The Furthest City Light (33 page)

Richard nodded and began to sob. Susan immediately pulled him close to her and began to rock him back and forth.

Veronica wiped a few tears off her face and said, “Goodbye Francisco. It was really fun to flirt with you. I couldn’t understand half of what you were saying, but maybe that’s just as well. I hope your legs heal and that peace comes before you’re tempted to enlist again.”

There was another moment of silence and then Lenny spoke.

“Goodbye Omar. I sure hope the doctors can save your leg. I also wish you and your mother the best of luck with that restaurant you told me about. I’d love to come back some day and have a meal there, try some of your mother’s famous pork tamales.
Hasta luego.”

An owl hooted twice, then flapped its wings and took off over our heads. We looked up and watched as the dark heavy form disappeared into the night. No one spoke for a while. Finally, Liz shifted slightly, signaling her intention to go next. She looked down at her hands and sighed.

“What can I say, Miriam? It was such a pleasure talking with you, learning something about your life and aspirations. You would have made a great nurse. Maybe you still will. If I can, I’ll get down to Ocotal and visit you. We can talk some more about nursing or about your brother’s friend, the one who won’t stop teasing you. In the meantime, we’ll be praying for you.”

Before anyone else could speak, I cleared my throat. “Goodbye Marta.” My voice sounded strange. I wanted to say what a terrible shame it was that she wouldn’t grow up to become a journalist and climb mountains, but suddenly I was afraid I might cry, and I never cried. It was a decision I’d made a long time ago when I first became a public defender. Criminal defense lawyers didn’t cry. If they did, they might never stop. So I shook my head and said nothing.

Allen put his hand on my shoulder. “So long, Marta. You were very beautiful and had the most amazing biceps, much bigger and nicer than mine. I would have really liked spending more time getting to know you.” He hesitated. “If your jeep hadn’t hit that landmine first, we probably wouldn’t be sitting here.” He shook his head. “What a terrible day.
Adiós
Marta.
Adiós amigos
.”

We sat for a little while longer listening to the coyotes calling to each other, an ancient, oddly reassuring sound. As if they had been in these hills forever and would still be there long after all the stupid humans had come and gone. Amen, I thought, and then as if he’d heard me, Enrique lit the stub of his cigar, puffed to get it going, then started the engine and headed for the Emerald City of Jalapa.

***

It took less than thirty minutes to reach the outskirts, but it wouldn’t have mattered if it had taken hours. Time had finally ceased being important. We would get to wherever we were going when we got there. Although the road was pitch-black, no one was scared, or if they were, they didn’t care. Fear, too, had become irrelevant. Besides, the worst had pretty much happened.

We drove into town and found the Witness for Peace house on a rutted dirt road a few blocks from the main square. If we looked bizarre, our hosts didn’t mention it. They clapped us on the shoulders, offered us food, which we declined (our appetites having gone the way of our fear), and then led us to a small dark room full of cots. Since only two of the cots had mattresses, we took a quick vote and gave those to Lenny and Veronica. I could see a courtyard with trees through the window. We sat down on the beds, considered washing up, and then decided we were too tired.

One by one, fully dressed, we lay down on our metal springs and closed our eyes. Within seconds, everyone seemed to be asleep. After a while, a few of the guys began snoring. Sweet oblivion, but not for me. I lay face up in the darkness, feeling wired and irritable. Liz’s cot was less than a foot away.

“Liz,” I whispered, “how can you still believe in God?”

I’d assumed she was asleep, but she murmured, “God had nothing to do with it.” I made an exasperated sound, but before I could say anything, she reached over and patted me on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Rachel, some of my best friends are heathens. Now go to sleep.”

In the morning, we ate hardboiled eggs and slices of fried cheese, then immediately queued up to take showers. We were all still wearing our clothes from the day before—no sense changing until we’d washed the blood off our bodies. When it was my turn, I didn’t care that I had to share the primitive bathroom with a small tarantula. I showered quickly, aware that three people were waiting behind me. It felt wonderful to wash all the dirt and dried blood off my hands and feet. Both shins and an elbow were badly scraped, but other than a few blood blisters on each heel, my feet were miraculously free of injury. As I examined my elbow, I wondered again whether Miriam, Omar and Francisco had survived the night. So far, Estelle hadn’t been able to reach the hospital. Patience wasn’t just a virtue in Nicaragua, it was a commandment.

When I’d finished toweling off, I stared at myself in the small cracked mirror hanging over the washbasin. There I was, a slim, dark, ethnic-looking woman in her mid-thirties, nice eyebrows, black shoulder-length hair, and a full, slightly crooked mouth. Except for the dark circles under my eyes and a pallid complexion, I wasn’t bad looking. Of course my biceps and stomach muscles weren’t nearly so impressive after a month of no climbing, hiking or weightlifting, but from past experience, I knew I could get it all back in a couple of weeks (although having a washboard stomach didn’t seem quite so important anymore). Actually, considering the events of the past twenty-four hours, I looked remarkably well, remarkably untouched. My headache and slight fever were back, but that was to be expected. In fact, if this was the worst I would feel, I was one lucky lady.

I let my eyes close for a moment. All of a sudden, I was remembering the last conversation I’d had with Emily when she’d begged me to accept her conviction. How impossible it had seemed at the time, how counterintuitive. And now, how simple—at least in theory. As if she’d begged me to accept my age, or the fact that my father was dead. How could I not accept those things? What good would it do? And that’s when it hit me, the ineluctable bottom line truth: whether I accepted it or not, my sweet gentle friend was going to spend the rest of her life in prison. I could rage until the cows came home, but in the end, after I’d cursed and shouted, banged my head on the floor, and broken all my toys, my client would still be doing life. So what had I been thinking? I opened my eyes and gazed at myself in the mirror again.

“Those are some pretty dark circles under your eyes, lady,” I murmured, then quickly dressed and exited the bathroom.

***

We spent the rest of the morning sitting around the courtyard drinking coffee and watching lizards chase each other up and down the trees. For the first time since we’d come together as a group, no one felt like talking. The only thing that mattered was what had happened the day before and at least for the moment, there wasn’t anything more to say about it. To chat about anything else, though, seemed inconceivably crass, like discussing an upcoming ski trip at someone’s funeral.

We could have gotten up and explored the town, of course, but no one felt like it. Our curiosity had been extinguished. And so we sat and listened to the sounds made by others, to the birds squawking overhead, to the half-hearted barking of some neighborhood dogs, to the rumble of an occasional truck negotiating its way over and around the least serious ruts in the road. Occasionally someone would sigh or yawn or stand up and then sit down again.

In the meantime, Tim and Estelle disappeared to make phone calls. They hoped to get through to the hospital in Ocotal, contact our host families in Managua, and obtain as much information as they could about flight schedules. A brigade from California was due to arrive tomorrow and its members would be staying with our families. Since there was no time to set up alternative housing, most of the group planned to leave immediately.

Around noon, one of the volunteers who lived in the house, a hearty Texan named Miranda, stuck her head through the doorway.

“
Compañeros
, we have more coffee and one of our neighbors just brought over some homemade tortillas. You’re welcome to share them with us.”

We all stood up and headed for the kitchen. No one was hungry, but it gave us something to do, something to fill up the time before we had to leave.

A little while later, Tim and Estelle returned with good news: all three of our friends were stable and would probably survive.

“That’s wonderful,” Liz said, beaming at everyone. “I didn’t think Miriam would make it. To tell you the truth, I had my doubts about Omar as well.” She looked around the table. “Well, maybe now I can eat something. Are there any tortillas left?”

Liz has the perfect constitution for this place, I thought, as she reached for the basket of tortillas. Like everyone who lived here, she would fuel herself on a diet of anger, determination and hope. She would not succumb to despair. If nothing else, she was too practical. Unless she happened to get shot, blown up or kidnapped, she’d be fine. No, more than fine, fulfilled.

Finally, it was time to leave. Our bags were in the truck and Enrique was motioning for us to climb aboard. We all crowded around Liz to say our last goodbyes. Allen started to cry. Liz and I both put our arms around him.

“Take care of yourselves,” Liz said. Her eyes were sparkling with happiness. Unlike us, she was home. “I’ll miss you all.”

“Promise us you won’t get killed,” Allen said, wiping the tears off his face.

Liz shrugged helplessly, but I nudged her in the ribs. “How about this,” she said. “I’ll do everything humanly possible to keep myself safe.”

He shook his head. No, not good enough.

She sighed and pulled him close to her. “Okay, fine, I promise not to get killed.”

“Good,” he said.

One by one, the group hopped into the back of the truck. As I stepped onto the running board, Liz grabbed me around the waist and whispered, “You did good yesterday. You know that, right?”

I nodded. “We all did.”

“Every time we act, it makes a difference, Rachel. And every little difference matters.”

I thought for a moment. “You might be right.”

She laughed and squeezed my arm. “Then there’s hope for you yet, my friend.
Hasta luego.”

As the truck lurched forward, we waved at Liz until she was out of sight, then we swiveled around to catch a quick glimpse of Jalapa. None of the streets were paved. The simple wooden houses had once been painted in assorted shades of blue, pink, white and yellow, but the colors had long since faded. As we rumbled toward the edge of town, I saw groups of women and children walking along the road. No one seemed to be hurrying. There were plenty of trees and even a slight breeze. Ahead of us, a couple of skinny dogs were running around in circles, chasing their tails. In the middle of the day, the place seemed peaceful and idyllic. We lumbered across a rickety wooden bridge, swerved for a couple of pigs, and then headed down the long dirt road toward the capital. In the distance, we heard five or six gunshots, but then nothing more.

As usual, the day was hot and clear. The cliffs on either side of the road seemed less ominous, probably because we were heading away from them. As we approached the spot where the soldiers had been blown up, everyone began to fidget and look uncomfortable. The truck slowed and Enrique mumbled something and then crossed himself. The jeep, of course, was still lying on the side of the hill, but it was already impossible to tell how long it had been there. Now it seemed like part of the landscape, incorporated overnight into the larger ongoing story and later when the war finally ended, into a rusty souvenir of the times. The road curved and in an instant the jeep was out of sight.

After a quick stop in Esteli, we headed straight for the airport to drop off Veronica and Lenny. Estelle had managed to book two seats on a plane leaving for El Salvador at six thirty. Supposedly, there was a connecting flight around midnight from there to the United States. Allen, Susan and Richard were scheduled to depart the next morning. Since I still couldn’t decide what to do for the rest of my life, Estelle hadn’t booked anything for me. She and Tim planned to stick around Managua for a couple of days, then attempt another trip north to Jalapa.

If possible, I would try to keep my place at Sonia’s. I felt safe and comfortable there and needed time to think. Otherwise, I was a girl without a plan. Somehow, I couldn’t picture myself booking a room at the Intercontinental, mingling with journalists and spies at the breakfast buffet.

In the old days, I could always see a year or two into my future and eventually I’d rebelled. Now, I could barely imagine the next few hours.

It was harder than I expected to watch Lenny and Veronica vanish into the terminal. From the back, Lenny’s hair looked more white than blond. And he was listing slightly, like a tired sailor. Veronica walked close beside him, as if they were related and had always loved each other. I’d miss them both. Right before they disappeared, Veronica held up her fist in a gesture of solidarity.

“Remind me never to care for anyone ever again,” Allen muttered. “It’s too fucking painful when they go.” He was staring at me and I worried he might start crying again.

“I have an idea,” I said. “Let’s meet for dinner at that restaurant near the Managua Cathedral. Sonia says they have great beans and cream. We can order beer and get tipsy and sentimental.”

“I don’t think I can get any more sentimental,” Allen said. “But I could certainly try.”

“Good, I’ll meet you there at seven.”

At the community center, I said goodbye to the rest of the group and proceeded down the street to Sonia’s house. I pushed open the broken gate, knocked on her door, and waited. A second later, she was hugging me.

“I was so worried,” she told me as she led me toward the kitchen. “How are you?”