Checo’s face swollen with empty eye sockets, Checo’s offense was leadership in a time of need. He did such a good job restoring order after the hurricane that his success embarrassed El Jefe. A charismatic personality, Checo was known to exaggerate. Embellishments served him. They provided entertainment, enhanced his reputation or made a story more fascinating. Checo’s face bloated with sea water, Christopher will never forget. Crushed by sadness, a lump so large he cannot swallow, lodged in his throat. While power pulses, synchronized with his heart-beat, redemption’s power the glue holding him together. Redemption’s white hot anger remembers. Today Daniel and Checo, the women raped on the beach and countless others whose stories he doesn’t know the details, they are not forgotten. Bowing his head he prays his escape will free others. He doesn’t know how this might work. He only feels a driving need.
Twilight streaks horizontally through the trees. Green leaves surrounded in gold. He buries the jars temporarily next to the fire pit. Stinking of fish and sweat he dives into the surf. Tonight guards will expect him to babysit the fish smoker down by the beach. Hungry for the delicacy they will not seek him out until morning. Al he has left to do, wait for night to fall.
• • •
Christopher moves through the brush gathering his hidden supplies. Earlier he had waterproofed his money jars. Digging them out of the sand he loads them in an inner tube along with a bag of fresh clothes. Sitting at the water’s edge he ties the inner tube to his waist. Soundlessly, sinking up to his neck, Christopher begins to swim. The moon casts her light on gentle swells marking a sparkling path to the Vargas boat.
Salt water buoys the inner tube behind him. Christopher loses himself in the moment. He does not notice he’s embodying his personal authority or that stroke to stroke, breath to breath, he is swimming for justice and freedom. He does not seek a paper bound bureaucratic justice. He swims for a burning white-hot justice. As he swims he does not make the journey alone, or only for himself. He swims for Daniel. Daniel was chewed up and spit out by the terrors of prison life. As he swims, Christopher honors Daniel’s spirit and his desperate attempt to escape. He also swims for the memory of Checo. A good man punished for leadership. Checo, with his never healing cigar burn, the price he paid for being a strong man in a time of need. Christopher swims for Juanita. He swims for their life if not for Hurricane Olivia. He honors her memory by succeeding. The first day he saw her and the sparkles brightening the air around her: I’ve heard people talk instant love before. For the first time Christopher understands a love born in an instant. I loved her the first time I saw her and her swan. Juanita’s beauty fills him as he glides through the moonlit water. For the love they share, for the goals outlined in their last day together, Christopher swims toward his freedom.
As he swims his determination grows. He shifts to the breaststroke moving steadily forward, strong and focused. Pumped with adrenalin he’s not at all tired. Images of his childhood as a mixed race boy navigating the streets of LA, studying martial arts, even his time on La Luna have all prepared him to succeed. Escape. Escaping Islas Tres Marias is redemption.
He swims for liberty, for himself, for love, for Checo and Daniel. He prays as he succeeds their spirits will fly free. His freedom will be their redemption. Freedom is all the redemption we need. With this realization Christopher feels a shift. Words describing this event are superfluous. Within his limited understanding, a flame, the Divine Transmuting Flame, drops into his belly, a steady warmth, and communion. At one with Beneficence; powerful and congruent, creating positive possibilities. The Vargas boat lies ahead. He has not drifted off course. He travels as Redemption’s Warrior accompanied by ghosts of his past. They have led him to safety.
One hundred feet from the boat, a streak of white moves in the water. A shark? The moonlight catches flash after flash of movement and creatures. Dozens are swimming in proximity to the Vargas boat. Desperately he reaches out of the water… wanting to be lifted to safety by human hands. A giant triangle creature swims under him lifting and supporting. As he climbs the ladder boarding the boat, father and son are laughing so hard they are holding their sides. Through their laughter streaked with tears they explain the creatures are harmless and friendly. They watch his confusion with amusement. Eventually he laughs sheepishly, happy to befriend the Manta Ray, not a shark. Vargas grips his arm. “You made it with no one following. Bueno. You have my dinero?
Breathless with freedom, Christopher leans for a moment hands on knees, his head hanging. “I have it for you. Let me go below and put on my clothes. I’ll bring you the money.”
Leon sends Miguel below with him.
He wants to avoid any surprises.
Christopher does not mind their caution. Elated to be free of Islas Tres Maria, dressing quickly, he hands Miguel one of the three jars. “Por su Padre,” he says.
Leon calls down to Christopher, “Stay below. I’ll call when we are all clear.”
Starting the engine, he pulls the boat forward slowly, building power. Fifteen minutes later he taps on the hatch. “Come up.”
Miguel works deftly stowing gear below. Christopher sits behind Leon. They do not speak. They each have a soft drink sitting in a comfortable silence. Christopher thinks, stay in the silence. Do nothing to disrupt the moment. In several hours they will enter Mazatlan’s harbor.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
RECOMPRENSA
Pre-dawn sky delineates obstacles as Vargas pulls into Mazatlan harbor. He will continue on to Barras de Playta after dropping his passenger off. Christopher shakes each man’s hand and adds a heartfelt, “Muchas gracias mi amigos.”
Adrenalized he vaults up the dock with his belongings. He gives a final wave for Leon and Miguel before they steer Cabillito de Mer for home. Finding a bench beyond the harbor he stuffs the dineros in his pants pocket. A street vendor sets up in the plaza across the street. The menu; coffee, hot chocolate and pan dulce. Christopher purchases one coffee, one hot chocolate and asks for an extra-large cup. Two pan dulce finish the order.
Sitting on a park bench he sips the combination chocolate and coffee. In this moment his nerves are fortified with caffeine and sugar and his fears diminish. Enjoying the warmth of the brew rich with chocolate he tastes freedom free of the suffocating grip of La Luna.
• • •
On Islas Tres Marias Christopher is not missed until breakfast. Inmates immediately rehash Checo’s murder. They question, “Has Christopher been murdered too?” The grapevine hums with questions and conjecture. El Jefe hearing the news Christopher is missing says, “That basura has not escaped. He’s either shark food or in hiding.” Pulling on his boots he strides toward the garage. “I’ll find him and when I do, he’ll be my slave.”
El Jefe moves swiftly across the compound jumping into his jeep. Ave Bonita follows concealed in the trees. Gunning the engine he speeds down the hill toward the dock. Closing in fast on the dock Ave Bonita dives, a blur of green and blue, screeching, feathers, claws and beak gouge and blind him. Finally able to throw her aside, his face, neck and arms bleeding where she has bitten and gouged. If Ave Bonita had not flown into his face, obscuring his vision, El Jefe might have driven up the hilly access road. He did not veer up the hill because Ave Bonita clawed and blinded him in this critical moment. As the jeep flies over the sea wall, Checo’s parrot vanishes into the tree line. Inmates watch in stupefied horror as El Jefe and his jeep sail into the ocean. Unbeknownst to Christopher his escape ignited the chain of events steering El Jefe to recklessly chase him down. Together with Ave Bonita’s he’s Redemption’s tool after all.
• • •
Revived with caffeine and sugar Christopher asks the vendor where the tourist shops are located. His plan to purchase a four pocket Cuba Vera shirt, chino pants, sun-glasses and a hat. Until then he mustn’t draw attention to himself. Returning to the bench he takes up his vigil. Stretching his legs out long in front of him, eyes closed, ankles crossed, appearing at ease he waits for the
stores to open; a long, long wait, the sun well into its journey across morning sky before the first of the many shops opens. His first opportunity on the mainland to savor his freedom, unfortunately his earlier steady nerves, they are now raw. He feels the wild elephant who wants to trample every obstacle in sight. The rampaging elephant will run headlong for the border, trumpeting his victory. He wants to continue his mad dash for freedom until he stands in front of his parent’s house wrapped in their hugs.
Sobering. He remembers Daniel’s five days of freedom before he was caught and returned to La Luna. Between the worry of being caught, his adrenalin fueled desire to run as fast as he can to the border, it takes all his discipline to sit quietly until the shops pull up their shades and unlock their doors.
On Islas Tres Marias, as required by law, Fat Luis notifies federal and state police on the mainland. The prison has an escapee. Christopher’s description and Tijuana jail photo are sent out over the web. A felon on the run, Mexico’s bureaucratic and law enforcement agencies have begun their search.
At the clothing store Christopher spots a four pocket shirt and a pair of chino pants. He walks to a store selling souvenirs and purchases sunglasses and a baseball hat. The elements of his disguise complete, he changes clothes in the nearby alley, rolling his prison garb in a bundle.
He has a new worry. If anyone finds and identifies these discarded prison clothes they will reveal to El Jefe his location along with his path of escape. How can I make these clothes disappear forever? He smells smoke from the incinerator of a restaurant. Happily it is unsupervised. He throws the clothes into the flames, one step closer to feeling free.
In more good fortune, he spots a barber shop. The first chair, an old fashion stool of leather cushions and handles surrounded by chrome, the barber pumps him high. He requests hair clipped short and beard and mustache shaved off. A clean face will be his best disguise. Looking in the mirror takes his breath away, not in a good way. His skin dark and leathery, he’d arrived in Mexico with youthful and full cheeks. A well nourish American filled with strength and vitality. Now his cheeks are hollow, lined with cracks. Along with his checks his composure cracks. Viewing his reflection, he doesn’t recognize this shriveled version of Christopher. Exposure to unrelenting island sun and wind has left him as brown as any native. Laughing, he thinks, today I can pass for a migrant farm worker.
In the directory of a nearby phone booth he locates the American consulate. Goal defined he takes off walking. The consulate housed in a neighborhood called the Golden Zone with wide streets lined with tall trees it feels like years since Christopher has seen such a beautiful neighborhood. Heavy graceful limbs shade the streets providing glimpses of the stately homes where the consuls reside. At the American consulate his hopes are dashed. All the air leaves his body with a whoosh. A Sinola State Police patrol car blocks the gated entrance. El Jefe has put out the word. They’re expecting me. He feels like a hunted animal. Pulling down his hat joining a group of tourists, he thinks, On to plan B. I’ll take the ferry to La Paz then a bus to Tijuana…
Fat Luis studies the map table in the hastily prepared war room. A muddy red flush suffuses him. “Could the gringo have made it to Mazatlan?”
Fat Luis doesn’t want others to think he left Christopher alone with the fishermen. Luis did not take the time to learn their names. Risking an opinion he argues, “He may still be on the island. Take the jeep around one more time.”
In his heart, Luis knows Christopher has outsmarted them all. Last night he chided Christopher for seeking the power of Checo’s lead position. Christopher had something more powerful in mind. It makes Luis flush with shame to be outwitted by a prisoner. He’ll never speak of it out loud. Now first in command, looking at the map he nods, “One more time,” he says. “If any of you find him bring him back alive.”
• • •
While the Baja ferry loads cars and small trucks a dozen passengers wait behind a white fence, tickets in hand. Approaching the ticket office Christopher chokes when he spots his picture from the Tijuana Jail taped on the wall adjacent to the ticket booth. He strains to read the Spanish words. Recomprensa. Reward for Federal escapee: Momentarily confused Christopher thinks, Wait. He pauses, almost hyperventilating. Choking, he ducks into a public lavatory and then into a stall. He coughs. Coughing momentarily takes his mind off the shock of seeing his picture on a wanted poster. I should have anticipated this search.
Gathering himself he notices the blue dragonfly out of the corner of his eye. It reminds him, “a calming breath.”
Thankfully the picture does not look like me. Grainy resolution, wrong camera setting makes for a poor reproduction. At the barbershop I could not recognize myself. It may save my life.
Washing his hands in a drizzle of cold water he continues breathing and evaluating. Calmer he exits the lavatory and purchases his ferry passage. Standing in line waiting to board the ferry he feels squeezed in, claustrophobic! The growing press of people leaves him breathless. The heat and smell of unwashed bodies, at once distinct and cumulative are suffocating him. His heart hammers. Panic fuels his muscles. Sweat pops out along his forehead, a few short breaths from a panic attack. Will I be recognized? Caught, tortured and enslaved?
He’ll have to subdue this panic, the contradiction, free from prison but hunted. Volitionally, consciously he practices breathing. Twisting muscles slowly lengthen. Bystanders only see a man standing, lost in thought. In reality Christopher practices the breath of martial arts. He calms the rampaging elephant.
Now breathing he unclenches the large muscles along his thighs and buttocks. On a silent exhale he gently pries the muscles loose. Unclenching his jaw helps. He wiggles his toes. In spite of these improvements Christopher still stands in the strange landscape of paranoia. This world glitters with menace. On the one hand he feels inconsequential and invisible. On the other hand he feels brilliant with runaway fear. Am I a flashing neon sign? With a sigh Christopher realizes if he cannot calm his fears it will be a long trip to La Paz. Head down, one foot in front of the other, he boards the ferry, the first in line at the cafeteria.
He purchases two chicken tamales, a side of rice and beans, and a large soft drink. He craves the sugary drink. He feels as if he has survived a great battle. All his energy has been spent in the effort to make it this far. The ice cold drink replenishes him. He eats slowly. He doesn’t want to stand out as someone ravenous for food. It settles his stomach, expanding and calming. The blue dragonfly flies at eyelevel. He calls up Juanita’s words “Follow your dragonfly home!”
The ferry engines start up. The deep rumble vibrates through the bottoms of his feet. Finishing the soda something wound tight within him lets go. Inexplicably his fear transforms into excitement. The ferry pulls away from the dock. A breeze flows over his skin. His stomach full of food he purchased with money he made. The next stage of his journey home is underway.
He can envision his mother’s face glowing with the joy of his homecoming. He can see her clearly, every feature distinct. He even notices her wearing the Star of David given to her by her mother. Throughout his childhood she has worn this Star of David together with the risen cross given to her by his father as a wedding gift. He feels at one with his family, at one with his strengths. He feels dinero secure deep in his pockets. Curled up on a bench in the observation deck, the vibration of motors powering their way through the Pacific Ocean and then Sea of Cortez he falls into a much needed sleep.
Christopher bolts upright. Heart thundering in his chest he takes in his surroundings. It’s dark, well past midnight. Around him men, women and children curled up on benches are sound asleep. Stumbling he makes his way to the upper deck. Warm sea air combined with the ferry’s trajectory raises the hair along his arms.
The lights of La Paz flicker in the distance. The real light show is the stars. Every pinprick of light in the pebbly Milky Way stands out clear, defined. He recalls his dream quest to meet Star Woman with Juanita. Even when they we
re together their paths were distinct. Her dream journey took place not with him but in the part of herself she called ‘a light body.’ His quest was to call her back to their shared dream. To accomplish his mission he reached out to the four corners of existence. Her name filled him. A primordial scream, “Juanita!” pulled from the very center of life rolled out of him. How he wishes he could call her back to him again. In their dreaming Star Woman heard his plea. Appearing as a face filled with eons of stars she said, “When two hearts, in their innermost hearts, beat as one …”
“What does that mean for me now?” He whispers. He wants so badly to have Juanita back again. The last time he’d journeyed on these waters he’d been beaten. More importantly his life had been stolen. Tonight he is taking back his future. He’s slipping away from the slavery of his false imprisonment. He looks to the pebbly sky, “I am stealing back my freedom.”
Two blasts on the air horn signal their arrival in La Paz. The ferry eases into the slip dropping the loading ramp on the dock. The pedestrian ramp lowers. Passengers quickly depart hurrying toward their errands. Hovering next to a man wearing drab wool coat is his blue dragonfly. Circling and twirling around the man’s head the dragonfly dances. Christopher approaches and asks directions to the bus stop. With a friendly smile the man replies, “Follow me amigo. I too am headed for the bus stop.”
His new guide has dark Indian skin. Festive clothes under the grey wool wrap reveal another persona then the wool coat. White Mexican cowboy boots and matching hat, a back pack, give Christopher the impression the man wears most of his wardrobe. He asks, “Are you heading north?”
“Si amigo. I go to work the almond groves… In California,” he adds in a whisper.
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