The Exile (26 page)

‘He says he crossed the border by mistake,' said Ochoa. ‘He wants a lawyer.'

Guzmán stared in disbelief. ‘Tell him, if he says something as stupid as that again, the only person he'll be seeing is a priest.' He took his cigarettes from his pocket. ‘And that will be posthumously.'

Ochoa translated the man's reply. ‘He says you can't shoot him, he's American.'

Guzmán laughed out loud. Ochoa and the trooper joined in, nudging one another. ‘Foreigners.'

‘Right.' Guzmán looked the man in the eye. ‘Tell him I want to know how—'

The American's chest erupted in a shower of blood. As he pitched forward into the damp grass, the shot echoed across the ridge. Guzmán stared at the horseman riding away in the distance. ‘El fucking Lobo,' he muttered, raising his rifle. He had no clear shot and the rider vanished into the craggy landscape before he could fire.

‘What happened to the man in those bushes?' Ochoa shouted, seeing the other
guardia
backing away from the gorse, ready to flee. Guzmán saw something hanging from a bush. ‘What's that, trooper?' he yelled, panting.

Timidly, the
guardia
approached the gorse and lifted something from its spines. He turned, holding up the wide-brimmed hat. ‘A Çubiry hat, sir.'

‘So where's the fucking owner?' Guzmán shouted, raising the rifle towards the gorse.

The trooper hurled himself to one side as a horse burst from the bushes thirty metres away. Guzmán saw the rider pressed low, clinging to its mane, and fired twice. The rider tumbled from the saddle onto the rocky ground.

The troopers stared, white-faced. Guzmán glowered at them, incensed. ‘What?'

‘The Çubiry always avenge an injury,
Comandante
.'

‘Shut up,' Guzmán snarled, distracted as he noticed Ochoa going through the American's pockets. He seemed to have found something.

‘A word, Corporal.' Guzmán took Ochoa to one side. ‘I hope that wasn't money you just found on the
Yanqui
,' he said quietly. ‘I have rules about stealing from the dead and Rule One is that any money found on people I've killed belongs to me.'

‘Actually, sir, you didn't kill him,' Ochoa said. ‘El Lobo did.'

‘My rules are very flexible, Corporal, and in any case, that's a technical distinction I don't intend to discuss with a fucking NCO. How much did you find?'

Ochoa held up a piece of paper. ‘It's not money, sir. It's a letter.'

‘Who's it from?'

Ochoa looked unhappily at the typewritten sheet. ‘His brother. He looks forward to seeing him in San Sebastián in two days' time.'

Guzmán raised an eyebrow. ‘Does it say why they're meeting?'

‘No, sir, but it does say who his brother is.'

‘Don't keep me waiting,' Guzmán snapped. ‘Who is he?'

Ochoa turned the letter so Guzmán could see the letterhead.

E
MBASSY
OF
THE
U
NITED
S
TATES
OF
A
MERICA

‘His brother's the American Ambassador.'

12

COLMENAR VIEJO, JULY 2010, FUENTES RESIDENCE

Galíndez accelerated and the countryside became an ochre blur in the shimmering afternoon heat. Twenty minutes later, a sprawl of tan-roofed houses and white apartment blocks began to emerge from the haze. She skirted the town to the south and headed out into the barren fields, following the road through an arid landscape wavering in the relentless heat.

A crossroads ahead. She sighed with relief, recognising where she was. A hundred metres further on, she saw the Fuentes house and turned into the sloping drive, the wheels crunching on the dry gravel as she came to a halt alongside the two cars parked there.

The burning air was thick with the scent of flowers as she walked towards the house, admiring the large shuttered windows and long veranda. To the front, the garden sloped up to a long stone wall that marked the boundary of the property. From somewhere behind the house, she heard the gentle sound of a stream.

The world intruded into her reverie. She heard pounding feet and the girls' breathless laughter as they came tumbling out to greet her. Clari stumbled, getting in the way as usual. Inés, being older, tried to adopt more demure behaviour and monitored Galíndez closely, looking for a gesture or a phrase she could imitate later.

‘
Hola, chicas
,' Galíndez said, scooping Clari up into her arms.

‘Babysitter,' Clari muttered, waving a DVD.

‘It's a sleepover,' Inés told her little sister.

‘Make yourself at home, Ana, I'm getting ready,' Mercedes called from indoors.

‘
Dora
.' Clari tugged Galíndez's hand. ‘Let's watch
Dora
.
'

‘I'll get my bag first,
querida
.' Galíndez knew how long a session with
Dora la Exploradora
could last once Clari took charge of the TV.

She strolled up the drive to her car. As she reached in to get her overnight bag, Galíndez sensed a shadow at the gate and looked up, seeing a metallic blue vehicle. Tinted windows obscured the occupants though she could just make out the pale shape of a face looking at her through the darkened glass. Probably lost, she guessed as she went up the drive, ready to offer directions.

The car's engine growled as it accelerated, leaving an amber cloud of dust hanging in its wake, the sun sparkling on the blue paintwork as the car went over the brow of the hill.
They must have found their map.
Galíndez gathered up her bags and went back to the house.

Inés was waiting on the porch. She looked at the box Galíndez was carrying. ‘Did you bring your new boots, Ana?'

‘I said I would, didn't I? Do you want to see them?' Inés nodded emphatically.

Galíndez sat on the porch to put on the boots. Carefully, she got up and took a few steps, the sound of her heels sharp on the wooden decking. ‘What do you think?'

‘Cool.' Inés reached into her pocket. ‘Can I take a photo to show my friend Blanca?'

‘OK, but do it quickly, I may fall over any minute.'

Inés took a photo, her thumbs playing over her phone as she sent the picture.

‘Well, look at you, Ana María.' Mercedes Fuentes came out onto the porch in her bathrobe. ‘Those boots look great, especially with that skirt. But don't wear them for work, will you? It might be bad for Luis's blood pressure.'

Galíndez looked round to make sure the girls weren't listening. She lowered her voice, ‘The boss wouldn't notice. Last week I ran into him after I'd been on a vice operation; I was dressed as a hooker. He never even blinked.'

Mercedes shrugged. ‘He told me he'd seen you but he didn't mention anything about your clothes.'

‘Yes he did,
Mamá
,' Inés cut in. ‘I heard him. He said you could have read a newspaper through her dress and that you could see her—'

‘That's quite enough, señorita.' Mercedes drew a finger across her throat.

‘And he said Ana's pants looked like a piece of string.'

Mercedes put a hand over her daughter's mouth. ‘See, Ana? He never noticed a thing.'

Capitán and Señora Fuentes came out onto the porch, dressed for their evening at the theatre. Mercedes was wearing a black dress that looked like it had cost more than Galíndez earned in a month.

‘I don't know which of you two is smarter,' Galíndez laughed.

‘It had better be her, Ana María, given the time she's taken to get ready,' Fuentes said. ‘I hope you've got the stamina for a night with these two?'

‘Of course. I'm looking forward to it. Have a great time.'

Merche squeezed her arm. ‘Thanks for coming at such short notice. We owe you.'

Galíndez lifted Clari so she could wave goodbye as her parents' car went up the drive.

‘Ice cream,' Clari mumbled, absently twisting a strand of Galíndez's hair. ‘Pizza.'

Once indoors, things went downhill fast. Clari put on one of her extensive collection of
Dora la Exploradora
DVDs. Loud. And then, from upstairs, Galíndez heard the unmistakable industrial barrage of Legions of Death
.
It took her back to her early days at university, crammed into a hot crowded bar, listening to Legions, though she didn't listen for long: they were crap. With any luck Inés would get over them.
Please God.

The sudden blast of a ring tone. Woody Woodpecker, from the sound of it.

‘Inés?' Galíndez called up the stairs. ‘That was your phone.'

The heavy metal suddenly stopped. Inés came stamping down the stairs and snatched up her phone from the kitchen counter.

Galíndez peered into the fridge. ‘So what do you want for dinner?' She noticed several items that didn't look like they'd fit into a microwave and ruled them out. ‘We've got pizza, or there's different pizza. Do you want to choose, Inés?'

No reply.

‘Inés?' Galíndez turned, sensing something was wrong.

Inés was staring at her phone. As Galíndez watched, a tear welled up and slid down her face. The phone trembled in her hand. Galíndez went across the kitchen to her. ‘What's the matter,
mi vida
?' She took the phone from Inés's hand and held her close as she wept. Lifting the phone, she glanced at the message:

WE HATE INÉS

Inés Fuentes is a fat bitch.

Let her know if u agree & send her this text.

Do the world a favour Inés & die.

‘Who sent you this,
querida
?'

Inés clung to her, her arms wrapped around Galíndez's waist, her face pressed against her chest, tears soaking her shirt. ‘Don't tell anyone, Ana.' Her voice quivered. ‘Please.'

Galíndez felt sweat on her palms. She knew how Inés felt. That was a part of her childhood she remembered very well. The part after
Papá
was killed. Clinging to Aunt Carmen, soaking her blouse with tears each day after school.

Why are you crying, Ana María?

No es nada, Tia.

Has someone been picking on you? Tell me, Ana. Remember what your father used to say? Tell the truth even if it hurts.

But that's just it: I don't remember Papá, Tia. I don't remember him and that's why they do it. At school, they call me Little Orphan Annie. Mad Annie.
Loca
Anita, can't even remember her papá. Why can't they like me?

‘Please don't tell Mum, Ana María.' Inés's voice was painful to hear. ‘Promise?'

Two days later, Aunt Carmen was waiting when Galíndez got home, her cheeks flushed from being chased.

I've booked you some lessons,
mi amor
.

What lessons,
tia
?

Something to make you more confident,
mi alma
. So you won't be bullied. I found this place in the local paper. Do it for me,
cariña
: I can't bear to see you like this.

Bueno
, Tia Carmen. If that's what you want.

‘Come outside.' Galíndez took Inés by the hand and led her outside to sit on the porch. Inés was still shaking as Galíndez stroked her hair. ‘Tell me who's picking on you,' she said, still remembering.

A newspaper cutting. A small advertisement with a crescent moon in one corner:

LUNA NEGRA DOJO

Martial Arts training for women – Multi Discipline – Self-Confidence – Inner Strength

Your first lesson is on Saturday, Ana María. One thirty.
The tone of Aunt Carmen's voice told her there was no backing out.

Sitting in Tia Carmen's car outside the dojo. The sign over the door with its black moon logo. Galíndez reluctantly gathered up her bag and trudged to the entrance, hearing Tia Carmen drive away as she went down the short flight of steps. A woman was waiting in the doorway. Tall, dark-skinned, high cheekbones, her curly hair bound in a tight knot.

You must be Ana María? Your aunt told me about you. My name's María Cristina but call me Mendez
– everyone does.

‘One of the girls at school,' Inés said, her voice wavering. ‘She started calling me names and it just got worse. She hits me before class sometimes and everyone laughs – even people who were my friends...' Tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘Now they're texting me...'

‘It's not your fault,' Galíndez muttered, her fists clenched.

Inés snuffled. ‘She calls me No-tits Fuentes.'

‘She's just silly. You're twelve. Everyone's different. It's normal.'

‘She's got big boobs. And she's taller than me. If I tell Dad, he'll say to hit her back. But she'll only hit me harder.'

Galíndez kicked off her shoes. ‘OK, show me how she hits you. Do it slowly.'

Inés mimed a slow-motion punch to Galíndez's chest.

‘
Bueno
, do it again, but this time try and hit me hard. Don't worry about hurting me.'

Inés drew her arm back and lashed out. Galíndez deflected the blow with her left arm and moved forward, her right foot hooking Inés's leg from under her, turning as she went sprawling onto the grass. Inés sat up, laughing as she brushed dirt and grass from her T-shirt.

‘That was cool, Ana, I wish I could do that.'

‘You're going to. We've an hour or two before dark. Now, hit me again slowly and I'll show you what I did. Then you can try it.'

As Inés began taking off her shoes, anxious to emulate her teacher, Galíndez did a few warm-ups, bending forward, touching the ground with her palms. As she straightened, her gaze wandered across the green sweep of the garden to the top of the drive. A blue four-by-four pulled away from the gate, the sun glinting on its tinted windows as it drove off. Troubled, Galíndez watched it go. She decided to mention it to Capitán Fuentes in the morning.