Redemption's Warrior (13 page)

• • •

The next day obsessively playing out escape scenarios leaves him with a pounding headache, sick at heart for everyday of his parent’s grief.
Too many visions of failed escapes are toxic
.

Consciously choosing to shift his thoughts he remembers Juanita the first day he saw her. Air sparkles, the white swan peaks over her shoulder.
I love her smile. She radiates sweetness, strong and feminine, delicate.
As a bonus Christopher finds her smart, engaging and straight forward.
There are no words to describe Juanita’s powers as a healer. She has eases my burdens in countless ways. She has uplifted me with prayer and ceremony.

He grows still. The blue dragonfly dances around him.
I want to spend the rest of my life with her. At the moment of death I’ll look into Juanita’s eyes.

Then his anxiety skyrockets. Will Juanita crew her father’s boat next month? There is no way he can be certain she’ll agree to be his wife.
Marriage is in the future, a future free of
Islas Tres Marias
.

These plans require faith.
The dragonfly flutters near his heart. Pops of blue light engage and disappear. He has no idea what they mean. Yet their presence is a comfort to him.
Do I have faith? Do I have the necessary faith in the unfailing goodness of life? Juanita calls it faith in beneficence. Will I break free of
La Luna’s
curse before I am dragged into the jungle and the bone yard?

Christopher stands straighter. He chooses.
I will live with faith in Beneficence. I will live with faith in the unimpeachable truth of my integrity.

The air shines around him. Faith delivers him to the possibility Juanita can, does and will love him. Juanita the hope of their future is the glue that holds Christopher together.

Sunday afternoon he sets out to gather limes for
El Jefe’s
fish. Walking under the shade of a large tree with extensive exposed roots he looks up to the canopy of graceful branches dense with foliage. Leaves chatter in the tropical breeze, the seduction of a willing woman swaying and chattering while looking over her shoulder beguiling.

Sitting in his jeep a watchful guard nods. He says, “No loitering on the grounds. Only the chapel is available to inmates.”  He pats and rubs the assault rifle lying across his lap. Curled in the passenger seat, tilted upright, sits a bullwhip
. More and more guards are carrying the whip.

“Thanks for the warning. I just want to pick limes for the fish I prepare for
El Jefe
.”

The guard nods “No
problemo
. Go ahead.” He waves his hand in agreement.

Christopher moves quickly toward the chapel and surrounding graveyard. Here, among the markers, the lime trees grow. Christopher rubs his thumb over the bumpy skin.  The dark green fruit plump. Gently pulling the lime away from the stem it drops into his hand. The back of his mouth puckers. He puts the fruit into his pants pocket.

By the time he’s carefully selected the limes a misty rain has begun to fall. To avoid a soaking Christopher jogs to the back door of the church. Rusty hinges squeak as he enters the vestibule. The sanctuary surprisingly well maintained. He notices
Candle smoke has dulled the stained glass windows
.

Two elderly inmates, bent with years of work in the salt pits, are mercifully assigned church duty. The chapel smells of polish and candle wax. Christopher thinks,
not many men reach old age on La Luna
.

Curiosity draws Christopher into an alcove. A desk and matching swivel chair fills the space. Shelves hold church artifacts, a silver chalice, and bowls for communion wafers. He sits in the oak chair testing the swivel. He uses the desktop as leverage, holding it in the classic u-grip, and pulls himself into the desk niche.

Opening the drawers Christopher finds them empty. The last drawer doesn’t rest smoothly in its tracks. He pulls and the swivel chair topples backwards. A flash of silver falls at his feet. On the stone floor lies an amethyst and pearl rosary. He flashes on the times Juanita explained La
Currandera’s
belief. Beneficence, a morphological field crafted with truth, acts of power and beauty, the alignment of goals and behavior. Congruency ignites positive possibilities, magnetizing beneficial circumstances. What had
La Currandera
asked Juanita? ‘Can you fathom a goodness requiring you to create acts of power and truth that resonate out into the world creating waves of intention where the impossible interfaces the possible?’

The rosary’s beauty astonishes him. He runs his finger over the cross. Then he lifts the figure to his lips as he has seen his father kiss the Jesus with reverence. The beads whisper and slide through his hand. He decides to take it to the chapel conservator. If he gives it to Christopher he will gift it to Juanita.
A perfect gift for Juanita.

The rain has passed leaving the air fresh and plants sparkling.

Red throated frigate birds ride the thermals searching for food and mates.

Clouds catch the trade winds and dance the spontaneous choreography of moisture and air, a sacred geometry funneling across the sky. Even the ocean sways in harmony with the moon’s gravitational pull.

In the sparkling of fresh air mingling with plants, the dance of wind and clouds, in the calmness of his eye falling on far distance, suddenly Christopher can feel his God here. He can feel the large and small beauties of God right here reaching beyond the horizon where earth and sky meet. His God is alive amidst the cruelties of
Islas Tres Marias
.

Back at quarters Checo tells him, “Fat Luis looks for you.
El Jefe
wants a fish run. Get down to the dock.”

Jogging to the boat dock Christopher arrives breathless. Fat Luis is bitching. His octopus is staring at Christopher. Its arms wave in agitation. Two tiny eyes lost in the oversized head and roundness. The octopus lack of skeleton is reflected in Fat Luis’s size.

Fat Luis continues his tirade as the launch dips and sways with every step he takes to the Captain’s chair. He says, “
El Jefe
buys too much fish.” He glares at Christopher. Christopher could swear the Octopus glares as well. He suggests, “Why don’t I cook you a fish dinner?”

Silence sits heavy, Fat Luis silent.

His octopus arms wave in the air with gentle undulations.

For Luis food the answer to every problem, food even solves the problem of overeating. He says “Don’t expect favors from me
gringo
.”

“No favors big man. Just extra food I hope you enjoy.”

As their launch approaches the Vargas fishing boat Christopher sees Leon’s fleeting distaste for Luis. His overflowing belly, stained armpits, greasy hair; his girth dominates his appendages.
Luis’s obsession with food has led to a stunted personality. Life skills, good communication are not relevant. Luis loses himself, loses consciousness in a spiritual union, oneness, with food he’s ingesting.

It gives Christopher pause.
What would it take to excavate the feelings that lead Luis to drown himself in food?

He wants to feel compassion, but it’s not there this day. In fact his conclusion
I need to find a way to distinguish myself from the fat man.

The fish purchase goes quickly aided by Christopher’s friendly banter and handshake. He makes sure Vargas junior and senior know him on a first name basis. When Vargas reaches for his payment Christopher turns to Fat Luis taking the money from his hand in one smooth motion.

Placing the
dinero
in Leon’s hand he says, “
Vaya con Dios mi amigo
.”

Leon nods, “
Gracias
Christopher,
e usted
.” From the middle of the boat Miguel raises his hand with a smile and nod to Christopher.

Such a small exchange and Christopher’s elated. He has made a personal connection.
They see past my prison clothes
.
They see me as a human being, not a prisoner, at least for this moment.
He’d like to do a small dance of joy. Today the good wishes and
adios
has given him hope.

• • •

Checo drops by while Christopher filets the fish at the original pits they dug. Looking up from slicing along the backbone, Christopher grins, “Hey
amigo, que paso?
”

Stomping toward the fire pits Checo says, “You kiss the smelly behind of the fat man and leave me with extra work.”

Sucking yet another black market cigar Checo blows the smoke at him.

Covered in fish guts Christopher snaps, “Checo for the first time we have enough to eat. I give you twenty-five percent of the profit from the fish I sell. I’m making money for both of us. Don’t complain.”

He hands Checo a fresh piece of fish knowing he’ll share a morsel with
Ave Bonita
.

Still angry but satisfied with the exchange, Checo moves down the hard packed trail.
Ave Bonita
follows painting the air with her native trills.

• • •

The
putas
have come and once again Juanita’s absence plows through Christopher’s gut. Determined to talk with her father he waits until the women are matched up with the first group of men. He approaches cautiously standing respectfully. He thinks
this will be a delicate conversation.

Ignoring him, Juanita’s father counts his money. He’s sitting in his usual spot under the umbrella next to his boat. Taking a deep draw on his cigarette he looks up. “What’s your story? What does my daughter see in you?”

“Your daughter is a special woman.”

The Captain frowns. He leans his elbows on the table. “Young man,” he says “Juanita is not a woman. She is a girl. I do not appreciate you treating my daughter as a woman. It is disrespectful to her place in life. It is disrespectful to me her Papa.
Comprende
?

Christopher thinks
Juanita not a woman, yet you use her to crew your floating house of prostitution!

He grits his teeth. He does not want to fight with Juanita’s father. He only wants to know if Juanita is safe. Why doesn’t she come to
Islas Tres Marias
?

Holding back his thoughts he says, “Yes sir. I understand.”

The Captain looks at him gruffly. “What’s your story?”

Christopher takes deep breath, to relive his parents anguish, his stupidity and the duplicity of the tuck and roll owner. The beatings and the suffering inherent living in captivity everyday on
La Luna
is its own torment. Every time he describes the treachery it exacts a toll. It crumbles his spirit. It makes daily life separated from his family and Juanita that much harder.

But Juanita’s father has asked. Christopher begins with his errand to the Tijuana Tuck and Roll.

Interest fades quickly in the older man’s eyes. The more Christopher reveals the more disinterested the man becomes. Frustrated Christopher stops speaking.
I will not cast pearls before swine, not even for Juanita’s father
.

Silence sits heavy between them.

Donde esta
Juanita? He asks breaking the silence. Suddenly he is self-conscious. The beige t-shirt and beige drawstring pants, his prison clothing, marking him as an inmate of
Islas Tres Marias
.

The Captain does not look up from re-counting his money while replying. “She is in San Diego with her
Tia
.” Slowly, reluctantly the Captain continues. “She wanted to come to the island. I insisted she perform a family duty. Her
Tia
will take her to the San Diego Zoo and shopping.” Pride shines in the Captain’s eyes.

When he looks again at Christopher those same eyes are hard as stone. He says “Christopher, while you appear to be a gentleman, here on
Islas Tres Marias
you are a prisoner. If Juanita comes to
Islas Tres Marias
again you will remain a gentleman or
gringo
, I will have
El Jefe
cut off your
huevos.
” Shaking a finger with sternness he adds, “I may have him cut them off anyway.”

Christopher knows this is not an idle threat. He’s trapped in the fundamental differences between a free man and a prisoner. He swallows hard against rising anger. He will never be able to explain the depth, the authenticity of his feelings for Juanita to her father. They press against the fabric of his soul. Speaking past the lump in his throat he asks, “When are you scheduled to come to the Islands again?”

The Captain arcs the butt of his cigarette into the water. “That’s up to
El Jefe
. Hurricane season approaches.”

Christopher bows his head. “Please tell Juanita I look forward to our next visit.”

“If I have my wish,” the Captain says, “she will find a young man with a future. What can you offer her
gringo
?”

Standing tall, Christopher answers “I’m a citizen of the United States. I have a future to offer. I will not always be a prisoner on
Islas Tres Marias.
”

The Captain snorts. Turning his head is a dismissal. Christopher bows. He has been trained after a fight to show respect. Teeth clenched, pride slugging it out with anger, he turns walking away. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the blue dragonfly.

• • •

The following day
El Jefe
demands a fish run. Strangely Luis is not reluctant. He buzzes with a peculiar excitement that Christopher cannot understand. His octopus is alert. The arms waving with, not agitation, but the most activity Christopher has ever seen.

The two men stop at the supply shack next to the dock. Luis offers Christopher a cigarette. “No gracias. I don’t smoke.” Puzzled Christopher shoots him a questioning glance. He wonders,
why would Luis offer me a cigarette? Typically he’s yelling complaints. What does this gesture mean
? Luis smiles, the octopus undulates. “Take the cigarette
gringo
. A gift from
El Jefe
he insists you smoke it.

How do I refuse without offending
El Jefe? The octopus watches him. All eight arms ripple. Fat Luis makes a show of lighting the cigarette. Christopher takes a dutiful first puff. Surrounded in a haze of smoke unprepared when Fat Luis punches him. Three hundred pounds focused right below his navel.