Authors: H. Ward
Cal stretched his hand out and stroked Amber’s back. “At least you got Ramiro on your side.”
Amber pivoted to look at Cal. He retracted his hand, afraid of what she might say next.
“I’ll—I’ll get on the plane to Panama City on Saturday. You can’t jeopardize what you’re doing Cal, it’s too important. And maybe you’ll find a way to help your father…and Tomás…and the other FARC hostages. I keep thinking about sweet little Denes, how he’ll be devastated if something terrible happens to his brother.” She ran a finger gently over the scar cutting through Cal’s face. “I think about your father…and your mother…and the rest of your family.”
Cal rolled away to his back, “Don’t I deserve something good in my life? Don’t I deserve to have a little happiness?”
Amber folded her legs under her to sit cross-legged on the bed. She stared at her hands, folded limply in her lap. “I’m just a girl, nobody special. You’ll find someone better when the time is right.”
Cal sat up, and touched his forehead to Amber’s head, his voice thick with emotion. “Don’t say that. You
are
special. I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”
Amber wiped angrily at the tear rolling down her face. “You should know, Cal, as the great Mick Jagger said, ‘you can’t always get what you want.’”
Cal wiped at Amber’s tears with his thumbs as he held her face, “But sometimes—sometimes you get what you need.”
Journal Reflection 12
When I was thirteen, our dog, Rupert, started having seizures. He was fifteen years old, which is
very
old for a big dog, and he’d been a member of the family longer than me. My mom always pretended that Rupert was my dad’s dog, since he was the one that originally brought the little mutt home, but the fact was, she was unbelievably attached to him. My mom would hold that sixty-five pound dog across her lap every night when we watched TV.
The first time he had a seizure, it really freaked me out. He had been whining, and pacing, and generally acting weird. I was home alone with him, so I went to get him a fresh bowl of water, and suddenly, he seemed to lose control of his entire body. He fell over on his side, his legs paddling in the air, and a puddle of urine spread out over the kitchen floor. I had no idea what to do, so I just stroked his back, and a minute later, his body relaxed, and he looked at me with an expression that I could only interpret as deep confusion. Rupert had no idea what had happened either.
He struggled to his feet, and went to his favorite rug in the living room, where he lay down in a heap of exhaustion, his tail thumping slowly, but definitely wagging. I cleaned up the urine, and then wondered if I should tell Mom, Dad, both, or neither. It was a kind of philosophical conundrum. If I told Dad, he would probably want to put Rupert down immediately, because the Colonel has a soft heart and he wouldn’t want to watch the old dog’s decline, but Rupert might have some good time left. If I told Mom, she would try every treatment and extreme measure available, and because of her attachment, Rupert might suffer longer. If I told them both, they would argue about what to do, and if I told neither, then Rupert’s fate was in my hands. I would have to trust that I had enough wisdom to know when Rupert was ready to go to doggie heaven.
It was a matter of life and death, and it was in my thirteen-year old hands. I remember going to bed that night, and whistling for Rupert to come get on the bed with me. He rested his chin on my foot, and I could sense that he felt a kind of gratitude. I think he was glad I was protecting my parents from the truth: Rupert was old, and Rupert was going to die—whether we wanted him to or not. I think that was the first big secret I ever kept from my parents.
The next seizure was two weeks later; again, it was just me and Rupert at home, alone. This seizure lasted longer, his confusion more profound when he started to recover. Then another came three days later, and then another, the following day. Somehow, though, my parents were never around when it happened. I called the veterinarian on my own; she told me that it was probably his kidneys shutting down, that a dog his size and age most likely had congestive heart failure, and his system just couldn’t eliminate the toxins in his body anymore. The veterinarian told me that it was probably time to think about helping Rupert leave this life. She said it very gently, for his sake, and for mine.
That night, Rupert crawled up on my bed with me, and I put my arm around him. I couldn’t imagine life without Rupert. He had always been there. He licked my hand a little, pushed his furry butt up against mine, and went to sleep. I lay there stroking his head as I resolved to tell my parents the next day about Rupert’s seizures, about what the vet had said. But as it turned out, I never had to act on my decision. When I woke up the next morning, Rupert was dead.
Chapter 12
When Amber woke up, she was curled in a ball, her knees pulled up to her chest, and her face snuggled into Cal’s body. His arm was slung over her protectively, and she had that weird, hangover-like feeling that happens when you’ve cried a lot.
“Good morning, sunshine.” Cal kissed the top of her head and gathered her to him with a muscled arm. “Did you sleep okay?”
Amber looked up at him with bleary eyes, “What do you think?” Her eyes were still a bit swollen, and pink around the lids.
“I think we should go to the beach.”
“Don’t you have to work today?”
“Not really, our next group of ‘fishermen’ doesn’t arrive until tomorrow. As the pilot, I’m just the dumbass who flies around. Ramiro is the brains of the operation.”
“Really?” Amber had an edge of playful sarcasm in her voice.
“To the outside world, he’s the ‘business manager’ of the charter operation, and as far as our bosses are concerned, he’s the strategist. He
is
more experienced, plus he has an insider’s perspective.”
“What do you mean?” Amber traced circles on Cal’s bare stomach with a finger.
“He’s got a cousin serving twenty to thirty in Leavenworth for trafficking.”
“Oh. I guess that’s why his other cousins don’t know what he does.”
“I think it’s to keep them from getting caught up in anything. They’re good people from what I can see.” Cal looked at Amber. “That tickles, you know.”
She smiled. “I’m sure I could think up some other ways to torture you.”
“You mean besides threatening to get on the plane to Panama City on Saturday?” Cal’s voice grew serious.
“That’s not a threat. And I can’t talk about it anymore.”
“Then let’s pack a lunch and head to the beach.” Cal gave her a squeeze.
“Going to the beach isn’t going to change anything. Let’s do something memorable. Take me up the river to one of the Embera villages. Let’s go spend some time with people who aren’t caught up in this crazy business.”
Cal leaned back so he could study Amber’s face. “Really? That’s what you want to do?”
“Yes. We might see some wildlife too, but I’d like to remember that there’s a world where people just live—they don’t need malls, and causes, and drugs. They just need their family and friends and the necessities of life. I think it might give us both some much-needed perspective.”
“Okay, it’s been a long time since I’ve been up the river. It’ll be our little adventure.”
“Make me an omelet?” Amber batted her eyes coyly.
“God, how could any man refuse you anything?” Cal laughed. “Go take a shower while I cook.”
When Amber got out of the shower, Cal had toast and omelets waiting. “Where’s Ramiro?” she said, as she sat down.
“He went in to town, to see if Hector was still hanging around.” Cal automatically passed Amber the hot sauce.
“If he’s in charge of the whole province, what’s he doing worrying about some girl who might be a low level courier?”
“I imagine he came to La Palma when they got the word about FARC coming over the border. You were just a coincidence, but he’s not the kind of guy to pass up an opportunity to protect and serve.”
“Do you think he knows that I’m in town with you?” Amber asked.
“Probably. More than likely someone at the airport tipped him off that I showed up with a foreign chick.” Cal speared a piece of omelet on his fork. “It’s probably not a bad idea for us to get out of town today. So eat up, and let’s get going.”
###
Cal was good at piloting the little boat. They had packed in a couple of jerry cans of fuel, plenty of insect repellent, water and snacks, and a small first aid kit.
“Do you know where you’re going?” Amber turned and looked over her shoulder at Cal who sat at the back of the boat behind her, steering.
“Sort of. We just keep asking anyone we see, and connect the dots until we get to a settlement. There are three or four that should be within a couple of hours of La Palma.”
Amber liked the feel of the breeze on her face as they motored along. The water was an orangish-brown color, colored no doubt by the minerals it carried from the surrounding rocks and soil. The further they went, though, the denser the jungle became. A flock of noisy macaws flew overhead.
“I’d love to see a harpy eagle,” Amber said.
“Yeah, that would be nice, huh? Darien is like a birders’ paradise, but maybe it’s a good thing it’s so hard to get to.” Cal said. There was a splashing sound and they turned to see a capybara sliding into the water to hide from them. The one hundred pound rodent barked to alert his pals before submerging. He paddled along with only his eyes, nose and ears visible above the water line. “Look at that—now you’ve seen a capybara!”
Amber turned around, her face beaming, “I love that.”
A little further up the river, they jumped when a small pack of howler monkeys broke through the foliage and started vocalizing.
“Wow, they are
loud.”
Amber laughed, and Cal laughed too. The jungle was displaying its charming side. Both of them were immersed in their little excursion, and neither was thinking about drugs, or hostages, or planes to Panama City.
A dugout was heading downstream toward them; it contained two Embera men and they slowed down as Cal and Amber approached. They gave a friendly wave, and Cal let their motor idle, as did the Embera men. Cal explained briefly that they wanted to visit a village and the men told them they were close to their settlement. They gestured back up the river behind them, and described some landmarks to let them know when they reached the tributary that would take them to the village. Cal thanked the men, and they waved goodbye, as they continued downstream on their way to La Palma.
“They said it wasn’t far, to look for a fork to the left with a flowering bush on the right bank.” They continued upstream.
A bit later, Cal glanced at his watch. “It’s been more than ten minutes, I haven’t seen a branch have you?”
Amber shook her head, “There are flowering bushes everywhere. It kind of all looks the same to me.” Another ten minutes and they saw a wide stream feeding into the river. “That’s got to be it, don’t you think?”
Cal nodded, and turned the boat up the tributary. “The Embera houses have steep, thatched roofs. They’re raised up on stilts like everything around here—so you don’t float away during the rainy season. Keep your eyes peeled.”
After another fifteen minutes, they hadn’t seen anything even remotely suggesting a settlement. Then there was a clearing, and Cal could see a couple of boats moored along the bank. “This has got to be it,” Cal said. But when they pulled along side the boats, they still didn’t see any houses.
Cal jumped out in the shallows and pulled the bow of their little boat up on the shore. “Stay here, I’m going to find the folks who belong to these boats and get some better directions.”
Amber looked around; it seemed peaceful enough, but something gave her pause. “Let’s just turn around and go back, I bet we missed the fork because of the foliage.”
“Whoever belongs to these boats can’t be far, the jungle is too dense here. Hang tight. I’ll be back in a flash.” Cal gave her a big smile, “Are you enjoying your jungle adventure?”
“Yeah, I am. It’s beautiful out here, peaceful.” Amber smiled back.
Cal blew her a kiss, and scampered off along a narrow path into the leafy rainforest.
Amber looked around, hoping to see more wildlife, and hummed softly to herself. Cal had only been gone five or six minutes, but somehow it felt like an eternity. Suddenly, there was a loud commotion as people shouted in Spanish. Amber’s intuition said something bad was going down, and she jumped out of the boat and pushed it off the shore. She stood knee deep in the water, holding the boat when Cal burst out of the foliage with a shout of alarm to rival the howler monkeys.
“Get in the boat!” Amber jumped in, and pulled the ripcord on the motor; it took three tries before the engine finally caught. Cal splashed into the water and heaved himself into the boat.
“Go! Go! Go!” he yelled, and Amber turned the boat and headed back toward the main part of the river, cranking the throttle as much as she dared without flooding the engine.
“Trade places with me.” Cal croaked, as he flopped breathlessly toward the back of the boat. He grabbed the rudder and Amber moved forward. “Lay down, get as flat as you can.”