by Mike Gomes
“Ah... sure Carlos. Whatever you say.” said the young boy looking up to the young man he idolized and was sure knew the way to happiness for him.
“NO!” barked Joaquim. “We need to stop this now! This isn’t just stealing and fights. A man was killed tonight. The police are not going to let this pass. The government is not going to let this pass. They are going to come down hard and find out I did it. If they don't it’s too much bad press. They can’t afford that. No stealing tonight. We just shut up from now on and stop what we are doing.”
Carlos pulled himself away from the other boys and turned having them fall in behind him. He moved in close to the stunned boy with all the blood on his hands. “And who said you’re the leader of this gang. You’re not! I am the one who makes the decisions here, not you. You better understand your place, friend. You will do what I tell you and I am telling you that you’re going to do this job.”
“Fuck you Carlos.” said Joaquim with a calmness in his voice. “You are not telling me what to do anymore. You better remember you’re connected to the murder of Silva so you’re going away too. You sent me to the park to do that job so be ready to live your life in prison or worse.”
A soft rolling laugh made its way from Carlos’s mouth as he leaned to the side. In one smooth motion his fist darted up striking Joaquim in the stomach and doubling him over. The older boy grabbed a handful of the other boy’s hair and pulled his head up to look at him. “You’re out bitch. You’re out of MB4. But you better keep your mouth shut because if we go down then we all go down. Oh, and that nice little mother of yours will never live to see her next fling from off the island. You can live, but you know we all need each other to stay out of jail and alive.”
The older boy pushed hard knocking Joaquim to the ground and then spit on him in disgust. “This is what scum looks like boys. He is a nothing to us. He betrayed us. He is no brother of ours.” said Carlos looking down on the shell of a man.
“Go home, Joaquim, and never talk with us again.”
Chapter 19
The glowing red amber of the cigarette bounced in the dark night as its smoke drifted away in the wind. A drag from the cigarette made the amber grow stronger as the large man took a drag from the cigarette. His eyes had adjusted to the dark and he looked to the opening of the courtyard and to the center. Leaning against the tree he could see the group of boys mixed in conflict.
Attempting to hear the words they were saying Falau moved closer and turned himself to the outside of the opening of the courtyard. Holding himself against the wall only the occasional word cut through the air, but the sound of the words were ones of intense feeling. Occasionally a short pause was followed by a number of words. Falau knew there was conflict and the group had to have encountered a major problem.
Just 15 minutes before the big man had seen Joaquim running through the streets like he was a man on fire. The boy was distressed, and he had blood on the front of his shirt. Keeping his distance, the big man new better than to confront anyone in that situation. Desperation was a fickle thing and any relationship he had with the boy or his mother would mean nothing in a moment of shock and panic. His training was coming back clear and without hesitation. Keeping his distance but keeping the boy in ninety percent view. The boy could slip around a corner, but if he could keep eyes on him when he got to the corner, all was fine. If Joaquim didn’t understand tactics and didn’t see Falau behind him then he could keep his identity concealed. The boy would slow down from time to time, but he looked like a person that was trying to get away and anyone one, regardless of training could see that. Even getting to the courtyard and his friends made no difference in how he was acting. Something major had to have happened to have caused such a change in the boy’s behavior.
Carlos waved his finger in Joaquim’s face barking at him with aggression but hushed tones. His hand waved past the boy’s face and off into the distance causing the boy to turn away and start to walk. Falau read the movement and watched Joaquim looking back over his shoulder at the other boys. He had been given a job he was reluctant about or had been told he was out of the gang. No matter what it was, Joaquim looked more uneasy than ever.
Slipping himself into the entrance of the courtyard Falau held himself to the side where he would be covered by the shadows. The boss in the gang would have a hard time making him out without direct light on him. Their eyes had been staring into the fire and had adjusted to that light. Other than the front lights of each of the apartments that took the time to turn the light on he was sure that he could stay hidden.
Joaquim walked to the side away from the gang of boys not taking his normal direct route cutting across the grass. Watching him move without emotion or swagger, the big man knew the boy was out of sorts. His focused and daily behavior seemed to have reverted to a time long ago when he was told not to walk on the grass and compose himself with modesty. All the trappings of the gang had slipped away.
As the boy made his way to the closest path to Falau the other boys around the fire had lost sight of him. Their eyes worked back to the fire like it was television that had come alive in front of them. Remembering the days of camping with his family as a child drew up in Falau making him wonder if the boys had ever known that kind of pleasure or if the idea of a camp fire was nothing more than a place to sit around planning your next illegal act and harm to others.
Joaquim became safely ensconced in the shadows when the big man made his move and hustled up next to him trying not to startle the young man.
“Joaquim.” whispered the big man as he got within a few feet. “It’s me Michael.”
The boy’s head made no motion and his feet showed no sign of slowing down. The words, although not loud or obtrusive, were strong enough for him to hear without a doubt, but they seemed to bounce off him having no effect on him at all.
The big man pulled himself closer now within one step of the boy. Shocked that the boy did not react to his presence Falau again called to him. “Joaquim, it’s me Michael Falau. I am friends with your mother.”
The boy’s body kept on its path and he again had no reaction. His movement was steady and looked like he was walking on auto pilot. Falau pulled himself side by side with the boy and got a look at the blankness of his face. His eyes were glazed over and his mouth was slightly ajar. Extending his hand, he placed it on the boy’s shoulder and stopped them both quickly. Raising his other arm, he took the boy by both shoulders and turned him to himself.
“Joaquim, are you OK?” asked the big man in a whisper to the boy whose eyes looked right through him. “Joaquim. Are you ok?”
The boy did not respond as Falau gave the boy a slight shake and said his name again and again. He was in shock. Falau had seen this many times before in combat. Men far more hardened and experienced than Joaquim could suddenly go catatonic. It was some primal instinct that the human body and mind used as a defense mechanism. When the pressure of stress to the mind got to be too much the body and mind would just shut down. A sort of kill switch for the mind to preserve it from any further damage. Elegant? No. But it was effective if you could get yourself or somebody else could get you out of the situation and into the hands of some trained professionals.
“Joaquim. I know your mom. Apollonia. Your mother, she is my friend. Do you want to go home.” asked Falau hunched over trying to move into the boy’s field of vision.
The boy’s eyes flickered and his focus dropped onto Falau just for a moment. The mention of his mother and going home caused a stir in the boy.
The sound of laughter erupted from the center of the courtyard. The boys in the gang had exchanged jokes and were enjoying themselves. Falau saw Carlos handing out cash to the other two boys and then pointing over to the location of Joaquim’s home. The boys held their position, but there was something bigger going on and Joaquim was no longer part of it. He was on the outside with a life that just got insurmountably more complicated than it had when he woke up that morning.
&n
bsp; Falau pulled his attention to the boy again and shook him with moderate force hoping to get a reaction from him. Even if he lashed out it would be something to work with, but the boy gave the big man nothing.
“Do you want to see your mom and be home? I can take you. Your mom is waiting for you. Your mom loves you.” Falau dove into the emotion of the boy only on the hint from a rapid look at him that was less than a moment. The maternal pull the boy felt for his mother and the implicit safety of the relationship made him move his eyes to Falau again. The boy’s mouth opened without words coming out. Eyes glazing over with tears that were not ready to fall filled up in his eyes. Falau felt his heart pulled on hard by the boy. He decided to help the boy in any way he could, but he was helpless without knowing what had claimed the boy’s mind.
“I am listening, Joaquim. Just say yes if you want me to take you to your mom.”
“Ash... Ash...” muttered the boy trying to put together the words for the big man.
A smattering of laughter erupted from the center of the courtyard again and Joaquim turned his head quickly and flinched. His eyes blinked rapidly as he spread his feet slightly to maintain his balance.
“Joaquim, look at me. Forget them. Do you want me to take you to your mom?” The big man placed his hands on the cheeks of the boy turning his face to him. He locked eyes with the boy trying to get him to say anything.
His eyes closed slowly and reopened like he was trying to restart himself. His tongue darted out slowly licking the center area of his upper lip and his mouth opened again.
“Ash. Ash... Mom... Ash.”
“Yes, your mom. I can bring you to her.” said Falau placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder and turning to direct him to their objective. However, the boy’s shoulders were rigid and not moving. His head dropped down and started to shake.
“Mom... Ash... me... ash.”
“It’s OK, we can go see your mom. You can tell me the rest then. Let’s go.”
The boy raised his hands letting the light from a porch just ten yards away catch them. He held them like a surgeon who had just scrubbed in on a TV show. His palms faced back at him and they were at his face level showing off the remains of his night’s work.
“What is that on your hands?” asked Falau grabbing one of the hands and looking at it closer in the limited light. “Is this blood?”
“Mom... Assh... Mom assh...” gasped the boy with the tears starting to fall. “Mom ashamed of me... Mom will be ashamed of me.”
Chapter 20
The sofa that sat in the living room of Apollonia’s apartment was old and beaten. It was a relic that was a holdover from the previous tenant just as most of the furniture had been in most of the apartments around Funchal. If a new piece of furniture made its way into someone’s home, it was likely to have been found in the trash of one of the hotels and needed repair.
Apollonia searched all her time in Funchal to find a comfortable spot on the sofa but never seemed to find one and tonight was no different. The lumps and springs dug into her as she listened to her radio at the sofa. Sounds of the classical music she could pick up from one of the three radio stations at night filled the room. Classical music was one of the few things that she found that could ease her mind from the day to day grind or scraping by to survive on Madeira. The smooth AM melodic sounds drifted from the radio and let her mind slip into daydreams of places far away and long ago.
A small glass of Tawny port let its aroma fill the air around her and she leaned back thinking about the handsome American that took an interest in her people at the hotel. Getting involved with a tourist was never a good idea and the mistake that every local girl made at least once. The stories the men told of taking them away from the island and showing them a better life always ended with a crying girl standing outside a hotel room realizing the man had left the island and used her. But that was normally the trappings for a younger girl still flush with youthful beauty and an older man who knew how to spin a tale that would get a girl’s head reeling for a better life. This situation was none of those. The American was younger and considerably handsome making their match more unlikely. How often would a young sexy man be taken with a middle-aged cleaning woman with a sixteen-year-old son?
Nobody is that good. thought Apollonia but still not willing to let the fantasy of the man go.
The long straining creak of the outside screen door filled the air causing Apollonia to lower her head hoping to hear a knocking sound on the outside door. Maybe it was the man Michael stopping by for one last visit before he returned home in just a few days. One last chance to make something happen that could supply her with the memories to get through the dreary days ahead.
The inner door swung open and cracked hard against the wall behind it. Flakes of drywall fell to the ground from the well-worn spot of the door knob hitting the wall. The sound of scuffling feet bumping into the kitchen table rang throughout the apartment.
Pulling herself to a sitting position Apollonia reached to the ground next to the sofa and grabbed a two by four piece of wood that had a few nails logged into it for a situation just like this. If the noise was an intruder looking to steal or a drunk at the wrong apartment the makeshift defense weapon would do the job of putting a few holes in the man and sending him on his way. It would not be the first time the weapon had seen action in the hands of Apollonia.
“Who is that?” yelled the woman. “Get out!”
“It’s me, Michael Falau and your son. Come here now!” called out the familiar voice of the big man. Any bit of romance vanished from the air with the concern in his voice and the mention that he was with her son.
The woman’s heart sank rapidly recalling the yells for her from the sister in-law the night her husband died. How she rushed to him and tried to patch the wound. The screams of the ambulances as they got closer but were too late. The fear of watching her son die to a similar fate caused her to feel like she was suddenly in a cloud and not fully able to read the situation.
Her foot caught the edge of the coffee table causing the legs on it to fall on their sides and to the floor. Her second toe throbbed but had no effect on her as she regained her balance to the sound of the kitchen faucet running and the labored breathing of her son through sobbing.
“It’s ok. Wash! Wash!” said the voice of the big man from around the corner in the kitchen. Apollonia made it to the doorway grabbing the frame to hold herself up from what she might see.
Hanging over the sink the boy’s shoulders bobbed up and down rapidly as he cried, and the big man rubbed his back trying to soothe him. He was washing his hands rapidly in the sink and steam rose from the water and had already started to place moisture on the window.
“Joaquim?” questioned the woman without anything more coming from her mouth.
The boy and the big man froze in place. Patting the boy on his back the big man pulled himself away leaving room for his mother to step in and take control of the situation.
“Mom.” said Joaquim not turning to his mother and fighting back the tears. “I am sorry. I am so sorry.”
“Joaquim, what happened? Why are you washing your hands?”
“Mom. I... it was an accident.”
“What was an accident?” said the boy’s mother moving in closer to her son as the big man pulled further away and closed the inner door.
“I didn’t mean it. It wasn’t supposed to happen that way. I was just going to make it quick.” said the boy with his voice filling with shame and frustration. “Carlos said that it would all be fine. He said it’s OK but now...”
Apollonia placed her hand on the shoulder of her son and immediacy felt his tension soften. The boy’s head dropped, and the crying increased in its intensity. He shifted his feet and placed his head into the shoulder of his sympathetic mother.
Concentrating on the sink Apollonia got her first glimpse of what had happened that night. A red tinge covered the white bottom to the sink and drips of thicker and more condensed b
lood ran around the rim. The normally white bar of soap sat in its holder but now it looked more pink than white.
“Is this blood?” asked Apollonia becoming more rigid and pulling her son from her shoulder. “Tell me what happened now. Whose blood is this?”
“Carlos said it would be ok. He said we just needed to do a few jobs.” said the boy in desperation.
“I don’t care about him. Whose blood is this? What happened?”
“I was going to mug someone, and Carlos said to stab them, so I took your butcher knife.”
Pulling away the woman moved to the small kitchen table and sat down. Placing her fingers up by her mouth she whispered into them as if the answer may suddenly appear to her.
“You took a knife from here and stabbed someone?”
Joaquim dropped to one knee and placed his hand on his mother’s lap. Her eyes looked down at him seeing the blood still on his hands and shirt. The plain white shirt she had on took on the tint as well from the initial hug she supplied her son with.
“I decided not to stab anyone. I was going to lie.” said the boy struggling though the tears.” then Officer Silva came around the corner. He was going to arrest me. I didn’t know what to do.”
“You stabbed a police officer?” questioned his mother as her eyes widened and she started to rub her temple with her hands. “You know what that means? You’re going to jail.”
“Did you kill him?” asked a sober and calm voice from the side. The big man stayed motionless on the wall keeping his voice in a calm and relaxed tone. “It makes a difference.”
Joaquim looked up at the man in the same moment his mother did. “I think so. It was in the back and deep.”
“Not to sound morbid, but it might be better if he is dead.” said Falau raising the eye of the boy’s mother.
“Better if he killed a man? How can you say that?”
“A dead man can’t say what happened. Tourists will probably be too afraid to come forward. The right alibi could make everything alright.”
