“Nothing,” Christopher drops his head. Clanging through his tool box he looks up with a grin. “I think I can clean the filter. For the future………”
Before he can finish a cough sounds from the corner. An uncontrollable cough, dark eyes circled like a mask.
In the murky light disembodied eyes stare at him. Like a raccoon. Leaning forward Christopher peers into the dimness. Is this a man? Shocked he questions, could the rumors of inmates used as personal slaves be true?
The shadow resolves itself into a man who stands and shuffles, stirring up clouds of dust and again the persistent cough. Grabbing a broom he vigorously sweeps. This further stirs the air with debris.
“Hola,” Christopher manages between coughing and choking on the dust.
Soiled and threadbare clothes hang from the man’s bony shoulders. Greasy hair partially obscures eyes widened in fear. Christopher replaces his tools. Pausing, reaching into his memory, something familiar about this man.
He turns to Checo. The Jaguar is pacing again.
“Does this hombre live in the garage?” Squinting Christopher takes in the hunched posture and sunken eyes. Daniel! It’s difficult to correlate this dirty bone-thin man with the muscular man Christopher remembers. And there goes the cough again. Daniel’s cough.
Checo ignores the question and the man standing in the shadows.
Christopher reaches a hand out to Daniel, “Como esta, amigo?” The silent man shuffles outside stilted and jerky. Dismayed Christopher sees a tear trickling down Daniel’s haggard face.
“Let’s finish and get out of here,” growls Checo.
Dismayed Christopher asks, “What about Daniel?”
Together Checo and the Jaguar pace, synchronized velvet, ready to leap and pounce. Checo grits his teeth and growls, “This is not our business. Nothing we can do.”
El Jefe steps out of the shadows into the bright afternoon. Daniel freezes.
Picking up the bucket of soapy water Christopher used to wipe down the generator El Jefe throws the mixture over the crown of Daniel’s scalp. Daniel howls in pain as the industrial suds burn his eyes. El Jefe gestures with his whip handle, “huele como basura. You smell like garbage. Go to the beach and wash yourself, pronto.”
Staggering Daniel makes his blind way down to the nearest exit and the beach next to the dock.
Christopher feels infuriated. Daniel’s injustices mix in a toxic brew with his own. Grinding his teeth, he turns away. He will not give El Jefe the satisfaction of witnessing his anger. Pretending he’s in a sensible environment, dealing with rational people, Christopher explains to the Big Boss new generator supplies are needed. He has left a list on the wall detailing the items to be ordered from the mainland.
El Jefe arcs his whip over their heads as they leave the garage. When the tip catches Christopher’s shoulder El Jefe’s laughter follows their exit. Christopher purposefully does not touch his shoulder. He will not acknowledge the destructive power of the whip in El Jefe’s hand.
They take a detour to the nursing station. A divot carved out the skin where his shoulder and back meet. It burns. The nurse quickly sews his muscle and skin back together. After five interior stiches and twelve exterior stiches Christopher shakes his head no to her offer of pain medications. A greasy salve cools the burn. She covers the entire area with a bandage.
Once they are safely on the dirt path Christopher looks at Checo who is walking stride for stride with his shiny black spotted Jaguar. Hatred shimmers off him in dark waves. Taking in Checo’s dark affect he says, “That went well, didn’t it?”
• • •
One mile beyond the island’s curvature the Vargas duo find this day’s fishing poor. Both men are tired and irritable. It takes a specific kind of man to live atop the ocean kelp forests, a wilderness inconceivable for most people. Weather is dangerous and mutable, a living entity capricious. After the morning’s storm a relentless sun bears down from a cloudless sky. Heat and light reflect off the still waters. Gentle swells slap the sides of the Caballito de Mar. They add to the monotony. Five small tuna is the extent of their haul.
Following the timeless fishing adage if you’re not catching fish move, Leon and Miguel relocate their vessel south hoping to snag Dorado a just a mile off the prison compound. Floating flotsam dislodged by the morning storm will hide gathering Dorado in its shade. Flashing florescent blue and green the Dorado hide, under the floating tree. Both men heave a sigh of relief. They’re happy for a new beginning.
As the Dorado hit the jigs out of the corner of his eye Leon catches the movement of an approaching swimmer. He does a double take. A man using an inner tube serving as a life jacket kicks madly towards them. “Reel in the jigs,” Leon calls to Miguel.
Father and son shout waving their arms high above their heads. Miguel begins to crank the hand winch pulling in the twenty-five pound anchor. Leon fires a warning shot in the air. “There’s not enough time,” he calls to his son. “The engine is off.”
The swimmer closes the gap. Miguel fires second shot and still the prisoner fights his way through the water seeking sanctuary on their boat. Father and son exchange a look of dread. They cannot allow their ship to be boarded. Miguel yells, “Holy Mother! Do you see this? Is he loco?”
They are screaming expletives in an effort to scare the swimmer into changing his course. Never in their imaginings of just such an occasion, did they realize to protect their boat they will have to overcome the sacred conscripts engraved across their mutual biology, a shared life force compelling them to honor this inmate’s body as holy.
The escapee holds the stainless steel railing with his hands and feet and will not relinquish his grip. Desperation has fueled his muscles with super human strength. Together the father and son do not have in their combined strength, the power to jettison the unwanted intruder from their boat. Leon and Miguel exchange a look filled with horror, the situation desperate. “He’s too strong,” shouts Leon.
In a burst of energy the man rolls onto the boat deck sweeping Miguel off his feet. Miguel goes down hard hitting his head on the railing. His eyes are blank and Leon fears him dead. The prisoner is diving for the cabin and control of the boat.
Caught with a prisoner aboard ship will be the end of fishing rights at Islas Tres Marias. Worse they could become inmates themselves. Who then will be the breadwinner for their families? They’ve heard the stories of innocent men as well as convicts forced to live the impoverished life on La Luna. In this moment Leon realizes their lives, livelihood and boat are in mortal danger.
“Por favor, por favor,” begs the man as he clings desperately to the side railing making his way to the helm. The wild eyes, stringy hair and emaciated limbs leave no doubt he is a prisoner off Islas Tres Marias. “Por favor, por favor! He pleads.
Leon cries out. Strangled anguish, “Arrrgggggghh.”
Miguel lies dazed and bleeding on the deck. Leon blinks against a terrible searing pain. Adrenalin surging, the trigger as light as a feather, the gun discharges. The bullets velocity carries the intruder’s body backwards. The man drops in the water. Leon runs to Miguel and lifts him to standing. They hear garbled screams as sharks converge. Looking beyond the boat they see a disappearing mix of man and fish. The water is streaked with ribbons of bright red blood and pink foam. “Damn tiburion!” shouts Leon pumping his shotgun into the boiling bloody water. Miguel shaky, fighting to stand, picks up his rifle to help.
Checo and Christopher are walking from the garage when a guard in a jeep speeds by yelling, “Daniel is swimming to the fisherman.” Gunning the jeep he races to the dock.
Christopher sprints toward the dock. It’s a screwed up world where a rapist goes free and the family protector is put in jail.
A group of inmates stand frozen on the cliff looking over the dock. The siren blares a warning. The town will be locked down. Lookouts armed with assault rifles will shoot any prisoners approaching the town wall. To Christopher the sea has become filled with mi
niature diamonds of light floating on the water. Within each diamond he sees a violet flame.
A violet flame, yes. What did she call herself? The ‘divine flame of transmutation,’ yes, that was it. ‘I am the violet flame of transmutation. I carry the cosmic balance. You are Redemption’s Warrior.’ Why do I think of that now?”
A faint pop-pop, like firecrackers discharging carries across the distance.
Finally they see a launch speeding toward them. “What took them so long?” Miguel yells.
A silence weighs heavily on the group. They wait overlooking the dock. Christopher feels like he’s been punched in the gut. Only Ave Bonita remains unaffected. She nibbles on Checo’s ear. The launch returns. For a brief moment the guard’s head droops. Catching inmates watching him his features harden. His voice flat and fierce he says, “Come and retrieve your comrade. Clean the launch.”
Wrapped in canvas they take Daniel to the land surrounding the church. Inmates have already been set to the task of digging the grave. At the fresh site they all stand quietly. Checo elbows Christopher. “Say something,” he hisses.
Mucus, thick with unshed tears, clogs Christopher’s throat.
Coughing, he reaches out toward the grave. “Daniel was a good man. He defended his sister from a lawman who used his badge as a shield to repeatedly violate her. They fought over a gun. The man was shot.” Christopher’s voice breaks. The men are staring at him in confusion. Apparently none of them knew the story of Daniel’s imprisonment. Mumbling grows to a collective growl. Taking a deep breath Christopher continues, “The law refused to consider Daniel’s plea of self-defense. He was sentenced to life imprisoned on La Luna.” Looking up Christopher soaks in the shocked and outraged faces. Choking out the words he adds, “Daniel stood for his sister and paid a terrible price. Today he chose death over slavery. He claimed his freedom.”
Christopher’s voice drops deep. “Daniel, today I saw redemption’s flame. Vaya con Dios, friend, redemption awaits.”
He turns away lost in grief. Although for a friend he barely knew. A man in the midst of his own turmoil Daniel took the time to explain to Christopher the dangers of La Luna. Checo stares at Christopher in bewilderment as he bolts from the graveyard.
Raw with emotion Christopher cannot tolerate being watched. Starting with a trot he hears his words, “redemption is coming.” Increasing his speed, his feet pound the rhythm to his chant. “Redemption is coming. Redemption is coming.” Running the dirt trails to the furthest beach on the island he throws rocks, boulders, stones into the wind whipping the peaks of waves. “Redemption is coming.” Finally he curls up within nearby drift wood and cries hiding his face in the crook of his arm until he is empty and sleeps.
Word spreads quickly, “Daniel tried to escape. He was shot by fishermen and eaten by sharks.”
Checo shares the story over the dinner table. As with every tale he elaborates, “His arteries pumped like garden hoses emptying into the sea.”
A dark sobriety fills the inmates. Already guards laughingly address prisoners as ‘shark bait.’
• • •
At home in their local café Leon reads the headline: On Islas tres Marias Prisoner Attempts Escape. In a rare expose the newspaper reveals the origin of the charges against Daniel. Horrified Leon discovers Daniel’s imprisonment the result of protecting his sister from the sexual assaults of a corrupt and predatory police officer.
To both Leon and Miguel this corruption is inconceivable. In the fishing village each male family member takes responsibility for the safety of the women. When Leon looks at his son he finds his own tears reflected in Miguel’s face. He puts his arm around his son’s shoulder and says, “Mijo, what have I done?”
Leon is Catholic. “I killed an innocent man.” He tells his wife, “My soul forever damaged.”
The shot replays itself over and over in his mind. When he closes his eyes he sees Daniel clinging to the railing, pleading, “por favor, por favor.” Saying the blessing over a family meal he hears Daniel scream. “Mio Dios.” In his dreams Daniel falls, bleeding, into the water churning with sharks.
When Leon looks at his wife or Miguel’s young daughter’s he sees Daniel’s sister. Even sun sparkling on the ocean triggers the bloody memories. Inconsolable he cannot eat or sleep. This inmate was not the terrible monster the fishermen have been led to believe live on Islas Tres Marias. This prisoner was a man who protected his sister and paid the ultimate price with his death.
The local priest tries to comfort him. In Leon’s shock and numbness the words just slide off. They slide off into an abyss created by the horror and trauma of watching an innocent man he’d shot eaten by sharks. Leon sleep walks through chores seeing only Daniel’s wild eyes and emaciated body. He asks Miguel, “What really goes on at the island?”
They have both heard rumors. Heart-broken Leon and Miguel can only tie themselves to their routine under the watchful eye of their family and community.
• • •
On Islas Tres Marias Christopher realizes without a relationship with fisherman escape will be impossible. Countless times he considers hot wiring the guard’s launch. He’d need extra cans of gas. Only accessible beyond the town gates with special authority gasoline is kept under lock and key. The launch filled with gas has a range of twenty five miles. Half-way to Mazatlan, he’d be stranded in the Pacific. Suicide.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DOUBLE DREAMING
Juanita arrives breathless from her climb up the hill, alive with love and excitement. Absorbing her beauty Christopher’s heart rate accelerates. He feels her strength as she takes his hands and he breathes deeply. For the first time since Daniel’s death he feels something not leaden and gray. He watches her lips move but the words are lost in the impact of her presence. She carries the spaciousness of the wind on sea. In her eyes a hint of starlight and mystery.
Juanita sobers hearing the news of Daniel’s death. She says, “My father approaches El Jefe with caution. As a child he was loco.” Reaching for his hands, squeezing his fingers, she says, “Please Christopher. Let me help you escape.”
They’ve had this conversation many times. Recently on the far side of the island Christopher and Checo stumbled on a bone yard. A mass grave, layers of bones hidden in the jungle. He shudders remembering, shaking his head. “No Juanita. These men are murderers. Even your father cannot keep you safe if they think you helped me escape.”
He searches for the words to explain. He counts on her safety and well-being. He draws comfort from the knowledge she is protected. But the words are elusive and he groans his frustration.
Juanita nods. “Living with La Currandera has kept me distant from my father’s world.” Laughing, she leans into him, whispering, “And no one wants to make a powerful healer angry.”
Squeezing his bicep, and giving his arm a tug she says, “For a moment let’s set aside worries. La Currandera suggested we teach each other something.” Amused, she adds “To quote La Currandera exactly she said ‘it will strengthen our unity.’”
Standing up Juanita brushes the dirt off her pants. She gives Christopher a fiercely competitive grin. “Today you will teach me martial arts. I will teach you double dreaming.”
Sweeping him a welcoming gesture she adds, “You first, let’s begin.”
Christopher begins their impromptu class with a forward fold. Gently swinging, gravity pulls on their hamstrings, the muscles along the back of the leg. He broadens the swing understanding it releases stress petrified in the muscles. Christopher rocks back and forth in comfort but for Juanita the deep pull on her hamstrings takes her breath away. She giggles, “Nothing like being shown up by a boy.”
Pulling his chin to his shin Christopher smiles at her.
Dragging his forearms over the top of his head Christopher begins conscious breathing. He explains, “Inhale over the course of six counts. Exhale over the course of six counts.”
Juanita presses her palms together and drags them over
her head in their prolonged forward fold. She has stopped breathing. “Ow! This hurts,” she complains.
“Try breathing,” he encourages. “Inhale six counts, exhale six counts. I’ll count for you.”
After four cycles of six count breathing he asks, “How do you feel now?”
“Better,” Juanita pants
He cannot help the laughter bubbling at the back of his throat. He says, “Master Jojo reminds us ‘dead men don’t breath.’ Try slow inhales and exhales. It will keep you calm and refresh the muscles. Otherwise your mind can run away with you when the practice gets more difficult.”
Juanita gasps, “More difficult?”
This simple but powerful stretch has taken her by surprise.
Next Christopher demonstrates a side stretch followed by pulling his calf to the back of his thigh. Juanita grimaces as her quad muscle grips the bone in protest. Christopher watches stoically.
Underlying the movement sequences lives a difficult, time consuming lesson. To put words to the body’s story Christopher explains, “It takes time and your patience for a body to open and clear out.”
“Clear out what?”
“Honestly?”
Meeting his gaze, her brown eyes open and clear, “honestly”
Christopher shrugs, “Okay. What makes your body stiff while mine stretches?”
“Hmmmm, practice?” She wiggles her eyebrows.
“Nope, concretized ‘junk’ closes a body down. It lives in our muscles, joints and tendons.”
Gritting her teeth Juanita repeats, “Debris? Basura? I seriously never thought such a thing would be possible. Wait until I tell La Currandera.” She makes a joyful squeak. “Thank you Christopher.”
Christopher continues with several rounds of front then back kicks. He finishes the mini lesson with side-kicks. He returns to a seated position on the ground. The souls of his feet are pressed together. He opened and finishes the mini lesson with stretches. When Juanita imitates him her knees fly up and she hunches over. Sweat rolls down her neck and flushed face. Christopher applies gentle pressure just above her knees. He explains, “It takes patience to understand the synergistic dynamic of strength emboldened with flexibility.”
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