Shadows Across America

by Guillermo Valcarcel

  “And you.”

  “You’re . . . you’re so different, so . . . handsome,” Michelle said, blushing.

  “You look the same as ever.”

  They hugged again, a little disoriented by the moment.

  Standing next to Michelle was a character to whom Ethan took an immediate dislike: a tall, gawky kid with narrow shoulders and thin arms in a string vest, chains, and pants pulled down below his ass to reveal designer underwear. His skin was covered in common, rather unimaginative tattoos, while he was further adorned by thick reflective sunglasses and multiple rings. The hair under his baseball cap had been cut into shapes. He didn’t look dangerous, but it wasn’t for want of trying. Ethan had brought in the type thousands of times over—he knew how to deal with them, but it worried him that one had appeared before he’d even left the airport. “Ethan, this is my little brother, Beto. I told you about him, remember?”

  “Uh . . .” Ethan looked the kid over again. Not a promising sight. “Yes, of course. But he was much younger then. He was a little kid.”

  Michelle responded with a forced laugh. “Of course! But he grew up! He’s much bigger now. Look how big he got!”

  Beto nodded disinterestedly while Michelle went on.

  “Beto loaned me his car to come pick you up. He asked to come because he was excited to meet you. I’ve told him all about you. Tell him, Beto.”

  Beto’s answer, a kind of snort as he examined his iPhone, belied her words.

  “But you can drive,” Ethan said. “You don’t drive anymore?”

  “Of course I do. It’s Beto who can’t drive—I have to take him everywhere—but he asked to meet you.”

  “You’re not very talkative, kid.”

  This was answered with another obnoxious grunt that might have meant anything. Ethan saw that Beto was going over his Snapchat history.

  Michelle cuffed him like a small child. “He’s shy, but he’s a good kid. You’ll see.”

  Unsurprisingly, the vehicle matched its owner. Ethan raised his eyebrows at the cheap Korean model covered in stickers set off with blue LEDs under the chassis, giving it an electric, ghostly gleam.

  “Wow, very nice. I see that you’ve tuned it up.”

  “Customized, bro.”

  Beto called shotgun, making Ethan sit in the back. During the drive, he got bored of his phone and started to chatter away just as casually as he’d previously stayed quiet.

  “How ya doing?”

  “Fine, thanks. You?”

  “Is it true you’re a body hunter?”

  “Well, something like that.”

  “How many men have you killed?”

  “I’ve shot at a few and wounded even fewer. But I’ve never killed anyone. How about you, Beto?”

  Beto heard the sarcasm in his voice and laughed through his nose, grunting unpleasantly.

  Michelle chided him with a look that shocked Ethan as much as it did her brother. “That’s not something you talk about like that, as though it doesn’t matter.”

  Beto laughed again to assert his independence.

  “That’s enough, Beto. Stop it,” Michelle said in her very measured tone.

  For a while an uncomfortable silence hung in the car. Ethan didn’t recognize this prim Michelle. She’d been to the hospital with him twice, once for a bullet wound, and had handled his job without blinking. Michelle had listened to his tales of arrests happily, laughing when he laughed, supporting him no matter what. Maybe this wasn’t the same Michelle. Maybe, he thought, she wasn’t as lighthearted as she seemed. Then, in the blink of an eye, she was herself again, smiling into the rearview mirror.

  “Let’s talk about nice things. You should see the meal my mom made to welcome you. I hope you’re hungry.”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Everyone’s coming.”

  “Everyone?”

  “The family and some friends who remember you. You’ll see. Everyone loves you around here! My brother Andrés will be there.”

  “Andrés is coming? How many people are we talking about?”

  “Well, about twenty, maybe?”

  “Are you serious?” Ethan’s mood soured, although he tried to hide it.

  “You don’t like the idea?” Unexpectedly, Michelle began to overreact. “Shall I cancel it? You’re right! Beto, tell Mom we have to cancel. I don’t know what I was thinking; I was so happy you were coming. I wanted to—”

  “No, Michelle, don’t worry. Relax. It’s fine. I’m very happy to be seeing Andrés, but I thought . . . considering why I’m here . . . I don’t know. Maybe we should be a little discreet. You never know . . .”

  “You’re right. I . . . the barbecue was Beto’s idea. He was so excited you were coming, even though it doesn’t seem like it. And I thought it was so sweet. He’s even invited his girlfriend and her family to meet you.”

  “Good vibes, man,” Beto said, very proud of his achievement.

  “Fine. Forget I said anything. I’m sure it’ll be great. Did you find me a hotel nearby?”

  “You’re staying with us. It’s not up for discussion—the room is ready. There’s even a closet for you.”

  As the conversation went on, Ethan felt trapped in a spider’s web he was afraid he might get lost in, surrounded by a city of wide avenues and skyscrapers, its hillsides swarming with shacks and half-naked children staring listlessly at the traffic. They turned off the freeway and cruised along narrow roads with high-walled drains for storm water, heading for a more remote neighborhood. Working-class housing appeared: a mixture of adobe and brick with prefab and cement houses, accentuating the improvised, provisional feel of the city. In the background the mountain peaks stood out against the cobalt sky with dark storm clouds skidding across from one sea to another, periodically blocking out a harsh, merciless sun. Central America: a strip of land caught between the two largest oceans on earth. The bodies of water stared back at the land’s inhabitants with insolence, emphasizing the fragility of its resigned but tough, sensuous but repressed, innocent but criminal offspring. There was only one way to understand Central America, and that was to immerse yourself in it. You needed to delve into the soil of its fertile jungle, the cruelty of its aggressive beauty, the desolation of its desert of men, and especially the danger of its volcanoes and violence of its earthquakes, the twin powers that both decimated the land and kept it afloat.

  Michelle’s mother’s house was located in one of the city’s poorest settlements. Doña Maria shared it with Michelle and Beto. The settlements were like twisted reflections of American towns. The suburbs in the north, neat but repetitive, were laid out in impersonal patterns that down south turned into rutted streets festooned with worn-out but attractive and colorful facades surrounded by fences and barbed wire that served as reminders of the fear in which the residents lived: the stark contrast of pain and vitality that one only found in the tropics.

  Doña Maria’s house was Caribbean green, flanked by a sky-blue one to the right and a purple one to the left. Wide and shallow, a short drive ran between what might one day be hedges and an earth patio to the rear separated by a ditch from three other identical patios. There was an outhouse nobody used, a modest living room, four bedrooms with just one bathroom, a kitchen, and a utility room annex.

  When they parked, Doña Maria came out, making a huge fuss over the greeting, certain that the neighbors, who spent most of their time in the shade of their doorways, would be watching. She was elegantly built but overweight, wearing plenty of well-applied makeup, though her skin was tough and weathered. She kissed Ethan and wished a thousand blessings upon him as she pressed a card with the image of a saint into his hand.

  “You have no idea the good it does us to see you, m’hijo. God has brought you here, and God will see the girl brought back safe and sound. God wants everything to be well. God protects me.”

  She shared her daughter’s flirtatiousness, but her conversation was sprinkled with the chaste outbursts of prayer and bless
ings so common to the elderly. Nonetheless, she lacked the goodness that Ethan still sensed in Michelle, in spite of her actions. Now Michelle surprised him again by ignoring her family’s celebrations and slipping indoors with a humility very unusual for her. In his room, once free of the family’s welcome, Ethan saw that she had unpacked his suitcase and set aside items that needed to be ironed. He found her tending to things in the kitchen, and Ethan was made uncomfortable by this servitude, but the others didn’t seem to find it out of the ordinary.

  “Michelle, what are you doing?”

  Doña Maria stepped in. “Sit down, m’hijo. Let her look after you; it makes her happy.”

  No, it doesn’t, he thought.

  “Michelle,” Ethan said. “We need to talk about Michi. I need photos, information—”

  “She doesn’t have any of that. You can get it from Andrés. He’s taken charge of everything.”

  “It’s true. Andrés is back with us,” Michelle said, offering Ethan a glass of guava juice. “He’s been the most help.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather have a beer instead of the guava juice?” Doña Maria said. “Michelle made the juice, but I bet you’d rather have a beer after that horrible journey. I don’t know what it’s like to fly on a plane, but you must be tired. Oh, I’m so scared of them! Why don’t you lie down before the others arrive?”

  “I’d like a beer, Mommy,” Beto said, trying to twist the situation to his own advantage.

  “Not you, Beto. What will Don Ethan think of us?”

  Ethan picked up the glass. “Juice would be just fine.”

  Doña Maria offered him a plate of fried plantain and yucca. “The meat will be wonderful. My son-in-law, Jonathan, is coming to make it. He’s a grill master.”

  “Your son-in-law?”

  “Leidy’s brother. She’s Beto’s girlfriend. A lovely girl—they live a few blocks away, in Colonia Trece, on the other side.”

  Michelle, who hadn’t even sat down, made to leave. “Well, I’m going to get ice and everything else we need before they arrive. I’ll let Mom explain everything: what we’ve done so far and what we know.”

  Doña Maria fixed Ethan with an inquiring gaze. “We hired a detective, you know. The best in the city, God bless him.”

  Ethan looked at Michelle, but she avoided his gaze and walked out to Beto’s ridiculous car.

  “Wait, Michelle, I’ll go with you. I’ve barely even said hello.”

  Beto sighed in exasperation and got up reluctantly. “Fine, let’s go.”

  “No, Beto, I’d rather go alone, if you don’t mind. That way you can get ready for the party.” Ethan’s expression brooked no argument.

  Michelle’s mother sent them on their way with feigned enthusiasm. “Of course, Don Ethan! Michelle, you know what we need; make sure you get everything.”

  At first Michelle didn’t say anything. She was deep in thought or immersed in the strange melancholy that seemed to have haunted her since she’d come under her family’s sway. After giving her some time, Ethan started to ask questions.

  “Whose idea was it to hold a big party, Michelle?”

  “Beto’s. I’m sorry. I know it’s a bad idea, but Mom got excited. He’s the youngest, her baby. And I thought you might like to see some old friends.”

  “It’s OK; don’t beat yourself up. I’d rather have gone incognito, but it’ll be nice to see them. And I suppose that Beto and your mother were going to tell everyone about me anyway, so it’s not like any harm’s been done. I am surprised that Andrés is coming.”

  “You know him. We hadn’t seen him for years, but as soon as he heard about the kidnapping, he came right away and told us that he’d take care of everything. Anything we needed . . .” Michelle choked up as she spoke. “He asked me why I hadn’t called you. That was when I wrote Bear, after what Andrés said. You know how good he is. He still isn’t talking to my mom or Beto, but he’s doing everything. He’s the only one I trust to help me no matter what. I . . . you can’t do anything without a man to help, can you?”

  This woman was nothing like the liberated, independent Michelle that Ethan knew or thought he knew. He worried that he’d never really known her. The fear had always been there, but now that he was faced with this new side of Michelle, a completely different Michelle, it grew exponentially.

  “I’ve never heard you say anything like that before.”

  Michelle shrugged. “That’s how the world is.”

  “I remember when you didn’t want to be tied down, when you didn’t know if you could live with anyone after Michi’s father. You didn’t know if you wanted to get married, to lose your freedom . . .”

  “I haven’t changed. You feel different things at different times. And look who’s talking—you couldn’t live on your own. The moment I met that kid Ari, I knew she’d be a problem. I acted badly, but we would have broken up just the same.”

  “Broken up? You left without saying a word!”

  “I knew that girl would get in the way. I just went a little early.”

  “A little early?”

  They rode in silence until they got to the supermarket. When they’d gotten out of the car, they looked at one another, trying to make up for lost time.

  “I’m sorry. I did it all wrong,” Michelle said. “I was a coward. I messed up everything. I’ve gone over it so many times—I was so horrible . . . I’ve never forgiven myself.”

  “You would have done things differently if you could?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Ethan was caught by surprise. After her confession, Michelle moved toward him, her face a picture of anguish, and wrapped her arms around him. She was being so gentle, but he couldn’t help notice her breasts pressing against him. He felt trapped and disoriented.

  Michelle whispered, “If I could change things, my darling, if I could go back in time . . . I’d stay with you. But it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

  “Why is that?”

  “The girl would still have come between us.”

  He stepped back. “That’s what you’re telling yourself now to justify what you did.”

  “But I told you, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “Women know these things.”

  “That’s not true, and you know it.”

  “You don’t like me saying that women aren’t born to live alone, but you went off to live with that girl. I don’t have any men in my life. I’ve learned to live without them. The men here are no good. They’re macho—you know that. They don’t care about us; they forget you like the father of my little girl did. They don’t even care about their children. They leave you. You say you’ve never heard me talk like this, but I never looked for anyone else, and you did. Now you think that I’ve changed?”

  “I don’t know, Michelle. I never know with you.”

  “You don’t know if I’m the same person, but listen: Andrés stopped talking to me because of Randall. He was the biggest mistake of my life, but we talked it over and made up. And now it’s settled.”

  Randall. Just the name made him choke on his own bile. The lounge singer, the starving ladies’ man with musical pretensions who turned up with nothing but debts and his guitar and had ended up dragging Michelle back to her home country only to abandon her with the breezy declaration that “he was born to be free.” The no-good con man. A bum whose only goal in life was conquest and deceit. He was addicted to feeding his ego. Randall was a home-wrecker: he got what he wanted out of women and then disappeared, leaving behind a trail of hatred that meant he could never go back. If Ethan ever saw him again, he couldn’t be held responsible for his actions.

  “I know I hurt you. I was acting crazy, but that’s all behind me. Like I said, if I could, I’d change everything. I’d be there right now with you and Mi . . . safe and sound.”

  Her voice broke. Ethan thought that this was the first sincere emotion she’d revealed since he’d landed, but she immediately got ahold of herself.
>
  “What I said about men. Not all men are the same. Here they’re all misogynists, but I know that some men really do share their lives with you and make you happy. I had a life like that, and I ruined it. I know that you don’t get a second chance with things like that. That’s why I choose to be alone.”

  Here comes the sugar. Ethan recognized the telltale signs: the demure eyes, the sighs, the way she somehow made you feel guilty . . . she was still a master of manipulation.

  “Michelle, forget about the past. That’s not why I’m here.”

  “But still, you’re here, and everything’s OK. I’m calm now. I know that everything’s going to be all right. You’re going to make everything all right.”

  “I can’t work miracles.”

  “I know that, you idiot. I’m not getting my hopes up, but you came to help. Things can only get better from here.”

  When they’d finished their shopping, Michelle’s wide smile returned. She even tickled the back of his neck as they put the groceries in the trunk. Ethan took advantage of the relaxed moment to get back to the subject she seemed to be continuously avoiding.

  “Who’s the detective your mother mentioned?”

  “I don’t know. You can talk about that with Andrés. I know he’s made an appointment to go see him tomorrow.”

  “And you’ll be coming with us.”

  “No, I have to go to work. Andrés is dealing with it.”

  “I don’t understand. Why are you trying to avoid this?”

  “I’m not avoiding anything, but Andrés came to help me, and I—I . . . it’s good for me. Everything’s fine now. Now that both of you—”

  “Tell me exactly what happened. Tell me this afternoon: how it happened, what you did. I don’t understand why you’re not telling me anything.”

  “Talk to Andrés. He knows everything—he has—”

  Michelle was in a hurry to get back home, but Ethan stopped her. She struggled weakly to get free of his grip, avoiding his gaze.

  “Oh, let me go! The guests are coming, and we still have to—”

  “Look at me. Talk to me, Michelle.”

  “I want to—”

  “Talk to me about your daughter. I’ve come to find her. Where’s Michi? Why can’t you even say her name? What happened before the kidnapping? What can you tell me that might help us? Why don’t you want anything to do with this? Talk to me!”