“I have to go, sweetheart,” she said. The words sounded so final. “Take care of yourself.”
She again wrapped her arms around the little girl and held her. It was excruciating but she forced herself to her feet. “I’ll never forget you.”
Roxana just looked at her, confused. Then her eyes filled with tears and she grabbed Christine’s legs. Christine bent over and hugged her again and they were both crying. “Please don’t make this harder,” she said. She kissed her again, then stood and without looking back walked out. She could hear the bus’s engine fire up and she knew they were waiting for her.
She walked to the boys’ dorm and found Pablo sitting on the floor filling the back of his new truck with the sticks and rocks that he had carried up from the courtyard.
“Hi.”
He looked at her tear-streaked face. “Hi.”
“Pablo, do you know where Paul is?”
“He’s not back.”
Her throat tightened. “Would you give this to him.” She handed him the note.
“Sure.” He shoved the paper into his pocket.
“You won’t forget?”
“Nah. I’ll remember.”
“Thanks, Pablo. May I have a hug?”
He looked up from the truck. “Sure.”
She crouched down next to him, and they hugged. “Be a good boy.”
“Okay. Bye.”
She turned and walked back down the balcony and down the stairs to the courtyard, fighting the growing impulse to cry. She didn’t understand why it hurt so much that Paul wasn’t there. She told herself it didn’t matter; after all, she really barely knew him. The bus honked and she knew it was for her. She hurried her pace. As she passed the well, someone called to her from the classroom.
“Christine.”
Paul stood just inside the doorway. He walked to her. In one hand he carried a camera; in the other he held a sunflower.
“I couldn’t find you,” she said.
“I’m sorry, I just got back.”
“I left a note for you with Pablo. Just in case I didn’t see you again.”
He looked into her eyes. “What did it say?”
“Thank you. Mostly.” She hesitated then said, “May I be honest?”
He nodded.
“Last night was so special for me. I’ve been wondering all day what I did to scare you off. If I said something to upset you, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Paul frowned. “I’m the one who should apologize. I shouldn’t have done that to you. Last night was wonderful, maybe too wonderful.” He shifted awkwardly on the balls of his feet. Then he took a deep breath. “Sometimes it’s better to just not know what you’re missing.” After a moment he smiled. “One thing I know for certain—Martin is a real fool.”
Christine smiled as well.
“Did you say goodbye to Roxana?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Is she all right?”
“She was crying.”
“I’ll go see her.” He handed her the flower. “I picked it on the way back. So you’ll remember us.”
“Thank you.” She looked at it for a moment, twisting its stem so the flower faced her. “I don’t think I’m in danger of forgetting.”
They stood awkwardly, unsure how to say goodbye.
Jessica had left the bus and was walking toward the hacienda. “C’mon, Chris,” she called impatiently.
“May I take a picture?” he asked.
“Of course.” She held the sunflower up near her face. “How’s this?”
“Perfect.” He snapped the picture. “You better go,” Paul said. He paused, then he suddenly stepped forward and pressed his lips against hers.
“Christine!” Jessica shouted, “You’re holding everyone up.”
They parted, and Christine took Paul’s hand in both of hers, the sunflower crossed beneath. She lifted his hand to her lips. Paul walked her to the outer wall. Jessica saw them together and stopped. “Sorry,” she said, and turned and walked back to the bus.
“If you’re ever in Dayton…”
“I’ll call. I promise.”
She sighed deeply.
“You better go,” Paul said.
She looked once more into his eyes. “Adiós,” she said.
“Adiós.”
She turned and walked away, clutching the sunflower. The bus door swung open, and Paul watched her climb onto the bus. The bus’s brake released and the leviathan slowly crawled back up the dirt and gravel road. The afternoon sun glared across the bus’s windows, turning them golden, and he couldn’t see Christine staring at him, her face pressed against the glass. When the bus was out of sight, he went to find Roxana.
Chapter
Fourteen
The more I study history the more I realize how little mankind has changed. There are no new scripts, just different actors.
PAUL COOK’S DIARY
Christine sat silently as the bus moved past broad terraced fields south into the Sacred Valley. From time to time Jim would take the bus’s microphone and point out landmarks, but Christine was oblivious to them. Her mind was still at El Girasol.
“A sol for your thoughts,” Jessica said.
Christine looked out the window. “You’d be wasting your money.”
“Are you going to tell me why you’re being so quiet?”
She sighed deeply. “No.”
“Are you mad at me for neglecting you?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Christine turned to her. “Then why won’t you tell me?”
“Because I don’t want to talk about it.”
Jessica raised her hands in mock surrender. “All right, all right. Sorry.” She had barely let the moment settle when she started up again. “Chris, you’ve got to move on. Martin hasn’t even called since he left. He’s not worthy of your pain.”
Christine didn’t respond, and Jessica suddenly understood.
“It isn’t Martin.” Christine’s expression confirmed her suspicion. “That must have been some walk.”
Christine turned to her. “I want to see him again.”
“Don’t tell me you’re falling for him…” Jessica slowly shook her head. “Chris, what are you thinking? The man has crates for furniture. Where are you going to go with that?”
Christine turned back to the window.
“Don’t be mad at me, I’m just being realistic.”
Without turning back, Christine said, “And your relationship with Jim is realistic?”
“At least he lives in the same hemisphere.” Her voice dropped. “Besides, it’s as realistic as any of my relationships.”
Jessica leaned closer. “Listen, Chris, I have no illusion that this fling with Jim will last past next week. That’s just my twisted way of dealing with things. But you don’t do anything halfway. There’s nothing good you can take from this.”
Christine said nothing.
Jessica persisted. “Just like that you’ve forgotten Martin?”
“Like you said, he’s not worthy of my pain.”
“Is Paul?”
She didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know.”
Jessica sat back in her seat. “Well at least you know there are other fish in the sea besides Martin.”
Christine closed her eyes and leaned against the window.
An hour later the bus pulled off the main road into a mountain valley. Jim stood up and grabbed the bus’s microphone. “Just up ahead here is the village of Ollantaytambo.”
“Ollantaytambo is the last stop of the Sacred Valley. It was one of the last strongholds of the Incas. When Pizarro conquered Cuzco, the Incas retreated here. Pizarro sent his brother after them, but the Incas were ready for them and for the first time the Spaniards were defeated. At least for a while. Pizarro sent a larger force and the Incas retreated to their final holdout at Vilcabamba.
“The town we’re pas
sing through is the original Incan town. As you can see most of the ruins are up on the mountain. If you look across to the neighboring mountain, you will see what looks like a man’s head wearing a crown.
“There’s some controversy among scholars, but some believe that this face was carved by the Incas and is the great white-bearded god whom the Incas mistook Pizarro to be. When we arrive, you’re free to climb to the top of the ruins, but please keep track of the time. Dinner’s at six, and we need to be back on the bus by a quarter after five.”
After maneuvering between several other tourist buses, the bus braked to a stop in the parking lot outside the ruins. From below, the ruins looked like a great stone pyramid built into the side of a mountain.
Jessica stood. “C’mon, Chris, let’s go.”
The group climbed the terraced hills to the temple above. At the top of the climb Christine separated from the group and sat down on a terrace, her feet hanging over a six-foot drop to the plateau below. Thin gray clouds collected above, casting a shadow on the valley and the miniature township below. The air was cool and the wind danced her hair around her shoulders. After a few minutes Jim came and sat down next to her. Christine wondered where Jessica was and if she’d sent him.
“Pretty amazing, aren’t they?” he asked. “They estimate that some of these stones up here weigh more than seventeen tons. There’s a quarry about seven miles from here, just over those mountains, where they cut the stones for the temple.”
“It’s remarkable.”
“Do you know what built this city?”
“Thousands of slaves?”
“That and one man’s love. Ollantaytambo was founded by an Incan general named Ollantay. He was the most powerful of the Incan generals. Ollantay fell in love with the king’s daughter. He asked the king if he could marry her, but because he didn’t have royal blood, the king turned him down. So he took those who would follow him and he left Cuzco and built this fortress. His plan was to finish building the city, then march back and fight for her. But before the city was complete, the king died and his son took over. His son feared Ollantay and didn’t care who married his sister, so rather than go to battle he just let Ollantay take her.” He looked out over the valley.
Christine looked up at him. “That’s a true story?”
“So I’m told.”
“It’s pretty romantic.” Christine pulled the hair back from her face. “So you think maybe I should build a fortress?”
Jim smiled. “The moral of my little tale is that when love is right, things work out. Not necessarily the way you think they will, but they do work out.”
She looked at him and smiled. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“How long have you known Paul?”
“Three, four years.”
“Is he really as kind as he seems?”
“Yeah, I think so.” After a moment he looked at his watch. “I better start rounding everyone up. I’ll see you in a few.”
Back on the bus, Jessica asked Christine, “What were you and Jim talking about?” There was a hint of jealousy in her tone.
“He was telling me the story of the ruins.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” She suddenly smiled. “You know, Jim’s a pretty smart guy.”
Jessica looked at her quizzically. “Is he now?”
She nodded.
“You sure you weren’t talking about me?”
Christine turned away. “No. Just the ruins.”
The bus arrived at the hotel as the Sacred Valley settled into twilight. A guard opened a gate in a long sandstone fence and let them into the hotel’s parking lot. A sign on the building read BEST WESTERN INCALAND.
“Look at that,” Jessica said, “a Best Western in the middle of nowhere. Hey, Sledge, what’s this town called?”
Jim looked over. “Urubamba,” he said.
“Do you know what Urubamba means?” Christine asked Jessica.
“No. I can’t even pronounce it.”
“Paul told me it means Land of Spiders.”
“I bet you were thrilled to learn that.”
“You know I was.”
“Let’s hope it’s false advertising,” she said.
The hotel was a labyrinth of small bungalows surrounded by lush Andean flora. In the center of the resort was an Olympic-sized swimming pool, and to one side of it was a corral with well-groomed llamas. Jessica and Christine stopped to look at the animals, then took their bags to their room.
The two women put away their bags, then Jessica left to eat while Christine stayed behind. She wasn’t in the mood for socializing. She took her sunflower out of her pack and looked at it. She wondered if Paul missed her as much as she missed him. She wondered if she would ever see him again. Though it didn’t seem likely, she held to Jim’s words: when love is right, things work out.
She set the sunflower on her nightstand, shut off the light and went to sleep.
Chapter
Fifteen
I have tried to settle back into my routine, but it hasn’t been easy. I wonder how one woman and three days could so change my world.
PAUL COOK’S DIARY
Christine woke before the alarm. Jessica was lightly snoring in the bed next to her. Christine quietly dressed then walked out of their cabana. It had rained during the night, and the grounds of the resort were wet and puddled. The air was cool and thin, and her head hurt a little, whether from emotion or the altitude she wasn’t sure. Still she felt better than she had the day before.
Many of the group had already gathered at the breakfast buffet in a large lodge. There were other tourists groups as well, and more than half the room was speaking Japanese.
Joan and Mason were sitting together and they waved her over.
“How’d y’all sleep?” Mason said, lifting a piece of burnt toast.
“Fine.”
“I didn’t see you last night,” Joan said.
“I was tired. I just went to bed.”
Mason began scraping the burnt side of his toast with a butter knife. “Where’s that friend of yours?”
“She’s still in bed.”
“She better not be late today,” Joan said, “We’ve got a train to catch.”
“Don’t forget to take your bags up front,” Mason said. “The bus is going to take them back to Cuzco. We take the train the whole way back.”
“You know,” Joan said, “it’s a shame that Paul didn’t come along with us. The two of you made a cute couple.”
The comment caught Christine off guard. “Thanks,” she said awkwardly. “I better go check on Jess.”
Christine picked up some fruit and a couple pastries, wrapped them in a napkin and went back to her room. Jessica was already dressed and packing her bag.
“We need to take our bags up front,” Christine said.
“I know. What time is it anyway?”
“Almost eight.”
“We’ve got to go. The train leaves in fifteen minutes.”
The train station was on the other side of the resort and the women had to run to make it to the train on time, arriving sweaty and out of breath. The train was small, with only five passenger cars; the railroad track had been built alongside the Urubamba River, cutting south deep into jungles until it reached the town of Aguas Calientes—Hot Waters. As they approached the village the waters grew angrier into class five rapids that churned and spit and heaved with such violence that the river’s muddy waters almost appeared to be boiling.
As they neared their destination, Jim stood at the front of the train. “If I may have your attention now, I’m going to tell you a little about Machu Picchu. Known as the lost city, Machu Picchu was one of the most beautiful sacred cities established by the Incas and was populated by a specially chosen lineage of Incan nobility.
“As you’ve seen in Cuzco, the Spanish conquistadors destroyed most of the Incan religious and political centers. Fortunately for us Machu Picchu was never
found by the Spanish.
“In 1911 an American explorer, a Yale professor named Hiram Bingham, aided by locals, discovered the city. He was not looking for Machu Picchu, as no one knew it existed. He was looking for Vilcabamba, the last Incan bastion against the Spaniards.
“The large mountain that towers above the citadel is called Huayna Picchu. It was the watchtower for Machu Picchu. It is open to the public and you are welcome to climb it, though I must warn you it’s quite steep and even though some handrails have been installed, it’s still quite dangerous. But if you’re up to it, it’s worth the climb. I’ve climbed it at least a dozen times myself. The view is spectacular.”
The train began to slow.
“The last train leaves Aguas Caliente at four-thirty, which means we need to be leaving the mountain by three-thirty. Missing the train is not an option. We’re taking the train all the way back to Cuzco and tomorrow morning we fly to the jungle, so everyone must be at the station by four o’clock. No exceptions.
“After we leave the train, we’ll walk to town together and take a shuttle up the mountain. You can come back anytime you want, just be here by four. Any questions?”
Joan raised her hand. “How often do the shuttles run?”
“Every fifteen minutes or so. But later in the day they fill up, so it might take three or four buses to get us all down. Again, don’t take any chances. There’s a lot of shopping in Aguas Caliente, so you won’t be sitting around down there.”
The train braked to a stop.
They walked as a group from the train down the tracks past a makeshift village of souvenir shops. Christine stopped to look at a chess set with hand-carved wooden figures pitting the Incas against the Spanish conquistadors. Jessica pointed out a glass terrarium containing a tarantula six inches across.
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