by Roger Bruner
The luxury and comfort of American-style beds, pillows, and linens had spoiled me, and I would miss them while I grew accustomed to my new-once-again surroundings. Nikki and I had intended to bring sleeping bags on our trip, perhaps even air mattresses, but our plans had changed as quickly and unexpectedly as our circumstances.
Our suitcases were still in the living room at the apartment, and the food and water we meant to bring were still in Nikki’s car in the apartment parking lot. When we ran outside trying to stop Tomás’s mother, we didn’t even think to close the apartment door, much less lock it. After Tomás’s van exploded, we wouldn’t have gone back inside for any reason.
~*~
How long would adjusting to life in Santa María take? I dreaded finding out.
Alazne lay just a few feet from me. Breathing as peacefully as if last evening’s shooting hadn’t occurred. She snored and snorted a couple of times before quieting down again. I bent closer, took one of her hands in mine, and kissed each of her fingers. My affection didn’t awaken her.
Alazne had been thrilled to see me yesterday. If she noticed my bruises, she didn’t say anything.
Sending her to stay with Señora Isabel had been the right decision after all.
Alazne didn’t seem to remember the night of the murder. Señora Isabel must have convinced her she had suffered a terrible nightmare. And Tomás had apparently been good to her during their days together. Better than good.
~*~
Nikki lay quietly on another blanket a short distance across the room from Alazne and me, her head propped up on her left arm. Her tear-reddened eyes followed my movements as I tried to wake up enough to talk.
We watched one another wordlessly for several minutes.
What could I say? How could I explain? Yesterday evening had been just as hideous and horrible in its own way as the night Tomás went berserk in his drunken violence.
Unlike the earlier night, however, neither of us bore fresh bruises. Not physical bruises, anyhow.
Nikki spoke first, and the warmth of her voice set me at peace. “Are you all right, Rosa?”
I opened my mouth to say, Yes, thank you. But different words came out. Words I needed to say. “So it is really all over now?”
She sighed. “Tomás won’t be a danger anymore—not to us or to anyone else.” She looked down at the dirt floor and shook her head slowly. “Or to himself.”
~*~
Before talking with Tomás yesterday, I had wanted him dead. Seeing him fall to the ground at my feet, already close to death from Juanita’s well-placed gunshots, should have given me a sense of relief. Such a reaction would have been normal. Understandable.
But I had known—I was the only person who knew—he didn’t have a gun on him and wouldn’t have shot me even if he had.
So instead of having a normal reaction, an understandable one, I suffered sadness and regret—perhaps even a small amount of grief—over Tomás’s needless death. I used to love him. Was it possible I still did?
He had died trying to convince me he loved me. That he really loved me. And that he wouldn’t try to take advantage of me any longer.
~*~
“As evil as he was,” I said to Nikki, “he showed signs of goodness at the end.”
She shook her head as if that were impossible. Nonetheless, a desire for fairness showed in her eyes. She wanted to understand. And to believe me. “You were with him. I wasn’t.” She crossed her arms. “I can’t judge. I can’t be objective.”
She touched her broken nose. In another few weeks, Dr. Morales would remove the bandaging. “Tomás was bad enough until the end.”
Nikki had loved Tomás longer and more realistically than I ever had, yet she seemed to be rejecting that fact now. Perhaps to deny herself a reason to grieve.
I thought for a moment. “I cannot disagree.”
She hissed a long, loud sigh. “What good can anyone say about a man who would kidnap his own daughter and lead her into this kind of danger?”
Although Nikki’s words sounded harsh—perhaps rightly so—she had spoken more from disbelief than disapproval.
“He explained that yesterday afternoon. He didn’t have any fight left in him, and he told me things I wouldn’t have known otherwise.”
“And you believed him? After everything he’s put us through?”
Tomás had lied to Nikki frequently, even during the better part of their life together. He had cheated on her. I couldn’t expect her to overlook those things. She hadn’t seen the signs of change I’d seen the previous evening.
I rubbed my head. It was hurting worse again. I would beg Dr. Morales for something for the pain his tranquilizer had left behind.
“He confirmed what Mother Chalina had told me. He couldn’t have survived much longer in the kind of world he had created for himself. I have read that a man is apt to tell the truth when he sees death approaching. He has nowhere left to run, no place left to hide.”
Nikki’s eyes softened. “Do you think Tomás expected to die yesterday?”
I didn’t take time to think before responding. “Yesterday, today, tomorrow—no matter. But soon. Soon enough to tell the truth and clear his conscience before it was too late. And to make whatever amends he could in the time he had left.”
Nikki dragged her blanket next to mine and sat down. I forced myself into an upright position and locked my hands around my knees. We lowered our voices as we continued talking. Better not to have to explain this conversation to Alazne if she awakened and overheard us.
Nikki’s skepticism was understandable. Until yesterday afternoon, we had countless reasons to agree that Tomás was vile beyond anyone’s imagination. None of the suspense novels I had read over the years contained such an evil villain.
“Rosa, you’re my best friend, and you always will be, but I don’t understand your change of heart toward Tomás.”
I nodded. “If I am wrong, tell me. But not until you hear the facts. All of them.”
~*~
After I finished telling Nikki the parts of the story she didn’t know, neither of us spoke for a number of minutes. Tears ran freely from her eyes and from my own. She opened her arms, and we embraced with the tenderness and understanding two confused and suffering women feel for one another.
“No, Rosa,” Nikki said at last. “You were not wrong about Tomás. I don’t understand how, but he had changed.”
27
The rescue team finally arrived. Even they didn’t know where they had been while trying to locate Santa María.
“You’re too late,” Juanita told them. “Go home.” She didn’t bother to tell them she and Dr. Morales had taken care of things or to thank them for coming. I’m not sure I would have, either.
Would they have killed Tomás if they had been here at the crucial moment? I shook my head. That question didn’t matter. Overnight I came to accept the fact that Tomás had died weeks—perhaps months or years—before Juanita shot him.
She and Dr. Morales would take his body back to San Diego in the police van. If his enemies didn’t have a corpse to prove he was dead, they might yet find their way to Santa María, and we knew what violence they were capable of.
Nikki would follow the police van in the red sports car. I worried about her ability to drive safely after the events of the past week, but she insisted she would be fine. After all, she would have her own personal police escort looking out for her.
How could she laugh at a time like this? I couldn’t even manage a smile.
When I told Juanita I wouldn’t feel safe returning to San Diego, she suggested I remain in Santa María. Nikki’s testimony would help them wrap up the case, but they would still have no proof of his drug smuggling.
Nikki was also going to make Tomás’s funeral arrangements. Whether anyone else would attend the service was questionable.
Once that was over, she would immerse herself in the task of clearing out the apartment.
She must have unders
tood the fearful look in my eyes. It was probably the mirror image of hers.
“I’ll be back in a few days—no more than a week, I’m sure,” she assured me. “I’ll bring your things. Mother Chalina’s possessions, too. My car has more room than this teeny sports thing. The redness takes up all the storage space it should have come with.”
I was finally able to laugh, and a casual observer might have assumed that my world would soon be normal again. Despite my laughter, however, tears blurred the details of Nikki’s face.
I thought only of clothes and personal items when Nikki said she would bring my things and Mother Chalina’s. But I trusted her to bring anything else she thought I might need.
“You are okay, Nikki?” I knew she wasn’t—she couldn’t be—but I doubted whether she would admit it.
“I’m fine. I… What can I say? I loved Tomás, and you did not. But he was your husband, not mine. That was never more evident than at the very end. I apologize for sounding jealous…”
We hugged one another, locking hands behind each other’s backs. Neither of us made any effort to let go.
“I don’t know what I’ll do after I bring your things. I need time and space for grieving.”
“Remain here, and we’ll grieve together.” My offer was probably naïve, but she knew it was sincere.
“You don’t have anything to grieve about. I do.”
Had she forgotten that quickly? “I grieve for Mother Chalina. It is worse now than before.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I grieve for her, too.”
“I know you loved—”
“Nikki?” Juanita’s voice. “Are you ready? I hate to rush your farewell, but we need to get home.”
Home? Would Nikki feel at home in San Diego now? I couldn’t imagine it.
At least Juanita had shown more sympathy since Tomás’s death than she had during the days she spent at the apartment. Perhaps she was a woman as well as a police officer after all.
I sensed that Nikki had wanted to say something more, but had been hesitant to. Having to depart so abruptly allowed her to leave that part of our farewell unfinished.
~*~
Tomás had done everything he said. He convinced the Council of Elders to provide Alazne and me with our own shack. The Elders also promised to give us whatever else we needed, including medical supplies. I would be the equal of the other villagers in requesting things from the city.
But they forbade me to work in the fields or process the marijuana crops. I would remain at home with my Alazne, but still receive their full support. I couldn’t imagine how Tomás had purchased their cooperation since money meant little to the villagers. Perhaps he had promised to increase the quantity of goods he brought back from San Diego.
As if he could keep that promise now…
Not long after Nikki, Juanita, and Dr. Morales left, Señora Valdes knocked on the doorframe of my house. Her appearance had barely changed since the night she came to talk with me outside my cave four years earlier.
“Come in, Señora Valdes.” I tried to keep my curiosity, apprehension, and disgust under control. How could she even look me in the face knowing I should have grown up as her adopted daughter rather than an unwanted orphan? And all because she had rejected me…
Although I wasn’t supposed to know anything about my early life, those facts were impossible to forget or ignore now that I was back.
“The Council wants to speak with you, Rosa. Your daughter—”
“Alazne.” I spoke with more self-control than I felt like using.
“Alazne will have a wonderful time playing in the sunshine and open air while we talk. But I don’t know if the other children will welcome…” I waited in silence for her to finish. “It’s unfortunate, but the other children may not allow Alazne to play with them.”
Although strongly tempted, I didn’t speak. I didn’t ask, And why not?
Señora Valdes said nothing more. She must have assumed I understood.
I did. All too well.
~*~
When I was younger, the Elders’ power over the entire village terrified me. Their arbitrary dictates profoundly affected both my mother’s future and my own, and I didn’t believe their decisions benefited anyone but themselves.
At least the current Council members acted more like ordinary people, well-motivated citizens who governed their little community the best they could. No longer did they seem indifferent, all-knowing, and all-powerful. I sensed an uncharacteristic meekness.
Perhaps they had grown wiser, learning from past mistakes. But that didn’t mean I respected them. Or trusted them yet, either.
I would acknowledge I knew the truth about Mother Chalina if they forced me to, but I preferred to deal with the present without dragging up the past. Admitting that I knew about my background might force me to choose between continuing to feel disgust toward the Council—perhaps toward all of the villagers—and forgiving them.
I couldn’t make that decision yet.
The Council asked a number of questions, some quite personal. I didn’t shy away from answering any of them, no matter how trivial or irrelevant. Why should I? I no longer feared the Council’s power over me.
My answers demonstrated that I was no longer the naïve sixteen-year-old girl the smallest village child had been able to bully. I was a woman, almost twenty-one. Living in a world they couldn’t imagine—one they would have shrunk back from in horror—had strengthened and matured me.
After explaining the arrangements Tomás had made for Alazne and me, they finally asked the question I suspected had been most on their minds from the beginning.
Elder Diaz cleared his throat. “Rosa, why does your daughter—?”
“Her name is Alazne. You probably didn’t know that before, but I am telling you so you do now. I would appreciate your referring to her by name.”
I hoped I hadn’t sounded arrogant or demanding. I was trying to be courteous in spite of the way I felt about the Council, and my request seemed reasonable. But I’d probably gone too far when I added, “Life is difficult and dangerous for a no-name.”
I hadn’t meant to speak those words accusingly. I just wanted to clarify that I expected Alazne to have a better life in the village than I had had.
The Council was silent for a moment. I couldn’t tell if they were angry or ashamed.
“Very well,” Elder Diaz said. “Why does your…why does Alazne walk on those—?”
“They are called crutches in America.” I sighed quietly with relief that my rashness apparently hadn’t upset the Council. Regardless of the advantages Tomás had somehow bought for Alazne and me, life would be more difficult if I turned them against me. Especially now.
“Crutches,” several of them repeated four or five times as if trying to make the word sound familiar and memorize it.
“Although our older citizens often use walking sticks to get around,” one of them pointed out, “none of us has seen crutches before.”
They asked a number of related questions, and I was more than willing to explain. I went into detail about spina bifida. Because the infant mortality rate in Santa María was higher—probably much higher—than in the United States, that subject captured and held the Council’s attention, and they frequently asked for clarification.
I wondered whether someone would ask, So Alazne will always require crutches? No one did.
After finishing their interrogation, they chatted among themselves as if I weren’t there. I listened as inconspicuously as I could, taking care to remain silent.
“She seems to know what she’s talking about.”
“Could this be why we lose so many babies during early infancy?”
“It might be this spina bifida all right.”
“Without surgery available here, even the least severely affected babies don’t stand a chance.”
“We must do something. It’s our responsibility as Elders.”
“Yes, we must give them a chance.�
��
“The old people of our village are dying off—as old people do and always will do—but too many of the younger ones are dying as well.”
“Could the solution be as simple as asking for folic acid and vitamins along with our other supplies? We could make certain every pregnant woman takes them.”
“If we see a drop in infant deaths, we will continue that practice.”
“Even if we simply see healthier babies, it will be good.”
“Let’s give it a long enough trial to be sure.”
“Yes,” the village Elders concluded in unison. That was exactly what they would do.
But they couldn’t have guessed who the first pregnant woman to benefit from their decision would be.
~*~
We stepped outside the shack we’d been meeting in.
“Children, come!” the Council chief yelled loudly. They were having such fun playing that they would not have heard him at his normal volume. No matter how small Elder Diaz was physically, he had no trouble making himself heard.
The children came from everywhere and surrounded him almost instantaneously. They waited quietly and respectfully. He normally spoke to them only through their parents, but because he had addressed them specifically, they knew his words would be important.
Pointing to Alazne, who had responded to his call as well, he explained, “This little girl’s name is, uh…”
“Alazne,” I said patiently, but loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“She is Alazne, and everyone must call her Alazne. Those contraptions she leans on to walk are called crutches. She suffered an illness before birth that prevents her from walking without them. I want you to accept her as if she were normal.”
In days long past, he would have said, I order you to…
His face stiffened for a moment, but then he relaxed again. “No,” he corrected himself without embarrassment. “You are to accept her as normal. She is not maldita. She is not cursed. Now go. Shoo! Welcome Alazne by inviting her to play with you.”
