Red Midnight (4 page)

ALONE WITH ANGELINA
in the home of Uncle Ramos, I sleep hard. My sleep is the sleep of the dead, except the dead do not dream. I dream of many things of which I am afraid—soldiers and guns and rich people who do not care what happens to poor campesinos and poor indígenos. In my dreams I hear guns and I try to run. The soldiers catch me, and one raises his rifle to shoot me. Above me the sky burns, and then I wake up with sweat wetting my face and body. I do not know where I am, and it takes time to remember.

Beside me Angelina sleeps the sleep of angels. I do not know how this can be. She has seen all that I have seen, but moonlight through the window lets me see the thin smile that lifts her lips. She cuddles close to my side, and her little round face is like a smiling moon. I love my sister. She is all that is left of my family. She is
the only thing now that I can trust. She does not hurt me or scare me.

The next time I wake up the sun is high in the sky and a strong hand is shaking my shoulder. “What are you doing here?” shouts a loud voice. I open my eyes, and a large old man is standing above me, a machete in his hand. I move to get up and run, but he waves the machete over my head. “What are you doing here?” he shouts again.

Angelina wakes up, and I pull her close. “Uncle Ramos has told me to come here,” I say, choking on my words.

The man stares at me. “Ramos is your uncle?”

I nod.

“Why does he tell you to come here?” the man asks.

I do not dare say anything more. “Who are you?” I ask.

The man waves his machete over his shoulder toward the door. “I live one kilometer down the shore, but I watch this land when Ramos is gone.” Still the man looks at me with eyes that tell me I have done something wrong.

“Where is Ramos?” he asks.

I stare at the old man. His clothes are like rags on his body from working the fields. The hot sun has made his skin as rough and worn as leather. Slowly he lowers his machete, and the angry look leaves his eyes.

Because he is also a poor campesino, I tell him about
the soldiers and the killing. I tell him about riding into Los Santos and finding everyone dead. Sadness fills my eyes with tears and I begin to cry, but still I keep talking. “The truck of maíz carried us to Fronteras, and then a drunk driver in a pickup has brought us here,” I say. I decide not to tell about the horse dung in the gas tank.

When I finish the man puts his machete on the bed and places one hand on my shoulder and one hand on Angelina's little head. His eyes, too, have filled with tears. “
Madre de Dios
,” he whispers, looking up to heaven. “Is it true what you tell me?”

I nod.

“It is very dangerous for you to be here,” he says. “We also have many soldiers.”

“Uncle Ramos has taught me how to use his sailing cayuco,” I say. “He has told me to take the cayuco and to sail far away and tell the world what I have seen.”

“Where will you sail to?” the man asks.

“To the United States of America,” I say.

“With your sister?”

I nod.

The man stares at us for a long time to let his mind think. “Let me go and have my wife make you food,” he says. “I will come back, and then we will talk. There are many things I must tell you.”

As the man stands, he holds out his hand. “My name is Enrique.”

I shake his hand. “My name is Santiago. This is my
sister, Angelina. Do you have any water?” I ask.

Enrique nods. “I will bring you water now before I leave, but do not go outside. If anyone learns there are strangers here, the soldiers will come.”

Soon Enrique returns with a big pail of water. “Remember, do not go outside,” he tells me.

After Enrique leaves I hold Angelina. “How are you?” I ask.

She looks out the window. “I think we have played enough,” she says. “It is time to go home. I want to see Mama and Papa.”

I know that Angelina has seen everyone killed and our home burned. But I think that her mind is pretending these things have not happened. It is okay that she pretends, but I do not know if I should help her to pretend. “You know something very bad has happened,” I say. “We cannot go home now. You will have to be a very brave girl because we must sail to a place far away.”

“Where do we go?” she asks.

“The United States of America. It is a place with much food, many toys, and many little cats and dogs.” I say this because I know Angelina likes cats and dogs very much.

Angelina's eyes fill with tears. “I want to go home,” she says again, her quiet little voice filled with hurt.

I hug Angelina. “Don't cry, Angel,” I say. “Someday things will be better.” This is a promise I must believe myself.

Angelina does not cry loud and angry like many children. I think she is the bravest girl that I know. She wipes at her eyes and tries to smile.

“Are you thirsty?” I ask.

Angelina nods.

I find cups and we drink much water. We are also very hungry but there is no food. So we sleep more.

When we wake up from this sleep, the sun is low in the sky. As I wait for Enrique, I take water and wash Angelina's face and hands. I also use water to clean the shoulder I hurt when I jumped off the truck. The scraped skin is red and still bleeds.

Finally there are footsteps. I put my fingers on Angelina's lips so she knows to be quiet. The steps come to the door, then a quiet voice says, “Hello, we are back.” The door opens, and Enrique enters. Behind him walks a woman with a bundle in her arms. She is old and thin and looks tired, as if she is sick. “This is Silvia,” he says.

Angelina smiles to see a woman. I think the woman reminds her of our mother.

We say hello, and the woman unwraps her bundle. “Here is some food,” she says.

Angelina reaches for the food before the bundle is open, and the woman smiles. “Enrique has told me what happened to you,” she says. “We are poor, but we will help you all that we can.”

As Angelina and I eat tortillas and fruit, Enrique speaks to us. “I have known Ramos for many years. All
of our lives there have been bad things that happen to the indígenos. Ramos built his cayuco not to carry maíz to the market but to someday sail away from Guatemala. That was his dream. He wanted to go to where people could speak without fear. He wanted to tell the world of the evil that is here in Guatemala. Silvia and I are the only ones who know this. Now, if he is dead, he has given his dream to you.

“We have heard the stories of villages being burned in the mountains. Even here there are killings. Every day people disappear. We hear of many thousands who try to leave Guatemala and go as refugees to Mexico.”

“Do they make it?” I ask.

Enrique shrugs. “Some do, but many die. There is not enough food, and many people get sick. They vomit and have fever and diarrhea. What you do is what many indígenos wish to do. If you can go to the United States of America, there is hope.”

“But what if we die?” I ask.

Enrique is quiet before he speaks. “Here we live like animals. Maybe it is better to drown than to die by a bullet. Maybe it is better to end your life fast on the ocean than to die slowly from cholera, malaria, amoebas, and starvation. Here we have no hope. If you try to sail the cayuco to the United States, at least you will sail with hope.”

“Maybe things will get better here,” I say.

Enrique shakes his head. “The rich people do not
care. For years we try to tell them that we, the indígenos, also have feelings and hope. All we want is to live like humans.”

“Why does that make us the enemy?” I ask.

“Because the rich have no conscience.”

“Do you think we can make it to the United States of America?” I ask.

Enrique nods. “If we were younger, maybe Silvia and I would go with you, but we are old and Silvia is sick from a mosquito bite that carries a disease. I have thought much since I found you today. You must leave as soon as you can.”

“Tonight?” I ask.

Enrique nods. “Yes, tonight,” he says. “I have sailed this cayuco many times, so I will sail with you until you reach the open Gulf. There are many things I can show you that will help you. When we reach the ocean, I will get off at the shore and come back here on a bus. Then you will be alone. If there is good weather, I think you might be okay.”

“What if there is bad weather?” I ask.

Enrique shakes his head. “If the weather is very bad, you must try to find an island or go to shore.”

I have many questions but Enrique keeps talking. “When you sail the coast north, you must not stop unless you find an empty island,” Enrique says. “Everywhere there are people who can rob you, kill you, or tell the soldiers. We will send food with you. It is not very much,
but it will help to keep you alive.

“Here,” he says, giving me a machete. “You will need this to break coconuts, cut fruit, kill fish, and to fix the boat. Use it also to protect yourself.”

“Why do you do all this for us?” I ask.

Enrique's wife, Silvia, has spoken little until now. She kneels beside us and puts her hand on Angelina's head. “Ramos has helped Enrique and me very much. After he lost his family, he was like a brother to us.”

“How did he lose his family?” I ask.

Silvia does not answer this question either. “Here in Guatemala you and your sister are in great danger,” she says. “Enrique and I have talked many times of escaping, but it is only a dream. We are too old, and I am sick. No, we cannot go, but you can.

“If you try to make it to the United States of America, you will carry all of our dreams and all of our hopes with you.” Silvia talks softly. “That is all that two old people like us can want.”

“What is it like in the United States of America?” I ask.

Enrique shrugs. “We only hear stories, but they say that everyone has toilets that make dung disappear. Everyone has water that comes out of pipes whenever they want. Even the poor have clothes, cars, and food. I think that the United States is a very good country, where rich people share their money and do not take away land from the poor.”

“It is getting late,” Silvia reminds Enrique.

“Yes, there is much to do,” Enrique says. “Soon it will be dark. I need to nail boards over the top of the cayuco so water cannot enter in bad weather. Silvia will bring tortillas and fruit for your trip. We will also send bottles of water with you. If it does not rain, water will be harder to find than food. You will always have fish from the ocean if you can catch them.”

“How can we help to get ready?”

“It is good if you sleep more. After you leave here there will never be good sleep again until you reach the United States of America.”

I nod. I know this man and woman are very poor because of the way they dress. Helping Angelina and me will take food from their mouths for the next month, and so I say, “Thank you. Thank you very much. Someday I will try to pay you back.” I hear my voice, and my words seem very small.

“You will pay us back by sailing to the United States of America,” Silvia says. “If you can make it, you will keep alive our dreams and the dreams of all indígenos.”

I TRY TO SLEEP
, but now my mind holds too many thoughts. From my pocket I take the compass that Uncle Ramos gave to me. This is the first time that I have looked closely at it. It is small but heavy. I lift the brass cover and touch the scratched and worn glass. When Uncle Ramos taught me how to use this compass, I did not know that it might save my life.

As I stare at the compass in my hand, I wonder if I am being very brave or very foolish. I do not know. I know only that I have much hope, but hope does not always tell the truth. Angelina is asleep on the bed, and I stare at her. I must not let her be hurt. She is young and innocent and does not understand that we are going on a very long and dangerous trip.

But Angelina is part of the reason that I must make this trip. She is a young indígena girl. Here in Guatemala,
girls are not treated so well, and the indígena girls are treated even worse. This trip is something I must do for both of us if we are to ever know hope.

I close the compass and put it in my pocket again, then I look around the small room for anything that I can use. I am sure Uncle Ramos would want me to take what I need now. The only food I find is a small bag of rice and another bag of dried beans. I think these can be soaked in water to eat. I set these on the table. I find other things I can use: three empty water bottles, a fish line and a hook wrapped around a piece of wood. I find also the small and wrinkled map Uncle Ramos showed me the day we sailed his cayuco. I wrap the map carefully in a plastic bag. The map and the compass will be very important.

I put everything I have found into a plastic pail that is used to carry water. Now it is dark outside. I am glad there is only a small moon. This is a night I do not want to be seen. I wait for Enrique and Silvia. Maybe they have decided not to help us. Then footsteps come to the door again, and I hear a quiet “Hello.” A big breath leaves my chest.

“Are you ready?” Enrique whispers, opening the door. Behind him Silvia waits patiently.

“Yes,” I whisper. I go to the bed and lift Angelina into my arms. She still sleeps, so I carry her with one arm and pick up the plastic pail with the other. “These are things I can use,” I whisper. “The water bottles need to be filled.”

Quickly Silvia disappears into the dark with the water bottles. They are filled when she returns. “We have given you all the food we have,” she says. “I am sorry there is not more. There is some fruit and dried fish, and I have made tortillas for you.”

“I have gathered many coconuts for you,” Enrique adds. “They will make food and drink, and the weight will be good in big waves. I have also nailed boards over much of the cayuco to keep out water. Now I think everything is ready.” Enrique holds up a petate. “Maybe you can use this. Also I put some sugar cane under the deck. Chewing the cane will help you forget when you are hungry.”

With no more speaking, we follow Enrique along the fence and down the same trail that I used the night I pretended to sail the cayuco. Tonight I am not pretending. Everything that happens now is too real, and I want to hide and cry. Tonight I must be strong, I tell myself.

When we reach the cayuco, Enrique takes the extra water bottles and pail of supplies I have carried. He pushes them with the other food into the small space under the deck boards on top of the coconuts. “You will have a hard time reaching these things,” Enrique says. “Angelina will have to crawl under for you.”

Angelina is awake now in my arms and looks around with big eyes that are heavy with sleep. “Angelina can be my Little Squirrel and get things for me,” I say. “Do
you want to be my Little Squirrel?” I ask her.

She nods. “Squirrel,” she says, still yawning. “Is this a game?”

“Yes, it is a game,” I say.

Silvia comes to my side and hands me a plastic bag that is smaller than my fist. “This is for Angelina when she cries,” she says quietly.

“What is it?” I ask.

Silvia smiles. “Candy. When things do not go well, you can have some, too.”

I do not know what to tell these old people who give us so much. The last time I tried, my words seemed small, so I hug each of them the way I once hugged my parents.

“We must go,” Enrique says.

When we crawl into the cayuco, there is very little space. With boards nailed across the top, only one person can sit in the open back. Anybody else must lie underneath the deck or sit on top. There is room for only Angelina underneath, so I spread the petate on top of the coconuts for her to lie on.

Enrique stretches out on top of the deck. He points to the back. “You are the sailor now,” he says. “I am only a passenger.”

As I step into the cayuco, I realize how foolish I am. I am not a sailor. I am a poor indígeno who is afraid to push away from the shore. “Maybe this is foolish,” I say.

Enrique pretends I have not spoken and pushes us
away from the dock. He hands me the paddle. “Move us away from shore before you raise the sail.”

Carefully, as if I might break something, I dip the paddle into the water and take the first stroke toward the United States of America. And then I take the next stroke, and then the next. This long journey has begun.

“There is a good breeze from the west tonight,” says Enrique. “That is good. You must sail out of the Río Dulce to open ocean before the sun comes up.”

When I am away from the shore, I do what I have done many times in my dreams. I crawl forward over the deck and untie the pieces of rope that keep the sail bundled around the sail poles. Then I untie the lifting rope from the mast and pull up the sail and top pole. When the triangle sail cannot be lifted any more, I wrap the rope around a handle Uncle Ramos has bolted to the bottom of the mast.

The wind flaps the sail as I crawl past Enrique to the back. I lower the sideboard, then let the bottom sail pole swing farther and farther to the side until the wind suddenly fills the cloth. The cayuco tips but moves forward.

Enrique points. “Use your paddle as a rudder and face that direction.” He points to faint lights in the distance. I look into the small darkened space below deck. “How are you?” I ask Angelina.

She pokes her little head out and asks, “Where are we?”

“We are on Lake Izabal, and we are sailing to the
United States of America.”

She shrugs her little shoulders. “I knew that,” she says, and crawls back into the darkness.

Enrique smiles. “I am not a real sailor, but Ramos has taken me sailing many times. Always he calls me his Second Sail because I help him. I think Angelina is your Second Sail.”

I nod.

“You must practice before we reach the ocean. Change your direction and go that way,” Enrique says. He points again.

I have to think, but I pull the sail pole toward me, then use the paddle as my rudder to hold the new direction.

“Very good,” Enrique says. “Now go that direction.” He points across the deck to the north.

This time I have to steer hard to the left and let the sail swing across the deck. When it swings, I must duck low or the pole will hit my head. I try to let the sail fill with air slowly so it does not grab the cayuco and tip it over.

Again Enrique nods. “I think you have sailed many times.”

“I have sailed only once with Uncle Ramos, but I have sailed a thousand times in my dreams.”

Enrique moves his body to face me. “Now we must talk about very important things. There are many things you must know if you do not want to die on this journey.
Do you understand?”

“I think so,” I say.

“Okay. First, if the wind makes the waves big, you must paddle straight against the waves or sail with the waves. If a big wave catches a cayuco from the side, it will tip you this fast.” Enrique snaps a finger.

I nod.

“This is the middle of May. It is a good time to sail north. You will have the currents always pushing you from behind, and you will also have the wind at your back pushing you most of the time. I think many mornings will be calm with clear skies, but in the afternoon as the heat grows, storms will come. These can be very bad. Be careful and always be ready for them. If you must take the sail down, take it down early. Lowering a sail on a narrow cayuco in a storm is very dangerous.

“The hurricane season is not supposed to begin for another month, so maybe you will be okay. But remember, nature does not always follow rules. Any week of the year there have been storms that sink boats much larger than what you are sailing.”

Enrique points to his head. “Your head is what will keep you alive, not the boat. Remember that.”

All the things that Enrique tells me are like rain on a dry field. I listen and try to remember every word. I ask questions about anything I do not understand. As Enrique talks, I stretch my feet under the deck. Angelina tickles the bottom of my foot. This is a game we have
played many times, but tonight I cannot tickle her back because I must listen to what Enrique says. I wiggle my toes and hear her giggle.

“Before it is needed, you must practice lowering the sail,” Enrique tells me. “When a storm comes, that is not a good time to do anything for the first time.”

“What do I do at night?” I ask.

“If there is a bad storm, or if you get too tired, find protection if you can. There are empty islands and shallow reefs with mangrove patches. If it is hard for you to see the shore, then nobody on land can see you. That you must remember. Also if you sail inside the reef, you will lose the strong current that pushes you north.”

“And what if I cannot find an island?”

“There will be those times. Then you must learn to sleep sitting up. The hardest time will be once you leave land at the north end of the Yucatán. Then you will sail day and night for almost two weeks. Your uncle Ramos talked to me of this journey many times. It was his dream. There will be little rest. You will find sleep in moments, not in hours. Be very careful when you are tired. Many sailors with big boats fear crossing the Gulf.” Enrique smiles. “But this is also a very good time of year to be foolish. With luck the weather will be kind to you.”

Angelina stops playing with my toes, and I think that maybe she has fallen asleep. I look out across the lake. It is hard at night to know where we are. All the lights seem far away and look the same. Alone, in
the middle of this lake, I feel very small. What will it feel like on the ocean?

In the dark I cannot see Enrique's face. I see only the shape of his body against the sky. He has a proud chin and a big chest like a bull. I know he is an old man, but listening to him in the dark, I hear the excitement of someone whose heart this night is much younger.

“I wish I could make this trip with you,” Enrique says after we have talked for a long time.

“I wish you could, also,” I say.

“If a storm gets bad, keep Angelina close to you,” he says. “If the boat tips over and she is caught under the deck, she will drown.”

“Okay,” I say, staring at the lights that grow brighter on the shore ahead. I did not know this trip would be this hard.

Enrique points into the dark. “We are passing the Island of the Birds,” he says. “Soon we will pass under the bridge at Fronteras.”

I look at the bright lights ahead. So much has happened so fast. Only last night I arrived in Fronteras in the truck of maíz. Last night Angelina and I sat in horse dung, afraid we might die with a drunk man in a pickup. And only last night all the people I knew and loved were killed. Even now I blink back tears. Yes, life is able to change very fast.

As we sail under the big bridge at Fronteras, Enrique becomes quiet. I watch the lights of the cars and trucks
pass above us and then behind us. When Enrique does not speak again for a long time, I ask him, “Is something wrong?”

“We are on Lake El Golfete now,” he says. “The fishermen say that there is a military boat guarding the entrance to the Río Dulce. This might be a very big problem.”

“Why did you not tell me this before?” I ask.

Enrique smiles again. “Because you already have too many problems. This is the real reason I have come with you tonight. To try and help you get past the military boat.”