Open Pit (19 page)

Watching her sister, who's either asleep or pretending to be, Delmi feels clever. Within minutes she is snoring loudly.

Tina wakes with a start not long afterwards. She's missed it, she's certain. She turns over, her tarp crinkling, and moans. Her stomach is being squeezed by an invisible vice. She presses her nails into her palms, fearing that Cristóbal will hear if she cries out in pain. But when she looks, he's smoking, turned the other way.

Here's Danielle, fast asleep, her breath whistling slowly. Tina feels sorry for her. She knows Danielle suffers from all this walking. If only she were more likeable. She treats them all like dim-witted teens. And she's obviously Pepe's darling. At first Tina figured they were sleeping together. So gross. But now that she knows he's sleeping with Delmi, she can't really see him wanting Danielle too, who's even older and reminds Tina of an unsexy Susan Sarandon. Danielle is doing something else for him, then. Probably letting Pepe know about their daily interactions. Who's trying to get away with what. Who's feeling good. Who's losing it. Danielle might be a rat. Until now, Tina hasn't seen much worth tattling about, except that whispering thing between Rita and Pierre. What
was
that? The dearth of gossip only makes Danielle's arrangement more pathetic. Tina has no time for rats.

Trying not to disturb her neighbour, she slowly maneuvers her arm up without making too much racket and pulls Martin's pant leg, which she can just reach. She has to keep at it for some time before he bends his head forward and up so that they see one another. Tina reaches down and yanks the bottom of her shirt, which she purposely tangled on a thorny bush earlier in the night. It's ripped enough that she can work it now, pulling a whole piece of the shirt clean away. The entire time, she keeps her eye on Cristóbal. He puts out his cigarette and stands, but takes some slow steps away from them, obviously bored and eager for the walk to get going again. As he turns his back, Tina steels herself, reaches up and quickly hands the torn piece of cloth to Martin before resuming her position.

It took just a few words, exchanged over a game of chess, to conceive their plan. (The kidnappers let Tina take out her travel set when she asks, thank God.) She felt that she had to do something, especially after the whispering between Rita and Pierre, from which she was excluded. Pierre is smart, but he's no team player. Now that Tina is getting sicker, she has to ally herself with someone. Martin seems game. After all, how many more days before the kidnappers get serious? There has to be a time limit. Isn't the whole idea of a kidnapping that if you don't get what you're asking for, someone dies? Pepe hasn't even told them what his demand is and shows no sign that anyone's granting it.

A moment later, Martin reaches back and Tina has the long, soft piece of material in her hand, part of his shirt tied to hers. She waves her free arm until she has Cristóbal's attention. “I have to shit,” she says when he walks up. “
Mierda,
” she adds, remembering the word.

He goes with her a little ways off and makes her wait while he clears branches and digs a small latrine hole. Then he retreats and turns his back as she undoes her pants. Cristóbal isn't so bad. Tina almost feels guilty deceiving him. At least she doesn't have to fake the shitting. She's been trying not to focus on her sickness. She can't afford to be seen as weak, even if she's starting to feel that way.

She ties the material to a low branch of the furthest tree she can reach, then does her best to pull other branches in front of it. She uses leaves to clean herself and buries her mess, as they're expected to do. “Done,” she says, her pulse increasing as Cristóbal inspects the job. She wills him not to look around anymore carefully than absolutely necessary.

“Okay,” says Cristóbal. He follows her back towards the others.

Now she's on the ground again, trying to sleep a few minutes more. She lulls herself with the image of someone good — someone clever and careful — picking through this entire area, searching for them. Tina sees this person, who takes the form of her brother John, pulling up the piece of cloth and recognizing it. Then she sees herself back at home, leading her yoga class, standing on just her head and forearms, strong and calm.

September 16, 1980

I'll start with the good news: I finished the feature about the medical team. Definitely my best so far. These people will inspire you. That makes seven full-lengths in the can, by the way. See? I haven't been totally useless here.

The bad news is the doctors had to refill my medication. I'm sick again, and it's bad this time. I haven't kept much down for the past two weeks. You should see me. I'm like a scarecrow. Two new holes poked in my belt.

More bad news: the war feels like it's getting further from a resolution, rather closer to one. The head doctor of the medical team, a Cuban, told me about a man she treated recently who was tortured by the military. The way she described his wounds. . . I had to debate how much to include in the article so Canadians could handle it.

It feels like anyone here could end up tortured now. Or dead. Even me. I had a dream last night that I took my stories, rolled them up, put an elastic around them and floated out of camp. It was such a great feeling, looking down, knowing I was free of all this ugliness (not to mention laziness and backwardness).

But I woke up beside Adrian and I knew I couldn't leave. They need reporters here. He needs me.

DB

PS — We're shifting camp to stay clear of the fighting. We move tonight, so I'll only write when we end up wherever we're headed.

SUNDAY
APRIL 10

11:40 AM
. Multiplaza Mall, San Salvador

They meet in the food court. He buys two heaping plates of Chinese food and Cokes and carries them on an orange plastic tray to an out-of-the-way table. Aida can't stop smiling. “I didn't tell anyone about our call.”

Carlos seems concerned. “You lied?”

“Not exactly. I do need a shirt. Something for when my mother gets back.”

“You believe that. That your mother will be back,” he says, his tone not very distinct, not making the words into a question or a doubt.

“Of course,” says Aida, surprised. “They've got a name to go with the police sketch now, right? Rita something.”

Carlos does not react to this news. He seems to be in a daze. Dark circles rim his pretty eyes. “You look a bit tired,” Aida says, smiling shyly.

“I sometimes have trouble sleeping. An old disturbance for me.”

“Well, that woman, Rita, and her sister dumped their kids with relatives and said they were going away for a couple of weeks,” says Aida. “The embassy considers it a huge break. They'll probably just give up now. Or the police will do a rescue.”

This time Carlos hears, but his face is grim. He looks unmoved by these scenarios. Maybe, Aida thinks, her enthusiasm does go a bit overboard. Marta has already given her ten reasons for doubting the success of a rescue. “I could take you to the graves of several hostages who would be alive today if the police had just waited,” she said, shaking her head. But how long can they wait this time? The kidnappers' deadline is coming up fast. Something has to give! Carlos is in a position to at least hint at whether the police will intervene. It occurs to Aida that the reason Carlos looks so unhappy is that he might think she's using him, asking for more than he can give — a conflict of interest with his job. “Or,” she ventures, changing channels, “I guess if it doesn't go that way, do you think maybe Mr. Wall might still decide by tomorrow to close his mine? Buy everyone some time.”

“It's not so simple, Aida.”

There's a finality in this statement that makes Aida redden. Like he's slapped her — lightly, but on purpose. “Marta said you wouldn't help me,” she mumbles, hurt by it.

Carlos looks around. He seems edgy, like he thinks he'll find Marta in line at the
KFC
. “I thought you said no one knew you were coming.”

“They don't. She said that before. Forget it.”

Aida and Carlos descend into tense silence, glazed Chinese food cooling on their plates, untouched. Aida has hoped for a confidence boost. Or some help. Or some warmth. So far, she has nothing, which makes the silence feel endless.

Finally, Carlos seems to shake away the cloud that's been hovering over him. He reaches out and puts his hand over Aida's. A long scar she didn't notice last time runs across the back of it, up to his wrist. “I'm sorry,” he says. “It's a stressful week. I'm glad you came.”

The scar is intriguing — from the war? Aida won't ask. Too personal. But its rough edges seem to validate Carlos's gesture.

He's been through so much, and yet he really seems to care. “How have you been?” he asks.

“Those stories. In the papers? They're still hard,” says Aida, disarmed, dying, she realizes, to talk. “It was weird to see the video of my mother, but these are on another level. They sound like her. She's making this guy's stories her own. Danielle never believes in herself, or in me, but she believes what this guy's telling her about his family, his past.” Aida crosses and uncrosses her legs, pushes away the little tears she can't hold back. “Sorry.”

“Are you angry with your mother?”

Aida checks Carlos's face to see if he's being cruel. “There've been so many articles about our families in the press.”

“I haven't been following so closely.”

That's strange. Didn't Carlos say it was part of his job to follow her mother's case? “Danielle didn't exactly raise me. She was there, sort of. She lived with us on and off, me and my grandparents. But it wasn't her I looked up to. I didn't have a father. Never knew him. He was Salvadoran. He died. My mother, she —” Aida stops. “I found out some things recently.”

Carlos's hand comes off hers. “About?”

“She left me some letters.” Aida pulls a folded envelope from her bag.

Carlos stares at it uncomprehendingly.

“It's all way in the past, but I just — can I read you something?”

Carlos looks unsure. Aida is too. She really didn't come here to tell him about Danielle's letters. They made no plan over the phone except to spend more time together. But Aida feels the same impulse that made her hug Carlos after coffee — she does want to share something intimate with him. “It's this one letter. From the end of her time here, with the guerrillas. She was involved with a man. He was an important person. She was lonely when he wasn't around. Like, she makes it sound like the war was an obstacle to her ‘love'. . . but, anyway, while he was away, she went somewhere to write a story. Oh, and she was also sick, so the people she was hiking with sent her into a village with a guide so she could rest and get better.”

Carlos gives a slight, confused nod that reminds Aida of her boyfriend André's resistance to finding out more about Danielle. “You're not interested. It's okay —”

Carlos places his hand back over hers. His scar is so long and faded. Definitely from the war. “I am,” he says.

Aida takes a breath.

When I woke up I got disoriented. Guns were firing outside. People were yelling slogans I'd heard before in the faction. Isidrio said it sounded like an ‘incursión.' That means the faction goes into a town, makes a big commotion and tries to convince young people to join. (I know because I interviewed someone just last week who was saying they're doing it more now, with Ronald Reagan in power. The Americans are probably going to beef up the Salvadoran military.) Isidrio told me it's a punishable offense to interfere with this kind of operation. We had to get out. He said he'd hike up and try to get behind the unit, tell someone they had a sick foreigner down below. Then he took off.

So I was alone. It was dark. I was petrified. Super sick. I promised myself that when I got home, I'd give up on politics. Just live my life. I don't care about other people's battles. I know you won't want to hear that, but it's true. I crawled to the door and ran out, following the noise. I ended up on a kind of bump overlooking the village plaza. Young guerrillas were everywhere. But the real shocker was who was addressing the villagers: ADRIAN!!!