Perry Scrimshaw's Rite of Passage (28 page)

‘
A noble
cause,’ the President observed.

Perry gathered his shoes and
slipped them on. They were dry and crisp already.

‘
He can drop
you wherever you need,’ the archbishop said.

‘
Most kind,’
said Santi.

‘
It was an
honour to meet you both,’ and Perry meant it, pumping first the
archbishop’s hand and then the President’s. He and Santi followed
the servant Carlos from the room, down the carpeted stairs and into
the marbled hallway. The entrance door was already open.

Outside the toilet, a maid was
holding up a blackened towel with reproof.

‘
Quick, let’s
go.’

Carlos bowed his head and
Father Hood and Father Pedro stepped into the light of the
afternoon – silvery as a wet coin. Perry lifted his face to the
sky, the rain nibbled pleasantly on his face. Now they were truly
free.

3
3

‘
Stop here!’
Santi yelled.

Through the rain-spattered
window Perry recognised the part of town; the tightly packed
houses, streetgrocers cowering under tarps. It was the Boca. Maybe
a half dozen blocks from his old lodging house, close to the docks
and full of his old co-workers.

The coach came to a stop.

‘
Here?
Really?’ the coachman shouted

‘
Yes, here,’
Santi pushed the door open, ‘come on Father Hood.’

Perry stepped straight into a
puddle that came halfway up his shins.

‘
So much for
drying off!’

‘
Gracias!’
Santi waved at the coachman
and watched him bring the carriage around to point north. It took
off, a small wake of road water snaking behind. In a few moments
the coachman was the size of a toy in the distance.

From nowhere,
Perry was grabbed and in that second, struggling to work out what
was going on, he had an intense moment of
déjà vu
. Like when he’d been watching
Eva waiting on the docks and he was hit, sacked and hit again. But
now, as his reflexes kicked in and he struggled, he realised he was
not being hit, no sack was coming to cover his head, he was in fact
being squeezed. No…he was being hugged.

‘
You little-’
Santi said, ‘I can’t believe it!’

Perry stopped struggling and
caught his breath. ‘We did it.’

‘
Ha!’ Santi
clapped his hands together. ‘In front of the President
too!’

Perry drew his
robes up to his neck. ‘Plenty of time to celebrate Father Pedro,
where does this cousin of yours live? We need to get out of these
clothes before we turn completely
negro
.’

‘
Pocha’s place
is a few blocks walk. I didn’t want the coachman to see where, just
in case.’

They splashed through the
sidewalk puddles, Perry kicking the water with joy.

‘
The first
people to ever escape
La
Tumba!’

‘
I know!’
Santi said and took a left turn, ‘Well…not quite the
first.’

‘
What?’

‘
Someone
escaped last year.’

‘
What! And you
didn’t think to tell me?’

‘
Well this
guy, Sampiño swapped clothes with his girlfriend during visitation
and walked out disguised as her. It’s not like we could do that is
it?’

Perry shook his head in
disbelief.

‘
He did look
the butterfly I suppose. Look Perry, everyone knows about that. The
guards hate it when we talk about it because it made them look
stupid - that’s kind of why I got thrown in
La Cueva
.’

Perry stopped. ‘Whoa, I thought
you were put in there for planning to escape?’

‘
I wanted to,
of course, but I wasn’t planning anything,’ Santi looked up and
down the street, ‘come on let’s keep moving, it’s only a little
further.’

They crossed the road and
walked onto the next block; the houses were indistinguishable from
the last, all drab stone and shuttered windows. Perry was soaked,
the fabric itchy.

‘
Why did they
throw you in
La Cueva
then?’

‘
I did
something
very
stupid,’ Santi shook his head, ‘one of the guards on my floor,
the Italian guy, you know which?’

Perry nodded, he knew who Santi
meant; a squat fellow whose belly sagged over his belt and thick
black eyebrows formed a single straight rule.

‘
He took a
dislike to me, I don’t know why. He used to steal my cigarettes and
he pissed on the floor of my cell a couple of times and made me
clear it up. Then one day, I come back from Mass and on my bed
waiting for me, is a shit.’

Perry screwed up his face.
‘That is disgusting.’

‘
Horrible. An
ogre’s shit. Huge! And I start shouting, “Who the fuck does
something like this! What animal?” and then I turn and see him,
this guard, smirking through the bars at me. Oh Perry I was so
angry, I wanted to strangle that bastard. I start shouting at him,
calling him a shitting dog who sniffs asses and who nobody wants, I
yell every insult I can think of; then I remember Sampiño’s escape
and I say it was his fault, that he doesn’t know the difference
between a girl and a boy. That he used to fuck Sampiño, that he
likes to fuck boys, things like that - anything that came into my
head I was so angry. He didn’t say anything to me, just flicked his
cigarette end onto my floor and stalked off. It was that night that
they came for me and dragged me away to
La
Cueva
.’

‘
Jesus
Christ,’ Perry said. No wonder Santi had jumped at the chance to
escape with him.

Santi stopped outside a
building with dark windows and double doors painted a bright
blue.

‘
We’re here,’
he said.

It looked too large to be a
house.

‘
What is this
place?’ Perry asked.

Santi’s face was pressed
against the window, his hands cupped, trying to peer into the
darkness.

‘
Can’t see
them,’ he went to the door and rapped it hard with his
knuckles.

‘
Beto!’ he
yelled and let out a high-pitched whistle so sharp it made Perry
wince.

‘
Pocha!
Abrime!’

Perry stood helplessly behind
him, wondering what they would do if these people weren’t at home.
They had no money. The alarm would be going off in the penitentiary
this very moment. This was no time to be wondering the streets
still in their escape disguises. Perry joined Santi and banged his
fists on the door.

The lock slid and the door
opened. A stocky woman appeared with hair tied back in a tight bun
and a rolling pin in hand.

‘
Who the hell
is knocking so damn…’ the anger in her voice trailed
off,

‘
Pocha…’
Santi’s lip was trembling as he spoke.

‘
Santi,’ she
gasped and fell into his arms.

‘
I escaped,’
he gasped.

Perry watched the rise and fall
of their bodies, sobbing into one another’s arms. How he wished
someone would hug him like that. From Santi’s shoulder, the woman
lifted her chin, noticing Perry.

‘
And this
one?’

Santi sniffed and wiped his
eyes with his sleeve. ‘He’s with me. Perry, this is my cousin
Pocha, she’ll see us right.’

Perry gave her a weak smile.
‘Glad to meet you,’ he said.

‘
Encantada,’
Pocha
replied.

‘
Come on, we
better get inside,’ Santi placed an arm round him and swept him
inside along with Pocha.

Perry wouldn’t have guessed it
from the outside, there being no sign and all- but there happened
to be a small stage there, a dozen or so dark wooden tables with
chairs upturned on them and a long wooden bar book-ended with
stained glass windows. Bottles of spirits glittered like precious
stones behind the bar.

‘
It’s a tango
bar,’ explained Santi. He turned to Pocha. ‘How long have we
got?’

‘
The musicians
arrive in a couple of hours.’

‘
We need to be
gone by then. Where’s Beto?’

‘
Here.’

Perry traced the voice to the
stage. Beto, looked to be a fair few years older than Pocha, his
long crinkly hair greying in places. Another cousin? Her
husband?

Beto strolled over to Santi,
offered his hand and they shook. All quite formal.

‘
Santi, what
have you done?’

‘
He escaped.
With this boy,’ Pocha said.

Beto appraised him
suspiciously.

‘
Señor,’ Perry
said, hoping to convey the impression of respectability.

‘
Why the hell
are you dressed as priests?’ Beto asked

‘
It’s
for-’

‘
-actually the
less I know the better.’

‘
Look Beto, I
didn’t mean to bring you into this-’ Santi began.

‘
That’s
exactly what you’ve done!’ Beto snapped.

‘
I know,’
Santi let his head drop, like a child being told off at
school.

‘
You can’t
stay here.’

Santi nodded.

‘
Beeeto,’
Pocha said softly, ‘he’s family.’

‘
Exactly, it
won’t take them long to check the families of an escapee, will it
Pocha? They’ll be at Alejandra’s in no time, then here. We could
lose everything! I’m not letting him drag this family down again, I
won’t do it.’

Santi raised his palms. ‘Beto,
it’s ok, I’m not asking you to.’

‘
What are you
asking then?’ Beto crossed his arms.

‘
Tell us
Santi, we’ll help you,’ said Pocha.

‘
A change of
clothes, a little money. And please, please get my girls, get them
over here with only the essentials packed. Help me and we’ll be
gone within the hour.’

Pocha was already grabbing her
coat.

Beto’s sigh was full of
reluctance. ‘One hour of help. That’s it. Then you’re on your
own.’

In the upstairs washroom, Perry
shed his dyed prison pyjamas and towelled for the second time that
day. He put on some of Beto’s old clothes, a pair of trousers that
were too short in length and too large around the waist. The shirt
was too baggy, but once the sleeves were rolled up it wasn’t too
bad. He held the trousers up until he got a pair of braces on and
slipped into an old frayed linen jacket that actually fitted
reasonably well. Perhaps Beto had filled out in his latter
years.

A knock. ‘Time to go.’

Perry gathered up his damp
pyjamas and opened the door. Santi was in a brown suit, scuffed
black shoes and a tan fedora on his head.

‘
I think we
looked better as priests,’ Perry said.

‘
Speaking of
which,’ Santi grabbed Perry’s prisoner pyjamas and threw them on
top of his own, ‘Beto will burn these.’

Perry shrugged, it made no
difference to him how they were disposed of.

‘
Take this,’
Santi thrust a black bowler hat into his hands. Perry slipped it on
and stood shoulder to shoulder with Santi a moment, facing a mirror
on the landing and adjusted his collar, hoisting up his trousers
and angling his hat. He observed a slight smirk from
Santi.

‘
I don’t mind
looking ridiculous, as long as I don’t get caught,’ Perry said.
From below, female voices drifted up the stairs.

Santi’s face lit up.
‘Alejandra! Teresa!’ he bounded down the stairs two at a time, more
excited dog than escaped convict. Perry followed after, and by the
time he got down, Santi was in the middle of the room on his knees
hugging a woman and a little girl.

Perry watched Santi stroke
their hair, weeping with joy and barely able to string more than a
couple of words together between sobs; ‘My little angels!’ and
‘Never again!’

Longing ripped at Perry’s core,
a longing for home, for Eva, Joel, for the boys, Mrs D, his father
even. Beto watched on, stern-faced and cross-armed with Pocha
daubing her eyes by his side. Salt, hot on his lips, took him by
surprise. He felt his cheek, the trail of a tear still damp there.
He wiped it away. One day maybe it would be him in the middle being
squeezed so hard it hurt by those that loved him. Surely no feeling
in the world could be better.

‘
Thank you -
thank you,’ Santi was up now, pumping Beto’s hand.

Beto let go as soon as he could
and pulled an envelope from his pocket. ‘It’s not much, but it’ll
do you for a month or so.’

‘
Thank you
Beto, really I-’

‘
Hurry up, the
coach is waiting outside.’

‘
Where will
you go?’ asked Pocha.

Santi looked at his wife and
shrugged. ‘Neuquén?’

‘
Patagonia?’
said she.

‘
Tucumán?’
said the little one.

‘
It doesn’t
matter, as long as we’re together,’ he gave Pocha a big hug and
kissed her on the forehead. ‘
Chau
prima.’

‘
Chau primo
.’

Then he came over to Perry, his
image swimming in Perry’s eyes.

‘
You. How can
I ever thank you enough?’