by Jeanne Winer
I waited a second, then ran toward the road and repeated what I’d just said.
“Put a tourniquet above it!” Liz yelled. “Like the one on Miriam’s wrist. Tighten it until the bleeding stops.”
The sky around me was getting darker. Damn it, why hadn’t anyone shown up yet?
“Rachel,” Liz yelled. “Are you wearing a belt?”
I looked down at my waist. “Yes.”
“Use that. I can’t leave Miriam. Can you do it?”
Fuck, of course I could. “Yes, I can do it.”
I rushed back to Omar and the two women. As I dropped to the ground, I slid my green canvas belt out of the loops of my shorts. While the women held Omar down, I wrapped the belt around his thigh a few inches above the wound and tried to pull it tight. The bleeding slowed down, but didn’t stop.
“Help me pull it tighter,” I said.
Both women tugged on the belt and between us, we got it pretty tight. Omar screamed a few times and then passed out from the pain. No matter how tight we pulled, however, there was still a small amount of blood spurting from the wound. Why wasn’t it working? I pictured the tourniquet on Miriam’s wrist and realized I needed a stick.
“Where’s that piece of metal?” I asked.
Estelle began scrounging around until she found it in the dirt and gave it to me. With their help, I managed to tie a knot in the belt and then insert the piece of metal into the middle of the knot. Then, I twisted it just until the bleeding stopped.
We sighed with relief. After a while, Estelle figured out how to secure the metal with strips of cloth and we were finally able to remove our hands from his body.
“Thank God,” Estelle breathed. Her face was bathed in sweat and her short blond hair was soaking wet. Susan nodded wordlessly, still trying to catch her breath.
I stood up. “I’ll go tell Liz what’s happening. And I’ll try to get one of the guys over here.”
My last assignment was to search for Miriam’s hand.
“I know it’s a long shot,” Liz explained. “But maybe they can re-attach it. We should at least try to find it.”
So Allen, Richard and I dutifully wandered up and down the road and then crawled through all the nearby gullies, but we never found her hand. Eventually, we gave up. In the meantime, Lenny went to help with Omar.
I walked back to Liz and dropped to the ground beside her. Together, we watched over Miriam while Richard and Veronica tried to soothe Francisco. Allen left to check on Omar but wasn’t needed. When he returned, he lay down with his head in my lap.
A few minutes later, we saw a line of trucks and jeeps clattering toward us. The noise was unexpectedly loud and jarring, like an alarm clock in the middle of the night. We jumped to our feet and waited, suddenly aware that most of us were shirtless and covered in blood. I was shivering, but I couldn’t have been cold; it was at least a hundred degrees. Allen grabbed my hand and I winced in pain. My shins were beginning to throb as well.
“It’s the good guys, right?” Allen asked.
“Right,” Liz assured him. “The bad guys don’t announce themselves beforehand.”
Allen nodded, but didn’t let go of my hand until we saw Tim waving to us from the first truck. There were four more vehicles behind him, each one carrying three or four townspeople. Before the truck had completely stopped, Tim jumped down and ran to us. We put our arms around him, told him who was alive and who wasn’t. The other cars pulled up and various people hopped out, some of them carrying rifles.
Estelle quickly stepped forward and explained the situation. In less than a minute, a decision was made to take the three soldiers who were still alive back to a hospital in Ocotal, and transport the other two to Jalapa where the army could arrange for their burial. A very pregnant woman volunteered to contact the families. A few moments later, with Estelle hurrying along beside them, the townspeople carried the soldiers to their vehicles and prepared to take off. And then, a minute or two after that, they were gone. One of the jeeps, with a few older men inside, remained behind to escort us to Jalapa. It was dark out but I had no idea what time it was. Somewhere along the way, I’d lost my watch. A small, pearl-colored moon had risen in the sky behind us and a couple of coyotes had begun to howl.
Tim told us that the Witness for Peace volunteers had been notified and were expecting us. The army, however, had changed its mind and wouldn’t allow us to spend more than a night there.
“I’m sorry,” Tim said, “but we have to leave by noon tomorrow. Only Liz can stay. They’re saying they don’t have the resources right now to protect us. I said we didn’t care, but they’re adamant. We have to go.”
“No, that’s impossible!” Susan shrieked. “We can’t just turn around and leave. Look what it took to get here. I don’t care how dangerous it is. I’m not afraid. I came to help and I’m staying.”
Richard shook his head. “I’m sorry, bunny, but we can’t.”
Susan’s face was smeared with dirt and blood. She looked half crazy in the moonlight. She shrieked again, then raised her fists and ran toward her husband who calmly stood his ground. She hit him twice in the chest, then collapsed in his arms and cried.
“It’s all right, bunny,” he crooned. “We’ll come back next winter.” He smoothed her hair with his free hand.
“But we came to help. I’m so disappointed.”
“Me too, bunny. Next winter.”
The rest of us trudged back to the truck and climbed in. A few minutes later, Richard and Susan, walking arm in arm, got in behind us. As soon as the engine started, Lenny yelled, “Wait.” Enrique looked back at us.
“I don’t know,” Lenny said, shrugging slightly. “I guess I want to pay my last respects to Marta and Javier. Say goodbye to the others as well. We’ll probably never see them again.”
“I’d like to do that too,” Veronica said.
We all nodded. Estelle motioned Enrique to turn off the engine. The jeep in front of us turned off theirs as well. We sat facing each other in the moonlight, wondering what to do next. I’d only been to one other funeral, my father’s, and I realized now I had no memory of what anyone said or did during the entire event. At the time, though, I thought I was fine, that it was my mother who was seriously in shock, not me.
Estelle smiled sadly. “All right then, I’ll start.” Just like at our first meeting when we sat in a circle on the dirt floor of the community center. Our first morning in Nicaragua, which now seemed like a thousand years ago.
“I’d like to say goodbye to Javier,” she said, “whose cockiness and machismo should have turned me off, but somehow didn’t—instead, I was charmed. Although I barely knew him, I could tell he would have been a great leader, maybe a government official someday with a loving family and a mistress on the side. Vaya con Dios, Javier.”
Richard nodded and began to sob. Susan immediately pulled him close to her and began to rock him back and forth.
Veronica wiped a few tears off her face and said, “Goodbye Francisco. It was really fun to flirt with you. I couldn’t understand half of what you were saying, but maybe that’s just as well. I hope your legs heal and that peace comes before you’re tempted to enlist again.”
There was another moment of silence and then Lenny spoke.
“Goodbye Omar. I sure hope the doctors can save your leg. I also wish you and your mother the best of luck with that restaurant you told me about. I’d love to come back some day and have a meal there, try some of your mother’s famous pork tamales. Hasta luego.”
An owl hooted twice, then flapped its wings and took off over our heads. We looked up and watched as the dark heavy form disappeared into the night. No one spoke for a while. Finally, Liz shifted slightly, signaling her intention to go next. She looked down at her hands and sighed.
“What can I say, Miriam? It was such a pleasure talking with you, learning something about your life and aspirations. You would have made a great nurse. Maybe you still will. If I can, I’ll get down to Oc
otal and visit you. We can talk some more about nursing or about your brother’s friend, the one who won’t stop teasing you. In the meantime, we’ll be praying for you.”
Before anyone else could speak, I cleared my throat. “Goodbye Marta.” My voice sounded strange. I wanted to say what a terrible shame it was that she wouldn’t grow up to become a journalist and climb mountains, but suddenly I was afraid I might cry, and I never cried. It was a decision I’d made a long time ago when I first became a public defender. Criminal defense lawyers didn’t cry. If they did, they might never stop. So I shook my head and said nothing.
Allen put his hand on my shoulder. “So long, Marta. You were very beautiful and had the most amazing biceps, much bigger and nicer than mine. I would have really liked spending more time getting to know you.” He hesitated. “If your jeep hadn’t hit that landmine first, we probably wouldn’t be sitting here.” He shook his head. “What a terrible day. Adiós Marta. Adiós amigos.”
We sat for a little while longer listening to the coyotes calling to each other, an ancient, oddly reassuring sound. As if they had been in these hills forever and would still be there long after all the stupid humans had come and gone. Amen, I thought, and then as if he’d heard me, Enrique lit the stub of his cigar, puffed to get it going, then started the engine and headed for the Emerald City of Jalapa.
***
It took less than thirty minutes to reach the outskirts, but it wouldn’t have mattered if it had taken hours. Time had finally ceased being important. We would get to wherever we were going when we got there. Although the road was pitch-black, no one was scared, or if they were, they didn’t care. Fear, too, had become irrelevant. Besides, the worst had pretty much happened.
We drove into town and found the Witness for Peace house on a rutted dirt road a few blocks from the main square. If we looked bizarre, our hosts didn’t mention it. They clapped us on the shoulders, offered us food, which we declined (our appetites having gone the way of our fear), and then led us to a small dark room full of cots. Since only two of the cots had mattresses, we took a quick vote and gave those to Lenny and Veronica. I could see a courtyard with trees through the window. We sat down on the beds, considered washing up, and then decided we were too tired.
One by one, fully dressed, we lay down on our metal springs and closed our eyes. Within seconds, everyone seemed to be asleep. After a while, a few of the guys began snoring. Sweet oblivion, but not for me. I lay face up in the darkness, feeling wired and irritable. Liz’s cot was less than a foot away.
“Liz,” I whispered, “how can you still believe in God?”
I’d assumed she was asleep, but she murmured, “God had nothing to do with it.” I made an exasperated sound, but before I could say anything, she reached over and patted me on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Rachel, some of my best friends are heathens. Now go to sleep.”
Chapter Fifteen
In the morning, we ate hardboiled eggs and slices of fried cheese, then immediately queued up to take showers. We were all still wearing our clothes from the day before—no sense changing until we’d washed the blood off our bodies. When it was my turn, I didn’t care that I had to share the primitive bathroom with a small tarantula. I showered quickly, aware that three people were waiting behind me. It felt wonderful to wash all the dirt and dried blood off my hands and feet. Both shins and an elbow were badly scraped, but other than a few blood blisters on each heel, my feet were miraculously free of injury. As I examined my elbow, I wondered again whether Miriam, Omar and Francisco had survived the night. So far, Estelle hadn’t been able to reach the hospital. Patience wasn’t just a virtue in Nicaragua, it was a commandment.
When I’d finished toweling off, I stared at myself in the small cracked mirror hanging over the washbasin. There I was, a slim, dark, ethnic-looking woman in her mid-thirties, nice eyebrows, black shoulder-length hair, and a full, slightly crooked mouth. Except for the dark circles under my eyes and a pallid complexion, I wasn’t bad looking. Of course my biceps and stomach muscles weren’t nearly so impressive after a month of no climbing, hiking or weightlifting, but from past experience, I knew I could get it all back in a couple of weeks (although having a washboard stomach didn’t seem quite so important anymore). Actually, considering the events of the past twenty-four hours, I looked remarkably well, remarkably untouched. My headache and slight fever were back, but that was to be expected. In fact, if this was the worst I would feel, I was one lucky lady.
I let my eyes close for a moment. All of a sudden, I was remembering the last conversation I’d had with Emily when she’d begged me to accept her conviction. How impossible it had seemed at the time, how counterintuitive. And now, how simple—at least in theory. As if she’d begged me to accept my age, or the fact that my father was dead. How could I not accept those things? What good would it do? And that’s when it hit me, the ineluctable bottom line truth: whether I accepted it or not, my sweet gentle friend was going to spend the rest of her life in prison. I could rage until the cows came home, but in the end, after I’d cursed and shouted, banged my head on the floor, and broken all my toys, my client would still be doing life. So what had I been thinking? I opened my eyes and gazed at myself in the mirror again.
“Those are some pretty dark circles under your eyes, lady,” I murmured, then quickly dressed and exited the bathroom.
***
We spent the rest of the morning sitting around the courtyard drinking coffee and watching lizards chase each other up and down the trees. For the first time since we’d come together as a group, no one felt like talking. The only thing that mattered was what had happened the day before and at least for the moment, there wasn’t anything more to say about it. To chat about anything else, though, seemed inconceivably crass, like discussing an upcoming ski trip at someone’s funeral.
We could have gotten up and explored the town, of course, but no one felt like it. Our curiosity had been extinguished. And so we sat and listened to the sounds made by others, to the birds squawking overhead, to the half-hearted barking of some neighborhood dogs, to the rumble of an occasional truck negotiating its way over and around the least serious ruts in the road. Occasionally someone would sigh or yawn or stand up and then sit down again.
In the meantime, Tim and Estelle disappeared to make phone calls. They hoped to get through to the hospital in Ocotal, contact our host families in Managua, and obtain as much information as they could about flight schedules. A brigade from California was due to arrive tomorrow and its members would be staying with our families. Since there was no time to set up alternative housing, most of the group planned to leave immediately.
Around noon, one of the volunteers who lived in the house, a hearty Texan named Miranda, stuck her head through the doorway.
“Compañeros, we have more coffee and one of our neighbors just brought over some homemade tortillas. You’re welcome to share them with us.”
We all stood up and headed for the kitchen. No one was hungry, but it gave us something to do, something to fill up the time before we had to leave.
A little while later, Tim and Estelle returned with good news: all three of our friends were stable and would probably survive.
“That’s wonderful,” Liz said, beaming at everyone. “I didn’t think Miriam would make it. To tell you the truth, I had my doubts about Omar as well.” She looked around the table. “Well, maybe now I can eat something. Are there any tortillas left?”
Liz has the perfect constitution for this place, I thought, as she reached for the basket of tortillas. Like everyone who lived here, she would fuel herself on a diet of anger, determination and hope. She would not succumb to despair. If nothing else, she was too practical. Unless she happened to get shot, blown up or kidnapped, she’d be fine. No, more than fine, fulfilled.
Finally, it was time to leave. Our bags were in the truck and Enrique was motioning for us to climb aboard. We all crowded around Liz to say our last goodbyes. Allen started to cry. Liz and
I both put our arms around him.
“Take care of yourselves,” Liz said. Her eyes were sparkling with happiness. Unlike us, she was home. “I’ll miss you all.”
“Promise us you won’t get killed,” Allen said, wiping the tears off his face.
Liz shrugged helplessly, but I nudged her in the ribs. “How about this,” she said. “I’ll do everything humanly possible to keep myself safe.”
He shook his head. No, not good enough.
She sighed and pulled him close to her. “Okay, fine, I promise not to get killed.”
“Good,” he said.
One by one, the group hopped into the back of the truck. As I stepped onto the running board, Liz grabbed me around the waist and whispered, “You did good yesterday. You know that, right?”
I nodded. “We all did.”
“Every time we act, it makes a difference, Rachel. And every little difference matters.”
I thought for a moment. “You might be right.”
She laughed and squeezed my arm. “Then there’s hope for you yet, my friend. Hasta luego.”
As the truck lurched forward, we waved at Liz until she was out of sight, then we swiveled around to catch a quick glimpse of Jalapa. None of the streets were paved. The simple wooden houses had once been painted in assorted shades of blue, pink, white and yellow, but the colors had long since faded. As we rumbled toward the edge of town, I saw groups of women and children walking along the road. No one seemed to be hurrying. There were plenty of trees and even a slight breeze. Ahead of us, a couple of skinny dogs were running around in circles, chasing their tails. In the middle of the day, the place seemed peaceful and idyllic. We lumbered across a rickety wooden bridge, swerved for a couple of pigs, and then headed down the long dirt road toward the capital. In the distance, we heard five or six gunshots, but then nothing more.
As usual, the day was hot and clear. The cliffs on either side of the road seemed less ominous, probably because we were heading away from them. As we approached the spot where the soldiers had been blown up, everyone began to fidget and look uncomfortable. The truck slowed and Enrique mumbled something and then crossed himself. The jeep, of course, was still lying on the side of the hill, but it was already impossible to tell how long it had been there. Now it seemed like part of the landscape, incorporated overnight into the larger ongoing story and later when the war finally ended, into a rusty souvenir of the times. The road curved and in an instant the jeep was out of sight.
