The Furthest City Light (34 page)

I shrugged. “A little tired, but I’m fine. Did you hear about the soldiers?”

She nodded gravely. “They said that two had died and that the other three will live.”

“They were so young, Sonia.” I flashed on Marta’s lovely animated face as she described her plans to become a journalist and travel around the world. And then, on the way she looked as Lenny tried in vain to save her. The blank expression, her vacant eyes.

“Yes,” Sonia said, “our children are fighting the war for us.” She sounded unusually sad and I guessed she was thinking about her nephew. I didn’t ask if she’d heard from him; she would have shared the news immediately.

We sat down at her kitchen table and ate some pineapple. I told her I hadn’t decided what to do next and wondered if I could stay there for a while. She hesitated, and then admitted she was expecting another boarder the next evening. I said I understood. She thought for a moment and then her face lit up. She could borrow a cot from Amelia and then I could share her room for as long as I wanted. Suddenly, I had the decency to feel embarrassed.

“Thank you,” I said. “But you’ll have enough to do. You don’t need two boarders.”

She raised her hand to ward off any more halfhearted arguments. “It’s not a problem. You’re my friend. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you wish.”

If I’d had any self-respect, which I clearly didn’t, I would have stood up and left, but I was simply too tired. “Well, just for a few days then, maybe a week. And I insist on paying you directly since the brigade is no longer responsible.”

She clapped her hands together. “Good. With all the money I’ll be getting from two boarders instead of one, I can finally buy a car.”

I managed to smile a little and said, “I don’t know about you, but in this climate I’d look around for a convertible.”

***

That evening, I met Allen at the restaurant near the cathedral. He’d showered again and was wearing his prettiest Hawaiian shirt. He looked fresh and neat like a young man out on a date or, considering how old I was, a gigolo. We sat at a table for two near an empty birdcage.

“No more than a couple of beers,” I warned. “We’ll get too maudlin.”

“God forbid,” he said, patting my hand.

I picked up the menu and pretended to read it. Sonia had already told me that despite the four-page menu, the choices were severely limited to
pinto
gallo
or
frijoles con crema
. “I hear the beans and cream are fantastic here.”

“Really? Well then that’s what I’m going to order.”

“Me too.” We both smiled.

When our beers arrived, Allen raised his bottle to me and said, “To friendship.”

“To friendship,” I repeated. Suddenly, I wished Allen had left that afternoon and that I didn’t have to sit across from him all evening contemplating his imminent departure. It was too painful. As I’d suspected, sometime in the last month when I wasn’t paying much attention, he’d marched right past the barricades into my inner sanctum, kicked off his shoes, and made himself at home.

“Ask me anything you want about law school,” I said. “It’s your last chance.”

He knew what I meant: keep it light, my friend. And he did his best. For the next hour, I described my experiences in law school, talked about being a public defender, and discussed a few notable cases. Then, I asked Allen to tell me about his father and why he felt such disdain for him.

“That’s easy,” Allen said. “He treats women like shit and thinks J. Edgar Hoover was a great American hero.”

“Well that’s somewhat…compelling,” I said. And we both laughed.

At the end of the meal, the waiter arrived with our check. We paid the bill, about six dollars, and headed for the door. The air outside was hot and humid.

“Let’s walk home,” Allen suggested.

“Fine with me.” I wasn’t looking forward to another restless night on another broken-down cot. Maybe hiking four or five miles would tire me out enough that it finally wouldn’t matter. Sure, and maybe the United States would change its mind and stop funding the Contras. Maybe, before I died, there’d be an unprecedented period of world peace.

Allen took my hand and we set off across the plaza. As we made our way through the crowded streets, the city flowed around us, a cacophony of buses honking, mufflers backfiring, roosters crowing and groups of people strolling arm in arm, laughing, shouting and living. At an intersection a few blocks from the community center, a man in a wheelchair was selling the latest issue of
La Barricada
. I bought one for Sonia who probably wouldn’t read it, but could at least use it for toilet paper.

“Thanks for your support,” the man said.

“No problem,” I replied.

Finally, we were standing in front of the center, sweating from the long walk. It was almost eleven o’clock. Allen’s face was red, but I didn’t think it was from the exercise.

“Rachel, can I ask you one last question? You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.”

“Go ahead,” I sighed.

He tried to smile. “I can’t help it.” He looked both awkward and adorable.

“It’s okay.”

He took my hand in his and kissed it. “So, if I was a woman and you were single, would you be the least bit attracted to me?”

It was such a ridiculous question, but there was no point in stating the obvious. He looked at me with his innocent brown eyes and waited. I grabbed him and pulled him close to me. “If you were a woman and you were at least six years older and I was single, I’d be head over heels in love with you.”

“Really?” he whispered.

“Maybe.”

He hugged me for as long as he dared, then said, “Goodbye, Rachel. Write me when you can.”

It was hard to breathe. He was so dear to me. I wanted to put him in my pocket and carry him around forever. “Goodbye Allen.”

He turned and started walking away from me. After a couple of seconds, he began to run.

“I love you,” he yelled.

I watched him until he turned the corner. Except for the enormous green iguana on the roof behind me, I was completely alone.

Less than an hour later, I was lying on my cot, wishing I could stop thinking and just sleep for a couple of weeks. I could deal with the headache, sore throat and fever, but I needed some internal silence. As I tossed and turned, I could hear Sonia preparing for bed. When she began praying for Jorge’s safe return, I rolled over and pulled the pillow around my ears. I couldn’t listen anymore. He wasn’t coming home. He was dead, just like Javier and Marta.

But then I rolled back over and sat up, staring into the darkness. Why should I assume the worst? Why not hope for as long as possible? I pulled my sweaty sheet up to cover me. Why should anyone suffer before they absolutely had to? They shouldn’t, I decided, and then lay back down again and fell into a fitful sleep.

A few hours before dawn, I woke up shivering and realized my sheet was soaking wet. I waited a few minutes, then sneaked into Sonia’s room and pulled out a dry one from the bottom of her dresser.

“How long have you been here?” she asked as I was leaving.

“Not long, Sonia. Go back to sleep. Sorry to have disturbed you.”

“Why didn’t you contact me?” she asked, sounding pleased and excited, and I realized she was dreaming. I tiptoed out the door.

***

The next morning, I decided to walk to the dollar store, and if by some miracle it was open, buy as many bottles of vitamins as I could carry home. I would give them to Sonia and Amelia and anyone else in the
barrio
that might want them. If there were other things for sale, like toothpaste, toilet paper, Alka-Seltzer, hairbrushes and electric fans, I’d buy them too. If I had enough loot, I’d take a taxi home.

It seemed hotter than usual as I set out along the main cobblestone street toward the highway. At some point, I decided to take a shortcut across a field that would save me at least half a mile. In the distance, I could see a large three-story building that had either been hit by a bomb or destroyed by the earthquake; most of its walls and all of its windows were missing.

I hopped over a ditch full of dirty-looking water and saw a woman about my age washing her family’s clothes. As she rinsed each article of clothing, she spread it on the ground to dry. She’d already laid out a pair of men’s jeans, a yellow slip, a couple of blouses and some T-shirts.

“
Hola,”
I said.

She smiled shyly, and then bent down to wash a faded pink towel. I watched for another few minutes, although there was nothing particularly fascinating about what she was doing. For one odd second, I thought I might be too sick to go on, but then the moment passed.

I reached the highway, and then began hiking toward the center of the city. Where was I going? What was I doing? This was stupid. The dollar store probably didn’t even exist. My shirt was drenched and I felt a little faint. The road was long, hot and dusty. I could feel the heat through the soles of the cheap flip-flops Miranda had given me in Jalapa. To take my mind off my various physical discomforts, I counted to a hundred in Spanish, and then like an old Girl Scout began singing, “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.”

Dinah, won’t you blow, Dinah, won’t you blow…
Suddenly my throat felt too parched to make another sound. Why hadn’t I brought any water, and a hat? But I didn’t own a hat.

Where was I going? What was I doing? Even if the store was open and they actually had vitamins they’d be so out of date, they’d be useless. But I kept on walking, putting one foot in front of the other.

About twenty minutes later, I caught up to a couple of children dragging a tree limb down the side of the highway. The limb was about ten feet long and must have weighed at least fifty pounds. The older of the two children, a boy, looked about seven; the younger girl was probably his sister. They were both barefoot. I guessed they lived in one of the shanty towns at the edge of the city and that they were hauling the tree home to their parents who would cut it up to use for fuel. The boy was pulling the tree from the front, while his sister was trying to push it from the back and sides. They could only drag it a couple of feet before they had to stop and rest. They looked tired, but determined.

I asked if I could help, but they ignored me. I was a stranger and a
Yanqui.
I took a step toward them, but it only made them work harder to get away from me. I stepped back a few yards into a small gully and let them inch past me. The soles of their feet must have been burning. At the rate they were moving, it would take them all day. I wondered if anyone would come looking for them after dark.

Finally, I had to turn away, but was surprised to find that I was kneeling. What the hell? I tried to stand up, but my legs refused to obey me. I waited a couple of seconds and tried again, but my legs had a mind of their own. The sun was beating down on the top of my head.

Where was I going? Apparently nowhere. What was I doing? Nothing. What a funny place to stop, I thought, and then slumped over until my forehead was touching the ground. From a distance, if you didn’t know better, you might have thought I was praying.

I was lucid again, lying on my back, and burning up with fever. I had the worst headache, as if my skull were much too small to accommodate the pressure building up inside it. Every joint in my skeleton ached, my neck, shoulders, wrists, knees and ankles. Even my toes hurt. I opened my eyes for a moment, and then closed them when the light became too painful. I was tucked into a narrow gully only a few yards from the highway, but doubted anyone could see me. Although I knew I was sick and that I’d been lying there for hours, I couldn’t imagine moving or calling out for help. A few cars drove by, so close I could smell their exhaust.

A voice was urging me to get up before it was too late. For a moment, I thought it was Vickie’s and wondered how she’d found me, but then realized it was my own. I rolled to my knees, vomited, and then slowly forced myself to a standing position. When I felt like I wouldn’t fall, I took a few baby steps toward the highway. I guessed it was late afternoon. To keep my head from exploding, I pressed the palms of my hands against the sides of my skull. More than anything, I wanted to lie down again and it took every last bit of my will to resist the impulse.

At first, I felt shy waving at the cars, but after twenty or thirty of them roared past me, I got used to it. Finally, I saw a cab that already had some passengers in the backseat. I must have looked pretty bad because the driver stopped anyway and let me get in front.
Muchas gracias
, I told him. As soon as the car accelerated, my body fell sideways until I was resting against his arm and shoulder. I was sweating profusely and smelled like vomit, but the driver was either too polite or embarrassed to push me away. After taking the group where they wanted to go, he drove me to Sonia’s and deposited me on the front porch. I thanked him again and tried to give him money, but he wouldn’t take it.

Time passed but I couldn’t tell how much. One morning, just before dawn, I woke up feeling cool and clearheaded. Sonia was sleeping in her bed a few feet away from me and someone else (the new boarder?) was snoring in the other bedroom. All the feverish agitation—the crazy dreams, the hallucinations—seemed to have abated.

When I opened my eyes again, it was bright outside. Sonia was walking toward me with a bowl of soup in her hands. She looked relieved.

“
Hola,”
she said, smiling. “
¿Cómo estás?”

“
Mucho mejor.
”
Much better
.

“Muy bien.
” She put the soup down on the table next to my cot and left to bring me a spoon. The soup smelled delicious although I didn’t feel particularly hungry.

When she returned, I asked, “How long have I been sick?”

She counted the days on her fingers and then shrugged. “About four days.” As if it were no big deal. And of course it wasn’t, at least not here. If you weren’t dead or missing, anything less serious was hardly worth mentioning.