Nick Nolan

by Double Bound (Sequel To Strings)

  And nothing would stop him.

  "Turn here!" Babalu exclaimed suddenly, upon recognizing a curlicued iron fence that began at the base of São Clemente and then swooped up the hill. "This is the way!"

  But as soon as the car began its ascent, all hope vanished.

  El Gigante's compound, and the entire top of the hill, was lit up brighter than Cristo.

  Clearly, their absences had been discovered.

  "Shit!" Carlo exclaimed. "How're we gonna sneak in there now?"

  Ernesto slowed the Fiat and pulled over.

  "You cannot go there," Babalu told them. "We will go back to my home, and we will think of something."

  "What about the American consulate?" Carlo suggested.

  Arthur shook his head. "They aren't going to investigate Fabiano, because right now he's the only one who's supposedly working on our side. But we can go there after we save Jeremy--that'll be the safest place until we can get on a plane."

  Ernesto snapped the gearshift into first, then made a U-turn and continued back down the hill. As they drove back to the favela Dona Marta, Arthur looked over at Carlo and saw he was dozing, finally. "So, Babalu," he said quietly, leaning forward in his seat, "what's happening today, on the nineteenth, that's so important?"

  "I'll explain when we get home," Babalu answered, his voice barely a whisper.

  "Now my heart is so heavy, and my body is too weak. Whatever we think to do, we must do it well. Too much bad can happen, for all of you. As for me"--he chuckled--"I do not care, for my time is almost over, so I will do whatever I can for my primo." He looked back at Carlo's head bobbing at an angle against the tiny headrest. "This boy, he was my mother's sister's favorite child. And I will not allow him to have a shattered heart for the rest of his life; even after I have turned to dust, I will still do for him what I am able."

  Chapter 36

  Once inside the man's dwelling, they began brainstorming. "Babalu, please,"

  Arthur asked, "what's going to happen to Jeremy today? Why is the nineteenth so important?"

  "You were in school in America in the 1960s, yes?" he asked. Arthur shook his head. "I didn't really start school until the early seventies."

  "And were you not taught that Brasilia was to be the utopia of Latin America--the buildings, the government, the roads, all engineered with the idea of 'freedom,' and hard work making life better, as it is in America?"

  "That's one of the reasons I wanted to come down here, to see all of that."

  "It was all lies," Babalu announced with authority. "So much about Brazil is lies.

  You will not find this in the history books, but the lie of Brasilia was financed by the American government and its tobacco companies. Brazil was to be the land that died in your civil war, where the wages were so close to slavery, and the roads would carry your big American cars and trucks, and tourists would swarm our beaches and support your puppet politicians."

  Arthur had never heard this before; in fact, Brasilia's American presence had vanished quietly from American life by the time he graduated junior high. "So what happened?"

  "Your big war in Asia, in Vietnam. Your money and attention went there, and it starved Brasilia. And without the money, many promises were broken to our people, so our presidents broke many promises to your presidents. So today there is nothing to see in the capital but halfempty buildings and brown grass."

  "So that's what happened," Arthur muttered. "But what does this have to do with Jeremy?"

  "This is to show you my beloved Brazil is built upon lies, old and new. Do you know how Rio de Janeiro came to be known by that? It's very name?"

  They shook their heads.

  "The story taught in schools declares that on January first, 1502, this city was claimed by the Portuguese explorer Gaspar de Lemos, and he named it the 'River of January.' Are we to believe he was so blind that the bay looked like a river?

  Ha! "

  Carlo and Arthur nodded politely, wondering if he would ever get to the point.

  "But this bay is not to be mistaken for a river; any child can see that. This is Guanabara Bay, with Sugarloaf and Corcovado overlooking it.

  "Of course," Arthur agreed quickly. "But what about Jeremy?"

  "It does not have to do with Jeremy, my friend. It has to do with God."

  " Then what does God have to do with Jeremy?" Arthur asked impatiently.

  "This city," Babalu continued, now whispering, "was named after a very powerful saint--the saint of Naples, Italy. San Gennaro--Janeiro-- January--Januário, it is the same word in Italy as in Portugal as in America. The truth is, de Lemos did not discover this city; the man who discovered it was Dias de Solis, the Portuguese sailor. But Dias de Solis, although Portuguese, was sailing in service for Spain, and he landed here years before de Lemos on São Januário's feast day, September nineteenth."

  "Today," said Carlo.

  "Yes. De Solis was so grateful at landing here after so long at sea, and because he was the only Portuguese on a Spanish ship with sailors who were ready to murder him for his poor navigations, he thought his arrival on the nineteenth was a miracle. So he convinced his Spanish captain to name the bay, and what would be the city, after São Januário."

  "Who was São Januário?" Arthur asked.

  "He was a priest who visited Christians in jail, who was beheaded by the Romans after wild beasts would not devour him. The Italians love him especially, but the Spanish and Portuguese also revere him."

  "And Jeremy?" Carlo asked.

  "I am getting to that." Babalu held up his hand. "But first you need to learn the entire story, so we know what to do. So where was I?"

  "The Spanish?" Arthur grumbled.

  "The king of Portugal became angry that a traitor named this rich place. So after the Portuguese gained control from Spain, he changed the story, saying hispeople landed here on January first. But even the locals still call the old Morro do Castelo as São Januário's Hill." He nodded knowingly. "They know after who this city is named."

  "And this is the actual hill where Fabiano's house is?" Arthur asked.

  "The very place. It is a very ancient fortress"

  "What about the rio, or the river," asked Carlo.

  "The Portuguese thought us so stupid that we should believe the bay was named as a river, but this would be like...naming the mountains as the valleys," he laughed.

  "The rio is his blood; it means "the blood of São Januário," where his dried blood becomes fresh every year like the River of life in the Bible. This happens in naples every September nineteenth, and also here when the old people, the ones who remember this, they come from the plantations and mountains and faraway towns to witness the miracle--just as they do in Naples."

  "The saint's dried blood actually becomes wet again?" asked Arthur.

  "In a manner of speaking. It is very important for the peasants to see the milagre de sangue, the miracle of the blood. Because in years when the blood stays dry, there have been horrible things: disease, earthquakes, no rain, famine, children dying. So the wealthy men of the city make certain the blood always becomes fresh each year. It keeps the poor people happy and not worried about such misfortunes.

  "Each year a statue of São Januário is brought in a procession up to Cristo, and the people come from everywhere to witness the miracle where blood flows like the rio from him. After this, they go home knowing this will be a good year, with no horrible things for their children or for Brazil, and they work happily but very hard on the plantations and factories."

  "And does real blood really flow from this statue?" Carlo asked. "Or is it fake blood?"

  "It is real blood, mi primo. It flows...because it is no statue, but the blood from a real man each year, poisoned with plants that make him almost dead and perfectly still--like a statue."

  "No!" they exclaimed.

  He shrugged. "I do not think El Gigante would sacrifice such an important man as your Jeremy, because usually he gets a boy from the gutters who no one wil
l miss.

  But he has him captive, and you said the rich aunt is having trouble with the money and your government does not care, and the Feast of São Januário is tonight."

  The men looked at each other.

  Arthur stood. "What should we do?"

  "Your only chance is to attend mass tonight up at the chapel nossa Senhora Aparecida under Cristo, and to find some way to save him, in front of people who will not allow this to happen to a real man."

  "But what if the people stop us from stopping Fabiano?" asked Carlo.

  "El Gigante is very rich and very bad, but he is afraid of what the poor people can do to him; he witnessed them kill his father during a demonstration of the unions--

  he was stoned to death--and he is afraid ever since they will kill him also. But then others say that Fabiano orchestrated his father's murder himself, as he was a very cruel old man, and was very rich. El Gigante had much to gain from his father's death, just as he has gained his father's taste for cruelty." He thought for a moment.

  "But there is someone who is not afraid of anything or anyone. His accomplice in this, she calls herself Rosa Caveira. She is pure evil."

  "What does she do?"

  "I'm not certain what she still does, although my blood runs cold at the thought of what tasks she was talented for when we were young. But for the ceremony she is the priest, and she makes the drugs and gives them to the victim, and she paints him like a statue and prepares his look of holy presence, and then..."

  "Then what?" Arthur asked.

  He sighed. "Then she slices the wrists and lets the young man bleed to death while the faithful watch the Rio de Januário spill into the holy crystal vials."

  "How do you know all of this?" asked Carlo.

  "Rosa and I...we were once friends, many years ago. We spent many, many nights in El Gigante's home, and have seen many horrible--and wonderful--things happen there. Such a place of sophistication and beauty it was, at one time; parties, banquets, balls, international people of the jet set whose names you have heard and faces the world knew very well. But el Gigante, he has strange tastes for passions, and he loves to see innocent people suffer. Miserably."

  "You two were friends?" Arthur asked. "You and Rosa?"

  "We worked together...for his guests' pleasure," he whispered, with a head toss toward Ernesto. "That is how I became a father of my two strong sons, of who I am so proud."

  "You have two sons?" Carlo asked.

  "The other will stay with me tomorrow night," he replied. "But working for Fabiano is also how I became so very ill. And I do not forget this, not any day that I still breathe. That man," Babalu said, pointing at the wall in the direction of the compound, "he gave me two lives, but he took one away: my own. I will not have him take away another from this family." He looked at Carlo and smiled. "Your Jeremy, he is one of my family now, too."

  Chapter 37

  Jeremy, having suffered through an extremely fatiguing day, had drifted off just after midnight, in spite of Rosa's blaring TV and its seemingly nonsensical Portuguese blathering. But he dozed miserably, and each time he shifted in his sleep, his shackles and handcuffs woke him with wicked pinchings and a halting of his normally languid movements.

  But the worst part was how his spirits had fallen; he couldn't remember feeling this low or hopeless or despondent since his move from Fresno to Ballena Beach. It was all too good to be true, he thought as he heard Rosa light yet another cigarette, and the television's flickering bled through his clenched eyelids. Arthur, Carlo, the house, Aunt Katharine, my Range Rover, my future. Not even a year it's been...not even a year. I guess none of it was ever really meant for me.

  Sometime later, he dreamt he was back in Fresno, and Tiffany, his mother, was lying on the sofa, drunk and passed out. 'Mom, come on. Get up.' He shook her shoulders, but she wouldn't revive. 'Mom, wake up! ' But still there was no response. He began stomping around the apartment in a panic, imagining they were supposed to be somewhere or do something very important or flee some imminent danger, but he couldn't remember any of the details. 'Mom! Mom! ' There were voices outside their door. Men's voices that were shouting. 'Mom! We need to leave! Get up! Come on, now, get up! '

  As the door burst open, he woke with a startled yelp--as did Rosa--and tried to raise his hands in front of his face, but the cuffs bit into his skin mercilessly.

  Three men with guns swarmed the tiny room; two grabbed Rosa while the other pointed his revolver at her.

  "Don't shoot me!" Jeremy yelled.

  " Cai fora, macacada! " Rosa shouted at them, and spat on the floor.

  " Cale a boca, puta velha!" one of them shouted back, and she was shoved out of the room with her hands in the air and the gun pressed to her temple.

  Jeremy craned his neck hopefully, his heart bursting with relief and hope.

  Arthur? Carlo?

  "Jeremy!" Dom Fabiano announced. "My poor friend!"

  The towering shadow darkened the doorway.

  He bent down and unlocked Jeremy's feet, then hands. "Are you all right? Did they hurt you? Thank God you are all right!"

  "Oh, thank you!" Jeremy leaned back on the bed, rubbing his sore wrists and ankles. Then he stood up unsteadily, and Fabiano pulled him into a hug.

  "We were all so worried about you. Everyone has been very sick with worry."

  He returned the man's embrace, then pulled away. "Where's Arthur? Where's Carlo?" he asked. "Are they OK? Has my aunt called you? What's going on?"

  "What is important is that you are fine, my young friend. I'll tell you everything in a moment, but now we have to get you someplace absolutely safe." He placed an arm around his shoulders and began leading him toward the door. "Please, come with me. Your terrible ordeal is almost over."

  Together they left the room and went down a narrow corridor, where they passed a seething Rosa as she was being questioned, gun to her side, by some officious-looking men. Then they descended some stone steps and passed through another long, dimly lit hallway that emptied into an old, unused kitchen.

  "Where are we going?" Jeremy asked as they sidled between counters and cabinets and sinks that hadn't been used in ages.

  "To my home," Fabiano said. "It is the only place I know where you will be safe.

  My staff is already waiting for you." He pushed a final door open, and they went through it. "They have prepared a lovely meal, as well as a very comfortable room especially for your recovery, before your trip back home to America."

  The dark garage they entered was empty, except for a windowless cargo van whose motor cranked suddenly to life. They made their way down some steps; then Jeremy stepped through the rear doors of the vehicle and sat on the bench seat, while the big man sat next to him.

  Then a huge, old wooden door swung wide, and Jeremy squinted as the van drove through the opening into the blinding morning glare.

  "What did they do to you?" Fabiano asked as they swung out onto an access alley and began winding their way down the serpentine road.

  "It was only that Rosa man-lady-thing with me. She just watched TV all night and chain-smoked until I fell asleep." He tried to watch the scenery as they descended the hill, but from the backseat not much was visible except for the metal ribs inside the van. "Where are Arthur and Carlo?"

  "They are with the authorities, where they are learning how to transfer the money to the criminals safely. Then they will take the ransom to a meeting place for the exchange. I am acting as the guarantor of the transaction--they have guaranteed your safety because I have guaranteed their money."

  "But is that safe for them?" Jeremy asked, scared suddenly that his lovers would be dealing with those gun-wielding criminals. But then he knew how capable Arthur was, with his military background and all.

  "Kidnappers usually demand a person of the family to deliver the ransom, because a police officer might recognize the kidnappers, or run off with the money. But do not worry, my friend. The money is already with some trusted authorities, and they are
just now learning of the location and the protocol for the exchange."

  "That's great!" Jeremy began to relax. "So where're we going now? To meet them?"

  "Not yet--they are still being advised. But in the meantime, we will have a lovely afternoon together, and then your gentlemen will meet us up at my villa after the exchange. And tomorrow, you will all be on the first plane back to the USA."

  He grabbed Fabiano's hand. "Thank you so much for everything," he told him. "I didn't know what was gonna happen; I mean, in a situation like that you just get some crazy ideas about everything that could go wrong. You know?"

  "I do know." Fabiano nodded, smiling benignly. "Now, sit back and forget your troubles, for we will be at my compound shortly."

  And while imagining his impending joyful reunion with his lovers, filled with tender kisses and bone-crushing hugs, Jeremy was so preoccupied that he failed to notice the van was now traveling up the front side of a mountain whose back they had descended, just moments before.

  Chapter 38

  As he followed Fabiano from the portico up the wide front steps of the home, he ascertained that the modernist property was spectacular, or had been at one time.

  Having been built in the same style, scale and splendor as the buildings of Brasilia, its monolithic concrete walls were imprinted with a random geometric relief, and the colonnades outlining the perimeter of the mountaintop property soared over the now empty reflecting pools--like an elevated roadway built over once shimmering canals. Neglect showed on every surface; even the once graceful rows of eucalyptus tilted upward the edges of the walkways, and forests of philodendron crowded their root-bulged concrete planters. When new, he guessed the estate would have rivaled even his aunt's imposing cliff-top compound back home. But now the broken-tiled reflecting pools, fissure-laced walls and dirt-streaked plate-glass windows told him the man's priorities, as well as his money, lay elsewhere.

  They made their way up a short flight of terrazzo stairs into the grand main hall, where one of Fabiano's staff nodded politely as he passed, and another, upon laying eyes on him, made the sign of the cross.