The Lazarus Drop

by Paul Moomaw

  It was time for some fast talking, but I couldn't breathe. The policemen closed in silently. What the hell, I thought. I tossed my bag of new clothes at one of them and started swinging. Then they started swinging. Then all the lights went out.

  I woke up once to a vision of dark eyes and ivory skin, then slipped away again. When I woke up for good, the vision was gone, and every part of my body ached. I was in a room, on a bed with rough cotton sheets. The light of some kind of oil lamp flickered on the low ceiling and white walls. On the wall across from me, directly in my line of vision, a huge, green-faced devil in a three-cornered hat leered and winked at me with crazy eyes. I closed my own eyes again. Even doing that hurt.

  I heard a door creak, but I didn't open my eyes. After a moment's silence the door creaked again, and closed with a soft thud.

  “Still asleep?” It was a man's voice, muffled slightly through the door.

  “Your men nearly killed the gringo.” A woman said. Her voice was strong and melodious, a dark-textured soprano.

  “They had to make it look good,” a man's voice said. “They were supposed to kill him.” Even with my rattled brain, I recognized the deep, resonant voice of the chief of police, Porfirio Cruz.

  “Why?” the woman asked.

  “Pues, quien sabe?” Cruz said. “Who knows? The General saw him at the delegacion. An hour later, perhaps less, he radioed and said the man was to be disposed of. Permanently. I didn't trouble him with questions, you understand? He has been strange, lately, difficult to deal with, ever since the foreigners came. But I am not prepared to take the life of a gringo who has already aroused my curiosity until I knew more. So I picked men I could trust and ordered them to deal with the situation. Now I will have to report back to the General, and convince him the American is dead. I only hope he doesn't insist on viewing the body."

  “What if he does?” The question came from another man, younger sounding than Cruz.

  “I will tell him you rebeldes stole the body, carved it up and ate it,” Cruz said with a laugh. “He is willing to believe anything about your little underground organization."

  I drifted off again, for I don't know how long, and awakened to the sound of the door opening once more. A young man stepped into the room, and smiled when he saw my eyes were open.

  “You are awake, then,” he said. The other male voice I had heard earlier belonged to him.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “I am called Carlos."

  Behind him, looking over his shoulder, was the leering face I had awakened to earlier. I saw now that it was a mask, hanging on the wall, still looking alive in the flickering light and shadow from the lamp.

  A woman came into the room. I forgot the green devil, and almost forgot to notice how much I hurt. Her skin, the color of dark, antique ivory and almost as smooth, was set off by the same huge eyes I had awakened to earlier, set deep into high, flat cheekbones. Her eyebrows were dark and heavy, and arched high toward straight, coal black bangs. She wore a yellow, cotton dress that fell straight to her knees, touching her body in just the right places, hinting at much more that wanted touching. I stared at her, and she stared back at me for a moment, then turned her finely chiseled features to the man who had called himself Carlos.

  “I don't like this,” she said.

  “It's not for you to decide. Anyway, Cruz said to keep him here, for the time being.” So it had been Cruz I heard outside the door.

  The woman shook her head violently. “He smells of trouble."

  Carlos grinned at me. “This is my sister, Pilar. She doesn't love gringos very much."

  She stared coldly. I gazed back. “Perhaps you could make an exception in my case. I'm told I'm very lovable."

  Her nostrils flared in disdain, and she stalked from the room. Carlos laughed.

  “The problem remains, however,” he said. “For now, you can, perhaps, stay here. But in the long run, we will have to decide about you. For now, perhaps you can tell me how you have earned the General's enmity."

  “Would you believe a poor, innocent tourist on vacation?"

  Carlos laughed loudly enough to hurt my head. “A tourist? No, certainly not a tourist. Innocent of something, perhaps. We all have some things we are innocent of. And poor? Are not all gringos wealthy.”

  He sat down on the bed, jiggling it and making my head hurt again. “Try again."

  “I came on the advice of a very good ... friend. My friend assured me that Michoacan, especially Morelia, was full of splendors and surprises. My friend even recommended a name to me, the name of someone who might be unusually helpful about certain things."

  “What sorts of things?"

  “I would prefer not to say, except to the person my friend mentioned.” I paused, then raised my voice as high as my aching head could stand it.

  “The name my friend gave me was Cruz."

  Carlos got very still, then got up without a word and left the room. Now we see what I've stirred up, I thought.

  I heard voices outside the room, then the door opened again and Cruz came walking in. He pulled a chair to the foot of my bed and sat, leaning over the chair back with his arms crossed, looking at me with the poker face he had displayed at the delegacion.

  “Where did you hear my name?"

  “Like I said. A friend."

  “Don't play games! I want explanations. I want exceptionally convincing explanations."

  “Or you'll turn your boys loose on me again? I want explanations, too. I want to know why you were supposed to have me killed, and why you didn't."

  “I did not kill you, quite simply, because I do not act in ignorance,” Cruz said. “When I discover why General Noriega wants you dead, if his reasons are not too outlandish, I may still kill you. In the meantime, where did you get my name?"

  I looked carefully at him, trying to decide whether to trust him or not; or, if I wasn't going to trust him, whether I could lie cleverly enough to stay alive. Basically, I'm a shitty liar, so I decided to tell the truth.

  “I got your name from the man who hired me to come here. He is a representative of the United States government."

  “You are a government agent?"

  I shook my head. It hurt. “No, just a hired hand."

  “Hired to do what?"

  “There is a man, a scientist. Your general has him, and my government wants him."

  Cruz nodded. “The foreigner. One of them, anyway."

  “People keep talking about foreigners. What's that about?"

  “I ask. You answer. Why did this government person give you my name?"

  “He said there were people here who want to get rid of your General Noriega. We want the scientist, Erno Imry, his name is. The thought was that we might be able to do each other a favor. I was given your name as a contact person."

  “How do they know of me?"

  I shrugged. That hurt, too. “Maybe they don't. They just had a name. Cruz. Didn't even know if it was a man or woman."

  “And now you know.” He tapped his fingers rhythmically against the knuckles of his other hand. “I don't like that. You swear you knew nothing about me? My position here? Nothing?"

  “Not a goddamn thing, Cruz. And I still don't. If you're playing some kind of game, that's not my business. My job is to try to get Erno Imry out of town. If you can help, do it. If you can't, go away and let me sleep. It's been a long day, and it was a long night before that. I'm tired, and I hurt. I was already hurting before your goons raised bruises on my bruises."

  I rolled over and buried my face in the pillow, as carefully as I could. It still hurt.

  I could hear Cruz walking away from the bed.

  “It may be that you are who you say you are,” he said from the door. “In that case, it may be that we can come to an arrangement of mutual benefit. Then again, it may be that you are lying. And in that case, Senor Blue, you are a dead man.”

  The door closed and he was gone.

  * * * *

 
I slept through the night, and most of the next day. I remember waking up once to the sensation of cool fingers on my brow, and opening my eyes to the vision of Pilar sitting on the edge of the bed, gazing down at me with those unfathomable eyes of hers. She was holding a mug of some steaming liquid.

  “Drink this. It will make the pain less."

  I took the mug and drained it. Whatever was in it was bitter, but not unpleasant. I handed the mug back, and as she reached for it I took her hand. It was soft and pliant, but strong.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She snorted and pulled her hand away, then stood up.

  “I would do the same for one of the family pigs,” she said. She slammed the door as she left.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 8

  Life began again with supper. Supper in a bowl, filled from a bottomless pot of meat, beans and spices, accompanied by rounds of flat bread. We sat on ornately carved, high-backed chairs around a wooden table—Carlos, Pilar, Cruz and myself. There was little talk, especially from my end of the table. I was too busy making up for two days without food. I was dipping into the pot for the fourth, or maybe the fifth time, I wasn't counting, when I realized that I was the only person still eating. I put the bowl down, unfilled.

  “Am I holding up dessert?” I said.

  Cruz smiled, waved his hand. “A man should eat, especially a man who has as much talking to do as you have."

  I pushed the bowl away and wiped my face with a napkin of rough cotton. “I might survive an hour or two at this point. Let's talk."

  “You wanted to meet an underground,” Carlos said. “Pues, here you have it. The Children of the Jester God."

  “You're it? The three of you?"

  “We are enough. I am the leader of our group. Pilar and Porfirio are my lieutenants. And we are, at any rate, all of the underground you will meet for now. Perhaps forever, gringo.” He stared at me challengingly.

  Looking from him to Pilar, I could see their common blood. He shared her coloring, finely carved features, large eyes and firm jaw, but with a difference. Pilar possessed a self-assurance, a maturity, that Carlos lacked.

  “Then for now, I will deal with you,” I said, meeting Carlos’ stare until he looked away.

  “You want the foreign scientist?” Cruz said.

  “I want the foreign scientist."

  “And what do you have to offer us?"

  I shook my head. “No. Right now it's my turn to ask the questions."

  Cruz sat back in his chair. “Why not? Ask your questions."

  “First, you were supposed to have me killed, right? I heard you say that yesterday evening."

  “And I did not."

  “Two questions, then,” I said. “Why was I supposed to die, and why didn't you do it?"

  “The answer to the first is, frankly, that I don't know why Noriega ordered your death,” Cruz said. “The answer to the second question is the same. Having people killed, with no obvious reason, is not the General's style. Ordinarily, you would have had to threaten him, insult him, harm his precious little boy, something like that. Even then it would be more likely that he would order a public thrashing, right in the plaza, with him watching and counting the strokes. Until I knew the answer to the first question, I was not willing to act."

  “So a third question is, what makes me special?” I said.

  “I asked myself the same question,” Cruz replied. “I came up with no good answers. But I know that the General has changed recently, ever since the foreigners came. There are three—two Europeans, and a man who is Indian, or Pakistani, and who seems to be with the other two, and yet not. Since they came, and since the scientist arrived, Noriega confides in me less and less. He is moody. Sometimes he smiles a lot and makes cryptic comments. Other times he walks about silently and looks worried.” Cruz leaned across the table and pointed at me. “Finally, I have a friend in the distrito federal, in Toluca, who tells me he is sure you are here to make trouble."

  “Captain Salazar?” I said.

  Cruz nodded. “So naturally I have to wonder if, perhaps, you are not here to make trouble for General Noriega, which would place you, at least for the moment, on our side.” Cruz rocked back in his chair and rubbed his hands together.

  “Now, to business,” he said. “You want our help in obtaining your scientist. What do you have for us?"

  “The means for you to give me what I want, and to give yourselves what you want."

  “Don't talk riddles!” Pilar snapped.

  “My apologies. I was referring to weapons. I assume that I will not get Erno Imry as long as this General of yours has control of him. So we both have the same aim, the removal of Noriega,"

  “Strictly a business deal?” Cruz asked.

  “I have some personal reasons, as well,” I said. “There is the business of the bus."

  “You're angry at the General because you nearly got killed.” Cruz smiled and shook his head. “A naive view of life, Senor Blue."

  “I'm angry at the General because so many others died on my account.” I told them what had happened. I didn't leave any thing out. When I finished, there was a long, painful silence, which Pilar finally broke.

  “You smell of death, gringo,” she said. “You wear it like a cloak. I am afraid of you."

  “My coming has caused death,” I agreed. “I have incurred a debt. I want to repay it."

  Pilar gazed silently at me for a long time, and finally I was the one who looked away.

  “Who cares why the gringo wants to give us weapons,” Carlos said in a loud voice, “as long as we get them? What can you get for us, gringo?"

  “What do you need?” I asked.

  “A good question.” That from Cruz. “As bad to have weapons we can't use, as to have none at all. Our life here is primitive, but the General's defenses are not.” He turned to Carlos. “Tomorrow evening, I will take Senor Blue for a view of the target. Then we can decide together what we need."

  “I don't like this,” Pilar said. “It's not good for too many people to know about us. Now this gringo knows who we are, and then whoever sent him here will know. And only the gods can say who will know after that. One day, one person too many will know."

  Carlos raised his hand. “Be quiet, sister."

  Pilar immediately sat back in her chair with a harsh, short breath, and kept her silence. I was surprised. But their relationship was none of my concern.

  “Why not take a look tonight?” I asked.

  “Not tonight,” Cruz said.

  “We have other things to do tonight,” Carlos added in a portentous tone. “Important things.”

  Pilar leaned forward as if she was about to tell her brother to shut up, then sat back again.

  Cruz stood up and stretched.

  “Until tomorrow, then, Senor Blue. I am sure you can use the rest."

  Carlos glanced briefly at him, then shrugged and stood up. He followed Cruz out silently.

  Pilar and I sat across the table from each other in an uneasy silence. Finally she stood.

  “I hope that what you have to offer us is worth what it will cost,” she said.

  I tried to take Cruz’ advice and get some more sleep, but I wound up staring at the walls. They weren't particularly interesting. I got up, in hopes of finding a little mescal, or someone to talk to, it didn't matter which.

  The house was empty. There wasn't a soul around. Whatever the important things were that Carlos had mentioned, they weren't taking place here.

  But there was some mescal, an almost full bottle, sitting on a counter in the dining room, and I discovered I still liked it better than the local beer. I was getting tired of the indoors, so I filled the glass again and headed for what I assumed was the door to the back yard.

  It wasn't. When I opened the door, I found myself looking down a long, rocky tunnel. The only light came from the room behind me, but I could just make out another door, a massive wooden one, at the other end.

/>   I closed the door to the house. Then I remembered, in my usual, well-organized fashion, to wonder if I would be able to get it open again. I tried it, and it wasn't locked. I felt my way down the tunnel to the other door, and stood leaning against it. I could hear something from the other side, and when I pressed my ear against the wood, I could make out a regular, muffled, booming.

  My exploring hand met a large, metal handle. I pulled on it cautiously, and the door opened to reveal a large cave, lit with only a couple of lanterns whose soft glow failed to reach the shadowed niche that held the door.

  I don't think the several dozen people in the room would have noticed me anyway. All eyes were riveted on the apparition which pranced and swayed before them, a human form, but fantastically garbed, with a long cape of animal skin, feathered sandals, something round like a shield, made of carved, green stone, strapped to the chest, and baggy pantaloons of a shimmery, gold material.

  The head I recognized immediately. It was the face which had greeted me when I first regained consciousness in the Mendozas’ bedroom, with its three-cornered hat, its leer, and its curling tongue and frightful, red eyes. Now it stood before me, the red eyes glowing and the tongue licking around like an obscene, pink worm. In one hand the god-figure held a gold and silver rattle, in the other a long, sharp spike, made of a dark material I didn't recognize.

  The booming came from a drum, which a young man dressed in a white tunic and trousers was beating rhythmically. Everyone wore white—tunics and trousers for the men, and shapeless white dresses for the women. A woman played a shrill flute in counterpoint to the drum, an odd melody, full of funny intervals and long, drawn-out notes coupled with short, sharp trills. Both the drummer and the flute player had their eyes closed. The other people sitting cross-legged in the room swayed to the movements of the god-figure as it pranced and twisted and shook its rattle. At one point in its turnings, the figure turned to face me, and the glowing, red eyes appeared to bore holes through me. But if whoever was behind the mask saw me, he gave no indication.