Entangled Moon

by E. C. Frey

  “Nothing. I’m just already missing you.”

  Angelica retrieves one of her favorite animals. “You better take this, Mama, so you don’t get so sad. Remember us and you’ll be happy.” Her smile is wide like the ocean.

  I take the fluffy, floppy bunny and hold it to my face. It’s soft and smells of home and dust and love. I kiss it hard and it caves into my embrace. “Thank you, honey. I think I will.”

  The girls smile at me. Together, as if joined at the hip, they skip from the room giggling and, just like that, I am alone. Wisps of clouds.

  I peek down the hallway. Carlos’s door is plastered with signs warning any and all visitors against entrance. Noise filters from his room, music and television murmurs exhale from the crease of his door.

  I knock.

  “What?”

  The knob won’t move. I knock again.

  “I said what?”

  “Carlos! Please open the door. Por favor.”

  Finally, he opens the door and light seeps from his room. “Carlos, I’m leaving tomorrow morning. Can’t you spend a little time with me? With the family?”

  “Why? Dad’s not with you.”

  “That’s different. He’s working and I’ll see him a little later.”

  “Well, I’ll see you a little later, too, Mom. Everyone’s on right now.” The screen behind him is filled with tiny boxes, bits of truncated conversations. How can he carry on so many discussions at once?

  “All right, but soon, por favor.”

  “All right, Mom.” He smiles. God, but love can crack the world in two. His door clicks shut.

  I drift along the hallway before I find the top of the stairs. At the bottom, Snoops, our retriever, raises his head, flops his tail against the bare floor several times, and rests his head upon his paws, never letting his eyes leave me. The sound of the television carries from the den and the hum of the dishwasher mingles with it—sounds of domestic life that evoke strong feelings to stay. Do not venture back out into that world. It’s not always kind.

  Tomas is probably asleep in his favorite chair. He’s been busy with next week’s lectures, but night creeps up on him. He will wake soon and, sensing the immediacy of deep night, will rise to join me. The men in my life, present yet absent, are like driftwood along the shore, reminders of the forever-changing patterns of Mother Earth.

  The women in my life are altogether different. They’re beacons across the bay emitting light that sparkles along the water, vibrant in their ability to sustain safe passage. I love the men in my life, but it’s the women who sustain the roughest battering, shining brilliantly in spite of adversity. I am leaving the tranquility of home and the strength of my men to plunge back into unsafe waters. If the man of so long ago is still alive, we will need to pool our combined strength. If he merely walks in Heather’s fragile mind, we’ll have to be strong enough to hold her to a fast-eroding shore.

  And then there’s Mariah. Full of mystery and always at the threshold of danger, always running from who she is. She asked about LAWT. I need to talk to Tomas about it tonight.

  Before I fall asleep and before I leave.

  I dread this trip. The sounds of home root me here. Nothing is out of the ordinary. I prefer normal. Hail Mary . . . She will have to protect me. I touch the cross at my neck.

  Snoops lifts his head to stare at me, turns his head to the den, and, with a deep sigh, returns his head to his paws and closes his eyes. Yes, I love the men in my life. They’re calmly and surely here, but they rarely throw themselves at me with the passion of unbridled exuberance. It was that way once, long ago, in the Yucatan. And it nearly broke me. Still, it was the hope of Gabriel that allowed me to survive the terrible aftermath of that night in 1968. Can I lay him to rest without grieving that hope and rescue?

  I finish packing. I suppose I’m as ready as I can be.

  Carlos enters and hugs me. “I love you, Mom. I’ll miss you, you know.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I love you too. I’ll be home soon. You won’t forget to look after the girls and feed Snoops, will you? You know your dad gets overwhelmed when I’m away.”

  “Yes, Mom. I’ve got it under control. We’re cool. Have fun.”

  “Okay. You’re the second-in-command.”

  We hug and he slips from the room. The moment is like liquid seeping through the cracks of a closed door.

  Tomas passes Carlos on his way into the room. Snoops follows, his tail wagging, and drops onto his bed.

  “Tomas, did you let Snoops out?”

  “No.”

  “Tomas, please, I need you to let him out and then close up the house for me. Por favor.”

  He looks at me. But then he turns. “C’mon, Snoops. Time to go out, buddy.” He grabs my suitcase on his way down.

  “Thank you, Tomas. Te quiero, my love.” He waves behind his back.

  When they return, Snoops once again collapses onto his bed. Tomas begins his nightly routine for bed.

  “Tomas, I got a funny call from Mariah. She needed information on LAWT.”

  “What did she need that for?”

  “She’s researching a water situation with Heather’s company and—”

  “Wait. AAC?”

  “Yeah. How did you remember that?”

  “What is she doing, Esperanza?”

  “She’s looking into some malfeasance. There’s also a cholera epidemic going on.”

  “Esperanza. Tell her to stay away from that. AAC won’t look nicely upon someone asking for LAWT’s help. They don’t want the bad press. I’ve heard some things lately.”

  “Things? Like what things?”

  “Never mind. Tell her to stay away. How far in is she?”

  “I think pretty far. I gave her what information I knew, and told her I’d ask you about it too. Why are you looking at me like that? What?”

  “Don’t go to Charleston. I think she could be in danger, and anybody else with her could be too.”

  “What do you mean? I have to go. We’ve seen each other through everything. Heather is . . . troubled. I have to go, Tomas. So what are you telling me?”

  “I’m telling you Mariah might be in way over her head.”

  “So what? She’s survived worse. If there’s been a battle zone, she’s seen it. We’ll be fine. She’ll be fine.”

  “This is different. You can’t see this enemy. They’re assassins. She won’t know it’s coming. Neither will you. Stay here, Esp.”

  “Assassins? Now you sound like one of those crazy conspiracy theorists. This is America, Tomas. Don’t be crazy.” I laugh, but I’m not convincing even myself.

  Tomas doesn’t speak.

  “What?”

  “I can’t stop you, but I’m asking you. Don’t go.”

  “I have to.”

  He knows I’m scared too. He kisses me. His arms fall gently around my torso and he squeezes. My tears spill over his naked skin before I find his lips.

  Afterwards, deep in the night, the stars blink in the heavens and steal through my window. We’re all stardust. We’re full of grace. And we’re always one moment away from our destiny. Please God, let me find my way back home.

  19 Eve

  Jerome’s chest rises and falls. Its rhythm should comfort me, but the old shadows dance and creep along the corners of our room. These ghosts of trouble and sadness bedevil the night. Lights from the sleepless Manhattan streets play along the walls. Chances are, Mariah’s up. That girl never sleeps. I raise the covers slowly and sneak from bed. Our apartment is small. I grab a shawl, the key, and my phone before I leave. The air in the hallway is damp and smells of days-old spices and garlic. The balls of my bare feet are grimy by the time I reach the stairwell. I’m ankle-deep in shit. Perched at the top of the landing, I wait for the sound of shuffling feet along concrete to cease, but the top of my neighbor’s head clears the stairs below, rounds the corner, and climbs the remaining stairs.

  He smiles as he contin
ues the ascent, his feet grinding against the concrete. “Hey Eve. What are you doing out here at this time of night?”

  “Can’t sleep. What are you doing out this late?”

  He doesn’t move. “Work.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Always work.”

  “I’ve never asked you what you do. Funny. That’s usually the first thing people find out.”

  His blue eyes soften and the tightness in his jaw lessens. “That’s what I’ve always liked about you. You don’t seem to care about that stuff. Come to think of it, I don’t know what you do either.”

  “I’m an aid worker for an NGO. My ship sails for Darfur shortly.”

  “Ah. Darfur. Well, you certainly have your work cut out for you. Cholera season is here.”

  It’s rare to find anyone interested enough to know about the diseases of the Displaced Persons Camps. “You know more than most people.”

  He shrugs. “I’m an attorney with Amnesty International by way of several corporate law offices. I’m trying to cleanse my soul.” He laughs derisively.

  “Is it working?”

  “Ask me in a few years.”

  “You don’t look old enough to have law school and that much working experience under your belt.”

  “Ha! Law school and a master’s in international affairs. My dad’s idea. I didn’t last long in the corporate world. My stint at a company called Astride Amalgamated Corporation did it for me. The pay was awesome, but you paid for every dollar earned. After a while, the golden handcuffs began to chafe.”

  “Wait. You worked for AAC?”

  “Yeah. You know it?”

  “Yeah. My friend works for them and I had a few run-ins with them in the Congo.”

  “The Congo?”

  “I was working at one of the big camps after the Rwandan genocide. At first it was filled with people fleeing the situation, but then the Hutu perps sort of took over and started running things. It made our job difficult. They were financing their military efforts against the Tutsi by mining the minerals for AAC’s computer operations. AAC had its own security services. Subcontractors, of course.”

  Why am I talking about this? I don’t feel like going down memory lane.

  Eric’s jaw tightens again, and he sighs. “Of course. We should get together sometime. Clearly, our paths have probably crossed at one time or another besides this hallway. When do you leave?”

  “Morning after tomorrow.” The time’s bearing down on me.

  “Wow. That soon? Maybe when you get back from Darfur.”

  “It’s a date.”

  “Good luck. If you need anything, I’m at Amnesty. Give me a call.”

  “Thanks, Eric. Listen. Do you have an extra cigarette?”

  “Yeah.” He retrieves one from his pocket, along with a lighter, hands me the cigarette and lights the flame. I inhale and exhale.

  “Thanks.”

  “Be careful and be safe. Good night.”

  “Night.”

  The stairwell is suddenly empty. Noises echo off the concrete walls below. I dial Mariah’s number.

  “Hello.” Her voice is husky.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “No. I’m still writing this article. Jeez. It’s one o’clock in the morning. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m just feeling sad. Wanted to hear your voice.”

  “Glad you caught me before I left. I’m heading to Charleston as soon as I can get out of here.”

  “Earlier than planned?”

  “Yes. I’m finishing the article tonight. I got out of Mexico as fast as I could. In fact, I had a little help with that. Heather’s already there, she wants me to come as soon as possible. I’ll let her tell you why she went early. The big boss at AAC scares her and I might have pissed him off. I think everyone’s making me feel paranoid, but I had a scary conversation with my coworker, Daniel; he sounded like he was in trouble and now I can’t get a hold of him. I have to pick up a flash drive he sent before I leave. Otherwise I’d leave this morning.”

  AAC. What are the chances? That much synchronicity has to account for something. “Funny, I was just talking about AAC with my neighbor. Is that why Heather left early?”

  “No, but she needs to tell you herself. She wants to tell everyone when we’re together. And what were you talking about AAC for?”

  “The trouble I had in the Congo with them. He used to work for them in the legal department, but he works for Amnesty now.”

  “I don’t remember that. What trouble did you have?”

  “Mineral extraction for their computer operations. They paid and the Hutu made war with the proceeds.” The line is silent. “Mariah? Are you still there?”

  “Yeah. I’m thinking. Computers, huh? Go figure. There’s a coincidence. The minerals get mixed and sort of lost and sent to Kuala Lumpur, where Daniel was investigating the operations. And now he’s missing. I think I heard him being . . . I don’t know. I need that flash drive. Worse, there’s a cholera epidemic in Ciudad Frontera and there are some serious water issues there.”

  I stand. The concrete on which I’ve been sitting has frozen me to the marrow. I wrap my shawl tighter around my shoulders and move back through the hallway. “Mariah? Is that the article you’re writing? If it is, you’re playing with fire, girl.”

  “Yes and no. I started writing about the virtual water in computer production and I sort of picked AAC to highlight it, but it’s turned into something much bigger. It’s not really what I started out to do and it’s not what my assignment is . . . technically.”

  “You mean, like a minefield bigger and not really a gig your boss knows about?”

  “Yeah. Something like that. I called the Latin American Water Tribunal and—”

  “You what?”

  “I called the—”

  “I heard what you said. Are you crazy? If the company’s involved in something dirty, they don’t want it smeared all over the place, and that’s what the tribunal will do. I’ve seen AAC’s goons in action, Mariah. I’ve seen them ‘dispose’ of anyone who gets in their way.”

  “That was in the Congo, Eve. They wouldn’t do that here.”

  “Mariah? You and I know better. This is me you’re talking to. You’ll be some random murder statistic or some random ‘accident’ and your death will become a cold case. End of story. Your story will end up in some storage facility in cockroach-infested cardboard boxes.”

  “You’re being melodramatic.”

  “Am I? Really? I seem to recall a few stories of Indians off the Rez who couldn’t find justice.”

  “That’s different. I’m far away from the Rez and I don’t have a tribal card or tribal plates. I’m floating out in the white man’s world.”

  “I didn’t mean they wouldn’t solve it because you’re Indian. I meant you wouldn’t be the first person to be denied justice against those who might benefit from a case becoming cold. From becoming a statistic.”

  “Yeah, well . . . I’m already in. I had to finish this article and that was the unfortunate path I took, and obviously Daniel took it as well. At least I might find justice for those suffering in Ciudad Frontera and maybe a little justice for everyone who’s suffering because of AAC—or I should say, this guy Saxton.”

  “Who’s Saxton?”

  “He’s supposed to become the CEO when the current one steps down. He’s also implicated in a sexual harassment and discrimination case where the Claimant has mysteriously been found murdered. Heather was involved in the case.”

  “What the fuck? Mariah, this isn’t funny. Heather too?”

  “Yeah. It seems our paths are colliding.”

  “Be careful, Mariah. I don’t trust anyone or anything right now. Too many coincidences. And what does our friend Paul the Stalker have to do with all of this? Why now? Nothing makes sense anymore.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Well, I guess we’ll find out soon enough. I’ll see you day after tomorrow.”

  “Fatalism? That’s un
like you.”

  “You’re right. Are you going to the water conference or sticking with us?”

  “Tickets to the conference are too pricy. Can’t afford it. You’re stuck with me.”

  “Good. Be careful. Manana.”

  “Maka Manana.”

  Two puffs and my cigarette’s done. What does it matter? I don’t smoke anymore. At least that’s what I tell myself when I’m feeling weak. But shit, it tastes good. Nothing like a transgression to remind you of your past.

  The door to the apartment creaks. Jerome will smell the smoke. I spray eau de toilette around myself and walk into the mist.

  The mist. It hangs around me as I lie back down. It floats along the ceiling and clouds my vision. The mist and the jungle.

  It had been a long day of taking in names and helping people find relatives in the camps that lined the border with Rwanda. Thunderstorms rolled through with bands of heavy rain. Conditions were always right for the worst. Dysentery. Cholera. Malaria. Despair. Uprooted, the displaced sloshed through mud in search of wood and clean water and food and a distant place to relieve themselves. But distance was never far from someone else. The trash and sewage and mud and meanness worked in tandem with disease to kill. I was so tired of keeping track. The jungle of my own despair moved in on me. The Democratic Republic of the Congo killed. There was no getting around it. And yet it was one of the most beautiful places. It was how I pictured it for Terrell. Dying surrounded by beauty. There was some solace in that. Did I have to have his bones to know this truth? Was it not enough to know that he had died doing what was demanded of him? No. I already knew.

  And yet I didn’t. Not really. I know forensics. I’ve seen death. The bones tell very little. It’s the flesh, or what is left of it, that tells the how. But I don’t really want to know the how. Do I? It’s maddening. I want answers to things for which I don’t want answers. The proverbial Catch-22. It’s a big mind fuck.

  I sigh and yank the binding sheets from around me. Jerome stirs and throws his arm and leg over me. His skin is clammy. I ease myself out from under him.

  David saved me. We took a day to hike into Virunga National Park. Playing tourist, our guide had taken us to see a family of mountain gorillas. Something in my heart melted that day.