The Furthest City Light

by Jeanne Winer

  After chatting with Javier for a couple of minutes, Tim and Estelle wandered into the kitchen to help Sandra who was obviously planning to feed everyone before we left.

  At one end of the bench, Liz had struck up a conversation with Miriam who was nodding very seriously. Liz’s Spanish sounded smooth and confident; she would get along fine in Jalapa.

  “Yes, I’ve often thought of becoming a nurse,” Miriam was saying, “but I’m afraid it might be too hard to learn.”

  “Nonsense,” Liz declared. “You have to study, of course, but I’m sure you could do it.”

  “I’d like to,” Miriam said, nodding again. “My country needs nurses badly. The Contras keep killing them. And I don’t mind the sight of blood.” She blushed. “I mean I don’t like it, but as a soldier, I’ve gotten used to it.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Liz said. “But it will make you a better nurse.”

  “Yes, that’s what I tell myself.”

  At the other end of the bench, Allen, Richard and Susan were questioning Javier about the situation in Jalapa. Javier was laughing and clearly enjoying the attention. He had the confidence of someone at least ten years older and I imagined if he survived, he would rise quickly through the ranks to become a leader. Richard was translating the conversation for Allen.

  “And so in the town itself,” Javier concluded, “I think you should be safe.” He paused. “Except on Saturday night.”

  “What happens then?” Allen asked.

  “The soldiers all get drunk and then they like to shoot their guns. It’s possible to get shot by accident.”

  “Oh great,” Allen said, which made Javier double over with laughter.

  “Allen, he’s kidding,” Richard said, then translated the comment into Spanish for Javier.

  “Not really,” Javier replied and laughed even harder.

  I caught a whiff of fresh homemade tortillas and decided it was the best smell in the world. Lately, I hadn’t been feeling well enough to eat much, but suddenly I was ravenous. Vickie was right—in Managua, I’d succumbed to an existential depression that stalked the city, preying on the weak and helpless. I’d been vulnerable and had let it catch me. But up here, I was beginning to feel like my old “can do” self again.

  I saw Marta standing by the window and decided my Spanish was good enough to chat with her. She saw me approaching and looked expectant.

  “Hello,” I said. “My name is Rachel.”

  She had dark, shoulder-length hair, chocolate-brown eyes, and that beautiful olive skin that every Nicaraguan girl seemed to be blessed with. She looked strong and fit. She smiled and told me her real name was Leida but she didn’t like it. Now that she was on her own, she was asking everyone to call her Marta.

  I nodded in agreement. “Marta suits you better. Where are you from, Marta?”

  “I grew up in Esteli.” She pointed at the other soldiers. “The others are all from here. Where are you from?”

  I thought for a moment. “Well, I grew up in the eastern part of the United States near the Atlantic Ocean, but for the last fifteen years I’ve lived in the state of Colorado where there are many high mountains.”

  Her eyes grew big. “Do you have a lot of snow?”

  So I told her about skiing, and then about rock climbing. She had a dozen questions about climbing and how it could be done safely. She was almost eighteen and had been in the army for a year. She and her two older brothers had joined after her father was killed during an attack on an agricultural co-op north of Esteli.

  “When they found him,” she said, “he’d been shot more than thirty times, and his eyes had been cut out.” Her voice sounded matter-of-fact, as if she were reciting a story that had nothing to do with her.

  I shook my head. “That’s terrible.”

  “Yes, thousands of people have died in this war.”

  And the survivors, I thought, had the worst PTSD imaginable. “There are many North Americans,” I said, “who don’t like our government and want it to stop supporting the Contras.”

  She looked grave, as if she hoped I was telling her the truth.

  “But I don’t know if our government will listen,” I added.

  “Perhaps you should overthrow your government.” She wasn’t kidding.

  I considered telling her how unfeasible that was, but ended up simply nodding as if it were an option, and then changed the subject. “What would you like to do when the war is over?”

  Her face softened and she looked like a teenager again. “I would like to go back to school and become a journalist. Then I could travel the world writing about various people and their struggles for freedom.” She smiled broadly. “And maybe someday I could fly to Colorado and you could teach me how to climb.”

  I shrugged and nodded. “Well, if you can spare the time.”

  A few moments later, Sandra, Tim and Estelle emerged from the kitchen carrying platters piled with cheese, hard-boiled eggs, homemade tortillas and watermelon. I grabbed one of everything and attacked my food like a starving dog. Everything tasted wonderful. As we ate and talked and laughed, I had another perfect moment in Nicaragua, another magical chunk of time when I felt utterly content, as if everything I’d ever done in my life was worth it because it had brought me by some long circuitous route here to this particular time and place. Sometimes, I thought, you have to go a long way from home to find it again.

  Finally, Javier looked at his watch and announced it was time to go. We all knew it was dangerous to be on the road after dark. Everyone hugged Sandra goodbye and thanked her. As the soldiers climbed into their jeep, Francisco patted the seat next to him and suggested Veronica switch places with Omar. Omar, he joked, could continue his conversation with the Yanquis, and he could continue his with Veronica. Both Javier and Estelle immediately shook their heads.

  “It’s not safe,” they said in unison.

  Veronica looked disappointed but joined us in the truck. Within minutes, we were back on the main road and lumbering, once again, toward Jalapa. It was almost six o’clock. The terrain seemed lonelier now and more deserted. Everyone was glad we’d stopped, but we were aware of the time and anxious to arrive before dusk. Because the road had so many curves, we often lost sight of the soldiers, but it was comforting to know they were less than a mile ahead of us. There were a couple of dark gray clouds overhead and I wondered if it was going to rain. It would feel nice, I decided, but would make the road muddy.

  “This is such a great little country,” Lenny was saying. “I wish I’d tape-recorded all of the conversations I’ve had with the various people I’ve met here. I would force everyone I know back home to listen.” He sighed. “But it probably wouldn’t make any difference. You have to be here to understand.”

  At that moment, as we headed around a sharp curve, we heard a loud explosion. Everyone froze. Enrique’s cigar fell out of his mouth as he braked to a halt, and then we just sat there looking stunned. Was it a landmine, an ambush, or both? We strained to hear any sounds of gunfire, of people running and shouting, but there was nothing. The silence was enormous. After two or three minutes, Estelle was standing up and shouting, “Go!” It seemed to take forever before the truck started to move. Everyone was leaning forward, looking pale and anxious, their eyes already glassy with anticipation.

  Allen had grabbed my hand and was squeezing it much too hard. It hurt, but I didn’t pull away. Later, my entire palm would turn purple.

  “Allen,” I said, “don’t panic. They might be fine. Everything might be okay.”

  He was so upset he could barely speak. “You think so?”

  I didn’t, but I was a world-class liar, so I nodded and said, “It’s possible.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  We drove as fast as we could around two more curves before we saw a shallow burned-out crater about six feet wide in the middle of the road. A landmine, I thought, buried under a layer of dirt making it undetectable until they’d driven over it and triggered the explo
sion. We screeched to a halt and frantically craned our necks searching for the soldiers.

  “Where the hell are they?” Estelle shouted.

  A second later, we spotted the jeep, which had landed on its side halfway down a small hill just below the road. All of its wheels were gone and there was a gaping hole where the seats had been. Thick black smoke was gushing from the engine.

  “We have to get them out of there!” Richard screamed.

  Like everyone else, I leaped out of the truck and started running down the hill. I was sliding and falling, knocking into whoever was beside me in an effort to reach the soldiers as quickly as possible. The smoke was making me cough and it was getting harder to see. Fear was flowing through my arteries like an electrical current. As I hurried, a terrible knowledge was bearing down on me, probably just a couple of seconds away.

  “They’re not down there!” Estelle shouted from the road. I looked up and saw her arms waving back and forth like windshield wipers in a blizzard.

  “Where are they?” Liz yelled, a few yards above me.

  “Over here,” Tim shouted from a little farther down the road, and I started scrambling in the direction of his voice.

  I’d lost one of my sandals on the way down, but didn’t stop to search for it. Go, go, go, I told myself, as I drove my body forward through the underbrush to get back up the hill.

  Their bodies were scattered along the shoulder of the road, like bundles that had been tossed off the back of a truck. As I ran forward, I could hear Francisco moaning. He was lying facedown with both legs bent in anatomically impossible positions. Miriam was a few feet away, covered with blood. One of her hands was missing. Liz was on her knees leaning over her. She’d ripped her blouse off and was tearing it up to use as bandages.

  Enrique, our driver, was panting right beside me. “Don’t move them!” he shouted. “My brother died because they moved him. I know a doctor in town. I will bring him.”

  “No!” Liz yelled.

  Enrique turned and started running toward the truck. As he ran, I heard Liz yell, “I’m a nurse! We have to take them to Jalapa now!” But Enrique had already jumped into the driver’s seat and was starting the engine. Tim, who was closest to the truck, hopped in beside him.

  “Goddamn it!” Liz yelled, then looked wildly around her, as if searching for something. She’d grabbed her first-aid kit from the truck, so that wasn’t it. “I need water,” she shouted. “Rachel, get me some water!”

  Allen was throwing up on the side of the road. Veronica was trying to get to Francisco, but she kept falling down.

  I ran to the truck just as it was pulling away. I jumped into the back, staggered down the aisle and gathered up as many water bottles as I could find. The truck was picking up speed and it was hard to keep my balance. Then I jumped off again, fell down, and lost my other sandal. My shins were bleeding, but I didn’t feel any pain.

  Estelle and Lenny were shouting that they’d found Omar and Marta. A few seconds later, Richard and Susan yelled that they’d found Javier.

  “But he might be dead,” Susan yelled.

  I hurried back to Liz, gave her three of the bottles, and then ran across the road to where Richard and Susan were crouched next to Javier.

  “Here’s some water,” I said, dropping a couple of bottles on the ground next to them. Their faces looked dazed, as if they’d just woken from a deep sleep. There was blood on their shirts and hands.

  “He’s not breathing,” Richard was saying.

  I glanced down at Javier’s body and my stomach lurched. His eyes were half open and the expression on his face looked disappointed, as if there were still so many things he’d meant to do. I gazed at his hands, which were curled into useless fists. Perhaps he isn’t dead, I thought, but then I noticed the blood behind his left ear and that the back of his skull was crushed. Which was why he wasn’t breathing. And never would.

  “Where’s Lenny?” I asked.

  It took Richard a couple of seconds to focus, but then he said, “Up the road with Marta. Across from where we stopped.”

  “Okay,” I said. “And where’s Estelle?”

  Susan pointed behind us. “Not as far as Lenny, but down a small ravine. She’s with Omar. I should go help her.” She turned to her husband. “There’s nothing we can do for Javier.”

  “I know,” Richard said. “It’s just that—”

  I couldn’t wait any longer. I picked up the water bottles and ran to the edge of the ravine. I could hear Omar moaning in pain.

  “Estelle,” I called, “here’s some water.” And then I tossed two of the bottles down to her.

  “Thank you,” she called back.

  “Is he going to be all right?” I asked.

  “I think so, but there’s a piece of metal sticking in his thigh. He keeps trying to pull it out. I need Liz.”

  I nodded. “I’ll see if she can leave Miriam for a minute.”

  “All right, thanks.”

  And then I rushed over to Lenny, who was kneeling over Marta’s body, pressing the heels of his hands hard against her chest. She was unconscious and unresponsive, a Sleeping Beauty.

  “Is she alive?” I asked.

  Lenny made a strange exasperated sound, halfway between a sob and a shout. “How the hell should I know? I doubt it, but I don’t want to stop CPR until Liz tells me to.” He paused to wipe the sweat out of his eyes, or maybe the tears. “What do you think?”

  I didn’t have a clue. “I think you’re doing the right thing, Lenny. Don’t stop. I’ll get Liz to come over as soon as possible.”

  He nodded. “I’ll just keep doing this until she gets here.”

  As I hurried back to Liz, I was figuring first Marta and then Miriam and then Omar and then Francisco. I knew almost nothing about first aid, but from what I’d glimpsed, it seemed like a reasonable triage.

  As soon as I told Liz everything I knew, she stood up and rolled her neck. “Okay, I’ll be right back. Francisco’s in a lot of pain, but he’ll make it. I don’t know about Miriam, though. She’s lost a huge amount of blood. Right now she’s stable, but that could change. If the bleeding starts up again, you’ll need to tighten the tourniquet.”

  I tried to imagine the procedure. “Just twist it?”

  Liz nodded. “Yes, it’s very straightforward.”

  “All right then, I can do it.”

  “Are you sure?” She was staring at me.

  “I’m positive. Go.”

  After Liz left, I could hear Francisco crying out and wished we could straighten his legs. I looked over and saw Veronica lying on the ground next to him, weeping softly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Allen stumbling up the road in the direction of Lenny and Marta.

  I sat down next to Miriam and checked the tourniquet on her wrist. I didn’t see any fresh blood oozing from the bandages covering the stump. I felt dizzy for a second, but then it passed. Liz had fashioned the tourniquet out of the strap from her bag and used a pen to tighten it. I couldn’t help wondering where Miriam’s hand was, if it was still intact, lying in the bushes nearby. I glanced at her face, which was pale and waxy looking, then realized she was shivering. I pulled my T-shirt off and draped it over her chest.

  When Liz returned, she told me that Marta was dead.

  I rubbed my face and sighed. “I guessed she was, but I still hoped you could save her.”

  Liz knelt down beside me. “She died before we got here. It was probably instantaneous.”

  I nodded, and then looked up at the sky, which was cloudless now, a dull monotonous blue. “What do you want me to do next?”

  Liz leaned over and placed two of her fingers against the side of Miriam’s neck, checking her pulse. “Go help Susan and Estelle. Make sure they keep Omar’s hands away from that piece of metal. He’s very strong and he really wants to yank it out, but he mustn’t.” She paused to wipe some tears that had leaked out of the corners of her eyes. “Richard, Lenny and Allen are sitting with Javier and Marta. Just let
them be.”

  “All right,” I said, then glanced toward Francisco who was still moaning. “Is there anything we can do for him?”

  Liz shook her head. “No, we’d only make things worse. He needs an orthopedic surgeon.”

  I stood up and nodded. “That’s what I thought. Okay then, I’m off.”

  A few seconds later, I reached the ravine and slid down the short embankment on my butt. Omar was conscious, but no longer struggling. Estelle was sitting on his right arm and Susan was holding his left. The ground around them was stained dark red. Both women looked exhausted, especially Susan.

  “Watch that wound on his neck,” Estelle was saying, “I don’t want it to open up again.”

  I stared at the piece of metal stuck in Omar’s thigh. It was dark silver, about five inches long and almost an inch thick. It must have originally been part of the jeep, maybe the engine. It was impossible to tell how deeply imbedded it was.

  I knelt down beside Susan. “Would you like me to hold his arm for a while?”

  She nodded gratefully.

  As I took his arm, Omar began to whimper and rock from side to side. It was hard to watch.

  “Do you know where Richard is?” Susan asked, smoothing Omar’s forehead with a wet cloth.

  “I think he’s still with Javier,” I said. “And Lenny and Allen are with Marta.” I searched their faces. “She’s dead. You know that, right?”

  They both nodded.

  Suddenly, Omar thrashed wildly and tore his right arm out from under Estelle. In one swift determined motion, he grabbed the end of the metal and pulled it straight out of his thigh. Bright red blood immediately began gushing from the wound.

  Estelle ripped off her blouse, balled it up, and began pressing the material against his leg. Susan put her hands on top of Estelle’s.

  “We can’t put enough pressure on this,” Estelle cried. “It’s bleeding right through.”

  I scrambled to the top of the ravine and shouted, “Liz! He pulled it out! The leg is gushing like a fountain. I don’t think we can stop it.”