Erased Faces (29 page)

Wanting to dispel this last thought, he shut his eyes and conjured the image of Juana Galván, who, he thought, had grown more beautiful over the years. Nothing in her life as a soldier had hardened her spirit, he mused. Her face had changed; this he acknowledged, but on the inside, she was tender and joyful. There was a time, in the beginning, when he had desired her as his companion, even loved her, but the hope that she would ever return his feelings had vanished years before when he realized that her heart, trampled by Cruz Ochoa, would never belong to any man.

Orlando then concentrated on the day's order of business as planned by the general command. There would be discussion and decision regarding the crisis that had arisen from the murder of two military policemen; discussion and drafting of a declaration of the insurgents' position; discussion and decision regarding the bishop's proposed mass demonstration. The list was short, and when his mind came to its end, Orlando's thoughts drifted to the previous day, when
Juana had returned to camp, bringing with her the photographer named Adriana Mora.

He thought of the photographer for whom he had felt some distrust. He had voiced this sentiment when the general command had initially discussed recruiting her. He feared that she would betray them if she were captured, and now that he had seen her, his apprehension was even stronger. She was frail and foreign, but that alone was not what bothered Orlando. There was something else. He shook his head, gave up thinking about Adriana Mora and climbed to where he had left his clothes. It was time to join the
compañeros
for breakfast and to prepare for the meeting.

Insurgent Training Camp, Lacandona Jungle, August, 1993.

Adriana Mora concentrated on the faces of the members of the general command as they drafted the declaration of war that would be read to towns and cities, once the offensive began. Her camera clicked time and again, capturing the expression of El Subcomandante; his large nose dominated his face. The lens moved from Major Ramona over to Colonel Orlando, then on to the other officers.

Click! Click! Click! The repeated sound merged with muffled words, paper scraping against the rough table top, someone sneezing. Adriana circled the table to focus on the opposite side of the panel. When she pointed her camera toward Juana, she felt her heart beat faster, and she stopped what she was doing. Still aiming the camera, she saw that Juana had tilted her head; her eyes were looking at her. Adriana lowered the camera and returned the intensity of her gaze.

Suddenly, a deafening explosion tore the air, nearly rocking the shed off its foundation. Seconds of stunned surprise followed the blast, but before anyone could make a move, more detonations shook the ground. Adriana hit the floor on her rump, the camera still gripped in both hands. As she tumbled backward, she saw others dive under the table and benches, weapons already in hand.

El Subcomandante signaled everyone to leave the building and go on the defensive. Orlando was the first to crawl out; the others made their way through a panel in the floor boards. The room had filled with dust and smoke, and Adriana lost sight of Juana. She rolled over, slithered on her belly, and tried to escape the asphyxiating fumes. All the while she felt panic gripping her heart as her lungs constricted.

Without letting go of the camera, Adriana thrashed around, flinging her free arm in space, inching her way on her hands and knees until she discovered the exit. Throughout, she was aware of a torrent of bullets, signaling that the camp was under siege. When she emerged, she stretched out on her back, mouth agape gulping air, hoping
to regulate her breathing. She could hear the searing noise of bullets cutting through bark and leaves, then she was shaken by another blast that she could not identify.

Voices clamored. Orders were shouted. Muffled groans were beginning to emerge. Adriana finally regained composure, realizing that she was missing the moment for which she had joined the insurgents. She scrambled behind a tree, breathing through her mouth, trying to forget her asthma and deflating lungs. She moved her head slowly to catch a glimpse of what was happening and she saw that she was positioned at a vantage point.

Adriana felt her hands and fingers trembling as she raised the camera, pointed and focused. In the center of the lens were two men garbed in government army fatigues; their arms blurred as they jerked back and forth, piston-like, while their weapons repeatedly blasted flames from reddened cylinders. Click! Zoom! Click! Zoom! Adriana twisted her head and body to pan the camera from one angle to another, capturing images of insurgents, who returned fire with as much ferocity.

The air was polluted with the stench of burnt gunpowder as well as with an ear-shattering din. Snap! The camera recorded the picture of a body slammed against a tree. Click! That frame captured Major Ramona, sawed-off shotgun held against her small frame, blasting fire with both barrels. Everywhere Adriana turned to focus her camera, it snapped weapons firing, smoke streaming toward treetops,
palapas
engulfed in flames, soldiers falling, running, insurgents firing their weapons at will, ripping bodies.

Gaining courage, Adriana ventured more and more into open space, fear receding from her mind with each second. She focused, clicked and refocused, oblivious to the danger of being shot. She turned in different directions, pointing upward, sideways. Her body became a blur of motion. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was already processing the pictures, already sending them to journals and newspapers; names and addresses of publishers surfaced clearly in her mind.

Suddenly, she caught sight of forms, shady figures running through the trees. She looked around, camera held mid-air and ready to shoot, but everything had become silent; everyone was gone except
the apparitions she had just glimpsed. Confused, Adriana turned in circles, her eyes wide open, her mind trying to decipher the sudden silence as well as the transparent shadows.

Without knowing from where it came, she heard the racket of three loud blasts; she felt hot, searing pain ripping open her stomach. The camera fell from her hands as she looked down at her abdomen. It was bloody, and her shirt was ripped to shreds. Her legs lost all strength as she crumpled to the ground.

Knowing that she was about to die, Adriana closed her eyes and waited, but nothing happened; there was only stillness. When she sensed that someone was beside her, she opened her eyes and she found herself cradled in Juana's arms. Adriana raised her head and saw that the camp was serene, orderly; there were no signs of battle, except that she knew that she was dying. The sun was setting when she felt the pressure of Juana's lips on hers. She opened her mouth, matching Juana's passion.

Adriana's head swirled and she began to lose consciousness as she rolled her knees up to her bloodied stomach, but she was startled back to alertness when she realized that she was sitting cross-legged facing Chan K'in; he was seated and listening to her. Adriana saw that they were no longer in the camp but in the jungle; its shade and sounds wrapped itself around them. Dumbfounded, she stared at him, waiting for him to speak. Instead, he signaled with his eyes for her to look to her side. Adriana did as he asked. When she turned, she saw her mother seated next to her. She, too, was on the ground, cross-legged, and she looked at Adriana with sad eyes.

“Adrianita, I've been looking for you. Have you not seen me?”

Adriana stared at her mother, not understanding what was happening. She was confused. She felt strange emotions seeping through her heart, sentiments that she could not identify, but she did not feel fear—of that she was certain.

“No, Mamá, I haven't seen you.”

“I've been with you many times, because I know that there is something you want to know.”

This time Adriana turned to Chan K'in, yearning for direction, wanting him to explain to her what was happening. The old man, however, only looked down at the earth in front of him as he etched a design.

“What happened that night, Mamá?”

“Don't you remember anything?”

“Only the noise.”

“I killed your father.”

“I know, Mamá. What I don't know is why.”

“He betrayed me.”

“Why did you kill yourself?”

“I had no reason to live.”

“What about me?”

Adriana's question was filled with longing and pain that turned into anger. When she saw her words seep out of her mouth, she saw that they were enraged. They left her lips and furiously crept upward, leaping like monkeys from branch to branch, tree to tree, climbing higher as they made their way to the highest parts of the jungle. Up there her words reverberated as they elongated, widened, deepened, finally bursting into an echo that floated away, out of Adriana's hearing.

Adriana awoke. Her eyes snapped open to see pale light coming through the
palapa'
s entrance. She had been dreaming again. Adriana forced her body to be still while her brain raced, trying to understand the meaning of the dream. She concentrated on the fleeting shadows, the same ones that had inhabited her other dreams, but this time one of them had been her mother.
What about me?
Adriana put her hands to her ears, trying to retrieve the echo of her words, but instead her eardrums vibrated with the blasts of gunfire and bomb explosions.

She wiggled her nose, feeling it scorched and plugged up with the odor of gunpowder. Then her head jerked downward because the pain of the wound was still on her mind. She examined her stomach, rubbed it, heaved it up and down, testing its strength, but she saw that it was intact. It had all been a dream. The violence of men and women
slaughtering one another, the conversation with her mother, her own unflinching determination—it had all been a dream.

Adriana stretched, then rolled off the hammock exasperated and mumbling under her breath. She felt shaken and near tears, aware that her dreams were becoming an inexplicable obsession. She longed to speak to Chan K'in; he would know what to make of her dream. Unanswerable questions swirled in her head:
Had she already experienced such violence? Was it a portent of what was yet to come? Did Juana kiss her? Was her mother one of those shadowy figures always tracking her? Why had her mother abandoned her?

Adriana's head ached, but she put her pain and nervousness aside, hoping to anchor herself in reality by reminding herself that a council had been called for seven that morning. She had been commissioned to record it on film as well as in her notes. While she bathed, and later on as she ate breakfast, her mind could not erase the images of her dream; they were etched on her brain as clearly as those she captured on film.

When Adriana entered the room, the members of the general command were already at their places. Loaded down with camera, film and note pads, she made her way to an empty seat, trying not to disrupt the discussion. She noticed, however, that all eyes were on her. She smiled sheepishly as she put her gear in a corner and then greeted the committee.

“¡Buenos días!”

“¡Buenos días!”

The response was simultaneous but uneven, male voices outweighing the female. She looked around, taking in faces and other details, marveling at how her dream had constructed such a different scenario. In her dream, the room had been large, with smooth plastered walls, its ceiling high and vaulted. In reality, the room was small, its ceiling low, and its walls nothing more than rough poles lashed together. In the dream, there were only a handful of insurgents: El Subcomandante, Major Ramona, Colonel Orlando, and Juana. Now, as Adriana scanned the room, she saw that the committee was much larger. When she looked toward Juana, she saw that she was looking at her, just as she had in the dream; Adriana got the impression
of warmth in Juana's gaze. Before she could give it any more thought, however, her attention was taken away from Juana by the murmuring of voices, low-pitched but intense. Some of the officers seemed agitated, others restless.

The whispering stopped when El Subcomandante spoke. As he did he nodded his head in Adriana's direction, signaling his permission for her to begin her work. She stepped to the rear of the room and began shooting as she moved to take in different angles: first, individual faces, then in twos and threes. As she worked, the committee went on with its discussion.

The camera's shutter clicked so frequently that it soon became inaudible to everyone in the room: El Subcomandante, one hand bracing his jaw, the other holding an unlit pipe; Colonel Orlando, head leaned to one side, a drooping mustache emphasizing the slits of his eyes; Captain Juana, profile turned toward the camera at such an angle that the half-moon scar over her eyebrow appeared to glow; Major Ramona, unconsciously holding the fringe of her
huipil
to her mouth and nose. Click! The shutter opened and shut, capturing faces, profiles, hands, furrowed foreheads, blinking eyes, pinched lips.