Lost in these woods? “I don’t think so,” I replied. Where I come from there are woods to get lost in. These woods did not qualify. You’d have to reach either the highway or a side road in fifteen minutes max. And you’d see the mountains or the sea right away to get your bearings.
I drove back to the hacienda to get the rest of the team, watching for Steve as I went. There was a little concern about Steve but nothing serious. By about ten in the morning, however, I could feel a little buzz of anxiety in the group. Hilda sent me back to the hacienda to make sure he hadn’t walked back. I was tempted to point out that the easiest and fastest route between the site and the hacienda was the road, and I’d traveled on it three times already. Back I went again. No Steve.
Hilda then sent a small team into the woods, and I went with them. There were lots of footprints in the sandy soiclass="underline" It was obvious these woods were well traveled, but any discernible footprints stopped at an adobe brick wall. There was evidence someone had had a sort of picnic lunch there recently, but that was all. It could have been one of the workers, or just a passerby. It wasn’t Steve: He’d only taken a bottle of water with him. Beyond that was a much-used trail with so many footprints it would be impossible to follow any one of them. We called Steve’s name time and time again, and listened carefully for a response, however faint. There was none.
About noon, Hilda pulled me aside. “I don’t want to create a panic here, so would you do me a favor? Drive over to Montero’s place, the Fabrica Paraiso, and tell him about this. Ask him what he thinks we should do. If I go, it’ll look as if I’m really concerned, which I am, incidentally, I will tell you. But you travel around all day, and it’s almost time for you to go and get Ines…” Her voice trailed off. She looked at me almost beseechingly.
I nodded. It was exactly where I was planning to go anyway. “Do you think we should call his family?” I whispered.
“Not yet,” she replied. “No need to worry them unnecessarily. Maybe tonight, if—‘’ Her voice caught for a second. Pablo and one of his team approached us.
“I’m off to get Ines,” I said loudly enough that those nearest us could hear. “I’ll take the long way and watch out for Steve as I go.” Hilda looked relieved.
Now Montero returned from his phone calls; two of them I’d strained to hear but couldn’t. “I don’t think we should call the police just yet,” he said. “I have contacts, you know, and I’ve spoken to them, and they’ll be on the lookout. They’ll make enquiries. Let’s wait until tomorrow before we go to the police. Come back and see me again if there’s no sign of him.”
On the surface, I suppose, that made sense. Steve had only been missing a few hours, and Montero’s advice would be considered rational under normal circumstances. But these weren’t normal circumstances, as I knew only too well. I fully intended to come back to Paraiso, but not perhaps when Montero was expecting me. I had two plans for the Montero family when everyone at the hacienda had retired for the night: I was going to search Lucho’s room, since lately he hadn’t been sleeping there, and I was going to take another look around the Paradise Crafts Factory.
Judging from his room, Lucho was a grown man developmentally stuck in his teens. The place was a mess, clothes tossed everywhere, particularly the floor. Posters covered every available spot on the walls, the only difference from the teenagers I knew being the content. Instead of rock or rap groups, Lucho’s tended to military recruitment posters with a somewhat fascist bent.
I began to systematically search the room, checking under the bed, lifting the pillows and bedding and then, nothing found, lifting the mattress as well. No gun.
Next I went through the closet and dresser. It’s unpleasant going through someone’s underwear drawer when they aren’t there, but perhaps it would be worse if they were. Still no gun.
I went through his desk, and even pulled the furniture away from the wall as quietly as I could to check behind it. I shook out the carpet, causing a bout of sneezing that I strained to muffle, but not much else.
Just as I was about to give up my search, I saw the edge of an envelope sticking out slightly from behind one of the posters on Lucho’s wall. It was not the gun I was looking for, obviously, but I wondered what someone would choose to store behind a poster. The envelope was addressed to me. Rebeca, the childish scrawl said.
I turned it over to find it sealed, but with the wrinkled look of an envelope that has been steamed open.
Dear Rebeca, the letter began. First of all you got to excuse my writing. I didn’t do very good at school. I was sick alot and got behind. That was an understatement: The writer, whoever he or she was, was the worst speller I had ever encountered. After momentarily pondering the inadequacy of the education system, I read on.
I no my speling is bad. But please read all of this any way. Your my only hope.
What was this? I wondered.
I no I shoulda told you before, but for a couple years I grew very high grade marigana. Mainly I smoked it myself, altho from time to time I gave it for a small donation to freinds. The police dont no the diference between selling the stuff and acepting a donation, so you could say I am some times on the wrong side of the law. I am not proud of this. I only tell you so you no I am a person who tells the truth, so you ‘will beleive what I have to tell you.
I am not sure how to make you understand but here goes.
Up untill a while ago, I cant remember ecaxtly, I thought all this stuff about recarnation was bull shit, just like you do. But then one time when I was laying on my bed, trying out some of my own home growed product if you take my meaning, something realy ^mazing happen. I beleive what happen was I got in touch with my spirit self. A bright light arked through my mind like a comet and then I was able to go back and forth through all my lives. Realy.
It was the most amazing mind trip of all time. Do you no what I learnt? I will not keep you in sespense. In all ages I was the prophit. I could always tell what woud happen next. When I opened my mouth, words about the future woud roll off my tounge. It surprised me at first, but now I’m used to it.
First I was that lady—Casandra—who told the Tro-jins about the big wodden horse. How stupid can you get of course it was full of Greek soldiers. Then I stood on a street in Rome and told Julius Ceasar to beware the Eyes of March. He didnt listen and we no what happened to him. Also I told Napoleon not to go to Russia but he didnt listen either.
It is not a good job let me tell you being a prophit. Becuse they never listen. And if they do, usully they dont like what you say. If your lucky they only put you in a deep dark dundgeon. Maybe I am now thinking that is why I have spent time in jail, bad karma from another life or something. But it gets worse. Sometimes they put out your eyes with red hot pokers other times they burn you at the stake. Like it is not good.
Another nutbar. I sighed. Whatever had I done—in another life, of course—to deserve this? But I read on.
The person I was that was closest to what I am now I think was a freind of Atahualpa (speling?) the Inca king. This freind was called Wayna and my name now is Wayne. Dont you think that is amazing? I told Atahualpa that the Spanish were not gods, just bad guys looking for gold and treasure and in the end I think he beleived me but it was to late.
At the end of this experience which I beleive took several days I came back to the present, but not the same. People dont beleive me tho. I tried to tell them, but what did they do. They called the police and they put me in the hospital for two weeks.