."

  "And there was a great ceremonial calendar that, in some way, was lost. A very valuable artifact. It was covered with emeralds."

  "I have also heard of the calendar. "

  "I have been told that Pilar went back to look for this calendar—not because of the value of the emeralds, but because it played some important role in the ceremonies of our people, a thing called the Ritual of the Lake. She made certain discoveries on that lake, but if she found the calendar I cannot say. She had a camp there with workers, but the camp was attacked by robbers and Pilar was badly beaten by these men."

  Ford took a deep breath, held it, then released the air slowly. "Robbers," he said, but he was thinking of Zacul.

  "They stole things. They killed some of Pilar s people and they beat her. I've heard they beat her quite badly. Nuns found her and took her to a convent to heal, and there she remains. Or so I have heard."

  "Then she may be dead for all you know."

  "Do not get angry at me, old friend. I am only the messenger and it is not an easy thing to tell. Rivera shrugged. "Is she dead? I think not. I have heard rumors of nuns, nuns from that convent, traveling the country and talking to the people. They have been telling people what happened to Pilar. They have been telling the people that they must do a certain thing. They have been telling the people they must come to that lake in the mountains on a certain night in June, the night of the summer solstice. The nuns even sent an emissary to the village below, Isla de Verde, to tell these few people. Perhaps that is how I eame to know."

  "Did they tell you why the nuns want them to go to the lake?"

  "There can be only one reason. Pilar wants the people to unite behind her. She wants control of Masagua. If she was not so widely known for her goodness, for her kindness, some might even suspect her of placing the bomb that killed her husband. " Rivera's tone of voice did not suggest if he suspected her or not.

  Ford said, "Then she has become your rival, just as Zacul is your rival. "

  "It is difficult to think of su
ch a woman as a rival. Now my only rival is Zacul—and, of course, the generals who are presently in control. The other factions are weak. Ultimately they will back him or they will back me."

  "Then you will help me?"

  Rivera made a gesture with his hands, a gesture of finality. "No. I'll riot risk my men on a premature attack. "

  "We would need only two commando squads attacking from different directions. All we need is an avenue of escape. In return, Zacul would be eliminated."

  "Yes, I know—sever the head and the snake dies. But who would do it?"

  Ford said, "I think you know."

  Rivera studied him for a moment, then said, "To be frank, I believe Zacul will have you and your hippie friend killed the moment you show any curiosity at all about this child you seek. It is a source of admiration that you would risk your own life for a boy you do not know. "

  Ford said, "Then you overestimate my resolve. It would be nice to rescue the child, but I won't pretend that I'd trade my life for his. As for Tomlinson, I've decided it's too dangerous for him to go. It would be useful to have him, but I cannot accept the responsibility. Not after what you've told me. Could he remain here with you for a few days?"

  "Of course. He is a scholar. And I would like to pitch to him again."

  "Then I will leave in the morning, before Tomlinson is awake—"

  "Juan? Juan?" A girl's petulant voice interrupted, and both men looked up to see the small figure in a long white shirt, hands on hips, dark hair hanging over heavy breasts, silhouetted by the light from within Rivera's tent. "I am getting very sleepy, Juan. Waiting for you is causing this pain in my head."

  "Then do not wait! Go to sleep!" Rivera called back, sounding angry for her interruption, but he was already moving away from Ford, toward the tent. To Ford he said, "Women," and sounded slightly embarrassed as he added, "These pains in her head are a worry to me. I must go now. But I will have two men waiting to escort you back to the village."

  "Thank you, General."

  "Such pains in the head are not normal for a young girl. And only the touch of my hands will make the pain go away. It is a mystery, no?" Still embarrassed, still explaining himself, General Juan Rivera of the Masaguan People's Army disappeared into his tent.

  FOURTEEN

  A quetzal bird flew over, a red-chested male trailing its green tail feathers like a yard-long banner. The quetzal dropped down out of the jungle shadows, flew hard across the clearing, then banked abruptly toward the rising sun and burst into iridescent flame, sunlight still clinging to the bird's wings as it faded from sight.

  Two of Rivera's soldiers were waiting, and Ford swung onto the saddle and nudged his horse. They rode from the camp straight up the mountainside to a ridge to begin the series of switchbacks that would take them around the peak to Isla de Verde. Ford stopped for a moment on the ridge, looking down into the camp. Rivera's men were stirring in the fresh morning light, tending their cooking fires. Dogs trotted here and there scattering chickens while a couple of other early risers saddled horses.

  Ford wondered how Rivera had fared with his teenage mistress. He doubted if the pain in her head had lasted long; doubted if it would ever last any longer than it took to get Rivera to do exactly what she wanted. That made him smile, thinking of Juan being bullied by the tiny girl.

  The two soldiers waited; when Ford nodded, they kicked their horses into a lazy walk. They rode for twenty minutes before one of the soldiers stopped suddenly, holding up his hand like a cavalry officer. In Spanish, the man said, "Do you hear something? Did you hear that?"

  Ford sat listening; sat listening to the rustling silence of deep jungle; sat listening to saddles creak and their horses blowing air; sat listening . . . and then he heard it, too: voices behind them. The two soldiers quickly slid off their horses and led them into the jungle, weapons raised. Ford sat alone on the trail, feeling ridiculous, then got off his horse, too.

  The voices had come from the switchback beneath them, so it was nearly ten minutes before the men came into view: two more riders on horseback. Ford guessed the soldiers were going to wait until the men were past, so he crouched down, but then he saw the men clearly, and he stepped out onto the path because one of them was Tomlinson.

  "Goddamn, Doc, I didn't think we were ever going to catch you." Pulling his horse up like Randolph Scott, but looking like Joe Cocker, Tomlinson was grinning as if they hadn't seen each other in a month; a reunion smile. "I kept telling these cowboys we had to hurry—you know, like vamos. But these horses got minds of their own, man."

  Ford said, "Now that you've caught us, you're going to have to turn right around and go back. Didn't Rivera give you my message?"

  "Yeah, man; sure, he gave me the message. You said it was too dangerous. This Zacul dude was better organized than you thought and I had to stick around and play baseball with the general. Some message. You coulda told me personally, you know."

  "I can't take responsibility for your safety, Tomlinson. I knew there would be some danger involved, but I didn't know how much until I talked to Juan. I'd appreciate it if you stayed here for a few days—or I can drop you off at the next town. You might be able to rent an old truck or something, but I'm not sure."

  Tomlinson was shaking his head, not accepting any of it. "Bullshit, man. I'm going with you. This is the chance of a lifetime, and you think I'm going to miss it? My shot at being a bodhisattva. Besides, there's that kid to think about."

  "You have nothing to do with the boy."

  "Which just shows you don't know what bodhisattva means."

  "Right. And I don't want to know. "

  "The kid and I are both caught up in a big dharma, man. You, too. None of this is accidental, Doc—"

  "I don't want to hear any more of this stuff, damn it."

  "Most people fear death. Me, I'm tuned into the only one valid fear: missing life—"

  "Tomlinson—"

  "I'm just telling you how I feel. I'm going with you, Doc."

  "I'm telling you I can't be responsible for your safety."

  "Hey, whose asking you to be responsible? You want to know why you can't be responsible for me? I'll tell you why."

  Ford listened for a moment to what was to become another lesson in philosophy, then cut him off, saying "Okay, okay." He was getting back onto his horse.

  Tomlinson said, "I'm way past twenty-one and I can make my own decisions."

  "I said okay!"

  "I knew you'd come around to my way of thinking, man."

  "Just no more of that ping-pong karma Buddhist talk. It gives me a—pain in the head. And don't say I didn't warn you if things get rough."

  Tomlinson kicked his horse up alongside Ford's. "You know what I think about danger? I think if you're walking on thin ice anyway, why not dance?"

  Ford said, "Tell that to Zacul when we find him."

  They drove 150 miles over bad roads, down through the central plateau of Masagua with its grazing cattle, its solitary gauchos, then west toward volcanic peaks, which sat on the horizon like stalagmites piercing smoke-colored thunderheads near the edge of the sea. Beyond the volcanoes, Ford knew, was the lake, God's Eye.

  They stopped once for a breakfast, then again in Utatlan, the only town of size between Masagua City and the Pacific. Utatlan had been founded by the Spaniards in the 1500s, and it still looked like something out of a postcard from Castellon with its whitewashed haciendas and donkeys pulling carts down red brick streets.

  Ford said, "Don't have far to go now, bubba."

  The streets were crowded and he was driving slowly, arm out the window, taking pleasure in the look of the town and its people. Women in traditional Mayan dress, bright skirts and embroidered blouses, balanced water jugs on their heads while men in mauve-striped pantaloons and white straw hats sat by fountains selling the wares they had brought down from the mountains. "We can get some supper here, and I need to make a phone call. I guess we ought to think about spending the night, too. It'll be dark in
a couple of hours."

  Tomlinson was looking at the small notebook he carried. He was reading, leafing through the pages, then comparing his notes with the map he had spread over his knees. He had been going over his notes for the last half hour.

  Ford said, "It may take me a while to get my call through. I have to call the States. You want to go ahead and find a place to eat?"

  Tomlinson made no reply. He was reading, concentrating.

  "Did you hear me? You want me to try and make my call, or do you want to order some food first?"

  Tomlinson looked up suddenly, like he was surprised Ford was there. "Hey, you know where we are?"

  "Sure I know where we are. We're in Utatlan. It's an interesting little town, but watch your step. The people are clannish, and you're a gringo in a country about to have a revolution—don't forget it."

  "No, not that. Do you know where we are? This is it, man. This is the place!"

  "What place? What are you talking about?"

  "The fifteen hundreds, man. When Alvarado conquered the Kache and the Tlaxclen. He came from the north with his horsemen down through the central plain to a Mayan trading center built on the branching of two rivers. That river we came across was the Azul. And that river up there—" Tomlinson was pointing at a rocky riverbed ahead where green water flowed past women washing clothes on the bank. "—is called the Sol." Ford translated without thinking: the River of Blue; River of the Sun.

  Tomlinson said, "This is the place where the Kache surrendered to Alvarado without a fight. This village, Utatlan. This is where the whole damn sad story began. Hey, pull over there by the river. I want to look at something."

  Ford waited in the vehicle while Tomlinson got out, and then Ford got out, too. While Tomlinson looked at his map and looked at the mountains beyond, Ford began to lob rocks into the river: small round rocks good for throwing, but his arm was sore after the game yesterday. "See the valley way, way over there just below the clouds?" Tomlinson was pointing again.