Savior (8 page)

She's jumping around.

Al took his hand and placed it on her belly.

Out on the road the traffic had picked up with the new lease on summer that the sun had granted the North Country. Many plates were Quebecois white with the
Je me souviens
reminder of lineage and history, heading back home after time spent in the fleshpots of New York and Florida. Al and Mary knew many snowbirds. Their tanned, leathery skins would have seemed odd against the polar backdrops of Canada in the winter.

They were due to head back down in ten days, and Mary wanted to stop in Philadelphia and visit some cousins.
Al did not look forward to this visit, but for Mary it was a chance to reconnect with people she had once been close to in childhood. She had lost touch in her teenage years, but it had never felt right to her not to reach out and reconnect with her family. Being an only child had made her hypersensitive to the importance of family and kin. She wanted Layla to be born into a rich and nurturing environment that included an extended family and possible future support networks spreading all across the land.

As they crossed the intersection of the shore road and Moccasin Avenue, a car running the red light, a blue convertible Pontiac, shot out at them. Mary saw it and gasped, but Al was oblivious. It ploughed into the passenger side, and Al too late cursed and hit the brake, but by then they were skidding into the oncoming lane and across the road. Mary didn't remember anything after that. She blacked out, but the car went careening over the shoulder, down an embankment and into the water. Al managed to get out of his side, wade around the car and pull Mary over some rocks to the shore.

The emergency workers hobbled down the bank with the stretcher. In the hospital Mary was lightheaded and at the same time felt like her head had been severed from her body. She fell back asleep just as she tried to ask questions, like how was Al. She feared the worst, and dreamt that Al had been buried alive in a concrete casket, his book placed in the coffin along with a photograph of their wedding and of the hotel in Seattle they had stayed before the Inland Passage cruise. Al, with a bandaged foot he had twisted getting over the rocks, sat in the waiting room. A nurse approached and asked him to come with her. In a small room, she sat him down with some papers they needed him to sign. The doctor on duty, a tall, presentable fellow, said Mary had miscarried due to the trauma of the event. His eyes were a light blue, like robin's eggs under straight blond brows and, above them, a weighty prow of a forehead with barely a wrinkle. He paused and then said Mary was under sedation at the moment. Al felt the grip of panic tighten in his chest and wondered if there wasn't a mistake. He signed the papers, and later he paced in the hall on crutches, banging his bandaged foot against a metal rail near the elevators. The girl, Layla, would never breathe such air of disappointment as settled around Al in the hospital hall. He entered the hospital chapel and touched the book on the lectern, gilded and open.

Did you bring me sacrifices and offerings,

forty years in the desert?

He knelt at the altar and prayed a wordless prayer.

Seven—Evelio

The rain stopped and they walked the road up the mountain following the traces of branches left by the old woman. There was no sign of any human habitation or presence besides the occasional green stick she had scattered on her way. The screech of howler monkeys echoed across the range. Neither of them spoke. Ricky hunched over like an old man, occasionally straightening his shoulders and standing tall as if sorting out the signals of the wind. Al had his hands in his pockets, deep in thought. Rainwater gurgled in the ditches and cut across the narrow rutted road. There were still a few hours of light.

Foraging,
Ricky pulled out a pack of gum from the backpack.

Oh wow. Look at this. I forgot about this. You want some, Dad?

Yeah, sure.

Ricky shared a stick of gum. The sweetness of it sparked a surge of relief that almost reached to Al's tired feet.

Dad. You want to turn around?

A little more, Ricky.

There's no sign of horses.

No. Oh, but look at that.

Ricky reacted with dismay to the sighting. Several piles of washed-out horse manure lay ahead of them on a bend of the road.

Crap, he said.

That’s good, Ricky. That's exactly right.

Dad. I'm starving. Aren't you hungry?

Push yourself harder, Ricky. Give it a little more effort.

Okay, Dad. Whatever.

You kids don't know what it means to struggle, Ricky. To fight to get ahead. We got to keep going to find this guy. You'll see.

Al stopped at the bend and looked around. Ricky trudged on ahead up the road.

Hold on, Ricky.

What, I thought we were struggling to get ahead. Now I've got to wait?

Let me think.

From the spot where Al stood, he could look out to the southwest and see the coast in the distance. He imagined there were submarines somewhere in his line of vision. It was starting to get dark. Ricky would get over this unexpected bout of privation. But it was better to start back down. He knew Evelio was up there somewhere, but he doubted now that they would get lucky enough to find him on this road.

As they stared out into the distance, the two of them standing side by side, Al had the sense that Mary was watching from above. He looked up at the clouds, the blues and purple shadows, the ridges and valleys. She was up there somewhere reaching out and touching him with her presence. He wished he could also share this with Ricky, but there were some things that were still best left unspoken. They both heard the car at the same time. It froze them, as if an intruder had broken in.

It was coming from the road below, climbing up the switchbacks toward them.

Ricky, let's get off the road.

He and Ricky jogged. The pack on Ricky's back jiggled as he tried to get the straps around both shoulders. As they splashed through the water of the ditch, Al turned and saw the jeep bucking over the rocks. In the dusk it looked yellowish, not obviously a
Policia Nacional
vehicle. Two men were in the front seat, the one of them longhaired and youngish, the other an older man of indeterminate appearance. Ricky dove behind a boulder for cover. Al knew they'd been spotted and stopped above the ditch, eventually waving the jeep down as it came up the road beside him. It stopped, idling, and Al walked over.

Evelio
was in the passenger seat. The driver was a guy in his late twenties maybe, American. But there he was, riding shotgun, the same Evelio, rugged face, quick, flashing dark eyes, just older, cheeks more sunken, eyes more hollow.

Hey
, Ricky. Come on out. Here he is, shouted Al triumphantly.

What's goin' on? asked the driver with a soft Southern drawl.

We were looking for this man here.
Hola, Evelio
.

Buenas tardes
, said Evelio, a distant, unfocused smile playing across his face. Ricky came across the road.

This is our son. H
e was ten years old the last time we saw you. He rode
Tejas.

Ricky smiled sheepishly.

We found him, Ricky.

Yeah.

Well, well, said the driver. Y'all look like you might need a ride. Why don't you hop in the back and we'll go on up the mountain.

Ricky and Al scrambled around to get inside, Al scampering like a young man.

I can't believe this, Evelio. Do you remember the three of us? It was five years ago. You took us to the waterfall, said Al giddily.

Possible I remember, said Evelio.

It was hard to hear with the noise of the engine.

They traveled up the mountain for perhaps a mile. The land around them was wooded, with steep ledges. Then the road leveled off and went through some fields, fenced off with barbed wire attached to coppiced
trees. Two or three cows were grazing on the incline by the fence and dim shapes of horses could be seen in the distance. The jeep came to a stop in front of a small shack sided with rough sawn timber. A dog, the largest they'd seen in the country, barked and strained at his chain by the side of the house.

Quieto, Lobo
, said Evelio, going over to the dog and silencing him with his hand held out, palm flat to the ground over the dog's head.

Is this your house, Evelio? asked Al.

Yes, you are welcome.

We're here, Ricky.

The young American was opening the door of the shack, putting his shoulder against it to wedge it away from the frame.

Y'all can come in as soon as I get the lights on, he said, once the door had cracked open.

They could hear the sound of a generator going, and a light flickered on. Evelio smiled, his teeth glittering white in the almost dark. He motioned for Ricky and Al to go in.

The light bulb was swinging from its cord stapled to the ridge beam. The generator was humming, a not unpleasant sound in the night up this
far on the ridgeback of the central highlands. Against the far wall was a counter with a sink and a gas stove beside it. A small table sat in the middle of the floor and a cot against another wall. Shelves next to the cot held clothes and some boxes of odds and ends. Behind the door were a chainsaw, the generator, and a plastic jerry can of gasoline. It didn't look like the generator was vented, but the door stayed open, and the young American was opening another small window over the sink. Up this high there were probably no bugs at night.

Evelio put on a kettle of water.

You like coffee?

Yes, please
.

Where are you from? asked the American.

Florida. Listen, we came all this way not because we're crazy. I thought Evelio could help. But in town, you’re like a leper, Evelio. Last time I saw you, you gave my wife and me good advice. You said we needed to be prepared for hard times. You said it was everyone's responsibility to take care of themselves and not expect the government, any government, to be there for you.

For true, said Evelio.

His position probably hasn't changed much, said the American.

What's your name? asked Al of the young man.

Noah.

I'm Al and this is my son Ricky.

You mentioned the town. What town? asked Noah.

Well, San Juan Grande. We were trying to locate Evelio. My wife loved him. She's dead now.

I'm sorry for you, Mister Al, said Evelio.

I'm not clear at all on what you expect out of Evelio
.

Ricky stepped forward out of the shadows.

Look, we just spent a whole lot of time and my father's not being clear because, well, he's exhausted. This Evelio guy, I can't believe he's even real. And here we are. So just listen.

Whoah. That was out of line, Ricky. He's only just trying to help.

Caballeros. Un cafe
, said Evelio, pouring out the black liquid through a sieve into four small plastic cups.

The coffee tasted fine, not too bitter. Al looked around the table. Evelio had a weighty silence about him as if he knew something the others needed to know. Al decided to open up with his needs, damn the presence of Noah who was so protective and vigilant.

Look, Evelio. The world is a crazy place. You and I know that.

Yes.

But what is the problem with that? It's always been a crazy place. Why do I feel like the changes are so threatening? Without my wife, I feel lost. Like maybe. . . I'm losing my mind. Do you know?

You are not losing your mind, Mr. Al. There is a moment when the earth crack open. The Mayas knows what is that moment.

So what are we supposed to do? I feel like the sheep are lost and the shepherd is asleep.

Yes, and the wolves are circling, said Noah.

What is that, the
Santos Muertos
phenomenon? asked Al.

That is the most problem. This is my enemy, said Evelio.

Al, what do you know about them? asked Noah.

I was thinking it was mainly the overblown imagination of some lunatic, but lately Ricky and I have seen them everywhere we go. Who are they and what do they want?

They are the enemies of humanity, and the
incarnación
of
la maldad
. Samael Chagnon. He is the
jefe.
He has given his heart to the devil
para sacarle el poder
. He will do every thing and nothing stop him, said Evelio.

Who is this guy? Al turned to Noah for more information.

Chagnon? He's a kind of a brilliant mind gone around the bend. MIT grad with advanced degrees in chemistry and neuroscience. From a landed Colombian family. Apparently got into mystical religion and spent years in the mountains of the Guajira peninsula in a cave attracting disciples, and then popped up in Michoacán in the nineties with a drug gang that rivaled the Zetas. Called themselves
Los Santos Muertos
. We don't really know exactly who they are yet. But they've got some crazy capabilities, which lead me to think they represent a fundamental threat.

And who are you?

I'm sorry. I'm ostensibly the regional coordinator with Birdlife International? Evelio contacted us back in May to help him out with a land dispute with the San Juan Grande Cloud Forest Reserve. Originally it seemed they wanted to sanction him for some of the conservation work he was doing.

They want to kill me. They have been bought by the
Santos Muertos
. They have killed my good friend Wilfredo Montecinos.

Montecinos
? The nature poet?

Yes. Guatemala's most beloved
artista internacional
, said Evelio.

I've heard about him. He's missing, isn't he? Nobody knows what happened. They suspect foul play
, said Al.

They are everywhere, Evelio continued. They have bought the cruel and
the estupid and killed or silenced the best.
Mientras tanto
, nature suffer in silence. The winds from the south are not coming. The bird have no nest for her children. The frog is disappearing. The tree of the cordillera is dying
. El
planeta está en peligro
.

Danger
.
I've heard that before. But why?

A dead world is for their interest. They are the bringers of death,
la Santa Muerte
.

So the question I have is what are their plans as far as global warming?

They're all for it, you've got to presume. They certainly have no regard for wildlife. We've seen that in some of the clearcuts, said Noah.

What are they clearing?

Landing zones for their aircraft.

Really?

Yeah. Like supersonic stealth hovercraft, man.

I see
.

Evelio hunched in his chair, in the light of the electric bulb, contemplative, hard to read.

Al drank the rest of his coffee. It was time to get home to Florida. He felt he had done his duty by Mary's memory, coming up here and finding Evelio. But there was nothing tangible to be gained from staying any longer. It was a quixotic mission and it had been accomplished. As if reading his mind, Evelio stood and walked around the table and put his hand on Ricky's shoulder where he stood behind his father.

You are a good rider. You had
Tejas.
I remember.
Valiente
para uno tan joven
, he said. How you say, eh, brave boy.

Ricky
looked down at the floor, embarassed. Evelio looked over at Al.

He is like you, but a father at the same time must know when is good for the boy must to be a man.

Al creaked in the chair as he shifted his weight.

Yes, but
. . .

Mr. Lyons, you and the kid
have entered a war zone. This is not for the feeble minded. The LSM will follow you now wherever you go. I can't in good conscience let y'all leave tonight, said Noah, standing.