The year before last on their Big Bend trip they almost ran out of water and diverted their route to the silty Rio Grande. The river was like a moving mud road.
She recalled their discussion about making filters. They needed charcoal, but campfires were prohibited in the national park. They used fine sand instead. Some had argued that progressively finer materials should be packed in the plastic soda bottle, working down from gravel, course sand, fine sand, and charcoal if they’d had it. Others asked, why bother with gravel? Make it entirely of the finest material available, especially since they didn’t have any charcoal. Gravel wasn’t going to filter out much silt or crud.
Karen agreed, and here she could make charcoal. That’s what the night’s fire was for, not cooking. They’d feast on peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches.
They found plenty of wood. Jay proved he could hack it up in firewood-size pieces with the machete without harming himself. That relieved Karen of the chore. Tía approved because machete work was a guy job down here. Karen helped Lomara collect wood. Lomara’s sock footwear was mud-sodden. They’d be doing little walking, so she took them off the girl and washed them. She sat to prepare their meal.
Tía eyed the preparations, warily commenting she had never eaten peanut-butter or strawberry jelly. Neither had Lomara she guessed. Sliced bread, even in the city, was something else they didn’t eat. Tortillas were their bread.
“It is strange food you Americans eat,” Tía observed.
Lomara happily cleaned out the jars licking off her finger and then washed them in the river. Karen would clean them later when they had boiled water.
After the day’s exertions, there were few complaints. Karen even thought they liked it as everyone wolfed down their one and a half sandwiches. It was a light meal after walking eight miles and Tía commented they should have served up a chicken. Karen argued they needed to hold onto the livestock as it would keep and provided eggs. She divided up a candy bar for a bit more energy.
They passed around the two-liter bottle of Nicaraguan-made Coke. It was sweeter than its American counterpart, but flat tasting having been opened two days before. She needed the plastic bottle for the filter. After cutting the bottom off, which would make a handy little bowl, she pushed a wad of leftover T-shirt cloth into the bottle’s mouth and screwed the cap on. Heating the little punch on her multi-tool, she burned a quarter-inch hole through the plastic cap. That was all she could do until she had a lot of ground-up charcoal. Karen was glad for the bottle, but she could have used a large diameter section of bamboo.
While Lomara grazed the poor chickens, Jay turned the messy tool bag inside out and scrubbed it in the river. It took some convincing on Karen’s part, “Let’s do it.” Tía of course said something about it being a girl’s job. “Hoy no,”—Not today, Karen said.
Jay delivered two crap-covered eggs. Things were looking up as Karen gently washed them off.
“You’re going to eat those?”
“No, we all are.”
“I’ve only eaten store-bought eggs.”
She looked at him disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No.”
“Well, they all come from the same place and they’re all covered with crap.”
In the meantime, Tía had Lomara collect some green sticks and lay them over the fire. Tía had the girl pack some mud over the water bottle caps. Karen was stunned when Tía told her to lay the plastic bottles on the fire over the sticks.
“¡No!” Karen shouted.
Tía laughed and told her not to worry, that Karen didn’t know as much as she thought. She was boiling the stream water in the bottles. The trick, she explained, was that the bottles had to be completely full, not the tiniest amount of air space could be left in the capped bottles, and the caps must not come in direct contact with flames or they would melt.
Karen’s eyes simply could not believe the thin plastic bottles didn’t burst open and melt on the coals. After a time, tiny bubbles began to form in the bottles. The bottoms puffed out, but didn’t split open as Karen expected. The water was actually boiling, not a rolling boil, but boiling nonetheless as still more tiny bubbles formed. Jay was impressed too.
Tía left the bottles on for maybe fifteen minutes and then had Lomara pluck them off using sticks. They needed to cool for at least another quarter of an hour.
Karen, shaking her head in wonder, realized that boiling river water, once filtered, would not be the lengthy ordeal she’d expected with the hubcap.
Now that they had clean hot water, Lomara thoroughly cleaned the two glass jars.
They still had to get the boat into the river. Leaving Lomara to help out Tía, Karen and Jay returned to their little ship. He was cooperative in regards to the boat.
Karen untied the bow rope and knotted it to a cleat on the stern. She doubled the towing strap and fastened both the hooked ends to the bow cleat. She looped the strap over Jay’s chest and shoulder and then she gripped the stern rope. As he pulled the bow around toward the river, she pulled in the opposite direction bringing the stern about. It was easy to move the boat this way, but now they had to drag it to the bank.
With Jay tugging and she levering the pole against the stern transom, they were able to move it over the bush tops. But it was slow, as they had to work their way around the thick brush clumps. Plus fight off pesky red ants.
Ten feet from the bank Jay could pull the boat no closer.
“Okay, come back here and help me push.”
As they edged the boat toward the drop-off, Karen told him, “Hang onto the stern rope.” It wouldn’t do to have their boat, their salvation, hit the fast moving water and take off downstream with no one at the helm.
Jay shoved with his shoulder and Karen worked the lever. The bow tipped over the edge of the last bush and slid down the bank splashing into the water. Karen stepped back to let gravity finish the job. Jay, in his sudden enthusiasm, charged past after the boat making a startled squawking sound and waving an arm.
“Quit playing around!” she laughed. Then she realized he had the rope wrapped around his hand and was being pulled after the boat as it torpedoed into the river.
Struggling, Jay was dragged down the muddy bank and disappeared into the water with feet kicking.
Karen yelled, “Wait!” She charged after him and took a smooth shallow dive. She thought how good the water felt for a second and swept her arms grabbing water, reached the boat in moments, and clutched the rope. Ducking under, she grabbed a flailing Jay and pulled him up. Sputtering, he flung his arms over the boat’s stern clutching for dear life, his eyes wide. Karen slapped him on the back.
“You’re okay.”
“I almost downed!” A stricken look on his face. “I can’t swim.”
“What?”
“And you were laughing at me.”
“I thought you were playing with that phony scream and waving your arm wildly.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You really can’t swim?”
“No.” More embarrassed than indignant now.
“Great.” She decided not to say anything else. All this and she was starting a river trip with a knocked goofy, contrary greenhorn who couldn’t swim. No wonder he was against taking to the river.
The boat’s momentum carried it across the narrow river and nosed against the trees on the far flooded shore with Jay clinging to the side. Gaining their footing on the sloped bottom, she helped him in and clambered in herself. At least it hadn’t sunk out from under them.
They were drifting as Karen unlashed two oars and fitted them into the oarlocks. Sitting on the center bench seat, her back to the bow, she worked the oars in opposing directions and brought the bow about. She had to really haul on the oars to work the boat back upstream. She managed though, and marveled at how quickly rowing came back to her. Karen had only rowed a boat a few times at Girl Scout summer camp, enough to get that Rowing Merit Badge.
Chapter Sixteen
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p; Tía and Lomara were shouting with joy as the boat’s valiant, waterlogged crew pulled into shore and shipped the oars. Karen half expected Jay to kiss the ground as he stumbled out. She fastened the towing strap around a tree. Crew, she thought, this little band was not unlike a venturing crew, and she was their leader—like it or not. Nicaraguan Venturing Crew Number One, she thought.
“¿Por qué estás mojado?”—Why are you wet? asked Tía.
Karen responded with, “Jadon se dio un baño.” —Jay took a bath. She used the Spanish version of his name.
Returning to where they’d launched the boat, she recovered the machete and pole. It would be useful for poling the boat and fending off obstacles. Her heavy, wet jeans were distinctly uncomfortable. We’re going to be in a boat from now on and these are going to be converted to shorts, customs be darned.
Her clothes more or less dried as she slung only three hammocks, thinking Lomara would again share hers. She tied the boat off better—couldn’t have it escaping—and checked on the charcoal production. She redressed Jay’s head wound and checked Tía’s arms.
After the sun sank below the trees the four refugees sat around the crackling fire lost in their thoughts. The importance of a fire went far beyond mere cooking, warmth, and light; it was a substitute for the sanity of daylight. Karen could not imagine what each of her so different companions were thinking. Their losses; their loved ones. No one cried. It was as though they could not truly believe they had lost everything and everyone dear to them. Misery wrapped around them like fog.
She couldn’t accept that her mom and dad might be gone. It didn’t seem possible, but then it hadn’t seemed possible for Johnny, Jennifer, and Cris to be gone and she knew brutally well they were.
Karen assisted Tía into her hammock after helping her with her needs. After banking the coals she fished the bandage scissors out of the medical bag. Taking off her jeans in the dark she cut off the legs, below the knees. She could roll them up over her knees, but she could still protect her knees when kneeling on the ground. Tomorrow she’d stitch up the jean legs’ cut-off ends and use them as bags.
She heard Lomara say very quietly, “Quiero ir a casa” —I want to go home.
Me too, thought Karen. She hoisted the girl up on her knee and hugged her. She couldn’t tell her there was no home nor tell her she was going home. Lomara wiggled to the ground and threw a stick into the fire.
Had Tía and Lomara seen their families consumed by the devouring avalanche of mud, swept away in a tumbling torrent as the earth moved, taking trees and homes and everyone with it?
Karen slipped into her hammock. Minutes passed. Her head felt like she was still walking. Her mind grumbled about Jay’s negativity and his total lack of experience and Tía’s doubts and distrust of her. That made her wonder what they thought of her. She’d not considered that. To them she was a stranger, a guiri —foreigner, too young for what she was trying to do and too big for her britches. Lomara was the only one who went along with things.
Her eyes shot open. “Where’s Lomara?”
“¿Mande?” mumbled Tía.
¿Dónde está Lomara?” Karen repeated.
“No lo sé.”
She looked around frantically. “¡Lomara!”
“¡Lomara!” They were both shouting.
Karen rolled out of her hammock and switched on her flashlight. Tía kept shouting. Jay sat up in his hammock, but only seemed confused. Swinging her light about, probing the shadows, Karen made a circuit of the clearing’s perimeter. She paused at the river’s edge with a shudder. “Please, no. Jay, check the boat.”
“It’s empty.”
Then she remembered, ‘Quiero ir a casa’ —I want to go home. “Oh, no!”
She yanked on her shoes without saying anything to Tía, and told Jay to keep looking. She darted up the trail. Some distance away she paused to examine the muddy path, but there were footprints going in both directions because of the firewood expeditions. She pressed on.
Every half-dozen paces she shouted “¡Lomara!” Not too loudly and keeping any anger out of it. She’d learned in search and rescue class that such shouting frightened a lost child into not responding.
She doubted the girl would leave the path. After dark, rural Nicaraguans seldom ventured outdoors because of snakes and wild critters. A horrifying thought jarred into Karen’s mind: jaguar and crocodiles hunted along riverbanks.
Lomara couldn’t have gone far. Karen had last seen her only a minute before she’d gotten into her hammock.
She was moving slower now, listening after each soft shout of the girl’s name.
“¡Lomara!” Only a weak echo was reflected by the jungle. Regardless, Karen was breathing hard and didn’t quite hear the sound.
“¿Mamá?” said a tiny voice.
Whipping the flashlight around, the light caught the girl, who sat with her arms hugging her knees, her face buried in them.
Karen slowly crouched so as to not startle the little lamb. “Lomara, honey, Estás bien?”
“¿Dónde está mi Mamá?” —Where is my Mama?
A thought flashed through her mind to say they were going to her, but that was no good.
“No lo sé.” Oh, that was great—I don’t know. I want my mama too.
“¿Está en casa?”
“No Chiquita, ella no está en casa” —No little one, she is not at home.
“¿Mi Papá? ¿Mi Hermana?
“No baby. No, mi pequeño cordero. Yo soy tu hermana ahora y puedo cuidar de ti.” —No my little lamb. I am your sister now and I will take care of you. She wondered if that was the right thing to say. What else could she say?
Lomara looked up at her and stretched out her thin arms.
Karen carried the precious bundle back to the campsite and safety. She would never ever let this little one down.
Chapter Seventeen
Karen awakened to the sound of a scrubbing toothbrush and the usual bird ruckus. The sound was strange in the jungle. Jay was carefully brushing Tía’s teeth for her. What an incredible act of kindness. What an incredibly astonishing act. He mostly ignored Tía.
It was barely light. Lomara squirmed and opened her eyes to smile at Karen. She hugged the girl, grateful she was there. “Buenos días, Chiquita.” Lomara rolled out of the hammock and ran to Tía, who sat beside the smoldering fire pit.
Everyone was in reasonably good spirits. Karen thought they looked forward to being underway, heading toward salvation. It made her shudder, this little crew striking off into the unknown, and like it or not, she was responsible for them. She didn’t ask for it, didn’t want it, and sure as heck no one had ever asked her.
Try not to think about it, girl. Just think ahead, like the sunlight thing, being able to start fires, and do what needs to be done. She thought about what seemed like the silly things that were once important, Christmas, birthday parties, Twitter, swim team, finals. None of it was important now.
She’d better say something to encourage Jay. “That’s mighty nice of you. Tía appreciates it.”
He looked embarrassed. “I was brushing mine and she managed to raise her arm enough a motion for me to help her.”
“Thank you, then, Jay.” She didn’t think she’d ever thank him for anything.
Her shoes hung on the hammock cord. She shook them out, ensuring no creepy-crawlies had taken up residence.
The smoking fire pit meant it had not expired. The coals could be brought back to life without having to await the sun’s emergence. They could get an early start. Karen rolled off the charred green logs protecting the coals. On her hands and knees she lowered her head close to the ground and blew into the coals coaxing them back to orange-glowing life. Ashes swirled about. Lomara added twigs and then sticks. She was obviously the crew’s fire mistress.
Karen did the morning routine with Tía and medicated her. Tía of course had to say something about her “new” shorts, “Inadecuado para una niña”—Improper for a girl.
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bsp; “Perdóname,” Karen apologized and left it at that. She checked the boat and then the chickens roosting in a little tree. In the weeds at the tree’s base, she spied an egg, then two more.
Scouring the inside of the hubcap with river sand, she laid it upside down on the fire to flame-sterilize it. After rinsing it out with their good water, she prepared breakfast. It was going to be lean, but what the heck. They would only sit in a boat all day, right?
Cracking the three eggs into the hubcap, she crumbled in the half-dozen cheese crackers and tossed in two-dozen raisins found in a twisted closed package. Adding a dash of water, she concocted curious huevos revueltos—scrambled eggs. She’d eaten stranger creations on campouts.
“Comamos.”—Let’s eat. Dumping the concoction into the bowl cut from the filter bottle’s bottom, they passed it around, each taking too few bites. Jay fed Tía without urging. He was full of surprises seeming cooperative and then contrary. Karen doled out a quarter of the last mango and half an orange to each and then a few Fig Newtons, again something Tía and Lomara had not eaten before. Lomara liked them, Tía wasn’t decided.
The next chore was grinding the charcoal for the filter. Karen heaped lumps of charcoal in the washed out hubcap and began breaking them up with the screwdriver. Then she ground it with the screwdriver’s handle, using it like a mortar and pestle as Lomara fed in more lumps.
The whole time Tía was muttering and shaking her head. She obviously didn’t think Karen knew what she was doing.
It was a given they would soon be leaving. Karen didn’t have to say much for everyone to get ready. Jay rolled up the hammocks, again cooperating. Tía directed him and Lomara to collect firewood and kindling to carry in the boat with them. That was smart, a time-saver when they stopped for the night.
It took a lot of grinding to make enough charcoal. The big lumps yielded a disappointedly small pile. She kept at it while Lomara laughed at her charcoal smeared face. Karen dabbed streaks on the girl’s face, like crude carnival face painting.
Karen started pouring double handfuls of charcoal into the inverted bottle, packing each layer down to about an inch thick using the screwdriver handle. It took time, but eventually she had it firmly packed in within a couple inches of the top. Atop this she laid a few layers of T-shirt fabric to filter river gunk.
Tears of the River Page 9
