by Tom Epperson
“You’re bleeding,” says Daniel. “We should go to a hospital.”
There’s another gust of wind, followed by the flash and boom of lightning and thunder.
“We don’t have time,” says Roberto. “Listen, I’m okay, let’s go.”
They begin to walk quickly down the street, but tropical storms are fast and ferocious, and before they’ve made it even halfway to the bar, the storm is sweeping across the town. They begin to run, into the whipping wind and sheets of rain, under the exploding sky.
Roberto sees through the rain the neon sign that says Juanito’s. He and Daniel stumble through the door, breathing hard and soaked to the skin.
Only a handful of people are there. A female bartender with dark Indian features and platinum-blonde hair. The nice-looking girl she’s talking to. A guy wearing glasses sitting a few stools away from the girl and pecking at his cellphone. An elderly black man sitting by himself at a table and staring at his hands, as if he’s just strangled somebody with them. At another table, two young guys who look like older versions of the kids that just bit and stabbed Roberto. And coming out of the bathroom, a drunk-looking middle-aged man in a wide straw hat, wiping his mouth off on the sleeve of his shirt. None of them even faintly resemble the picture in Roberto’s head of Chano.
Roberto’s holding a hand on his forearm so he doesn’t bleed all over the floor, though by the looks of the place, it wouldn’t be the first time someone has done that.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” he says.
Daniel nods, too winded to speak, and sits down at a table.
The concrete floor of the bathroom is painted a sickly green and covered with soggy paper towels. The toilet is splattered with puke, probably belonging to the man in the straw hat. Roberto inspects his right arm in the hard light of an uncovered bulb. The knife has made a small puncture wound that’s oozing blood. The bite has formed a red parenthesis of teeth marks; the skin is broken but not actually bleeding. There’s no soap. He rinses his arm off in the stained sink then dries it with paper towels.
Roberto looks at himself in the mirror. His glasses are flecked with rain. He realizes a part of him is hoping Chano doesn’t show. He dries his glasses with a paper towel, and holding another paper towel on his arm he goes back out.
Daniel sits at the table, going through the contents of his camera bag.
“Everything all right?” says Roberto as he sits down.
“Yeah, looks like it. The sergeant was right, this town is full of criminals,” and then he looks around. “No Chano, huh?”
“Not yet.” He checks his watch. “It’s not even eight yet. He’ll be here.”
“Man, I hope so. I’d hate to think we made this long drive here for nothing. How’s your arm?”
“I’ll live.”
“Want a beer?”
“Sure.”
“Watch my bag.”
“Okay.”
Daniel goes to the bar. Roberto notices the pretty girl at the bar is looking at him. She’s wearing black pants and a pink blouse and has boyishly short dark hair. He smiles at her, but without smiling back she turns away. He wonders why she’s by herself. Is she waiting for someone? Or maybe she’s a hooker. No. She doesn’t have that hooker look.
He notices that somebody else at the bar is looking at him. The drunk guy, smiling musingly at him from under his straw hat. Now he dismounts from his stool and a bit unsteadily heads Roberto’s way. It looks like he’s about to be hassled for money or a drink. The guy stops in front of him and bows slightly.
“Good evening, my friend, do you mind if I sit down?” and then without waiting for an answer, he sinks down in a chair with an exhausted sigh. He’s wearing a white dress shirt and gray trousers, neither of which seems to have seen the inside of a washing machine for a while. On his feet are sandals with black socks. He looks at Roberto’s arm; blood’s seeping through the paper towel.
“Did you injure yourself?”
“It’s just a small cut. Nothing serious.”
“I knew a man with a small cut on his foot who ended up losing his entire leg, along with his private parts. It’s this revolting climate, it promotes disease and decay. You should have it looked at.”
“I’ll do that.”
Lightning flashes in the window and thunder rumbles through the bar. The man’s face takes on a melancholy expression.
“It’s an old, old story,” he says.
“What is?”
“You. Me. These other people. Lost souls seeking solace in a bottle or a bit of conversation, and outside? The rain, the dreary town, the jungle, and the night,” and now he gives Roberto a searching look. “So how are you, my young friend?”
“I’m fine.”
The man is striking an oddly familiar tone with Roberto, as if he knows him, and then Roberto’s struck with an awful thought. “Are you Chano?”
The guy smiles quizzically. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but no. Though my name sounds a little like that. Napo. Short for Napoleón. My father named me that. He was a history teacher. He was convinced his son would become a great man,” and now Napo grins, revealing yellow rotting teeth. “Obviously he was mistaken.”
Daniel returns with two bottles of beer and sits back down.
“That’s Napo,” Roberto says. “And he’s Daniel, and I’m Roberto.”
Napo shakes hands with both of them. His hand is very cold, it’s like shaking the hand of a dead man.
“I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Can I buy you a beer, Napo?” asks Daniel.
Napo’s face lights up.
“Well, it wouldn’t be polite to say no.”
“Here, take mine,” says Roberto.
“Are you sure?”
Roberto nods. “I didn’t really want it.”
“Many thanks,” he says, taking the bottle from Roberto and then immediately drinking about half of it. Now he sighs with satisfaction.
“I suppose you’re wondering what an educated man like myself is doing in a godforsaken backwater like Tarapacá. The answer involves a young lady, as so many sad stories do.”
Daniel laughs, and so does Napo. Napo is exactly the kind of character that appeals to Daniel. If left to his own devices, Daniel would doubtless spend the whole night drinking with Napo, and dawn would find them staggering along the banks of the river, singing “Penny Lane” or “Eleanor Rigby.”
Napo has a leather bracelet on one wrist, with what appears to be a slender brownish bone dangling from it. Daniel points at it.
“What’s that, Napo?”
Napo holds his arm up and taps the bone, making it swing back and forth.
“There was a notorious criminal named Efraín Pineda that used to frequent these parts. They called him the Frog because he was short and squat, that’s what he looked like. After his death his bones were taken to a witch who lived deep in the jungle. She did special things to them, and now all his bones are magical and holy like a saint’s. This is one of Efraín the Frog’s finger bones. It’s supposed to protect one from harm. I’m not superstitious, I’m a child of the Enlightenment, but still, I’m half convinced there’s something to this. Since obtaining the bone, I’ve escaped in a nearly miraculous way from several dangerous scrapes.”
“Where did you get it?” says Roberto.
“From a man in a bar. For fifty thousand pesos. He assured me of its authenticity,” and now he finishes off his beer and belches and stands up. “Thank you for the beer, my friends, I won’t bother you any further.”
“You don’t have to go,” says Daniel.
“No, no, you’ve both been very kind, but it’s obvious you’re busy men, busy men. Just one more thing. It’s a bit embarrassing. I’m expecting a check on Friday, but unfortunately now my pockets are utterly empty. A modest loan to tide me over would be appreciated more than you know.”
“Sure, Napo, no problem,” Daniel says and then looks at Roberto. Roberto pulls his
billfold out, hands Napo two ten thousand pesos bills. The look on his face says it’s more than he was expecting.
“Many thanks. I’ll pay you back on Friday.”
“We won’t be here on Friday,” says Roberto.
“Then give me your address and I’ll mail it to you.”
“It’s okay, Napo. Don’t worry about it.”
“Such generosity will not be soon forgotten,” Napo says solemnly, doffing his hat and holding it over his heart. “Good-bye, Daniel. And Roberto? I hope you find your Chano.”
Napo puts his hat back on, resumes his seat at the end of the bar, and signals to the blonde bartender. She brings him a shot of whiskey, and he hands her one of his ten thousand peso bills. Roberto and Daniel both laugh, and then Daniel looks around.
“Where is Chano anyway?”
Roberto shrugs. He’s getting worried. Why didn’t Javier give him a way to contact Chano? He has Javier’s number, maybe he should call him.
Suddenly the lights go out. The bartender turns on a flashlight and starts lighting candles. She brings one to their table, stuck in a rum bottle.
“Sorry, guys,” she says. “This happens every time it rains.”
“You think it’s like this all over town?” asks Roberto.
“Oh yes, all over.”
“How long do you think it will last?”
“Who knows? Maybe five minutes, maybe all night.”
The bar is a dump but looks better in the dark, with its overlapping pools of light cast by the candles. Daniel lights a cigarette, and then he says: “Hey, look! The nurses!”
Two young women wearing green medical smocks have hurried in out of the rain, and now they sit down at the bar. Roberto laughs.
“What are their names?” Daniel says.
“Vera and Dolly.”
“Well, get ready, Roberto. According to the sergeant, we’re about to have a great time.”
“I wonder which one’s Vera and which one’s Dolly.”
Roberto’s cellphone rings. He looks at the number. He doesn’t recognize it.
“Maybe this is Chano,” he says, and then into the phone, “Hello?”
“Roberto?” It’s a female voice.
“Yes?”
“What’s the matter with your arm?”
“Who is this?”
“The girl you smiled at. I’m a friend of Javier’s.”
Roberto looks toward the bar. The pretty girl is no longer there.
“I was supposed to meet a guy named Chano,” says Roberto.
“Exit the bar. Turn right. Walk down the street and you’ll see a white Corolla.”
The girl ends the call. Roberto pockets the phone and stands up. He looks down at Daniel; smoke’s curling around him in the candlelight.
“Who was that?” he says.
“The girl that was at the bar.” Roberto throws some money down on the table. “Chano’s waiting for us. Just down the street.”
They come out of Juanito’s into the wet windy night. It’s dark except for the lights of the vehicles and their white and red reflections on the pavement. They walk fast down the sidewalk, getting wet all over again, though the rain has slackened as the storm moves away.
“Listen, Roberto,” Daniel says, “how do you know this isn’t a trap? They could’ve captured Chano and tortured him, and now they’re about to do the same to us.”
Roberto doesn’t bother to reply. Daniel is coming with him and that’s all that matters. He sees a white car parked ahead, water flowing past it along the curb.
“I think that’s it.”
It’s probably at least twenty years old, with a rusting top and a dent in its side. Roberto peers through the passenger window, but it’s covered with beads and trickles of rain and he can’t see anything. But then the window slides down and the girl is there.
“Get in the back.”
He opens the back door and the dome light comes on. As he and Daniel climb inside, Roberto sees the driver of the car looking at them. He’s wearing a red baseball cap. A sloping forehead and tight little ears give him an apish look.
“Chano?” says Roberto.
He grins and Roberto sees a gold tooth and the guy shakes his head. “Ernesto.”
Daniel pulls the door shut and the dome light goes off and they’re back in darkness.
“My name’s Lina,” says the girl. “So you’re Roberto and your friend is . . . ?”
“Daniel,” says Daniel.
“Ernesto and I are with the Tulcán Armed Revolutionary Vanguard.”
“But where’s Chano?” says Roberto.
“He’s sick.”
“What’s the matter with him?”
“It happened suddenly. His appendix burst. He’s lucky to be alive.”
Roberto tries to get his head around it. No Chano.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, “but—”
“Don’t worry, Roberto,” says Lina. “Chano’s absence won’t have a negative impact on your assignment. A boat is waiting right now at the river to take you to Tulcán.”
* * *
The wipers of the Twingo swipe at the rain, which is coming down very lightly now. Lightning flickers on the horizon, the thunder can barely be heard.
The power is still out in Tarapacá. Daniel follows the taillights of the white Corolla. He’ll be leaving his car at a house on the outskirts of town. Meanwhile he is angrily hammering away at Roberto.
“This isn’t what I agreed to, Roberto! We were supposed to have this Chano guy as our guide, this legendary jungle fighter. Not some fucking teenage girl!”
“I don’t think she’s a teenager. She’s at least twenty-two or twenty-three. And Ernesto looks pretty tough.”
“Ernesto looks like a dumb-ass. They’re going to get us killed.”
“Look, if they’re in the TARV, then they know what they’re doing. The Army’s scared to death of the TARV.”
“As far as I’m concerned, this changes everything. It’s the perfect out for us.”
“I’m not looking for an out.”
“Yes you are, you just don’t want to admit it.”
“If I didn’t want to do this, I wouldn’t be here. But if you want out, fine. Just leave me one of your cameras, I’ll take the pictures myself.”
“I’m not going to leave you one of my cameras. You’ll drop it in some swamp. I’ll never see it again.”
“Well, I guess you’re stuck with going with me then.”
Daniel curses Roberto under his breath. When working, they’re like an old married couple, always bickering about something. Although Daniel’s never been quite as difficult as this before.
The road is paved but pocked with potholes, which the car keeps banging into. Now the Corolla turns onto a muddy dirt road, and after a few minutes pulls into the yard of a dilapidated house. The front of the house is festooned with golden strings of old CDs, shining in the headlights. Daniel parks his car behind the Corolla and they get out.
Three dogs approach, wagging their tails at Lina and Ernesto and barking at Roberto and Daniel. A big-bellied man holding a kerosene lantern comes out on the porch, and is introduced by Lina as Yadier. The man rubs his belly and laughs, as if Lina has made a joke and Yadier is not really his name.
Daniel opens the trunk, and he and Roberto start taking out their stuff. Lina comes over and watches critically.
“Take what you need but not more than you need,” she says. “We’ll be doing a lot of walking.”
“Okay,” says Roberto.
“Whatever you’re not taking with you, you can leave in the house. It’ll be safer there.”
“Okay.”
“I’d change into some dry clothes if I was you. It will be cold on the river tonight.”
“Good idea.”
“Wear boots if you have them, you’ll be needing them.”
“You know, this isn’t my first trip to the fucking jungle,” Daniel says.
“It’s good to hear t
hat,” Lina says evenly then walks away.
“Bossy little bitch, isn’t she?” says Daniel.
“Cute though.”
“She’s no beauty queen. But she’s okay.”
Yadier with his lantern leads them into the house, past his wife and numerous children who are sitting around in the dark and seem to be waiting for the TV to come back on. He takes them into a small bedroom and leaves the lantern with them. They start stripping off their clothes.
“Looks like somebody likes the Happy Boys,” says Daniel.
The Happy Boys are a wildly popular singing and dancing group of handsome teenagers. Pictures and posters of them are plastered all over the walls. Now Roberto sees other indications this is the room of a young girl: a hair brush and stuffed animals and a bottle of purple nail polish and a plastic box filled with colorful junk jewelry. Nydia comes into his head. Her shy eyes as she looked up at him. He wonders if she liked the Happy Boys. Has it been only three days since he found her in the outhouse? It seems like weeks ago.
He’s sitting on the bed pulling on his well-worn waterproof Merrell hiking boots when there’s a knock at the door. He opens it and Lina’s standing there.
“Are you ready?” she says.
He glances around. Daniel is putting cigarettes and candy bars into his pack.
“Nearly.”
She looks at his arm. “You’re bleeding. Come on.”
Leading the way with a flashlight, she takes him into a bathroom. She turns on the water in the sink, washes his arm with soap.
“You never did tell me what happened,” she says.
“Two kids tried to steal Daniel’s cameras. One of them bit me and one of them stabbed me with a knife.”
“Have you had a tetanus shot?”
“Yes.”
She dries his arm with a towel. She opens the medicine cabinet and shines her flashlight in and takes out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a tube of antiseptic ointment and a tin box of bandages.
“Is your friend always so pleasant?” she says.
Roberto shrugs. “Daniel’s a good guy. Most of the time.”
“I don’t care if he’s a good guy. I just want him to be a good photographer.”
“He’s one of the best.”
Lina is fast and efficient as she puts on the bandages.
