Hard Red Spring (46 page)

“So it wasn't a war then. But it's a war now, right?”

Lenore remembered watching
The 700 Club
, the graphic on the screen announcing the civil war. President Ríos Montt's grave report. But all the evidence she needed surrounded her in the camp. Hundreds of Indians flooding from the mountains. If it wasn't war, what were they surrendering from?

“After I came back to Guatemala, the real war began and I knew I'd started it all. I had my land, but I was afraid to leave it, afraid to spend my money to buy the things I'd wanted so badly. People thought I'd gone away to be a maid and came back because I got pregnant by the man. But I was still afraid for a very long time, convinced people would recognize my voice. I never married. The money I hid in my floor dissolved in a bad rainy season. I sent my son away to another village, afraid he would figure out what I had done. Then the war kept getting bigger and bigger and it took my mother and my brother and my sister. I had no one left. I just had my land. Then the Civil Patrol came to Xela last year, they burned my land. I was growing corn, they said to feed guerrillas. Leandro, who lives in the shed next to me, was there, in the Civil Patrol. They held a gun to his head and he raped me. They tried to make him kill me, but he was slow, I think on purpose, and I ran into the mountains.”

Lenore pictured Leandro, posed in his doorway, mutely watching Emelda sob that first morning in the model village. Mincho had translated a different story, of Leandro killing her son while disguised as a soldier.

“A lot of guerrillas dress in military uniforms and do those things,” Lenore said.

“They chased me with helicopters,” Emelda said. “Guerrillas don't have helicopters. They don't even have food.”

“But why would the government try to kill you and then invite you back, feed you, and give you a new home? It doesn't make sense, Emelda.”

The evening sun found its angle between the mountains. A low knife of light piercing their eyes. In unison, they both raised a hand, a bag, for relief.

“After I realized what I had done,” Emelda continued, “I would think of that radio show for ladies, wonder if I could go on there and tell my sad story and win prizes. But maybe . . .” She laughed miserably. “Maybe that radio show was fake, too, just like mine.”

In the valley, the wheat had matured and opened into full color. A glowing red amplified by the low sun. The fields rippled and whooshed like fire, completely surrounding the village.

Emelda said she stayed in the mountain jungles for almost a year, running with guerrillas who had found her. From then on, she stopped speaking Quiché, afraid they would recognize her voice from the radio program almost thirty years before. Instead she learned Rabinal Achí, a related dialect, to communicate with them.

“The helicopters burned any crops they found and we had to suck roots
during the dry season to stay alive. Some Indians joined the guerrillas to fight, but a lot just followed for food and protection.”

“What about you?” Lenore asked. “Did you just follow them?”

“I fought.”

“Why are you telling me all this? If you're so afraid of people finding out?”

“Because who can you tell? The only people you can talk to are your husband, Mincho, and the General, and I know you don't want to talk to them. I've been so lonely for thirty years, lonely even when I braid Cruzita's hair. I had to tell someone. Now you're the only person who's ever known me.”

At that moment, the stench of the village hit Lenore. The air went dead with excrement and sweat. She raised her sleeve to her nose and mouth. “My God,” she said, “was it like this before?” Emelda shrugged. Had the people on the bus, the doctor, had they smelled this on her? A helicopter, she could hear, lifted off from the base and approached from behind. It flew so low that Lenore did not have to raise her eyes to watch it rip over the village. The line at the water pump dispersed, women grabbed their children, the Civil Patrol broke from formation, the whole crowd coming to a sudden boil.

—

“You're back!” Dan stood in the doorway. She had not understood the words at first, though they had woken her. “What did the doctor say?”

“Nothing to worry about,” she said. “I'm not pregnant, I'm not sick. Just stress.”

“You see? I told you it was all a part of His plan.” Proof of his divine theory pleased him, which was all Lenore wanted at the moment. She didn't want to tell him that she was weak, that despite his energy and health, her body had failed under exactly the same conditions. Her eyes adjusted, then settled on his right hand.

“The soldiers gave me a real machete yesterday,” Dan said, noticing her stare. “Which is good, I guess. They had more problems with the road crew bringing back stones and leaves. They've been putting them in their pockets, Lenore. The General has asked that the women stop sewing pockets on their pants.”

Lenore didn't reply to this. She did not want to hear about the camp. If she thought about it, she would just wonder where Ama was, or the man and boy taken from the bus. Why no more food or medicine had been delivered to the village, though the new road made it possible now.

She watched her husband.

Dan's body had changed shape a few times over the past three months. From pudgy to lean and boyish. But now the leanness had strength. Made it seem as if Lenore were watching a strange man undress in her presence. From the bed, she reached out and touched his side, damp and gritty. She imagined her fingers leaving a mark. She imagined his Adam's apple, like a trigger in his throat as he spoke.

Lenore reached into his pants, feeling his heart beating furiously in her hand. She wanted to keep the haze of her dream intact, to incorporate Dan into it. She knew that once she was fully awake, things would not be the same.

“Don't cry, Lenore.” He slipped into bed beside her, taking her up in his arms. “Are you sad about the doctor?” She nodded, sobbing into his chest. “Don't be. We can adopt. The church has already taken up a collection to pay for it. It was going to be a surprise.” He patted her hair back from her wet face, trying to clear a path. “There are so many orphan babies here. There's ten at the base right now, I saw them. They'd be so lucky to have you as a mother. And it's simple here, so much simpler to do. No background checks.”

She accepted comfort from him, allowing him to believe that she cried for a baby. But that wasn't it. Not at all. Babies were the furthest thing from her mind. She cried because she realized she didn't smell the stench of the village anymore. It had nearly sickened her upon her return, but now, after she'd fallen asleep and woken up, it was gone.

—

After they made love, Dan fell asleep beside her. In the dark, Lenore was sure she could feel ants on her. She'd come back from Xela to find them everywhere, swarming the corn mix Dan had absently trailed all over their room. She listened to the wheat, thinking about helicopters, Ama, the little girl back from the dead, her trip on the bus. She wondered if Dan had felt the difference inside her, the lump. This being how she imagined her denial now, her denial about being a missionary, all these doubts. A lump, a death, growing inside her.

Dan stirred. “You didn't say anything about my road, Lenore. Didn't you like it?” She told him she did. “And please don't forget about the pockets.” He yawned. “The Civil Patrol already had to rip the pockets out of everyone's pants. We didn't do such a good job. They'll probably need new pants.”

Then he fell asleep again. Lenore pictured the Civil Patrol lining up all the men to slice away their pockets. She had the notion now that something
terrible had been set in motion and she had no idea how to find out what it was. Before, she had been sleepless for the fear of guerrillas and snakes, but now what frightened her were deeper unknowns. Of being friends with a guerrilla, of trusting her. Of being watched by the General. Of being with someone for fifteen years, sleeping next to him, sharing a life and a bed, thinking that you know him, but suddenly having no idea what he was going to do next.

~~~~~

The next few days seemed the longest Lenore had ever endured at the village. She took Emelda's two letters and hid them under the mattress. When the next truck arrived, she would mail them both, keeping her promise.

The one thing Lenore still believed in, that she should throw her efforts into wholly, was the pageant. Because, if nothing else, it gave them all something to do instead of work the fields, listen to Dan preach, and stand in line for food.

The women worked diligently at their dresses, both excited and nervous to showcase them to the entire village. After much convincing, even Emelda agreed to make a dress for the pageant. “So you will stop bothering me,” she had said to Lenore. Too old to compete, she could still wear something nice to the event.

“It's not something I'm giving to you, but that you can make yourself. So your ancestors won't be mad, right?”

“I don't think they can be any madder.” She sighed. “After my second baptism.”

“I know why you wanted to be baptized,” Lenore heard herself say. She didn't think herself capable of bringing up the scene on the bus. “It's hard to see, but the military is trying to help. All they know is force. They want you on the right path, but they have no patience. By enforcing it, they think the rest will follow. It may not be the best way, but it's all for the same end.” The more she'd repeated this to herself, the more she believed it.

“I suppose,” Emelda replied, “that the fastest way would be to baptize us and then kill us right after. That way, they know we make it to heaven.”

Cruzita, sitting on Lenore's other side, played with a gossamer underskirt salvaged from the prom dress in the donation pile. She placed a layer over her face and then cleared it away, like cobwebs, like a lifted veil, smiling.

“Since when is the goal the most important thing?” Emelda asked. “I thought Jesus refused to judge anyone. Mary Magdalene.”

“Yes, I suppose that's true,” Lenore admitted. “But God is concerned with ends. That's what the Old Testament is about.”

“Oh yes, I see. God and Jesus are two different people.”

“They balance each other out.”

“Like you and the military.” Emelda smiled. “Like the ambassador and the Fruit man. I know this story. The nice Fruit man comes along and gives me land, then his friend comes in and threatens me for having it. Gets me to do all sorts of terrible things. I saw the Fruit man again. He came to Miami and pretended to be someone important for the radio show. I think a cabinet member for Jacobo Arbenz. During the coup, he came back to my hotel room, told me a baby can't happen between an Indian and a Hispanic. Jesus and God,” she mused. “But you forget that in His end, Jesus broke with God. On the cross, He saw that their ways were too different.”

“I don't forget that. You seem to forget the real end. He came back and ascended into heaven. That bit on the cross was only a moment of doubt, Emelda. How could you forget the Resurrection?”

“No, you forget. I know the Bible and I know when Jesus turned human, when He had to experience it, He realized God's way is cruel. When He came back, He wasn't human anymore. He's God again. Jesus only suffered a day. But just that one day made Him declare that God is terrible.”

“So you acknowledge the Christian God? You believe He exists? You said before He gave you everything you asked for.”

“Of course He exists! He just hates Indians. The foreigners' God loves foreigners and the Indians' gods love Indians. I'm sure your God is not cruel to you. Right?”

Lenore considered this. “Just look at Cruzita. She's happy; she's found new life in Christ. When she arrived she was terrified, but now I never see her without a smile. She seems to get a lot out of the sermons. Do you think God hates her?”

“Cruzita,” Emelda scoffed, “is not happy. She acts happy because she thinks they are watching, that if they see her cooperating, they will give her baby back.”

“Her baby? Cruzita has a baby?” Hearing her name, Cruzita turned and offered Lenore a bigger version of her perpetual smile, nodding.

“Yes. My son's village was killed and they took her baby.”

Lenore's whole body flared with anger. “Emelda, I'm not going to listen to your lies! How could you make up such a horrible story about such an innocent young girl? About your own granddaughter?”

“What do you mean by innocent?”

“She's barely old enough for dates! Now, I'm tired of your stories, period. You're just trying to confuse me. You have to stain everything with horribleness!” Where had the anger come from? Why were Lenore's hands shaking? She felt another seed of doubt planted in her. It had to be the Devil again. Who else could invent such horror, seemingly tailored just to upset her? Spoiled innocence, stolen babies. Despite this awareness, however, she felt the seed sprouting. Every time she saw Cruzita, she would think of this awful story. She would never be able to forget it. She tried to, she took Emelda's dress and tried to correct one of her mistakes. But her hands shook so badly that she ruined the neckline. She slammed her scissors down and held her head in her hands. But she could not calm herself down. In one motion, she overturned the table. The work of five women crashed onto the floor. The whole class jolted at the noise, then stared at her fearfully. They watched her with panicked expressions they had not given her in a long time. Expressions now usually reserved for Dan, Mincho, and the Civil Patrol.

“Don't get so mad about all this, Lenore,” Emelda said, stooping to retrieve her dress. No one else moved, though they seemed slightly reassured by Emelda's light tone. “Just remember, you can leave whenever you want.” She flicked her hand with the simplicity of it all. “You can just get into one of those military planes and fly away, ascend up into heaven.”