The Furthest City Light (21 page)

“Oh God,” my cousin Robbie muttered. “It’s touchy-feely time.” He was sitting cross-legged next to me, his shoulder touching mine.

“All right then,” Estelle said, “since it was my idea, I’ll start.” She had short blond hair, clear blue eyes and a lean athletic-looking body. No doubt she exercised regularly and paid attention to what she ate, a classic Boulderite. She introduced herself and told us this was her fourth visit to Nicaragua since the revolution.

“As most of you know, I work for the Peace and Justice Coalition in Boulder.” Her calm face reflected strength as well as confidence. I wondered, if I saw her at the courthouse in handcuffs, what kind of crime she might have committed, a game I sometimes played when I first met someone and knew very little about them. Shoplifting? No, not likely. Criminal impersonation? Possibly, but arson was better. Yes, I imagined that she’d torched the dilapidated building where she and her dedicated colleagues had worked for years on peace and justice issues. With the insurance proceeds, they’d purchased a lovely Victorian house, which they’d converted into a shelter for battered women.

“Anyway,” she was saying, “I’m excited to be here and looking forward to working with all of you. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask either me or Tim.”

Tim, the other organizer of the brigade, could have been Estelle’s twin brother except they referred to each other as friends and, I guessed by the easy way they touched each other, were probably lovers. Like her, he was tall and blond, with impressive biceps that required at least weekly maintenance. Either that, or he was a climber.

“Hi.” He grinned. “I’m Tim and this is my second trip to Nicaragua. Welcome.” He looked around the circle, nodding at everyone. “I hope you all have a positive experience here and that when you leave the country, you’ll feel proud to have been part of an historic revolution.” He paused to take a slug of water from his bottle. “Let’s see, at home I’m responsible for quality control at the Celestial Seasonings herbal tea company.”

Theft of trade secrets? Bingo. With his guileless blue eyes and innocent face, nobody would have suspected he’d been hired by Lipton to steal trade secrets from the company; even after he confessed, it was difficult for his employers to believe he was guilty.

Next came the handsome older man who told us to call him Lenny. He was a retired architect who lived south of Denver.

“I’m sixty-three,” he said. “Hopefully, I won’t slow you all down.” He was tan and fit and unlikely to slow anyone down. A serial killer, I decided, with the rugged good looks and sexy smile of a Robert Redford; whenever he stopped to pick up a hitchhiker, she never hesitated to climb right in. “I’m just here to help,” he added.

Three down, seven more to go. I could feel my cousin Robbie, whose real name I still didn’t know, fidgeting beside me. I resisted putting my hand on his knee to calm him down.

“I guess I’m next,” the female student said. “My name is Veronica and I’m a sophomore at CU.” She blushed. “I guess I’m also the youngest person on this brigade. I heard about Nicaragua in a class and decided to come. My parents are worried about my safety, of course, but mostly they’re supportive—they’re old lefties. Anyway, I’m looking forward to everything and I’m just open to whatever happens.”

“God, she’s enthusiastic,” my cousin muttered.

I stifled a smile and hoped no one else had heard him. I studied Veronica for a couple of seconds before making up her crime. Okay, I thought, what if her allowance covered her tuition and books, but not her expenses? To make ends meet, she’d started doing nude massages at a small spa on the outskirts of Boulder. One of her clients turned out to be an undercover cop and she was busted for prostitution.

Before anyone else could introduce themselves, a Nicaraguan boy wearing a faded Mickey Mouse T-shirt ran into the room and told us the bus had arrived. We all stood up and stretched. Estelle suggested we continue the conversation on our way to the language school.

The bus was sweltering and many of the windows were stuck in the closed position. I found a seat with some cross ventilation and slid over to the window. My cousin flopped down next me.

“Hi,” he said, “my name is Allen and I’m an alcoholic.”

“Hi Allen.”

He laughed. “I’m not really an alcoholic, but I’ll probably become one. I hate Coca-Cola.”

“Me too,” I said. “I’m Rachel.”

“Hi Rachel.” He made a rueful face. “I have a confession.”

“Oh good.” I crossed my arms and waited.

He sighed. “I’m not proud of myself. I was interested in the situation here and I’m definitely sympathetic to the Sandinista cause, but I mostly came to annoy my father. That’s really terrible isn’t it?”

I nodded. Now he was waiting for my story. Part of me wanted to tell him the truth, and part of me didn’t, so I compromised. “I came because I was having a nervous breakdown and wanted to have it in a tropical setting.”

Allen laughed for a moment and then stopped, his dark brown eyes wide with concern. “I hope that’s not true.” What a sweet kid.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Twenty-four.”

“When I was your age, I was a wiseass too.”

“I know,” he said. “I could tell.”

In everyone’s heart, there’s an inner sanctum, a special place deep in the center where only a handful of people, living or dead, reside. They’re the people you not only love, but with whom you resonate on some mysterious level that makes them precious and indispensable, a reason to have lived. When you look across the vast expanse, they’re the ones that seem to be moving parallel to you, sprinting through the same perilous minefield. Some of them have already been blown to pieces, others have self-destructed all by themselves, and the rest struggle on, keeping you company.

The inhabitants of my inner sanctum included my father, my childhood friend Leslie, Maggie, Vickie of course, and Emily. And now I could feel this young upstart—this twenty-four-year-old straight boy—knocking on that door, asking to be let in. Of course it was too soon to know whether he would get any farther; people often stormed my heart and never made it past the first barricades. But still, I could hear him knocking and it surprised the hell out of me.

Meanwhile, the driver was trying to start the bus, but nothing was happening.

“Oh-oh,” Allen said.

We waited in silence, sweat dripping down our faces. After a few minutes, the driver got out and opened the hood. We could hear banging sounds and curses. My thin cotton shirt was soaked and sticking to the back of the seat.

“I vote we stand outside until he fixes it,” I said.

“Good idea,” Estelle agreed.

Everyone climbed out and gathered around the driver who was banging on the engine with a small hammer.

“This doesn’t bode well,” I said to Allen who’d followed me out of the bus.

Eventually, the driver let the hood clang shut and began walking down the street in the opposite direction of the center.

“
Un momento
,” he promised, but already we knew better. After less than twenty-four hours in the country, we were savvy veterans and gave the appropriate response. I called it the Nicaraguan shrug, a combination of helplessness and resignation. Tim led us back to the center where we resumed our places on the floor. After everyone settled down, Estelle motioned me to continue our introductions.

On the bus, I’d considered various things I could say when it was my turn, but none seemed to strike the right balance between honesty and discretion.
Hi, my name is Rachel and I have no idea why I’m here, it was a last-minute decision, and I’m just hoping it’ll be better than where I’ve been
.

“Hi,” I said, “my name is Rachel and I’m a recovering criminal defense attorney.” Everyone laughed. “While I figure out what to do with the rest of my life, I thought I might be of some use here.” I turned to Allen, signaling I was finished.

“Lucky you,” he said. “Okay, my name is Allen and I’m hoping I’ll be kidnapped by the Contras so I won’t have to go to law school in the fall.” I started to laugh, but nobody else did.

“That’s not funny,” the sharp-faced woman said. “The Contras have killed and kidnapped thousands of innocent people. They cut the breasts off women and toss grenades at little children. They burn and destroy clinics, schools and cooperatives.”

Allen looked stricken. “I’m sorry. It was a joke. As usual, in record time I’ve managed to alienate everyone around me.”

“It’s all right, Allen,” Estelle assured him. “There’s plenty of room for humor in this brigade. That might have been a little over the top, that’s all.”

Allen nodded. “I think I’ll shut up now.”

I glanced at my unlikely new friend—quick, bright and Jewish—then decided he’d been busted for selling an ounce of cocaine to an undercover police officer. His father was so pissed off, he was threatening to disown him but Allen knew he’d eventually come around and hire the best lawyer in town to defend him.

Estelle pointed to the sharp-faced woman. “Let’s try and finish this. Why don’t you go next?”

“Okay fine,” the woman said, her cheeks still flushed with indignation. “I’m Susan and this is my husband Richard.” She gestured at the teddy bear beside her. “We’ve been working in the Nicaraguan solidarity movement since 1982. We want to help rebuild the clinic in Jalapa and in that way express our solidarity with the people of Nicaragua.” She had light brown hair and might have been pretty if she was someone who delighted in the company of others, not someone who constantly expected to be disappointed. I decided to wait until her husband spoke, but I was leaning toward codefendants in a string of aggravated robberies.

Richard stroked his beard and said, “As you already know, my name is Richard. I’m a third-grade schoolteacher. I love kids and I love helping people. As Susan mentioned, we’ve been involved with Nicaraguan solidarity work for a number of years.” If they were Bonnie and Clyde, Bonnie was definitely the leader of the duo, and poor old Clyde just went along to please her.

Suddenly Veronica—the female student and occasional prostitute—made a noise and jumped up, flapping her arms around her head.

“Ugh,” she said, “there’s this weird bug that won’t leave me alone.” I could see something huge, with thin delicate wings, buzzing near her fingertips.

“Ugh, get away.” She was beginning to run in circles.

Richard was getting to his feet.

“Where are you going?” Susan asked, reaching out to stop him.

“To help. She’s just a kid.”

“It’s only a bug,” Susan said. She shook her head disapprovingly.

Richard hurried over to Veronica and began batting the insect away from her.

“Ugh,” he said, “it’s so big!”

“I know,” Veronica screeched.

He swatted wildly at her hair. “Let’s run outside and see if we can lose him.”

They were both laughing and shrieking. Everyone in the circle was smiling except Susan.

“Sorry about the Contra joke,” Allen whispered to me. “It was definitely in poor taste. But if they ever do attack us, I vote we offer up Susan and see if they’ll take her.”

I smiled and nodded. He had the makings of a fine lawyer: good sense of humor, the ability to plan for contingencies, and a fresh creative approach to problem solving.

When Richard and Veronica came back, we resumed the introductions. There were only two women left who hadn’t spoken, the nurse and the poodle lady. The nurse was a solidly built woman with a square, intelligent face. Despite her salt-and-pepper hair, I guessed she was in her late thirties. She looked around the circle and said, “Well, I’m a nurse and they need nurses here. After the clinic’s been rebuilt, I hope to stay on in Jalapa and work there.” She paused. “Oh, my name’s Liz and I used to live in Denver.” My game (Guess My Crime) was getting old, but this one was easy: forgery and illegal use of drugs. She’d started by stealing a few painkillers here and there, became addicted, and eventually began writing false prescriptions for herself.

Finally, the group turned to the poodle lady who was sitting alone in the bleachers. She blew her nose and wiped it. “My name is Tina and I’m thirty-nine years old. My husband’s a principal in the Denver Public Schools. I told him I wanted to do something on my own and he suggested this.” She gestured at the empty room. “After reading the packet of information, I felt both nervous and excited. I hope it’ll be a positive experience.” She dabbed at her nose again and smiled anxiously. Wait until her husband found out she’d embezzled thousands from the Denver Public School system.

Allen tapped me on the shoulder. “What packet of information?” he whispered.

“It was everything you needed to know before coming here,” I said.

“Shit. I’ve been in Chicago visiting my family, but Tim knew my address.”

I shrugged. “Too late now. Just fake it. It’ll be good practice for when you become a lawyer.”

“Okay,” Estelle said, looking at her watch. “I guess I’ll go check on the bus. Tim can answer any questions about our next two weeks in Managua.”

Everyone took a swig from their water bottles, and then stood in line for the bathroom. When it was my turn, I peed and wiped myself with a piece of newspaper, hardly noticing it wasn’t from a roll of Charmin.

I wandered around the room, ending up at the edge of a conversation between Tim and a few of the women. I learned that because of the water shortage, each
barrio
was officially scheduled to lose their water on different days. Our neighborhood, for instance, had no water on Tuesdays and Fridays from five thirty in the morning until nine at night.

“But today is Monday,” I pointed out.

Tim chuckled helplessly. “Yeah, I know.”

“How come there’s a water shortage?” Veronica asked.

“Because of the huge influx of refugees from the war zone,” Tim explained. “Managua’s population has doubled in the last six years from 500,000 to a million.”

***

At noon, our driver announced he’d fixed the problem and was able to start the bus. Belching black smoke, we headed for the language school. I sat between Allen, who already felt like family, and Liz (the nurse) whom I wasn’t sure I liked, mostly because she seemed so clear about her mission here. Compared to her, I couldn’t help feeling a wee bit frivolous. Tina a.k.a. the poodle lady sat alone in front of us, still sneezing and blowing her nose.