America Libre (35 page)

Arriving in the early morning frost, Rosa knocked hesitantly on the guest cabin’s wind-worn door. She’d slept little, weighing
the risks of visiting this woman whose cabin was next to the guard station. In the end, the chance for news of Mano had swept
aside her qualms.

“Good morning, Mrs. Suarez. How good to see you,” the blonde said warmly after opening the door. “Won’t you please come in?”

“Good morning—”

Before Rosa could say more, the woman raised her index finger to her lips, pointed to her ear, and waved her hand around the
room. Rosa immediately understood her message. The room was bugged.

“I walk every morning. Good for the figure, you know. Would you care to join me?” the blonde asked, reaching for her coat.

“Yes… all right.”

The two women left the cabin, wordlessly following the frosty trail along the edge of the camp. Patches of morning fog hung
over the flat plain that receded into the distant horizon.

“Who are you?” Rosa asked once she was sure they were out of earshot.

“I’m Josefina Herrera. I’m here because Mano is worried about you and the children. We got the news last week about all the
deaths in the camps.”

Rosa was still uncertain. This woman certainly fit the description of Jo reported by Nana Jimenez. But Rosa’s experience with
Maria Prado had made her leery.

“Why should I believe you?”

“Mano warned me that you’d be cautious,” Jo said, smiling. “He told me your younger sister named her first kitten Felix. Then
it turned out Felix was a girl.”

Rosa looked into the woman’s ice-blue eyes, still not certain she could believe her.

“Mano said you two met at his cousin’s wedding,” Jo continued.

Rosa gazed back, saying nothing.

“You were your cousin’s bridesmaid,” Jo added. “Mano asked you to dance and you said no. It wasn’t until you were properly
introduced by his aunt that you agreed to dance with him.”

Rosa remained impassive.

“OK, here’s my last card, Rosa: your first dance with Mano was to ‘Loving Feeling’ by the Righteous Brothers. That’s it,”
Jo said with a grin. “If you don’t believe me, I’m going back to Los Angeles.”

Rosa’s expression at last softened, then hardened again. “You have a lot of nerve showing your face here,” she said coldly.

“Yes, I do, Rosa. If I’m caught, I’ll probably be executed.”

Rosa lowered her eyes in shame. “I’m sorry. I should have realized you’re here trying to help.”

“There’s no need to apologize, Rosa. I can’t begin to imagine how much you’ve suffered.”

“How is Mano?”

“He misses you and the children very much, Rosa. When he heard how many in this camp had died, he was ready to come here himself.
It took a lot of arguing, but I finally convinced him there was much less of a chance that I’d get caught.”

“Thank God you did. Once his mind is made up, it’s hard to change.”

“He’s as strong as two mules… and just as stubborn.”

The women shared a soft, knowing laugh.

“You’ve brought me good news, Josefina. I’m happy to know Mano is still alive. It’s been so long since I heard from him, I
was starting to lose hope.”

“I want to take back good news to Mano. But yesterday I only saw Pedro,” Jo said, unable to put the dreadful thought into
words.

“Elena died last November,” Rosa said, her voice quaking. “It was a virus. She didn’t suffer, thank God.”

The words staggered Jo. “I’m sorry, Rosa. I’m so sorry,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “I would give anything… anything…
to bring your child back. It’s my fault, Rosa. I told Mano you and the children would be safer here… and I was wrong.”

Jo covered her face with her hands and wept. News of Elena’s death laid bare her ruthless zeal. Worse still, she knew the
news would devastate Mano. The thought of hurting him deepened her pain.

Rosa clasped Jo’s shoulders tenderly. “I’ve known for a long time that you wanted us sent here, Josefina,” Rosa said, then
gently turned the blonde toward her until their eyes met. “What I’ve realized today is that you truly believed it was for
our own good.”

“There’s more, Rosa,” Jo said, still weeping softly. “When the riots were just starting in the barrios, I paid a gang leader
to provoke more trouble. I thought more rioting would help our cause. Later I found out the mero I paid killed two policemen
in cold blood. God help me, Rosa. I never intended for those men to die.”

Rosa said nothing. Like most women, she understood Jo did not need someone who would judge her—just someone who would listen.

“Don’t you see, Rosa? Those deaths were more than cold-blooded murder. They provoked the vigilante attacks, and that’s led
to so much killing… even the deaths of your children.”

Rosa slipped her arm under Jo’s and began pulling the blonde on the trail alongside her. “Josefina, the deaths of my children
were God’s will. We’re all his instruments. You don’t need to torture yourself about it… or flatter yourself, chica. You’re
not as powerful as you think,” she added with a small smile.

For several minutes, the two women walked quietly, their arms interlocked. After the trail dipped into a low spot, Jo reached
under her coat and produced a money belt. “There’s thirty thousand dollars in here, Rosa,” she said, opening one of the bulging
pouches.

This time, Rosa did not spurn Jo’s generosity. “Thank you, Josefina. Things have been hard here—this will help,” She said,
slipping the belt under her coat.

“I have to leave tomorrow, Rosa. The longer I stay, the more dangerous it gets.”

“Keep your eyes open for a woman named Maria Prado. I think she may be a snitch,” Rosa said as they walked back toward the
compound.

“Gracias, mi hermana,” Jo replied, squeezing Rosa’s arm affectionately.

“Tell Mano I miss him and I pray every day we can be together again soon. But tell him I know that won’t happen until the
struggle for justicia is over.”

“Rosa, there’s something I want you to know,” Jo said and then paused, searching for the right words. “Mano is still your
husband. And he always will be.”

Spying on the guest cabin from a crowded place near the mess hall, Maria spotted the “missionary” returning to the shabby
hut alongside another woman. As the pair drew closer, Maria recognized the blonde woman’s companion. It was Rosa Suarez.

That proves it. This has to be Josefina Herrera
, thought Maria, recalling the photo of Herrera and Manolo Suarez on the podium at the East L.A. rally. Now she needed to
trick the blonde into revealing her identity.

Maria watched as Rosa and Herrera parted. The blonde then returned to her cabin. A few moments later, Maria knocked on the
door.

“Good morning. I’m Maria Prado. We met last night,” Maria said politely as Jo answered the door.

“Good morning, Mrs. Prado. What can I do for you?” Jo said, standing in the doorway.

“There’s something urgent I need to discuss. May I come in?”

“Yes, of course,” Jo said, stepping back from the door.

Maria closed the door behind her and looked out the window before addressing the blonde. “Look, I can’t tell you how I found
out, but I know you’re Josefina Herrera.”

“I’m sorry,” Jo said slowly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s OK. You can cut the act with me. I’m here because I want to help our cause.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Prado. Apparently you have me confused with someone else.”

“You don’t trust me. I understand. Listen, I was with the CIA for fourteen years. But I don’t support the government anymore.
I’m on your side now.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, ma’am. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Don’t be a fool, Herrera. I’m ready to give your side secrets about the government’s intelligence community.”

Jo picked up the phone on the small table by the bed. “If you don’t leave this minute, Mrs. Prado, I’m going to call security.”

“Go ahead, Herrera. Call security. You’re the one they’re going to take away. I know all about you and—”

Before Maria could finish, the front door flew open and two burly guards burst into the room. In a blur of motion, one of
the men wrestled Prado to the floor and handcuffed her.

“Let me go, you idiot! I’m with the CIA!” Maria screamed as the men dragged her outside.

“Sorry about this, ma’am,” the other guard said to Jo. “These people have some nerve, don’t they? Imagine her thinking you
was a beaner like her. It’s no wonder we had to lock them all up. You can’t trust any of ’em.”

R
efried beans are just not the same without manteca,” Juana muttered to herself while blending a brown paste of cooked pintos
in a bowl. A staple of most Mexican dishes, manteca—lard—was nearly impossible to find these days. “Thank you, Señor, for
the beans at least,” she said, turning her eyes to the kitchen ceiling, “although my ungrateful husband will complain anyway.”
Juana’s pintos had come from her new backyard garden, a practice spreading quickly in the zones thanks to Jo.

While frying the mashed beans in a black iron skillet, Juana heard footsteps approaching the kitchen.

“Don’t make anything for me tonight, Juana,” Mano said wearily from the doorway. “I’m too tired to eat.”

“It’s been two days since you’ve had a bite, Mano. Eat something.”

“Thank you, Juana. I’m not hungry.”

“If you promise to eat something, I’ll give you some news.”

“News?” Mano asked anxiously. Jo was due back any day.

“Sit down and eat, niño,” Juana said, bringing the skillet to the table. “Look, I just made some refried beans.”

“Juana, please. I’ll eat later. What’s the news?”

Juana shook her head in frustration. “You’re a good man, Mano. But sometimes you can be as hardheaded as my worthless husband.”
She then sighed and said, “Josefina is back. She was here looking for you.”

Mano’s face froze. “What did she say?”

“She said she’d wait for you at Ramon’s library. I’ll have more beans ready anytime you—”

Before Juana could finish, he was out the door.

Once on the street, Mano broke into a run. The library was over two kilometers away and he was exhausted, but his pent-up
anxiety drove him ahead. Over the last eleven days, he had found that waiting helplessly to learn the fate of his family was
harder than risking his life to save them.

As he arrived at the gutted restaurant where Ramon’s collection of books was hidden, Mano stopped running. Like a man facing
an execution, he tried to calm his mind, preparing himself to accept whatever fate awaited him.

He walked deliberately to the back of the building. The meat locker door was unlocked. Opening it, he saw Jo’s back as she
paced nervously.

When she turned to face him, her expression confirmed his worst fears.

Guillermo was sweeping the living room floor when Mano emerged from his bedroom carrying a heavy backpack, his head swathed
in a turban.

“It looks like you’re going outside the zone, eh?”

Mano nodded. “I am.”

“That’s good, Mano. You need to get back into the struggle again. Taking on the baldies will do you good. Look, I know learning
about your daughter was hard. But life goes on, mi amigo,” the old man said gently. “I know. I lost one of my own kids. It’s
been thirty-two years and it still hurts.”

“A father doesn’t expect to outlive his children, does he?”

“No. But only God knows why he takes them from us. It’s our job to take care of those that are left… and ourselves.”

Both men stood quietly for a time, recalling memories of children they would never see again. For the last twenty-four hours,
Mano had done little more than grieve. Worse than the pain was the emptiness he felt at the loss of Elena.

Mano finally broke the silence. “Guillermo, I’m leaving now and I may not come back.”

“No, Mano. You’re made of iron,” Guillermo said, smiling. “You always come back from a mission.”

“It’s not a mission. I’m going to the Relocation Community. Rosa and Pedro need me.”