The Sunflower: A Novel (6 page)

Jim walked to the front of the room. “That’s what it’s all about. The chance to find yourself by losing yourself in service to others. I look forward to seeing you all in a couple weeks. You have my number. If you have any questions, please call. Otherwise, I’ll see you, on time, at the airport.”

As the group rose to leave, Christine, still sniffing, said, “I’ll go.”

Jessica looked at her. “What?”

I said, “I’ll go.”

Jessica smiled. “You’ll never regret it.”

As the room emptied, Jessica stopped to talk to Jim. “It worked,” she said, “Christine was blubbering like a baby.”

He smiled triumphantly. “The slide show gets them every time.”

It is always winter somewhere…

PAUL COOK’S DIARY

“I’m
so
glad we’re getting out of winter,” Jessica said. With the Jeep’s heater blasting on full it was hard to believe that somewhere in the world it was summer. “Girl, we’re coming back with tans.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” Christine said softly.

Jessica frowned and turned away. Christine had grown quiet for most of the drive. Jessica guessed that she was regretting her decision. But Christine had grown melancholy for other reasons. She still hadn’t heard from Martin and she doubted that he even knew or cared that she was going.

Jessica parked in the airport’s long-term parking lot; the two women gathered their carry-on luggage and shuttled to the terminal. Not far from their entry they found Jim, alone, surrounded by a small mountain of secondhand suitcases, backpacks and large canvas duffel bags. In one hand he held a clipboard, which he lifted as they approached.

Jessica lit up in his presence. “Hey, gorgeous.”

He smiled. “I was beginning to wonder if you two had changed your minds.”

“No chance of that,” Jessica said.

Christine didn’t look as excited. Jim said to her, “You’re going to be glad you came.”

“It’s for the children,” Christine said. “I keep telling myself that.”

“What’s all this luggage?” Jessica asked.

“Supplies. We’ve got hygiene kits, eyeglasses, books, blankets, medicine, everything we’ll need.”

“Can we help you?” Christine asked.

“No, I’m just waiting for a porter. You need to check in at the counter, then go on down to Terminal B. Be sure to be at gate 42 no later than ten-thirty. We’ll board together.”

“See ya,” Jessica said.

“Hasta luego,”
Jim replied.

“Hasta
what?” Jessica said.

“It means ‘see you later,’ ” Christine said.

Christine had never left the country, and standing in the airport’s international terminal amid a Babel of foreign languages, she felt the rising discomfort of culture shock.

They perused the airport stores as they waited. Christine bought a paperback romance and some Dramamine, which she took immediately while Jessica filled her purse with magazines and candy. A half hour later Jim arrived at the gate, and the group congregated around him. He quickly went down the roll.

“We’re missing Bryan Davis and Kent Wood. Does anyone know where they went?”

A young woman raised her hand. “They went to get Chinese food in the other terminal.”

Jim shook his head and sighed.
“¡Aye! caramba.
Listen up, everyone. It’s very important that we stay together—
especially
when we arrive in Peru. Everyone please board, do not wait for me. I’ll go look for them.”

Christine and Jessica boarded with the rest of the group. Their seats were in the rear compartment of the 737, Jessica in the window seat with Christine in the middle. In the aisle seat was a tiny gray-haired Peruvian woman.

Christine looked down at her watch. “What do we do if Jim doesn’t make it?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when it collapses,” she said. “Wait to worry.”

Just a few minutes after the plane’s scheduled departure, Jim came walking down the aisle trailing two young men with sheepish looks.

As soon as the plane left the ground, Jessica pulled out her iPod, put in her ear buds, propped a pillow against the window, then lay back with her eyes closed. Christine leafed through one of Jessica’s magazines until the Dramamine finally kicked in and she fell asleep against Jessica’s shoulder. An hour later she was awoken by the Peruvian woman, who was shaking her shoulder and speaking to her in Spanish. It took a minute for Christine to figure out what she wanted. The flight attendants were serving a meal and the woman thought Christine should know about it. Christine thanked her, then closed her eyes. It took her nearly an hour to fall back asleep.

Three and a half hours later the pilot came on the speaker announcing their descent into Lima’s Jorge Chávez airport. The announcement was repeated in Spanish and the Peruvian passengers applauded. Twenty minutes later they clapped again when the plane touched down. The passengers disembarked and were herded to the Immigration counters. From the jetway Christine could feel the warmth and humidity of the Peruvian air.

Inside Immigration, Jim corralled the group, his clipboard in hand. The stress of shepherding such a large group was already evident on his face. “Each of you must pick up two of our bags of supplies and carry them through customs. They are clearly marked with one of these bright orange stickers with our Puma-Condor logo. It doesn’t matter which bags you grab, as long as you have two of them apiece. Outside of customs there are two men who will take the bags from you and recheck them onto our next flight. Once they have your luggage, just wait inside the terminal. We only have a few hours before our next flight, so do not wander off.
Do not leave the airport,”
he said firmly, glancing meaningfully at the two boys who had delayed the flight. He walked through his group handing everyone immigration declaration cards. As he got to Christine, she asked, “Having fun?”

“It’s like herding cats.”

“Get any sleep?” Jessica asked.

“I never sleep on these trips. How about you two?”

“I slept like a log,” Jessica said.

“Not enough,” Christine said.

“Well, you can catch up in Cuzco. By the way, this is a good time to exchange money. The exchange rate in the airport is better than at the hotels.”

“How much should we change?”

“Maybe fifty dollars. You won’t need much for now.”

As Jim watched over the group’s stragglers, Jessica and Christine passed through Immigration, pulled four suitcases from the carousel and lugged them through Customs. As promised, two Peruvian men, both young and wearing white tank tops, Levi’s and sneakers, stood outside the terminal with a large baggage cart and holding a sign that read
PUMA-CONDOR EXPEDITIONS
. They left their luggage with the men, then went inside the terminal. They exchanged some money, then wandered around while they waited for the rest of the group to arrive.

When Jim came, he led them to another gate, where they boarded a smaller plane. They touched down in Cuzco around one in the afternoon.

Even before the plane’s hatch opened, Christine could feel the effects of the altitude; her head ached and it felt as if her sinuses were going to explode. The temperature was unseasonably cool for Cuzco—much cooler than in Lima, and Christine wrapped her arms around herself as they walked outside to the airport’s parking lot.

She stopped to look around. The Cuzco airport was considerably smaller than the Lima international, but the ratio of foreigners to natives was higher. As the heart of the Incan civilization, Cuzco attracted a steady flow of foreign tourists.

In the middle of the parking lot was a large concrete obelisk capped with a bronze bust of the airport’s namesake. Modern billboards surrounded the airport with laptop and cell-phone advertisements, all in Spanish. At one end of the airport was a soccer field and at the other, near the bus-loading zone, were a row of small wooden stalls with Peruvian handicrafts. While Jessica went to peruse the shops, Christine sat down on a curb and watched their luggage being loaded into the bus’s belly. Her light-headedness increased, and she rested her head in her hand. Jim walked up behind her and sat on the curb next to her. “How’s it going?”

“Okay.”

“Still tired?”

“I have a headache.”

“Probably altitude sickness. We’re eleven thousand feet up.” After a moment he said, “I’ll get you something for it.” He stood back up and walked across the lot to a woman wearing a white top hat and bright Quechuan attire. He handed her a coin, and she handed him a small plastic bag filled with dark green leaves. He brought it over to Christine.

“Here.”

“What is it?” she asked, examining the leaves.

“Coca leaves.”

“Coca? Like cocaine?”

“Same leaf. But it’s for tea. It will help with altitude sickness. You can get some hot water at the hotel.”

Christine looked at the leaves warily.

“Don’t worry, you won’t fail your company drug testing.” He walked back to the bus and went inside to talk to the driver.

Just then Jessica walked up wearing a colorful shawl. She looked at the bag in Christine’s hands. “What’s that? Cocaine?”

“It’s tea,” Christine said.

“I want to try some.”

“I’ll share.”

She held up her arms and spun around, whirling the shawl. “What do you think?”

“It’s pretty.”

“It was only fifty soles.”

Jim emerged from the bus. “Let’s go,” he shouted.

A half hour later the bus sided up to the curb in front of the Vilandre Hotel. The group crowded the small lobby. Christine lay on a couch, feeling tired and sick, while the hotel staff began handing out room keys. Jessica and Christine were assigned a room on the third floor. The hotel only had one elevator, so they climbed the stairs.

Jessica opened their door but stopped in the threshold. “Prepare yourself.”

“For what?”

“Serious u-g-l-y.”

The room was of average hotel room size, austere and dated. The drapes were tan and sun-faded, and the carpet, mauve and balding, was far past its prime if it ever had one. The room’s floorboards looked to be of light oak and were scuffed and chipped. There were two twin beds with dark umber quilts, threadbare in places. Between the beds was a simple wooden nightstand.

Christine looked around. “Well, I wasn’t expecting the Four Seasons.” She stepped inside, set her bags on the bed and opened them. She took out her few clothes and hung them in the closet; then threw her pillow on top of the bedspread. From an inside pocket she took out a bracelet, crouched down and wrapped it around the leg of the bed.

“What’s
that?”
Jessica asked.

“They said to bring flea collars.”

Jessica stared at the band. “That doesn’t look like a flea collar.” She took a step closer.

“It was ugly. I hot-glued rhinestones on it.” She pulled out three more and fastened them around the remaining legs of the bed.

Jessica burst out laughing until she fell on her back on the opposite bed. Christine’s face tightened. “Don’t mock me.”

When Jessica finally gained her composure, she wiped tears from her eyes and said, “I’m sorry. You’re one of a kind. You’re the only girl I know who would mop a dirt floor.”

“Glad you find me so amusing.” Christine said stiffly. She sat on the corner of the bed and lay back. The mattress was hard and musty.

Jessica sighed loudly, then went to the window and parted the curtains. The rooftops below them were mostly terra-cotta tile with stucco or concrete walls. Clotheslines stretched from building to building like great webs.

“Can you believe we’re really here?” Jessica asked.

Christine screamed.

Jessica spun around. “What?”

Christine pointed toward the corner of the room. “There’s something up there.”

Jessica looked up. A small olive drab–colored lizard clung to the wall. She exhaled with relief. “Man! I thought it was a tarantula or something. It’s only a gecko.” Jessica walked up to it for a closer look. “They’re good luck.”