Part 13 (2/2)

”Is she mentally ill or something?” Monica asked.

”No, nothing like that. It's just that she's one of those people who are very good at looking forward, not back. Most of us around here aren't like that. Some see her as cold for that reason.”

”I wasn't expecting any of this,” Monica said, shaking her head in disbelief, one hand over her mouth.

Francisca looked distressed. ”You didn't know she was alive? I thought you came here because you knew and wanted to find out where she is.”

Monica said, ”I didn't know, Francisca. I've always felt that some things didn't add up, but I didn't imagine that she was alive. Where is she now?”

Francisca's eyes clouded and she mashed her gums. She said wearily, ”Your mother is trying to shut down my granddaughter's clinic. The whole thing is a great distress for me. I don't want to get caught in the middle. I love them both.”

It dawned on Monica that whether the old lady was conscious of it or not, she had an underlying motivation to blow Alma's cover. For most people, blood ties still ranked above loyalty to employers and benefactors; even if those boundaries had become blurred over time.

”So she's here in El Salvador?”

”She's on a research s.h.i.+p, out at sea, on this side of Central America. They come into a port every week for supplies, at a small station owned by the university's new marine school.”

So they're still close, Monica thought. How else would an illiterate, elderly woman know that the national university has a new marine school-or that Alma's on a research s.h.i.+p versus any other sort of s.h.i.+p?

Will cleared his throat and spoke. ”We're in El Salvador because my wife is being treated at Clinica Caracol. ... Do you know why Alma wants to shut it down?” Will spoke in coa.r.s.e, ”Newyorican” Spanish.

Francisca shrugged. ”She says the studies of veneno veneno are too immature, that it shouldn't be used on people.” Suddenly, she brightened and said, ”Fernanda is marrying your cousin Marco. They're in business together.” are too immature, that it shouldn't be used on people.” Suddenly, she brightened and said, ”Fernanda is marrying your cousin Marco. They're in business together.”

Ignoring the last comment, Will said, ”Alma thinks the cone venom treatment is dangerous? My G.o.d, my wife has another treatment scheduled in two days.”

The old lady shook her head and squinted one eye. ”I wonder if Alma isn't just jealous. She always wanted to find those cones.”

They all looked at each other for a moment.

”She has a point,” Monica mumbled in English to Will, who looked pale with worry.

Francisca took a deep breath and exhaled, her old breath stinking of all the years she had swallowed. ”Marco is a Borrero, and in El Salvador, you know that what a Borrero wants, a Borrero gets. That hasn't changed. And in El Salvador, Alma is a dead Borrero. She doesn't exist. She would have to choose choose to exist.” to exist.”

Monica said, ”So why did you think I knew?”

Francisca smiled. ”Because you're her daughter, and you're smart. I knew you'd figure it out eventually. Years ago, I told Alma that if you ever came looking for her, I'd tell you everything I know.” She pointed up. ”I just had to check with the Virgin to make sure it was the right thing.”

”So why did she do this, Francisca, why?”

Francisca shook her old head, and the floppy skin underneath her chin continued to vibrate even when she'd stilled her head. ”That part is for her to tell, Cielito Cielito.”

”Where is the marine station, and how do I find out when the s.h.i.+p comes in?” Monica asked.

”What day is it?”

”Monday.”

”It comes in on Wednesday,” she replied. ”At noon.”

IN THE BACKSEAT of the van, Monica dropped her head over the edge of the seat, her hands folded over her stomach, her eyes shut tight. Will slid into the bench seat next to her. He lifted her head and positioned it on his shoulder. He spread his fingers across her forehead, as if to check for a fever. Again, he asked if she was all right. As the driver pulled onto the road that would take them back to the clinic, Monica repeated the old woman's words: of the van, Monica dropped her head over the edge of the seat, her hands folded over her stomach, her eyes shut tight. Will slid into the bench seat next to her. He lifted her head and positioned it on his shoulder. He spread his fingers across her forehead, as if to check for a fever. Again, he asked if she was all right. As the driver pulled onto the road that would take them back to the clinic, Monica repeated the old woman's words: Your mother came to see me before she left for Honduras Your mother came to see me before she left for Honduras. She turned to Will and said, ”What the h.e.l.l am I supposed to do with that?”

Will shook his head, eyes wide. He looked out the gla.s.s of the van's window, toward the hulking presence of a volcano in the distance. ”The way I see it, there's only one thing you can do, Monica. Find your mother ... and ask her yourself.”

chapter 15 CRUEL SUMMER.

This stupid bug must think I'm deaf, Yvette thought. They don't have mosquitoes like this in Connecticut. Where the h.e.l.l am I, anyway? They don't have mosquitoes like this in Connecticut. Where the h.e.l.l am I, anyway? The insect drove its stinger into her neck. What followed was a maddening itch, a tickle so intense that it made her wish she could scratch it with a rake. The p.r.i.c.kles peaked into a maddening crescendo; torture only a hair away from an explosion of relief; her only obstacle was her inability to scratch herself. The insect drove its stinger into her neck. What followed was a maddening itch, a tickle so intense that it made her wish she could scratch it with a rake. The p.r.i.c.kles peaked into a maddening crescendo; torture only a hair away from an explosion of relief; her only obstacle was her inability to scratch herself.

Yvette knew her mother was in the room by her scent. Was Sylvia the only person left on the planet who still wore Jean Nate? Yvette concentrated on trying to lift her hand to swat the vampiric pest that was still circling for a second go at it. Something is happening, she thought. I can wiggle my fingers and toes.

In the distance, she heard the ocean; the waves of high tide were savage, violent, and unfamiliar. The sound was far enough away to distract her, if only for a second, from the infuriating itch of her skin. She knew that someone would be back to stick another needle in her spine. Now, she willingly submitted to the delirium in exchange for the rewards of the clarity and alertness that consistently followed. Among the last batch of memories she had found the key that connected her to the outside world. She had found the treasure among a pile of useless recollections. It was horrible and shocking footage to watch, but it was the last segment of her life before this. She recognized that this memory was the key that would release her from imprisonment.

I WONDER IF he recognized my car he recognized my car, Yvette thought for the third time as she headed home in her Mustang. The sun was strong and the air smelled like farm manure and wildflowers, but this time she wasn't enjoying the ride nearly as much as she had on the way downtown. She gripped the spongy surface of the steering wheel as she tore down Cider Mill Lane, past an ancient red barn on its green cus.h.i.+on of summer gra.s.s. A triangular yellow sign warned of a dangerous curve ahead. She tapped on the brake a little. ”Cruel Summer” was playing on the radio and she turned it up as loud as the volume dial would go, thinking it was the perfect song to complement her mood. The car curved with the stone wall that wrapped around a pasture of Holsteins. It wasn't so bad. She sped up again.

Up ahead, Yvette glimpsed a male cardinal sitting on a wood fence. He stood out like a droplet of blood against the lush dark green of the woods behind him. As the car got closer, the bird dove across the road. The instant his tiny claws pushed off the wood fence, Yvette's reflexes computed the speed and distance between her winds.h.i.+eld and the bird. Her foot jumped to the brake pedal.

The tire skidded across a patch of sand, while the rear of the car fishtailed in the opposite direction. A second later, the front of the car swung in the direction of the bird. There was a dull thud, and a spray of blood and red feathers appeared across the winds.h.i.+eld. Yvette cried out in disgust. Her left foot instinctively jumped to aid her right foot in stopping the car. When she tried to pump the brake with both feet, she recognized a second too late that it was the accelerator. The car lurched forward and climbed over an embankment. Then the car hit something from the front, and she was thrown across the seat. Within that instant of shock, she realized, with complete horror, that she had been so distracted that she had failed to use her seat belt.

All was dark. Water began to creep up her nostrils-or was it blood dripping down? She didn't know. She tried to call someone's name, but it was useless, she couldn't remember whom to call or where she had been headed. She was slipping, drowning, or fainting.

How long ago had that accident happened? Yvette wondered. How long had she been fighting to regain her memory? It didn't matter now, really, because she was almost on the other side. She'd find out more details later, when she arrived.

JUST AS THE CARDINAL'S red wings had sent her into darkness, the mosquito's paper wings were transporting her back to a world of smells and sounds. Why had she been in such a rush? This was the piece that was still missing, and she was curious to find out. She had a sense that she had been upset, or that she had been fleeing. So when the needle slid between her vertebrae, she scrambled to coil up and simplify, as she had done before. It was becoming increasingly difficult, so bloated and bulked up was she with recovered memory. red wings had sent her into darkness, the mosquito's paper wings were transporting her back to a world of smells and sounds. Why had she been in such a rush? This was the piece that was still missing, and she was curious to find out. She had a sense that she had been upset, or that she had been fleeing. So when the needle slid between her vertebrae, she scrambled to coil up and simplify, as she had done before. It was becoming increasingly difficult, so bloated and bulked up was she with recovered memory.

Yvette decided that it was time to prepare herself for the inevitable ejection to the outside. She looked around at the dungeon that had been her home. She signed her name in the dirt with her torn nails. She had no idea what the date, hour, or year was, so she just wrote ”Cruel Summer” next to her name.

Maybe someone else would find it and know that there was hope for escape. In the meantime, she got down to the immediate business of forgetting that she'd ever been here.

THAT NIGHT, a storm rolled over the coast. The water was clenched in tense clouds that roiled like the intestines of a huge animal. When the first clap of thunder rattled through everyone's bones, Yvette wrapped her arms around herself, curled up, and began to shake. Will was standing by the door talking to a nurse. He walked up to the bed, and it was as if she had spoken, had said, a storm rolled over the coast. The water was clenched in tense clouds that roiled like the intestines of a huge animal. When the first clap of thunder rattled through everyone's bones, Yvette wrapped her arms around herself, curled up, and began to shake. Will was standing by the door talking to a nurse. He walked up to the bed, and it was as if she had spoken, had said, Come to bed, honey. Hold me, I'm frightened Come to bed, honey. Hold me, I'm frightened.

At first he only took her hand and leaned in, whispering that everything was okay. She thrashed her neck as if to say, No, it's not No, it's not. Will climbed into bed next to her and took her in his arms. ”It's okay, honey. It's just thunder.” The next boom actually made her jump and Will held her tighter.

A woman entered the room and Will hastened to get out of the bed. He explained that thunder had always frightened his wife. There was the medical talk about the impossibility of Yvette responding to the sound of thunder, but that the reverberation could activate her primal instincts.

”Monica,” Yvette heard Will say. ”Monica,” and ”Monica” and ”Monica.” He said the name with a mix of intimacy and urgency, as if he were speaking to someone who owed him the answer to an important question.

Yvette clenched her teeth until her jaw hurt and her teeth wiggled in their soft pink rows. Will would be so surprised when she burst from this mental paralysis that kept her from moving or speaking or keeping the events of her life in the right order. Right now, she couldn't tell if Will had been lying next to her a few minutes ago or if she was remembering something that happened in the distant past. Still, she was floating just below the surface, looking up. The world looked distorted and swirled, as if she were looking at it through a wall of glimmering, wet gla.s.s.

SEEING WILL COMFORT YVETTE made Monica want to run screaming into the storm and be cleansed once and for all of her unholy desire. She felt dirty, and for the second time that she could remember, she experienced an odd combination of sadness and relief that things weren't going to work out. She chastised herself for forgetting that the heart is an unreliable guide-its advice will always be in favor of love. made Monica want to run screaming into the storm and be cleansed once and for all of her unholy desire. She felt dirty, and for the second time that she could remember, she experienced an odd combination of sadness and relief that things weren't going to work out. She chastised herself for forgetting that the heart is an unreliable guide-its advice will always be in favor of love. Love him Love him, it urged. But not so much that you can't give him back But not so much that you can't give him back.

As she stood at a window watching the storm over Negrarena, Monica decided that if she couldn't help falling in love with Will during their Salvadoran journey, she could certainly put a stop to it all when they got home. In the meantime, she promised herself that she would never sleep with Will in a moment of weakness. She remembered Yvette's bony grip on her wrist, and it made her shudder. She had told no one about that incident, and she never would. After all, Yvette was a severely brain-damaged woman incapable of communication. Monica had heard over and over about all the meaningless, involuntary actions that were typical of her condition. What had rattled Monica was not Yvette's grip, but the feedback that it elicited from her own conscience.

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