Shadows Across America Page 13

  Hearing her voice, Patito opened his eyes and suddenly looked more relaxed and began to smile. He saw the old woman and leaped into her lap, paying no attention to Ethan. She hugged him tenderly and whispered something. He nodded. Then she repeated it so everyone could hear. “Would you like to go to bed to sleep a little? You’re tired, aren’t you?”

  He lovingly collapsed onto her chest, and she handed him to her grandson, who was giving Andrés a drink.

  “Listen, Tinin will take you to his bedroom and lie down with you. He’ll give you a few cookies, and then you’ll go to sleep like a good little boy. OK?”

  Patito didn’t answer, but he allowed himself to be passed over gently and left, clinging to Tinin. He didn’t give his saviors a second glance.

  “Don’t worry about it; he’s a baby.”

  “That wasn’t what I was worried about,” Ethan said. “After what happened at his house, he doesn’t seem very upset. But I will have a beer now.”

  “They’re in the fridge. Make yourself at home. The kid is going to have to learn to forgive and forget. His mother and brother are dead; his house has been burned down. Leidy escaped. I don’t know where she went. Nobody paid her any attention.”

  “How do you know that?” Ethan said. “You were here the whole time.”

  “I know everything that goes on in these streets.”

  “And did you know that family sells their own people to kidnappers?”

  “I know what happens in the streets but not what goes on in the privacy of their own homes. Families turn bad inside the walls. With their partners and children. I try to take care of them as best I can. That’s why I’m everyone’s grandmother.”

  “But you’re not Patito’s grandmother.”

  “Not Patito’s, no. I only have one grandson left alive. The other two were killed. But I’m a grandmother to all the children. They know that they can always come here; for some of them it’s the only place where they feel safe. But Patito: he didn’t suffer. His family loved him. From what I could see, anyway. I have no way of knowing what they do in secret. Jonathan and Leidy were like all the other kids around here. You saw what Tinin was doing, and he’s a sweetie pie. He has a big heart.”

  “Like Jonathan?”

  “Maybe not. I imagine that Jonathan was the troublemaker. But then I don’t know what happened to him in his childhood or with his father. What I mean is that you can’t judge people without knowing what it’s like around here, in this country.”

  “I’ve lived in my country, and I’ve seen enough,” Ethan said. “It’s the same story in every city, wherever you are. It might be more violent here, but the principle is the same.”

  “That’s true. Jonathan was the way he was. But we couldn’t know . . .” She turned to Andrés. “Neither could you—how could you have imagined that your brother’s girlfriend would sell out your niece?”

  “How do you know that?” Ethan said.

  Lorena laughed as though she were dealing with a naughty schoolboy.

  “Oh, my boy. Who do you think I am? I’ve heard all about it. They were shouting it in the street. I knew a little already: you came to find Michelle, Leidy’s boyfriend was her uncle, and they threw a party so they could check you out. Now they’re saying that Beto called her to warn her. Did he know something already, or was it just to protect his girlfriend? I don’t know that either. If you didn’t know, how could I know? I’m just an old woman.”

  Ethan accepted this explanation and started to stride from one end of the room to the other, chastising himself. “It was right under my nose. How could I not see it?”

  “Let me ask you another question. How did you see it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How did you work it out? Suddenly you arrived and knew everything. You knew more than any of us.”

  Ethan avoided Andrés’s gaze so as not to give him away and grew cautious once more. “I’m sure you understand that I can’t reveal that to either of you.”

  “You’re right,” Lorena said with a shrug. “And it’s not as though I care. I may be nosy, but I’m an old woman, aren’t I?” She smiled at him sweetly. “Let me tell you why I let you into my home.”

  “Because we brought you Patito.”

  “Of course not! Where else were you going to take him? The police? Do you think that no one saw you leave? They let you go because you were with my grandson. I don’t care about that. Patito would have come to me one way or another. I just thank God that the police didn’t find you. If they took him away, then his life really would be hard. There’s no place for orphans in this country, other than the street.”

  “So what will you do with him now? Do you think that I’m going to leave him here just like that, because you say so? You think I don’t care?”

  “I can tell from your eyes that you’re sincere. That’s why you’re in my home and I let you have him for as long as I did. Now you’re going to go and leave him here. I don’t know what we’ll do exactly, but he’s just another orphan now, and if we don’t take care of him, he’ll be a Mara before he turns eight. If Jonathan was already part of the gang, only God knows whether he might have met an even worse fate. The kid will grow up with us, and you, young man, will never see him again. He saw you get his mother and brother killed. Have you thought it through? Don’t ever forget that, gringo, because he won’t, and I don’t know how much forgiveness I can teach him.”

  Ethan didn’t reply. He walked up and down a couple more times, thinking. “What about the sister?”

  “We don’t know where she went. But I know her: she’ll assume that they killed him, too, and even if she doesn’t, she won’t come back. Patito’s on his own.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. But that doesn’t mean that this is the best place for him. Andrés, you must know someone who can take him in? Someone from your church, maybe. I don’t know . . .”

  Andrés raised his eyebrows doubtfully. Now Lorena was annoyed. She addressed Ethan in the same authoritative tone as she’d used with her grandson. “Look, young man, don’t make me mad. You don’t seem to understand. If you call the police, you’re the one who’s going to be in trouble. They’ll take you away. And what do you think’s going to happen to you in jail? Who do you think they’ll lock you in with? The Mara won’t forgive you for what you’ve done. This is their territory, and they don’t like it when things like this happen. I know you’re not stupid; you knew that, and that’s why you escaped. I may be an old woman, and I may not know everything, but don’t treat me like a fool.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you. I know you’re right. What should we do now?”

  “You’ll leave Patito here. I’ll help you to get out. You need to hide, I think, until the police have shut everything down. It won’t be hard; the people around here will tell them the whole story, that the family sold kids to kidnappers and they confronted them. Then the house caught on fire, and they were trapped inside, but no one killed anyone. And no one will mention the gringo who got there first. They don’t tell the cops things like that, but the Mara must know already. Now, my boy, you have an easy choice to make.” She turned to Andrés. “Leave now, and don’t come back for a few days. The car you came in is still parked in the same place—you can get it later. They won’t ask you any questions. They don’t know you. But the gringuito who came around asking questions about the girl . . . he can’t stay here.”

  “And why are you going to help me?”

  “Because I’m everyone’s grandmother. I’ve been watching you—you’ve done things that no one has done to find the girl. And today my grandson told me everything. That’s why you were allowed in my house. If I don’t help you after everything you’ve done, including saving the boy, then I don’t deserve the name anymore. That’s why no one is going to report you or stop you from leaving.”

  “Well, I suppose I have no choice but to believe you. Thank you.”

  “Thank you, my son. I’ve rarely seen anything like i
t in my life. You do think the girl’s still alive?”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  Lorena didn’t answer, but she looked deep into Ethan’s eyes. He felt as though she were looking right through him. “It’s true. You really think so.”

  “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

  “You’re strange . . . interesting but strange . . . I’m glad to have met you. Listen, I can only give you some advice. Listen to me if you want, and if you don’t, the two of you are free to drive off in your car.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “My advice is for you to leave the city right now. Don’t stop anywhere or talk to anyone so that the people who know you won’t know what to say when they’re asked. I can suggest a lovely place on the beach. It’s close by, and buses leave for it regularly. If you take my advice, my grandson will take you to the station. He’ll hide you in his car, and no one will stop him, not even the police, because they know him. You go to the beach for a few days, three or four or for however long it takes until things calm down, and then you can call Andrés, and he’ll tell you if it’s safe for you to come back. Don’t leave an address or anything; just take money. Make yourself impossible to find. Don’t let any of your friends let it slip by mistake.”

  “You want me to go to the beach, out of touch with everyone? Are you sure that that’s a good idea?”

  “Don Ethan, forgive the interruption,” Andrés said. “I think I know what she’s saying . . . and I think she’s right. You shouldn’t be here when they start asking questions. They mustn’t see you, because if they do, the best that can happen is for you to be deported. We mustn’t know where you’ve gone. I have money to lend you. I’ll make sure it’s enough so you don’t even have to use your card.”

  Lorena received this unexpected support with an inquisitive gaze. “This isn’t any old beach. I’ll tell him which hotel to go to. I know some people there. He’ll be safe with them. Only they and I will know. I’ll give you the name of the place when your friend leaves. You have a choice: do what I say, or go your own way. It’s up to you, but you need to decide now. Good deeds are rare, and they should be repaid. If I let you go without helping, God will punish me. That’s why I let you into my home.”

  Ethan was utterly caught off balance by the turn the situation was taking. Before the first problem was even over, he was having to deal with the next.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t know you.” He looked for support from his friend but was met with determination.

  “Forgive me for contradicting you, Don Ethan, but I think she’s right.”

  “Fine, fine.” He led Andrés to one side. “Can we pass by the hotel?”

  “It’s the wrong way.”

  “All my things are there, as well as the gun Calvo got me. I need you to pick up my suitcase and keep it safe. I can’t leave it in a hotel for three days, especially not with a weapon.”

  His lunch was arepas a la reina pepiada, or so the owner of the establishment had said. He wasn’t going to come back. The food was heavy and oily, and he knew that later on he’d get indigestion. Eventually the old man summoned him on the phone, and he drove there with his trailer. The bastard complained again, asking why he hadn’t left it in the garage—it got in the way. He explained, once again, that he couldn’t let it out of his sight. The man knew that very well—they’d been over this already, so there was no point arguing about it anymore. The old man laughed, assuming that he was smuggling something, and the Beast laughed even harder inside, thinking that if this indio knew what he was really transporting . . . but if he told him, he’d have to kill him. No doubt about it.

  So he stood by the truck while they changed his license plates, and the old man’s assistants gave him the fake documentation and talked him through it. When they’d finished, he contacted the distributor to ask if he could pick up the new trailer yet. He told the mechanics to hurry up; he was worried about the merchandise. This wasn’t compassion—he’d left her locked up for a long time. She might wake up, although she couldn’t make much noise bound and gagged like she was, but if she suffered from dehydration, it would be very bad. He knew that if he ever lost a package or if it arrived in poor condition, he might pay for it with his life. So as the hours dragged on and he worried that she would choke on her own tongue or die of heatstroke or stress, he grew more and more irritable. He hurried them along as much as he could, desperate to get out of there. Finally they gave him the OK to leave, and the old man told him that it was a pleasure doing business with him again. The Beast was just as friendly—and false—with his goodbye.

  He had grown so anxious that he decided to stop before picking up the trailer, choosing a deserted rest stop. He took the bottle of water and reached under the chassis for the lock to the lower compartment. When he opened it, he found the small body curled up in the false bottom. She was breathing quickly, but apart from the sweat and urine, she seemed unhurt. He took the sack off her head, and she nodded in confusion, still feeling the effects of the drug. He was pleased to see that she didn’t understand what was going on. He removed her gag and offered her the drink, which she accepted eagerly. When she’d taken her third gulp and started to open her mouth, he pulled up the gag and covered her head again. With that much water, she’d piss herself again, but it would cool her down, he thought, laughing to himself. He calculated that it would take another half hour for the drug to fade away completely, so he had just enough time.

  He headed for the large warehouse and asked for the foreman, who was waiting for him. He looked over the trailer, which was smaller than his last, and they gave him a signed and sealed delivery slip. He was assuming the identity of a truck that had gone in the other direction and would be coming back once it had been unloaded, which would allow him to cross the opposite border. Once they got to the safe house, he’d give the truck a new coat of paint: all red—he was tired of black—and he’d have it detailed with a devil and a pole dancer. It was a design he’d seen somewhere that he liked a lot. Maybe he’d even modify the hood. He felt like resting for a few days; it was something he’d been thinking about for a while. But the most urgent thing right now was to put the merchandise in the top bunk so it could sleep and rest before they went through customs and immigration. He had to make sure that she survived the journey.

  Ethan was hiding under some blankets on his way to the station, wondering how things had come to this. What was he going to do when he got to the beach without a change of clothes and only the money Andrés had given him? He was going to disappear for three days. Three days without showing any sign of life, without calling Ari or answering her messages. She’d go crazy before he could explain anything. After what felt like a hot, stuffy eternity, Lorena’s grandson pulled away the blankets, and Ethan followed him into a bustling crowd on an esplanade lined with repurposed American school buses known as chicken buses. The owners had decorated their vehicles with a lively mixture of colors and took obsessive care of them. They were especially keen to make sure to polish the hubcaps so that they gleamed before they headed out onto the dusty or muddy roads. The buses were treated like moving works of art, and in some ways they were. If you inspected each bus separately, you’d get an idea of the driver’s personality, while if you stepped back from the whole, the effect was certainly remarkable. In the United States, these vehicles had been headed for the wrecker’s yard.

  Squawking at hundreds of passengers loaded down with suitcases, bags, and packages of all kinds, livestock included, the loudspeakers announced the destination of each new departure, directing the different groups like sheepdogs herding their flock. The effectiveness of the chaotic system stunned Ethan, and before he knew it, he found himself on a seat he might well have used as a child. Seats designed for two were soon taken up by three people. Before they set out, he was able to get a look at the sticker with the weather-beaten face of Christ decorating the driver’s-side window, accompanied by the words THIS MORNING I WENT WITH JESUS. IF
I DON’T COME HOME TONIGHT, I LEFT WITH HIM. Long-distance passenger buses had become prime targets for extortion. The drivers, who coddled their property like a pet, had to pay a “war duty” to the gangs that controlled the territory their route went through. Any who refused were killed, sometimes shot in the middle of the road, filled full of bullets right in front of their passengers to teach them a lesson. After reading the rather unsettling message, Ethan decided to try to get some sleep.

  The journey was long, and its comfort level depended on the number of passengers crammed into the vehicle. The main freeway was smooth and well maintained, but the road became a double-headed snake as soon as they got into the mountains. A snake on which the buses changed lanes whenever they felt like it, forcing cars they came across to make way if they didn’t want to risk being pushed over the edge. Looking through the clouds at the other peaks in the distance, Ethan saw that right-of-way was defined by size, not traffic regulations.

  As they passed through the villages, the bus grew more crowded. The two-seat rows were filled by up to four people, and standing space was populated by a crowd that was made to hop with every bump. Right at the top of the mountains, just when it seemed that no one else would fit, the collector shouted at them all to move farther back, and when no one paid any attention, he opened the emergency exit and shoved in ten more passengers. They spent the rest of the journey with the door half-open, the collector clinging to it to make sure that no one fell out. At the height of the crush, Ethan could have sworn that he heard a clucking sound, although he had no idea where it was coming from.

  Now the almost-empty bus had reached the final stop, a metal post with no signs that Ethan took care to remember for the return journey. Beyond the village, which spread out in six irregular strips from the main road, a narrow path to the beach ran underneath an irregular canopy of palm trees. In the distance he could see several very pale women, Americans or Europeans, riding bicycles; they were about sixty years old, clad in bikinis, wraps, Caribbean braids, and other hippie-style attire. Somewhere among the trees the dust turned into sand, and after five or six rows of palm trees, which covered the path with fallen fronds, the sand turned into a beach. The coast consisted of a series of peaceful bays, over which leaned arching palm trees like an image on a postcard. The beach was so narrow that the sea reached right up to the trunks at high tide.