Redemption's Warrior (5 page)

Evenings, just before twilight, Christopher practices martial arts. His anger spent, muscles heated, in the soft sand, in slow motion, he defines each stance. Warming up, one posture flies into the next, creating a sequence. The chain of movement brings him to the razors edge of his ability, the place where his power meets with a deeper inexplicable power. Draped in the colors of the twilight he sets each movement ablaze with intricate precision and bold strength. Enveloped in the posture of the looming crane, power sheds itself, morphing into a giant crab, leaping into the mythical stag. In the setting sun he loses all self- consciousness. Leaping, turning, spinning, kicking and punching he spars with his partner, Mother Nature.

Sometimes he feels eyes watching from the darkening jungle.
When I’m stronger I’ll offer lessons, for a small fee… Another way to save for my escape.

M
id-morning Checo’s crew trudges toward the administrative garages. Christopher’s first look inside the gates of the walled community he is amazed to see shops and even restaurants. They walk by a hospital.
It’s a small town in here
. There are warehouses for food, a commissary, cafeteria, on-base dormitories and separate homes for married administrators. The most elaborate building is
El Jefe’s hacienda
wrapped in Spanish Colonial curves. Christopher stretches for a glimpse of a Saltillo tiled courtyard. Well-armed guards in jeeps and on foot enter and exit the compound for island patrol. Women and men walk dirt streets on errands. A guard in a rusty jeep stops Checo. Christopher wonders will there be a confrontation? Trouble? After a whispered conversation Checo reaches deep in his pockets taking out two packs of cigarettes. After handing them to the guard the jeep speeds off in a cloud of dust. “What just happened?” Christopher asks one of the older inmates. Head down, his eyes on the street, the man replies, “The guard told Checo;
putas
, the prostitutes, will be at the dock tomorrow. Guards, group leaders, the administration have the privilege to buy time with the girls.”

Christopher’s eyes widen, “Prostitutes?” The old man nods. He is already shuffling off. He doesn’t want to be seen talking to the
gringo
. Thoughtfully scratching his head Christopher wonders
will the
puta
boat be a way to sneak off the island
?

• • •

Dawn crests the horizon and Christopher has a spot on the bluff where he can watch the comings and goings of the dock. He settles beneath a group of banana trees for an unencumbered view of the show below. The boat, a fifty-footer, has already moored. As the sun illuminates the horizon even at this distance Christopher can see it needs care. Orange rust has begun to leak down the white hull.   A dozen girls stand scattered behind the Captain. Clothing varies from peasant girl to slutty street walker.  Wrapping his arms around his knees he contemplates
who put the Captain in charge of the
putas
?

Men are lined up in order of importance. Testosterone fueled feet stamp and men jostle each other impatiently. The Captain sets up shop on the dock under an umbrella. Later, a young woman climbs off the boat to bring the Captain a beer and the restless men grow silent. Christopher leans forward to get a better view.

Luxurious dark hair falls past her shoulders in waves. Long limbs are toned and smooth. He guesses her age somewhere between eighteen and twenty years old. Her eyes are wide and clear. Her features and body stunning in their symmetry; they are a study of balance, complexity and openness. Infinitesimally small explosions, bursts of light, open then recede. Like dainty bubbles of Champagne they pop, fizzling bright and agile.
The air sparkles around her!

Losing his balance he tumbles forward. She looks up the hill. He lays in her sight line now. Christopher wheezes in surprise when a white swan appears at the woman’s side. Five feet tall her plumage brilliant white, her wings fan out, stretch and then settle. Almost as tall as the woman so many feelings roll off the swan Christopher cannot keep up. Fiercely protective she will fight on land, water or air. She is delicate yet strong, kind yet willing to be tough. The swan lengthens her neck, circling the woman, peeking around at Christopher. He stops breathing. Yet his heart pounds loudly. He’s entranced with both the swan and woman. He blinks and the woman stands alone, looking at him.  Christopher scrambles back beneath the shade of the banana trees. He hears the Captain say, “
Nina, mija, mas cervesa por favor
.”

The breath whooshes out of Christopher like he has been hit in the stomach.
This beautiful young woman is the Captain’s daughter? Why would he involve her in his world of prostitution? A daughter should be protected from loveless acts.
  Irate with the Captain, caught in the woman’s beauty, Christopher watches her scrub the decking hair falling down in strands while she cleans.
She’s a hard worker
. 
Beautiful…… Did she see me? Did she smile? I think she smiled at me!
  Not to be outdone he blows her a kiss.

• • •

After this strange introduction Christopher opts to rest. Free days are for repair, to fully recover from his injuries. He journey’s inward, a meditation designed to retrieve pieces of his spirit that were broken off , traumatized in his beatings, imprisonment, the theft of his car. Closing his eyes he counts each inhale and exhale. His mind and heart settle. His attention drifts. In the partial wakefulness of the dream he searches for lost parts of himself. He adds a prayerful wish.
Guide me
. He floats. In the distance sail images related to him. Like a magnet he draws them closer. His spirit recognizes each reflection even while it appears to be debris. One picture of his Chevy battered and broken reflects the many hours he spent restoring it only to have the connection brutally severed. In his inner vision he cleans and restores the car. It melts into the growing sphere of health surrounding him. Taking the view of his beaten body he images his ribs healed. Bruises fade. The likeness of him stands straighter, filled out with muscle and strength and something akin to the vitality of the dolphins. When the impression of him bursts with health he draws it inward, melting into the field that composes ‘Christopher.’ And so it goes he floats in inner space and collects the broken and frayed pieces of himself. With his intent and inward vision he heals parts of the soul broken off in the trauma of beatings and imprisonment. The screen door bangs. Checo enters talking with
Ave Bonita
in soft coos. She cackles softly in his ear. Drowsy, Christopher thinks,
Checo’s pet; friend, guardian, defender and an alarm system warning of dangers. Her claws would make a formidable ally.
In a spurt of adrenalin he realizes Checo’s return marks the end of the day. The boat must be leaving. He jolts upright. Jumping from the bed he sprints out the door. He arrives out of breath at the bluff above the dock just in time to see her toss bow and stern lines onto the boat. “
Date prisa
Juanita, hurry,” the Captain shouts over a crude loud speaker. Juanita jogs to the bow. She turns and looks directly at Christopher. She smiles. Hands to lips, she blows him a kiss. Laughing Christopher blows a return kiss.
Sassy girl.

Walking the dirt trail to the food tents lost in thought he wonders,
am I having a happy moment? Possibly involved in a school boy crush? I have a crush on the daughter of a man who runs a prostitution ring? Have I lost my mind?

Yet a light step accompanies him as he heads to dinner.  Checo standing on the porch entrance blows him a kiss.
He must have seen me
. Christopher’s apprehension soars. He keeps his head down walking past Checo. Ignoring the man’s gesture, as an afterthought he calls out, “Hey Don Juan! When is the boat returning?” “Not soon enough
gringo
,” Checo laments. “Not soon enough. They only come once a month, occasionally twice a month. Why can you afford a girl?”

“No,” replies Christopher in his sternest voice.

Ave Bonita
squawks at him.

The sound startles Christopher and he jumps.

Maneuvering around
Ave Bonita
, he slaps Checo on the back, “You’re an ugly man Checo… And I mean that in a brotherly way,” he adds. Laughter erupts in the tent.

C
hristopher hears via the prison grapevine the
putas
are returning. Saturday morning finds men stamping their feet in impatience. Disorderly they whistle and catcall as the boat arrives. Boots pound the dock thundering out the rhythm of desire.
Putas
raise their skirts, sashaying across the bow of the boat. Flinging hair they gaze over their shoulders at the impatiently waiting men.

The Captain’s daughter stands apart. She observes the show with a trace of humor reflected in her features. Her body is slim with long legs and narrow hips.
She appears at ease, a woman of quality, graceful and athletic.
Christopher’s heart hammers at the sight of her. He feels giddy.
Where is her swan
?
What’s the best place for a first date?

He squeezes his face, wrinkling his nose.
A first date on an island dungeon! If she agrees to take a walk with me she’s having a date with an
Islas Tres Marias
inmate and I am having a date with the
puta
prince’s daughter. Not a traditional entertainment in sight, only the glaring eyes of prisoners and guards. This will be tricky.

Edging his way past the dozing Captain, Christopher descends the ladder to the boat’s deck. Juanita’s eyes follow him. Wide and clear, chocolate brown eyes fringed with long lashes, gaze at Christopher’s face. His mouth goes dry, at a loss for words. Leaning against the cabin, he strives to look relaxed. Really his knees are shaking. The cabin he leans on is his support. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. With a smile he introduces himself. “
Buenos dias Senorita. Mi llama es Christopher.”

A kind of wonder shines from her face. It’s as if she rarely hears a man speak kindly. Friendliness brings a shine of tears to her eyes. Christopher’s warmhearted nature glows around him like an aura of good health. Juanita looks down, shy and embarrassed. He can see her thoughts.
Do I have the courage to speak with the
gringo?

Christopher huffs surprise watching as light gathers in her belly circulating golden warmth in a clockwise direction. When she smiles her happiness shines. She says, “
Buenos dias
Christopher.
Mi llama es Juanita
.”

Exhilarated, leaning his weight forward into his toes, Christopher asks, “
Habla
English?”

“Yes I do.” She answers. “Are you American?”

“I am.” He gives her another friendly smile. “Would you walk with me? We could walk up the cliff. Your father can see us from the dock.”

Smiling as bright as sunlight, Juanita pushes her hair off her face. She says, “Yes, I would like to walk with you.”

Christopher hears her sharp inhale. Looking down at her feet Juanita says “Before we go. I want to warn you. My father’s cousin is the man you know as
El Jefe
.”

Tilting her head she appraises Christopher’s reaction. He smiles at her. He can see she’s wonders
does he understand?
Christopher nods, “I’ve heard your uncle is
El Jefe, a
scary
hombre
.”

He has no negative reaction to the news that she is the niece of
El Jefe?
Juanita smiles, “Shall we walk?”

Christopher holds the ladder steady as Juanita climbs to the dock. They are deep in conversation before the end of the dock. Walking the sandy trail he has forgotten the dangers. They arrive cresting the bluff, hearts pumping, just slightly out of breath. Juanita’s cheeks are pink. Her eyes shine.
Ahhh
.
The air dances with sparkles of light.

Laughing they swing their feet over the ledge, animated by the climb, intoxicated with their adventure. They talk of the past, not ready to dream of a future. She says, “My mother was a stay at home mom. My father was on the boat fishing just off these islands.” She stretches a finger out to the ocean. The water with many hues of blue extends as far as the eye can see. “Papa did not always run a
puta
…”

Juanita runs out of words and Christopher can see she feels ashamed of her father’s profession, his choice to exploit young women, their survival based on trading their bodies for money.

She explains, “I was sixteen when Mama became ill. Pounds flew off her body. Nothing eased her pain. Not food, medicine or rest. I watched, helpless, as life drained out of her.” Juanita inhales a shaky breath covering her mouth with her hand to hold back tears.

Christopher sits quietly. A woman’s tears usually create a knot of anxiety in his belly. Today his concerns are for Juanita. He wants to hold strength protecting her as she walks through the fragilities of her story.

Juanita resumes with a wobbly smile. “Doctors could not help. I prayed day and night for her. Nothing stopped the disease. She was exhausted. She was dying.”

Gaining strength from Christopher’s steadfast presence Juanita continues, “Then one day my prayers were answered.

“I was at the open air market buying food for dinners I cooked but mama could not eat. I stumbled from the bright day into a canvas covered stall. It was dark and gloomy. I couldn’t get my bearings. I fell. It was like falling down a tunnel.” She looks at Christopher and asks, “Am I getting too weird for you?”

Christopher shakes his head and says, “Your story is right up my alley. You have no idea the strange things happening to me.”

“Well,” Juanita hesitates.

Sparkles shine around Juanita. Christopher would like to take her hand. Instead he says, “Juanita, did you tell me that
El Jefe
is your cousin? The Big Boss, a warden on
Islas Tres Marias
?

Juanita’s eyes widen. She can only nod.

“If this information didn’t scare me off, you can tell me anything.” He pauses, “more to the point, I have my own freaky experiences. I’ll look forward to telling you.” With his fist he thumps his heart, and says, “You’re safe with me.”