Hard Red Spring (43 page)

“Did you meet with the General today?” It was hard for her to act as an advisor when she had no idea what he did with his time. But still, she tried.

He made an affirmative noise and did not look up, transferring his attention instead from his letter to one of the maps.

“Have you mentioned the children are getting thinner?”

“I'll mention it next time, I will. I'll mention it. But it can't be so bad if they're throwing their rolls over the fence. To feed the guerrillas.”

Lenore crossed her arms over her chest. “Dan, the birds eat the rolls. What guerrilla in his right mind would walk five hundred yards into a fortified field for a roll?”

“Then tell me why they're doing it, Lenore. No other explanation makes sense.”

“I don't know why they're doing it. But just because we don't understand why doesn't mean we should automatically assume it's for evil purposes. Maybe some of them just don't like the rolls.”

“Humph.” He slashed with his pen through a solid block of green on the map.

“I think there are more important things to worry about. There are some things I think we should mention to him.”

“Whatever you want to mention, just write it down.” He made tiny, tiny notes next to his slashes.

“I'm tired of writing notes, Dan. They do nothing. Does he even get them?”

“I'll read them to him. Just give the notes to me. I'll be sure he hears them.”

“Will he hear them as my silly ideas, or will you stand behind them?”

He shifted back to his notebook, writing. “They will be both of our ideas. You and I are a team, Lenore. We are a team. I don't know why you act like we aren't.”

“Well, then, do you think sometimes I can go up and talk to the General, while you stay and watch the village?”

“Do you really mean that?” He finally set down his pen to look up at her. “Do you really want to ride in one of the trucks, up to the base, and meet with him alone?”

“No.”

“Which is why I do it.” He returned to his notes.

“What do you talk about, Dan, with the General? Other than roads?”

“You don't think the roads are important? If you think we need more supplies, that's the way to get them here. The roads are everything.”

“I didn't say roads weren't important. I just thought they were someone else's job. You came down here as a missionary.”

“You think I'm not qualified?” He pressed his pen point too hard, making a hole in the map. “You think someone with an engineering degree should be doing it?”

She did not dare tread further. “That's not what I mean at all, Dan. I'm glad you can help with the roads. I'm sure you're doing a fantastic job. I just think the village needs some attention, too. Maybe you can talk to the General about it.”

“The General has a lot more on his mind than getting more interpreters. There are guerrillas out there, watching us, waiting to massacre these Indians. He's responsible for everyone's safety.” He flipped the map. “What do you have to say, Lenore? Just tell me.”

“My period is ten weeks late.”

“Oh.” He blinked repeatedly at the measured mountains before him. Another problem, another impossible route.

“Ten weeks.”

“I'm sure it's just stress. You've been doing too much.” He switched to a pencil, testing, tracing something new. “You look great.” His eyes flicked up. “Those jeans look great on you.”

“Dan, I've been stressed before, and it's never been like this. I don't feel like myself.” She began to cry and smile at the same time. “I think I may be pregnant.”

He dropped his pencil and looked, really looked, at her. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure. I feel it. I just know.”

His gaze drifted down. “But how could it be? God's made it clear He needs us down here.”

Her thoughts followed his. She stared at the floor, where ants hauled away half a Frito she must have dropped on the floor weeks ago. She bent down and took it from them. Just picked it up, blew on it, and ate it, knowing it was everything to them and nothing to her.

“We'll ask the General for a travel pass,” Dan concluded, twirling the pencil around his thumb. “So you can see a doctor. We've just finished a
road that connects the way to Quetzaltenango.” He showed her on the map. “We can get a bus there. But until we get confirmation, we shouldn't allow ourselves to be distracted from the mission. Or get our hopes up again. I really don't think it makes sense for God . . .” He trailed off.

“I agree, Dan,” and she did, although his caution hurt her, made her feel like an obstacle to his new purpose. “I'm going to wait a week, just one more week. There's just too much going on to leave the village now. Because . . .” She watched Dan's eyes drift back to his map. “Because I had an idea today.” She sat across from him, demanding his attention. “And if it works, when I'm gone I can get some supplies for it.”

“For what? What's your idea?”

“I was measuring the women, and Cruzita, I'm not kidding, that girl has the figure of a fashion model.” Dan raised his eyebrows. “And then it came to me . . .” She paused, doubting herself already. “We should have a village beauty pageant.”

She had his full attention now.

“It would be fun and it would take everyone's mind off, well . . .” She waved a hand in the air. That was the part that made her doubt the idea. Food was low, the children sick, people were being slaughtered by Communists in the mountains, and Lenore had thought of a beauty pageant. But maybe they'd been so overwhelmed by the larger problems that they'd neglected small joys. To be beautiful and onstage with everyone admiring them. This was the way to win their hearts, to get the women to wear new clothes. Not with threats, but merely by showing them how beautiful they could be.

“It's just that we're supposed to be making a community here, but we've had no real community events. The women could make their own dresses for the competition.”

Lenore stopped, for fear of the look on Dan's face. Stunned, no doubt, at this idea. His eyes alight with images: lace and hair spray, satin and music. “Wow,” he said. “That's the Holy Spirit talking if I ever heard it. I haven't seen you so excited since before the blackberry festival. I think the General might actually like this one, Lenore.”

—

Her note asking for a travel pass had to be worded carefully, to convey the urgency of her request, without mentioning specifically what her problem was. She could not imagine mentioning her period, or even the word gynecologist, to the General. She hoped that mentioning the pageant in the same note would distract his concern.

The sermon on the other side of the door ran late as she drafted her note. She had feigned illness, claimed her trouble, when it came time for Dan to preach. It gave her a free pass now, this new life growing inside her.

She could not bring herself to attend, because Dan had crafted this sermon to denounce prostitution. More specifically, Ama. Her punishment finally decided. No one knew what was coming and Lenore had no desire to witness the revelation, to watch the panic roll over the frightened Maya in their little church. Merely speaking to an Indian publicly on the paths made them melt, and Lenore could not see anyone surviving this denunciation Dan had prepared, without consulting her.

“Wish me luck!” he'd said before leaving, as if he might possibly fail at humiliating Ama.

Yes, she had failed Ama, but she had convinced Dan, at least, of her pageant idea. And more importantly, she'd convinced him that with new security concerns, Mincho should be with the Civil Patrol all day. She did not need him in the sewing class. Sewing was taught by example, not with talking, she had said. She could manage on her own.

Yes, Dan had said. I'm sure the General will agree. I'll talk to him about it.

And she was pregnant. After twelve years of trying, God had finally answered her prayers. That afternoon, when she prayed for more Swiss Cake Rolls to appear, Emelda arrived with a collection of wheat rolls, which the Indians usually threw over the fence. Just handed them to Lenore without a word. She ate one now, feeling pregnant, feeling nausea, or maybe it was the sermon upsetting her stomach.

“The Lord cherishes the sanctity of marriage, the intimate bond between man and wife,” she heard Dan through the wall. Every sermon now would be distrusted, everyone tense, waiting for it to turn on them. According to Dan, this was a good thing, would encourage people to police themselves.

Lenore put all of her energy into blocking out the sermon. But the message traveled too well through the metal walls. She folded a pillow over her ears, thinking of the women in her class, how this would affect them. Did her pregnancy mean their mission was complete, or that they'd failed?

“We all make mistakes,” she heard Dan say, “and all of you have indeed made many.” But what? Lenore thought. But you're not allowed to make any more? You used up your quota? If that was possible, Dan had certainly used up his in his young days. She'd forgiven him over and over—drunk driving, assault, driving without a license, drunk in public, assaulting a police
officer—forgiven him each time, as had God. That grace finally touched and changed him. Yes, everyone makes mistakes, but Dan got perpetual forgiveness, while these Indians got perpetual punishment. He was making a mistake now, he'd feel terrible for it later, but he'd be forgiven.

With the horrible sermon finished, the rest transpired quite silently. She did not hear the soldiers take Ama away, did not hear her screaming. Was Ama afraid even to cry out in her own language, another offense to be used against her?

~~~~~

Both Ama and Emelda were scheduled for baptism, though the next morning only Emelda appeared, ready for her conversion. She stood confidently, while the others scanned the valley uneasily. The mountains had been burning all night.

The situation had grown beyond Lenore's control. What other choices did she have, in retrospect? The sewing class felt like her only success and she wasn't sure if, given the chance, she would do anything differently. For this blasphemous baptism, Emelda would continue to translate, and Lenore took another note from her to mail. The letter seemed to be about the same thing, to the same address. Emelda had become impatient for a reply.

Mincho stalked back and forth in front of the line of converts, translating Dan's ceremony. He had come back from terrain training without Huela. Only once had Lenore asked about the puppy, but he had cut her off, with a demented look in his eye. And now he paced back and forth, reciting Bible verses, scratching his black buzzed hair like a mold had overtaken his skull.

After the scripture reading, Dan turned to the pump. “Someone forgot to refill the can,” he said. He set his Bible down and began pumping with two hands. Lenore sighed in relief. “Does anyone have any water to spare?” Mincho translated. Nothing but blank stares, lowered heads.

“Shit, fuck!” Dan punched the air. He stalked into the church as Mincho automatically translated for the astonished Indians.

He emerged seconds later holding a can of Pepsi. One of the last of the twenty-four-pack. The Indians all stared as he cracked the can open with surprising force, as if he had to kill it before consuming it. He considered out loud pouring the can into the pump, but feared what the corn syrup might do to the parts inside. To Lenore's horror, he motioned for Emelda to step forward.

“You have chosen to walk in the path of Christ, shedding your worldly
concerns for the Kingdom of Heaven. I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” He dipped his finger into the open can, smeared it into a cross on her forehead, and said, “God now lives in your heart and will protect you as a true Guatemalan.”

~~~~~

Dan, convinced now that Lenore couldn't possibly be pregnant, also became convinced that the Civil Patrol could not function without him for two days. So Lenore asked Emelda if she would accompany her to her doctor's appointment, acting as a guide. She did not call Emelda a “translator” in the request, but merely a guide. Quetzaltenango was the closest city with an American doctor, and Emelda came from there. Lenore wrote this to the General, saying that Emelda had proved herself a trustworthy, baptized Christian, and that she would keep a close eye on her. These were not necessarily lies. She did not trust Emelda enough to mail her letters right away; that was why they had received no reply from the first letter. But Lenore had not yet destroyed them. She did trust Emelda, sometimes, in ways she trusted no one else in the camp.

Without asking any questions, the General signed passes for both of them for two days. When Emelda saw the paper with her name on it, a single tear dropped onto her rough cheek, as miraculous to Lenore as if it had been squeezed from rock.

—

Miserable-looking Maya crammed the bus to Quetzaltenango. Their costumes—cleaner, more complete than in the village—revealed bright, skillful patterns that impressed Lenore. Emelda pushed her way through the clashing neon crowd and cleared a space for herself and Lenore to stand in the aisle. Then the bus lurched forward, leaving the military truck behind. Lenore waved, but the soldiers did not wave back. The bus seemed too silent for the number of people, for the tumult of limbs grasping and adjusting to the whims of the driver. No one voiced any objection to his carelessness. They passed other vehicles racing around mountain curves, and the brakes didn't work well on the descents.

“Emelda, I think you know already, but I'm pregnant. I'm going to a doctor. How are you? Do you need to see a doctor, too? I'll pay, if there's anything—”

“No, a doctor cannot help me. But you? Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.” Lenore smiled. “And I'm so happy. So happy. I've been praying for this for twelve years.”