The memories of girlhood ebbed and flowed through her mind, filling her with touches of warmth, making her seasick. She could have become a teacher. She could have had a little house and an azalea garden. She could have become a wife. Scott, her high school love, who had first aroused in her sweet dreams of passion, might at this moment have been making tender love to her. Instead, a crazed captain would soon rape her for his own horrendous pleasure.
The wetness on the floor had begun to dry. Who had been in the cell before her? Whose anguish had been rinsed away by casual buckets of water? A beautiful olive-skinned child, nails torn out so his mother in the room next door could hear, merely to confess and die?
Had Pablo, the old farmer, been subjected to the capucha, the rubber suffocation hood, to the point of near death, only to have it done again and again as reported by campesinos who knew of the atrocities of the security force?
Or had Sister Maria been raped here? Had the policia used the electric prods on her and in her, anointing her with water so the shocks rode more cleanly to her core?
Sweet Jesus, to see the hills of her home again, to walk the valley and smell the magnolia and lilac. To be content to bloom where she had been planted, to serve those with whom she had lived.
To be Scott's wife. To raise children.
That would have been as good.
Would that have been as good?
Who would have come, then, to this dangerous country?
Who, then, has stayed behind to help those of my own mountains?
She could not think. She could not know. God did not answer. Perhaps the man was wrong. She was too confused to call herself a Christian. She was too frightened. Her head pounded. Her muscles were cramped with fear.
She sat and waited. She looked for Jesus' face in the patterns of her hands and saw nothing.
Some time later, the man returned. He wore the same clothes; Catherine could not guess if he had gone home, wherever that might be, or if he had been at the detention center the whole time. She wondered if he had family. Did he have a wife who loved him? Was he the father of little children? Did they know of the place where he worked, and of what went on there? The man brought water in a pitcher and a glass. Catherine sat on the floor and turned away. She was surprised he did not gag at the stench in the room.
"Sister," said the man.
"How long has it been?" she asked. "Twenty four hours?"
"These things take time," said the man. He put the pitcher and glass on the floor beside Catherine. She was thirsty but did not reach for them.
"What things? What things take time? Why am I here?"
"I am not of the fuerza. I do not know the specifics."
"I'm to be questioned?"
"I do not know. I do not believe so. Have some water."
Catherine shook her head.
"You have great faith," said the man.
Catherine said nothing.
"Your love is great. What does your faith say to you?"
Catherine did not want to talk. She said, "That Christ gave His life for us. We should love as He loved."
"You believe life is sacred?"
"Yes."
"But Christ gave up His life? He did not see His life as sacred?"
Catherine closed her eyes, then opened them. The smell of the cell made them burn. "Life is sacred. Love is more sacred. Sacrifice for others is the ultimate love. You aren't a Christian?"
"I have an interest in Christianity." The man sat down, then, beside Catherine. He folded his hands. "You would do whatever you could to stop suffering and death, sister?"
Catherine felt sweat between her breasts and under her arms. Of course she would, she was a sister, a Christian. Christ could expect no less of her.
"You would do whatever you could?" the man repeated.
"I would do whatever I could," said Catherine. There was glass in her words. Her throat felt gouged and bloody with the commitment.
"Life is sacred," said the man. "Christ said so."
"Yes."
"The screams of the campesinos bothers you."
Catherine nodded. "Dear God, yes."
"You would like to save a life, sister?"
Catherine's heart flipped. Now, oh God, she would know why she was here.
The man took Catherine's hand in his own. He said, "The name of your mission, the name of Padre Felipe's mission, is 'Brazo de Dios', is it not?"
Catherine stared at him. Slowly, she said, "Yes." It was all she could do to not jerk her hand away from the smooth clasp of the man in black. "The Arm of God. We are part of the body of Christ. The arm of God reaches out to the poor and needy."
"You have a lovely arm," said the man. And he lowered his smooth, smiling lips to Catherine's arm and kissed the flesh. Catherine flinched. "God should be proud of his creation."
"Please," said Catherine. Think of God, she thought. Pray for a sign. Think of the love of Christ. Christ help me. "I know a little nursing. I help children at the mission when they're hurt. I would do what I could to help stop pain. Shall I minister to those the fuerza interrogate? Is that why you brought me here?"
"Sister," said the man. He let go of Catherine's arm, and she immediately drew it up about herself. "It would not be right for you to see what goes on behind the hidden walls. It is very ugly."
Catherine picked up the glass, and tried the pitcher, but it shook too much to pour. The man took it from her and filled the glass. Catherine sipped, choked, and sipped again. In her ears, her heart thundered.
"Come, my sister," said the man. "Our time is here." He stood and reached out his hand for Catherine. The glass fell from her fingers and shattered on the concrete floor by her knee. She took the man's hand and stood.
"The captain," she said.
"Shhh, now," said the man.
Pray for us now and in the hour of our death, amen.
A blindfold was tied across Catherine's eyes, but the man did not use handcuffs as had the policia when she had been brought here. He was not rough, but decidedly gentle. Yes, she thought anxiously. Maybe he is a good man, in a place of bad men. His kiss might not have been lecherous, but fatherly. He would not take her to the captain, he would let her free.
The cell door was opened; Catherine could feel cooler air against the skin of her face. She walked carefully, following the man's steady lead.
Human shrieks were clearer now. Low growling voices of the policia, inhuman laughter at the plight of their captives.
Mama, take me home. Sweet Jesus, Mary, Mama, Daddy, I want to go home. Tears leaked through the cloth of the blindfold. Catherine swayed, horror stealing her balance. They walked the corridor. The man squeezed Catherine's hand as if they were lovers on a first date, pressing his shoulder to her so she would not fall.
"I'm with you, sister," said the man. "Do you trust me?"
Catherine began to sob.
"Do you trust me?"
Catherine said, "I want to."
"Trust me," the man said.
They stopped, and a door was opened. There were no screams in this room, and through the blindfold Catherine was aware of bright lights. With the man's urging, she stepped carefully over the high threshold.
The blindfold was removed. They stood in a room that resembled a clinic. It was clean and white. There was a little window, and through the window Catherine could see the shadowed shape of branches and leaves outside. A white-sheeted bed sat in the middle, surrounded by floor lights and a wheeled table. A second man in white, a doctor, she thought, washed his hands at a steel sink.
"Christ sacrificed his life," said the man in black. "We do not ask that of you."
Catherine's legs gave. She dropped to the floor. Her head bobbed as though her neck was broken. "No," she said. "I'll tell you anything. What are you going to do? Please, no."
"Sister."
"Don't let the captain have me. Please let me go!"
"Sister," the man said again. "There is no captain here." He put his arms beneath h
ers and took her to the table. "We do not ask your life. We do not ask that you tell us anything, for we know anything you might know. Do you not trust me? I have not lied to you at any time. I merely ask to see your faith."
Catherine watched the doctor put on gloves. The disinfected smell was that of lilacs and magnolias. The doctor's face swam, shimmering, becoming that of her father, and of Padre Felipe, and of Pablo. On his face, then, was the demonic grin of the captain, and she could hear the shrieks of Maria as he had abused her body.
"I am interested in Christianity."
Catherine looked away from the doctor to the man in black. He nodded, and gestured to the table. Catherine shook her head. The man smiled patiently, and with a swift movement, lifted Catherine onto the table and lay her on her back. Catherine tried to hit him away but he held her hands down. "Now, now," he said.
"Twenty-four hours," Catherine managed. "Listen to me, please. Wait, listen." God, a miracle now, a message, a vision, now or never, amen! "How long have I been here? I'm to have a judge. You said you knew the law. Please listen to me."
"This is not a matter of law," said the man. "It is a matter of faith."
The doctor moved to the table's side. He removed Catherine's shoes and put them on the floor. The sensation of bare feet cut Catherine with a surge of mortification and helplessness. Her breaths convulsed her entire body. The light above the table seared her skin as if it were the fire of hell.
"Twenty-four hours. My mother, I mean Padre Felipe won't know what's happened. I've got to go home."
Home, the mountains, Kentucky, the mission, God, where is home?
"Your mother did not worry when you came to our country, she knows you did it with faith." The man in black stroked Catherine's shoulder while the doctor unbuttoned her blouse and lifted her slightly to slide it off. "Now," the man said. "You told me you would do what you could to save a life. You have heard the screams of many dying here. Worthless lives, I believe, but you say you would save one. Did you not?"
Catherine closed her eyes to the light and the men. She tried to think of Kentucky and of the familiar roads and farms and forests. No visage of God appeared on her lids.
"Your church sent you here. You believe its teachings. Can you follow your words?"
"The Lord is my shepherd," prayed Catherine. There was a wonderful Wednesday night mass in her home town. Father Altman would sing with his guitar and there would be a covered dish dinner afterwards. Scott would be there. He and Catherine held hands under the long folding table. Catherine would make fried chicken. Her mother had taught her to fix chicken the good way. Crunchy and with lots of pepper. "I shall not want."
"I will give you the chance to save a life."
Fried chicken and lilacs. Simple pleasures. Given of God. Given of God and taken away.
"Will you give your arm to save a life?"
"My arm?" gasped Catherine. Her eyes remained closed. The man in black slapped Catherine's face. Her eyes sprang open. "The chance to save a life," he said. "Will you give your arm to save a life?"
"My arm?"
"Brazo de Dios. Arm of God. Given for his children. Are you willing to do what he would do?"
Catherine looked at her hands, her arms. They would take her arm away to save a life. They would take an arm away to test her faith and to save a life. A sudden, violent tremor twisted Catherine, and she screamed, "Not my arm! Don't cut off my arm!"
There was silence for a moment, and the man in black said, "Not even for a life, sister?"
Campesinos, Catherine thought wildly. They expect violence, they live it, they are used to it. They won't know what I've done here. I can't lose my arm. Catherine bent her head to her chest. They'd never know my sacrifice.
"Not even for a life?"
Catherine thought, Without my arm I couldn't make fried chicken. I couldn't hold the bowl and stir the coating. Her lungs felt crushed. She struggled for air.
"My arm," she hissed. "Oh God, no."
"Very well, then," said the man in black. "We shall let you go back to the mission. I see what Christianity is now."
"Yes," said Catherine then, and her soul wailed at what fate her voice had sealed. "Take the arm, oh dear God, take the arm from me." Acid tears drew savage lines on her face. "What arm will you take, you bastard?"
The doctor turned and pulled a syringe from the wheeled table. He forced fluid through the tip, then pinched the skin beneath Catherine's right forearm.
The man in black kissed Catherine's cheek. "I am not a bastard. There is no pain. We will make you feel nothing. I could be a Christian, could I not?"
There was a sting, and the needle was moved in and out of Catherine's upper arm, numbing it instantly in several places. A moment later, the entire arm was deadened. The doctor silently patted the skin, and frowned with duty. He tied a rubber tourniquet about the arm, just beneath Catherine's arm pit.
"You toy with me," Catherine said. "You filthy bastard."
The doctor brought out a small knife, and a surgical saw.
"I am a good man," said the man in black. "The policia would have raped you many times, and beat you for their pleasure. The capucha on a woman fills them with lust, and they would use you until your death. I am not a bad man." He rubbed his mouth, nodding, seeming to consider his words. Then he said, "Turn away, now. This will be ugly."
Catherine turned away. I'm saving a life, she thought. Remember this, Lord. Her eyes found the window, and the shimmering trees beyond. Leaves caught sunlight, reflecting it like chips of liquid emerald. Catherine tried to watch it to become part of it. Part of the beauty that was God's natural world. Harmony, sweetness, peace, gentleness.
And she would no longer be natural. Her body was being destroyed on a whim. And she was enduring it, for the sake of faith. She had no promise a life would be spared for this obscene test.
Certainly God did not want this. This was evil's desire. No. God would not want this.
No.
"No!" cried Catherine. "Don't take my arm!"
She looked back at the doctor.
He was holding her arm. It was no longer attached to her shoulder. Blood poured in a hot stream as he held it, looking confused at Catherine's sudden cry.
Catherine looked at the short stump, at the deep, scarlet pool and the flap of skin the doctor would stitch up to cover the raw end.
She screamed, a supreme and mortal sound. She thought she saw the man in black mouth, "Trust me." She fell, then, into unconsciousness.
Her sleep was as empty as the hole of hell.
There was the sound of rumbling, and the sensation of rough waters. There was heat and a taste of brine.
Catherine opened her eyes. She was in a jeep, and it was traveling the pocked roads of the night countryside. She was alone except for the driver beside her. She could not see who it was. His clothes were as black as the sky. She tried to think of who he might be, or why she might be with him, but something in her veins made thinking difficult. Her heart pumped betrayal to her limbs and her mind. She felt bile rise and with effort, she swallowed it back. "Where?" she asked.
The driver did not look at her, but when he spoke, she remembered him.
"We are going back to Brazo de Dios," said the man in black.
The jeep hit a pit and Catherine fell against the low door. Her arm, however, did not come in contact with the frame. There was no specific pain, just a sickening sensation of nothingness. She looked over to see why she was leaning on her side.
Her right arm was gone. The stump was bandaged and pinned neatly. Catherine moaned. Nausea came and went.
"And you'll kill me now, won't you?" she said then. "I'll become one of the disappeared."
"We are going back to Brazo de Dios," the man repeated. "You will listen to me, because I tell the truth. I am not a liar, nor a bad man."
Catherine looked up and could not see the moon. Stars hid themselves behind the dark clouds of a coming storm. God did not show Himself.
"Sist
er, I know the captain of whom you spoke. In that is the only lie I have told you today. The captain of the fuerza is a strange man. A brutal man. He has no respect for religion or things of God. But he did not send for you today. I had you taken by the force."
Catherine touched her face with the fingers of her left hand. Her lips were cracked. She fought to keep her eyes open. She fought to listen to the man.
"The captain has plans tomorrow morning to come to your mission. All of the people who work there will die." Catherine felt the drugs tug her stomach. She leaned forward and spit on the floor. Her shoes were spattered. "What do you mean?" she said slowly.
"What I say I mean," said the man. "The captain has plans to find all the sisters and brothers and even your Padre Felipe and take them to the field. There they will be gunned down. You, having caught his attention, would have been molested before your death. You would have been passed around to any of the men in his favor. And then you would join the others of the mission, in a ditch in the field. You see, church is trouble to the captain. He does not tolerate trouble."
Catherine shook her head. "He can't do that. I love those people." Then she said, "You took my arm from me."
The man drove in silence. Catherine could see the familiar rise of a knoll, and knew they were, indeed, driving toward the mission.
"The captain," said the man in black. "He does have a love, or a sympathy. I do not know the difference. The captain's sister is a cripple. His sister, not as the church, but as a brother and sister, do you understand?"
Catherine understood, but could not nod.
"The captain's sister was wounded as a child when he was but a boy himself. He was playing with his father's gun and there was an accident. The gun went off and shot his sister in the arm. It tore the arm up badly, and poor treatment made amputation necessary."
"Why are you telling me this? You are taking me to the mission. We are all going to be killed!"
"He loves his sister. He has sympathy, maybe guilt. He will not harm cripples."
The jeep reached the top of the knoll. Dim lights spotted various windows in the mission's dormitory. A dog, belonging to some campesinos living in close vicinity of the mission, barked at the approaching vehicle.
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