Shadows Across America

by Guillermo Valcarcel

  “Hi, Jonathan,” Ethan said. “Is Beto with you?”

  Jonathan stepped away from the wall to block his path. “No one’s here, gringo,” Jonathan said. “Go back where you came from—you look hot. Why don’t you get Michelle to make you a lemonade?”

  “Jonathan, I don’t want any trouble, but we need to talk.”

  “I don’t know you. I don’t know you, gringo. I saw you the other day at the barbecue, but I don’t know you, and I don’t trust you. Go back if you don’t want to start eating shit.”

  Ethan saw that several of the locals had crept forward; they were almost at the porch. He wasn’t sure of their intentions, but for the moment their body language didn’t seem threatening. He raised his hands in a sign of peace and kept walking forward. “I just want to talk, Jonathan. I know Beto is with you. I only want to ask some questions, and then I’ll go.”

  Jonathan took a territorial stance. “No. Go away. Now.”

  The locals waited a few feet away without revealing their allegiances. Then Jonathan’s mother poked her head from the doorway, distracting him.

  “Go back inside, Ma.”

  Ethan tried to guess the mood of the crowd, but it was impossible to read. There was something electric in the air that made him anxious, a kind of anger and thirst for violence that grew with every new arrival. He considered stopping and going back; the potential danger seemed too great, and he didn’t want to imperil Andrés. He knew that he could handle a couple of bums but not a crowd. He was relieved that he hadn’t brought the gun. If the locals decided to defend their guy, he and Andrés might not get out of there alive. But he also knew that if he turned back now, they’d be missing out on their only chance. He plunged on into the unknown.

  Just then, a group of Andrés’s friends began shouting.

  “He says that they’re part of a gang!”

  More joined in.

  “Jonathan sells names to kidnappers!”

  “Our people!”

  The crowd began to murmur. Jonathan and Ethan looked for the source of the shouts, each just as surprised as the other. Now the man closest to them stepped up to question the accused.

  “Is that true, man?”

  Jonathan waved him away dismissively. “Get out of my way, scum.” He turned back to Ethan, trying to turn the attention back on him. “Come here, gringo. I’m gonna smash your face in.”

  But his accusers weren’t going to fall for it. Another voice chimed in. “Hey, kid! We’re talking to you. What are these strangers saying?”

  Jonathan turned to face the newcomer. “If you don’t want something bad to happen to you, you’d better get on back home.”

  The man recoiled from the threat. But his companion stepped forward. “Young man, we’re only asking a question. There’s no need to get upset.”

  Jonathan turned to this new man and strode toward him aggressively. His opponent stood his ground, and soon they were within punching distance.

  “Oh, yes? You want some too? Come here!”

  Jonathan’s mother watched from the doorway, trembling. The commotion had now spread to the entire block; every door and window was open. Children hung out in groups while the elderly slowly approached. Andrés had stopped a few feet away without intervening. Ethan was keeping an eye on the house, where he saw a shadow scurrying around. The wives of the men confronting Jonathan shouted encouragement. A truck stopped, and the driver shamelessly sat watching with a passive expression. Ethan ignored the distraction and focused on the movement inside. He realized that now Jonathan’s protection was faltering, Leidy might try to slip out the back. Jonathan’s opponent wasn’t backing down.

  “Hey, my friend here is asking if you’re one of the pieces of shit who provides information to fucking kidnappers.”

  Jonathan’s face reddened in anger. “Calm down, man! You’re the piece of shit, just like that other fucker! Get out of here, or I’ll—”

  His companion stepped forward again, speaking firmly but calmly. “I need to know.”

  Andrés took advantage of a slight drop in tension to separate them, seeking the help of the third man.

  “Listen, we can all talk about this in a civilized way . . .”

  But his prospective ally wasn’t as helpful as he’d hoped. “Yes, because if not, I’ll call the police, and we’ll see if they can get to the bottom of this.”

  Ethan, passing unnoticed amid the confusion, headed for the house, but Jonathan’s mother stood in his way.

  “You’re not coming in here, you bastard!”

  Ethan heard a door slam and gently pushed the mother out of the way before rushing inside. His actions distracted the others, and Jonathan seized his moment. He head butted the man closest to him in the nose, and he fell back in a daze, bleeding profusely. Before the other two could react, Jonathan ripped off his belt with his right hand and skillfully started to whip it at the others. While they protected their faces, he swatted the belt around so he could hit them with the buckle. Meanwhile, Ethan was chasing Leidy. He was followed in turn by her mother, who was screaming hysterically.

  “Run, girl! He’s coming for you!”

  The old lady jumped on Ethan with surprising agility given her frame and grabbed his arm, but he pushed her back down. After he’d shaken her free, he came face-to-face with the toddler he’d seen at the party. The sight of the baby in bare feet and just a T-shirt worried him, given the unstable situation.

  “Quickly, run to the kitchen and stay there.”

  Patito obeyed silently, marching off like a half-naked soldier.

  Jonathan was flailing around with his belt, hitting Andrés and the neighbor, who protected themselves with their arms, trying to deflect the blows. The buckle caught the other man in the cheek, ripping out a chunk of flesh. The attacker let out a grunt not dissimilar to laughter. The crowd filled the street and spilled onto the property, asking questions and shouting accusations, both horrified by and savoring the spectacle. When blood started to flow, the mood grew more heated.

  “They’re old men! Why don’t you mess with someone your own age?”

  “Killer! Bastard!”

  But Jonathan went on exultantly until Andrés managed to get ahold of the belt. There were shouts of encouragement and even some applause. The truck driver had left his vehicle parked in the road and was striding purposefully toward the altercation. A man of intimidating size with a muscular frame, it looked as though he might prove a different prospect entirely. And he was coming right for Jonathan. Seeing Jonathan look away, Andrés pulled the belt away from him. Jonathan, now aware of the danger, let it go and headed back inside to fetch a gun.

  Ethan got to the door to Leidy’s bedroom and kicked it. He knew it would open easily given the flimsiness of the house, but he hadn’t expected just how flimsy it would be: his leg went straight through the cardboard-and-balsa-wood door. He fell forward, wondering how he could be so stupid, and he tried to extricate his leg. Then he saw Jonathan run into the hall. Seeing that he’d caught Ethan in a vulnerable position, Jonathan changed course. What he didn’t know was that as fast as he might be, Ethan was trained, and he wasn’t. The kid took three strides forward and got ready to turn the fourth into a kick to Ethan’s face. But even with his leg stuck, Ethan was able to avoid the kick and punch Jonathan in the balls. Jonathan gasped for air and collapsed, too hurt even to scream in pain.

  Ethan finally shook himself free and assessed the scene before his next move: the mother, convinced until very recently that her son was about to smash Ethan’s head in, sat still, stunned by what she had just witnessed. Patito was hiding under the kitchen table just as he’d been instructed; Jonathan was curled in the fetal position, unable to get up. A quick glance through the hole he’d made confirmed Ethan’s suspicion that Leidy had already escaped. However, he noticed that the noise outside contrasted sharply with the silence indoors. Leaving the house, he saw a huge man striding forward, flanked by a pair of opportunists. The trio entered the house an
d headed straight for Jonathan, who was still lying on the floor. Surprised to find him in that position, the giant truck driver gave Ethan a complicit wink that Ethan didn’t return. He effortlessly lifted Jonathan up, and the two other men spat at him before the giant set about rearranging the boy’s face with his fist. The mother reacted by hauling herself up and screaming desperately.

  “My little boy! What are you doing to little Jonny? Bastards! Motherfuckers!”

  Ethan’s apprehension about what might happen next grew. It wasn’t the coming beating: the activity around the house had increased, and he knew from experience to pay more attention to that than what was about to happen indoors. He couldn’t hear much rage, but the initial tension had reached a critical point. He sensed a thirst for blood that would demand more than Jonathan being beaten to a pulp. The mother’s screams were echoed by the conversations out on the street. The tone grew darker, changing from initial indignation to suspicion, accusation, and condemnation. Soon, the latter was all that would matter. Having got his wind back and left his companion in the hands of some good Samaritans, Andrés came into the house. His arms were covered in scratches and bruises. Curious onlookers followed closely behind, eagerly filling up the space. Ethan saw what was going on and decided to move quickly. He met Andrés’s eyes and nodded to him to get out, but the anguished Christian forgot his own injuries and rushed to halt the pummeling of his erstwhile attacker.

  “Brothers! Brothers! Stop before you do something you regret!”

  By way of an answer, a brick came through the window, getting tangled up in a curtain. This new development made everyone freeze for a moment, all except for Ethan, who saw himself in the middle of a potential riot. The atmosphere was about to explode; it only needed a spark. He could hear what they were saying through the broken window.

  “Murderers! Kidnappers! You’ve killed our children!”

  Mixed in with the general agitation were the laments of mourners, relatives of people who had been murdered, and angrier exclamations from hotheads demanding justice. Then a cry of genuine pain rang out, quieting all the others. It was a deep, gravelly male voice that cracked halfway through.

  “They took my Sheila! Those motherfucking sons of bitches sold my Sheila. They asked for money, and we gave them everything we had! Then they left her in a field with no clothes or underwear—they threw her away like she was a thing.”

  The account broke down into a howl that sounded strange coming from such a dignified man. A shudder ran through the crowd. Soon the chorus was echoing his words.

  “They killed her! They abused her! The bastards! They killed Sheila!”

  Ethan took hold of Andrés’s wrists to pull him away from the beating. “Let’s go! We need to get out of here. Leidy escaped, and this is getting out of control.”

  “But they’re beating him! We can’t leave him like this.”

  “This is the best thing that can happen. If they take him outside for people to see, things might cal—”

  The situation changed in a flash. Jonathan’s mother went into the kitchen, where Patito was still sitting under the table, and came back with a large knife in her hand. “Get back, you motherfuckers! I’ll cut you, you pigs!”

  One of the men said, “Señora, señora, calm down—stop for a second!”

  But the woman was out of her mind. She threw herself upon him, plunging the whole blade into his side. He screamed out in pain while, blind with rage, she stabbed again and again, pushing it right to the hilt each time. Those in the crowd waiting outside who saw this swarmed into the house. Ethan grabbed Andrés by the arm and pulled him against the flow. The living room exploded into a maelstrom of shouts and screams, crashes, broken glass, smashing furniture. Ethan dragged his friend away. Andrés, stunned by what was going on, didn’t resist. As they were slipping through gaps in the mob fighting to get inside, they heard the kitchen window shatter. Ethan desperately tried to shout over the commotion.

  “The kitchen!”

  But Andrés didn’t understand. He was just trying to avoid getting crushed in the press of bodies. An obese older woman came between them, and Ethan let go of Andrés and pushed back to the kitchen, where there were fewer people. Slipping through a gap, he saw eight intruders calmly stealing whatever they could find. One of them had found Patito and was trying to corral him with a broom. The boy was crawling around under the table, hiding from the broom and rushing feet while the rest of the looters ignored him. Ethan smashed a frying pan over the head of one of them and hit another in the ear as hard as he could. The man stumbled to the side in a daze and was trying to recover his balance when he got a frying pan to the face. The other looters, who had stopped to watch the show, went back to what they were doing. Andrés had managed to make his way through the sea of bodies and immediately understood as he saw his partner lift the howling child. Ethan had seen something like this before; it was a vivid, horrifying memory. The kind of thing few ever experienced in their lives. Then, he had rescued a fifteen-year-old girl who had been determined to defend a baby from a mob even though she could have been knocked out easily and possibly killed. Acting with preternatural calm and calculation, Ethan was determined to prevent it from happening again. Andrés caught up with him and was chilled to see that his friend didn’t appear to be fully aware of what he was doing. He was relying on survival instinct and body memory alone.

  “You’re very good.”

  Ethan didn’t hear him. His mind was elsewhere, his gaze blank. “The patio.”

  They went out into a small, barren space barely six feet square, separated from other similar patios by wire fences. Andrés climbed over and asked for the boy, who was still clinging to Ethan’s neck like a screaming monkey. Just when he managed to shake the boy free and hand him over, someone came out from the kitchen.

  “Hey! What are you doing? Are you family members? You’re not going to—”

  Ethan interrupted the man with a few punches before jumping over the fence. He took back Patito, and they ran through another tiny patio, pulled away another weak fence, and ducked into a shed. As they went inside, Andrés sniffed the air.

  “Do you smell something burning?”

  Ethan went back out onto the patio. Black smoke was rising up through the gaps in the corrugated iron roof.

  “Come on—let’s go.”

  Their ears ringing with the sound of the chaos behind them, they crossed through the shed and came out into an alley. As they left, they bumped into a young man in a vest and baseball cap, a sartorial style like that of Jonathan. They stopped uncertainly. Fortunately, he held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

  “Are you trying to save the baby?”

  Ethan sized him up, trying to guess his intentions, but then Andrés recognized him. “You were in the kitchen. You’re one of the looters!”

  The man stepped back in fright. “Yes, I was there with my guys. But I saw you take the kid and came out to see where you were going. I was ashamed that I didn’t do anything to help.”

  “And now you’re going to help us?” Ethan asked suspiciously.

  “If I don’t, my grandma will be pissed. I’m Lorena’s grandson.”

  The name meant nothing to Ethan, but Andrés stepped forward to reassure him. “I’ve heard of her.”

  The young man smiled. “Are you coming?”

  “Where?”

  “To see my grandmother, of course.”

  The three of them crossed the road to get away from the flames, which were beginning to threaten the neighboring walls as they rose higher and higher. They could hear sirens in the distance. They didn’t see anyone else for the rest of their journey. Still, they felt eyes on them from all corners. They didn’t care; they were just happy to have Patito with them. The boy had passed out from the stress, but he was safe. They stopped in front of another precariously built house that looked no different from any of the others. Their guide asked them to give him five minutes to explain things to his grandmother. He ask
ed for Patito so he could show her, but Ethan refused with a smile that required no further explanation.

  “Fine, I wasn’t going to steal him. You’ll soon see that I’m telling the truth.”

  He disappeared, giving them their first minute alone since all hell had broken loose.

  “Was that how it happened?” Andrés said. “I mean, I’m sorry to ask, but is that how you saved Ari?”

  Ethan continued to stare into the middle distance. His gaze was fixed firmly in the past. “Ari had more of a chance than this poor kid . . . it was very different. But yes, it was similar with Sasha.” He paused for a long while. “I didn’t think I’d ever see faces like that again. I didn’t think it could happen so easily. There’s something wrong with us. Whatever you believe, there’s something dark in us, in how we’re made . . .”

  Before he could go on, the kid reappeared and invited them in. They headed through shabby rooms that had apparently been decorated in the eighties and then never touched again. At the back, sitting next to a sink with a large bowl of lentils, they found the grave-faced Lorena drying her hands.

  “Why don’t you give him to me?”

  She held out her arms to take the child, but Ethan made no move. She accepted this with equanimity and invited them to sit down before going back to her lentils, cleaning and draining them little by little. She spoke to her grandson in an authoritative voice. “Tinin, you haven’t offered them anything to drink.”

  “I’m sorry, Grandma. Would you like a beer or some juice? My grandma makes it.”

  “Juice, please. Thank you,” Andrés said. “I’m parched.”

  “Nothing for me right now, thank you,” Ethan answered.

  Lorena finished washing and went on making her stew, studying them all the while. “Because you don’t want to put him down?” She gave Ethan a defiant smile and turned to the child. “Patito, Patito, wake up. Patito, come to Grandma.”