Emilio

by Sophie Masson

  He shouted, ‘I want to be there, where are you taking her, I have to be there!’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course you must, cielito, of course you will, they’re sending a car now to get you – tell Luz to come too – oh Milo, Milo, I can’t believe it – I still can’t . . . ’ She sounded as young as Juanita, almost as young as Luz, and suddenly Emilio felt the last of his self-control disappear, swept away by an overwhelming rush of pent-up feelings. He was crying, with happiness, with anxiety, with all the wild unleashed stress of this terrible fortnight. He hugged Luz, who was crying too, and even Alda looked tearful and told them over and over again that it would be all right, everything would be all right now.

  When Emilio first saw his mother lying unconscious in the hospital bed, so grey and drawn, with livid bruises and cuts both old and new on her face and body, he thought, No it won’t be all right! She wasn’t at all well, the nurses said; she’d been given a high dose of some very powerful sedatives on top of having been poorly fed, beaten more than once, and kept in a room so small ‘it might as well have been a box,’ said Tía Isabel.

  ‘Those bastards,’ said Tío Vicente, clenching his fists, ‘they’ll pay, don’t you worry, they’ll pay dearly for what they’ve done . . . ’

  Emilio didn’t care about the bastards, not now, not yet. All he cared about was that his mother should get well. He did not want to let her out of his sight. He was utterly exhausted but he thought that if he closed his eyes she might disappear again. He didn’t say that to anyone, of course. The family could stay for a while, the nurses said, as long as they did not get in the way. She was being well looked after, medically. And there was a policeman sitting outside the room, just in case. At one stage, Castro came in to find out exactly what Evita had said when she phoned from the plant market, and Emilio answered all the questions as well as he could with his mind not really on it. All he could see was his mother’s still face and dark hair against the white pillow, and her chest so still under the hospital sheets, and the fear rose in him, hissing, What if she doesn’t get better?

  Chapter 24

  She did get better. Three days after she was found, Gloria finally came out of the coma. Emilio was at her bedside half-reading a book, half-listening to music on his iPod, and keeping an eye on the bed where the still figure lay, when suddenly he saw her eyelids flicker.

  Emilio jumped up. At once her eyes cleared. She murmured, ‘Milo,’ and reached for his hand.

  Emilio’s chest tightened with relief, with love, with feelings he couldn’t name. Hanging on to her hand, he gasped, ‘Oh, Mamá, I’m so glad, so glad you’re awake.’

  Something like fear leapt into her eyes. ‘I don’t remember what . . . How long have I been . . . ’

  Tía Isabel had told Emilio how they’d found his mother lying unconscious, tied to some rusty old pipes in a tiny airless room in the basement of the abandoned building. ‘She looked like a broken rag doll,’ she’d said, her eyes full of tears. ‘Oh my God, Milo, it was so terrible to see her in that state.’

  But he didn’t want to tell his mother any of that now. So he said, ‘You’ve been here three days. The doctor said – said you’d been heavily dosed. He said . . . ’ But he couldn’t finish, his voice was too choked with emotion.

  ‘Oh my poor Milo. My sweet brave boy,’ she said, with tears in her eyes, and they hugged each other, gently, because of her bruises.

  ‘Shall I help you sit up, Mamá?’ he said after a moment, and when she said yes, he arranged the pillows behind her and helped her up. It was then that the rest of the family came back. Oh, the cries of joy that ensued then! Oh the tears and smiles and kisses and hugs! Gloria said, with a rueful twist of the mouth, ‘I’ve been such a trouble to you all. You’ve all been through such a terrible time for my sake, and I’m so sorry . . . ’

  ‘Don’t you dare be sorry,’ ordered Isabel. ‘It’ll make you ill all over again and that would never do. You’re not to worry about a single thing, not a thing, you understand.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No buts. You’re not allowed to worry until you’re all better,’ said her sister, kissing her on the cheek.

  Emilio called his grandfather with the news that his mother was awake – he had of course been told days ago that she’d been found – and Gloria insisted on speaking to him at once. It was only a brief conversation, but Emilio could tell it was a good one, and that for the first time in years, his mother and grandfather were connecting, awkwardly perhaps, but definitely. ‘He’s invited us both to Mérida when I’m feeling better,’ said Gloria when she hung up, ‘and do you know, Milo, we might take him up on that, what do you think?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Emilio, his heart swelling with gladness, ‘I think that is such a good idea.’

  Later that morning, Señor Sellers called from Arizona, and was also delighted to hear the good news. He too spoke briefly to Gloria, and told her that as far as he was concerned, the deal with his company and hers was still very much alive. ‘Bill Taylor and I have talked it over, and we can help cover things for a while and give you support,’ he said, ‘till you’re back on your feet.’

  ‘But you’ve taken a big risk on my account,’ she said. ‘The hotel shares—’

  ‘Why, don’t you fret about that, Gloria,’ he said. ‘All’s just fine. Nobody’s taking our hotel. It’s all working out. All’s well that ends well. So don’t worry.’

  ‘You are good men, both of you,’ said Gloria in a shaky voice, to which he replied, ‘No, ma’am, we are just businessmen and we’re fully expecting that this will be to our mutual benefit,’ but they all knew the truth, and were glad. The kidnap had shown the cruelty and vicious greed of some people but also the kindness and courage of others, and that afternoon, when Castro came to the hospital to interview Gloria, this was emphasised again. While the policeman was in the room with Gloria, recording her statement, Alda told the rest of the family outside that thanks to Evita’s information, Esposito had been arrested, in company with a young woman whom they now knew was the so-called Flor de la Noche.

  ‘What about Evita? ‘ asked Emilio anxiously. ‘If they find out she gave them up . . . ’

  ‘They won’t,’ said Alda. ‘Everything about Evita is off the record, I promise you that.’

  Castro confirmed that later. ‘You see, we picked them both up on a technicality, nothing to do with the interrogation, and he believed it, so now he’s giving us chapter and verse. We’ve also now picked up two other gang members. They all swear blind it was all their idea and el Capitán Medina had nothing to do with it. They’re loyal to their boss – or scared of him, or both. It’s going to take some time to pin it on him as well. But we won’t give up, and at least we have those four in custody.’

  ‘What about the money, did you find that?’ said Tío Vicente, earning himself a cross look from his wife.

  ‘I’m afraid only a portion of that was recovered,’ said the policeman, ‘about a quarter of it, in fact. We suspect the rest of it was funnelled immediately to Medina through an intermediary, possibly a crooked lawyer, and we’re looking into that too. But of course what’s been recovered, which must have been the percentage for those who actually snatched Señora Lopez, will be returned to you as soon as possible. I’m sorry I don’t have better news on that.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Tía Isabel. ‘We can deal with that later. All that counts right now is that Gloria’s safe, and with us again.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Castro.

  ‘Was Gloria able to identify Esposito and Flor and the others?’ asked Juanita.

  ‘Well, she only saw them briefly when she was first abducted – they either wore hoods or kept her blindfolded when they were with her, even when she spoke to you on the phone. So she never really saw their faces clearly, but she heard their voices and recognised them all right on the tape I played her, extracted from the interrogation I’ve conducted with both Flor and Esposito. They were pretty careful about using
names in her presence – but they slipped up once and she overheard one of them call out to Flor, which is why she passed on that message to you. They never guessed. A quick thinker, your mother.’ He smiled. ‘Like mother, like son.’

  Emilio flushed. He said, ‘Can I – can I ask you a favour, Agent Castro?’

  ‘Sure. What is it?’ said the policeman.

  ‘Can I please – I’d like to see – I mean, I would like to see their faces.’

  ‘Emilio!’ protested his aunt. ‘Why would you want that? It’ll only give you nightmares.’

  ‘No,’ said Emilio. ‘It’s – it’s the opposite.’ It was difficult to explain what was in his mind, that otherwise the faceless creatures that had haunted his life for those two terrible weeks would stay as monstrous shadows, gnawing away at him, if he didn’t put faces and names to them. He wanted to explain that he needed to see them if he was ever to start to purge the poison of what had happened and begin to feel safe again. But he couldn’t bring out the words.

  But Alda understood. He could see that in her eyes. She said, ‘Raúl, I think it can be done, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the policeman simply, and then he opened the folder he held and showed them four photographs. One was of Esposito, whom they recognised from the nightclub camera tape; two were of two other young men, one burly, with hard eyes and a sharp haircut; the other small and wiry, with a soft face. (‘Your caretaker recognised that one as the courier who brought the first message, after your mother was abducted,’ Castro explained to Emilio.) And the fourth was of a young woman in her early twenties, no older than Juanita or Alda. She wasn’t the girl on Esposito’s arm in the nightclub, but someone they’d never seen before. And she was quite pretty too, a little like Alda in looks with her petite figure and shining straight bob – if it hadn’t been for a dead-eyed stare. ‘We strongly suspect Flor was the ringleader on the outside,’ said Castro, ‘answering directly to Medina.’ A pause. ‘We know a little more about her now. She’s not from Sinaloa or Mexico City like the others. She’s from Juárez.’

  Emilio looked into the stony black eyes of the girl in the photograph, the girl who looked vaguely like Alda, and he thought, both of them grew up in the same hard and violent place, but Alda is someone who tries to save lives, while Flor is someone who tries to destroy them. Yet once they’d both been innocent little children. How did that happen, that one person can grow up to be a helper and another into a killer?

  Alda had said, talking of her cousin who’d joined a gang that ‘When you grow up in that atmosphere, nothing is normal.’ Maybe that’s what had happened to Flor and Esposito and the others, Emilio thought. Maybe once they’d been like Evita, lost children who’d drifted into crime that just got worse and worse. Or like Alda’s cousin, Joaquin, they’d come from loving but troubled backgrounds. Or like Medina, they’d been from ‘connected’ families where crime was a well-rewarded way of life. Or even that they’d come from ordinary families, ordinary backgrounds. But who cared? He certainly didn’t. He didn’t want to know their stories. What mattered was what they’d done. A last spurt of white-hot hate and rage flamed in him, then died. He’d looked at their faces and now they’d no longer be shadows. Their dirty war had burst into his life and changed it forever. He wanted them to pay for what they’d done, to be in prison for a long time. But he no longer wanted to waste any emotion on them, not even hate or anger. They weren’t worth it.

  He handed back the folder to Castro. He looked at the policeman, and at Alda. ‘Thank you for letting me see,’ he said. ‘And on my behalf, and that of my mother, and all our family’ – here he looked at the others, who nodded – ‘I want to thank you both very much for everything you’ve done for us.’ Solemnly, he offered his hand.

  ‘It’s our job, Emilio,’ replied Castro as he shook hands. Alda did likewise, then she said, ‘It has been an honour to work with you all, and I cannot say too strongly how much I admire this family’s steadfastness in the face of this experience. It is always a nightmare, but strong bonds such as yours help so much. Thank you, Señor and Señora Torres, for your trust in and kindness to me, and taking me into your family when I was such an unwelcome reminder of what was happening.’

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ said Tío Vicente, gruffly, pumping her hand.

  Tía Isabel kissed the young negotiator on both cheeks. ‘You are welcome, my dear, so very welcome, any time to visit us.’

  Juanita gave her a hug, saying, ‘I second exactly what Mamá said. And it’s been an honour to work with you.’

  ‘And with you,’ said Alda. Then she turned to Emilio and Luz. ‘And may I say that your parents must be so very proud of you both, you have been so helpful and mature and brave—’

  ‘No, that was Emilio,’ said Luz, blushing in embarrassment, ‘I didn’t do much, not really.’

  ‘You did too,’ said Emilio cheerfully, ‘so stop contradicting people, chica,’ and he hugged her and then his aunt came to them and hugged them both and then Juanita and her father, and none of them noticed Alda and Castro slipping discreetly away.

  Three days after that conversation, Emilio’s mother was back home, with Emilio, in their own flat. Everyone helped them settle in, and Tía Isabel stayed a few extra days with them, ‘just to help out’, as she said, because Gloria was still a little weak from her ordeal. It was strange to be back, but good too. Señor Santiago was so pleased to see them, and so were their neighbours in the building – even people they’d hardly ever spoken to before told them how glad they were to see Gloria safe.

  Emilio went back to school on the second day after his mother returned home, and though he dreaded that his friends might ply him with questions, they didn’t. They were all too relieved that it had all ended well, and that his mother was safe and getting better by the day. Pablo did ask him if he wanted revenge against the kidnappers, and after a moment Emilio shrugged and said he hoped they’d go to prison for a long time, that was all, and Pablo saw the look on his face and didn’t persist.

  A couple of weeks after, Emilio and his mother went for a weekend to Mérida, but not alone, for the rest of the family had been invited too. It was a little stiff at first but in the end turned out very well, and on the drive back to Mexico City, Tío Vicente said, ‘He’s a gentleman of the old school, that one,’ and Gloria said, with a little sigh, ‘Yes, he is. He’s a fine man.’

  They’d gone together, just the three of them, Emilio, his mother and his grandfather, to his father’s grave, and there Gloria and Juán had listened silently while Emilio laid some flowers at Jorge’s grave and told the story of all that had happened. ‘But we’re all here now, Papá,’ he finished, ‘and we all love you, and miss you,’ and when he looked up at the adults, he saw their eyes were full of tears. Tears of sadness but also of gladness, and in that moment, he knew that something had changed, and that his mother and grandfather understood something about each other at last. They’d not ever be as close to each other as Emilio was to both of them, of course. But it would do. It would do very well.

  Chapter 25

  It is a Sunday many months later. Emilio is back at his aunt’s and uncle’s place. But it’s different, this time. His mother’s there too, and his grandfather, and soon his friends will be arriving, Pablo and Sierra and Nina and Sergio, and so will many others, neighbours and friends of the family, for this is going to be one big party. The tables are groaning with food and drink, Luz and Juanita are buzzing around putting up decorations, his grandfather and his uncle are cheerfully arguing over music for the party, his mother and his aunt are making enough tortillas for an army, checking sauces, tossing salads. Emilio is running around helping everyone in turn, or ‘getting in everyone’s way’, as Luz informs him when he tries to tell her that the decoration she’s put up is crooked.

  Emilio doesn’t mind Luz telling him off. He doesn’t mind anything, as long as everyone is together, safe, and things are normal again. As he rushes around, he thinks how lucky they’ve b
een. Sure, the rest of the ransom money has never been found, but the insurance companies did refund most of it, under the kidnap clause, and Emilio’s grandfather recovered nearly all his money. The bank was very understanding and helped Lopez Travel through the difficult time, and as Señor Sellers had promised, the deal between Lopez Travel and Holiday South went through and was duly celebrated at the long-delayed party. As to the kidnappers, the law still ground on very slowly but eventually they were brought to trial and all convicted and sentenced to long stretches in prison. They’d steadfastly refused to give up Medina, but in the end it didn’t matter – mysteriously, the gangster was found stabbed to death in the prison library one day. Though like so many killings connected with the drug war the murder was never solved, the rumour was that it was to do with a falling-out with the Sinaloa cartel. Something to do with a hotel that had been promised to them, but never materialised.

  As to Evita, I was right, Emilio thinks. After she’d been released from hospital, she’d evaded the people who were supposed to take her to the orphanage, but in the end Padre Benitez found her. Though at first she fought against being there, in time she grew used to it and even to like it. It is a good place, quiet and small. Many of the children there have been orphaned by gang violence, and the staff are dedicated and kind, but more than that, they understand.

  Evita texts and calls from time to time, and she and Emilio exchange links to cartoons and movies. He’s visited her a few times too, by himself and with Luz, and one time Evita told him she’d decided that what she wants to do when she grows up is make cartoons. She showed them cartoons she drew and even a simple animation she filmed using the iPhone camera. It looked totally like something a kid had made, Emilio thought, but that’s okay. She is a kid. It’s a start.

  The door-buzzer rings. Someone else has arrived, and is buzzed in by Juanita. Emilio is carrying a pile of plates to the dining room when the door opens. It’s Padre Benitez and Alda, but also another person, looking much more shy than Emilio has ever seen her. ‘Evita!’ he says, smiling, putting the plates down and coming towards her, with Luz. ‘We’re so glad you could come.’