“She came over early one morning carrying an old beat-up suitcase and said she had to leave San Pedro right away. She was crying and very upset. I asked her what happened and she wouldn’t tell me at first and then started speaking in rapid-fire Cakchiquel and then slower in Spanish, saying that Captain Emiliano Garza, head of the National Police and a respected member of the community, had forced himself on her. She was going to New Jersey to be with Benigno. I said, ‘How are you going to get there?’ She said, ‘ Mojado.’”
Owen said, “What’s that?”
“It means wet, the literal translation, but it really meant illegally. How else was she going to get there without a passport and visa?
“I said to her, ‘Who is going to take care of Ysabel?’ Her mother. She said she didn’t know, but had to leave right away because Captain Garza was coming back that night. Of all the girls in town he had chosen Marina and she should feel honored.
“I was there at her house when the captain came calling. He was a short compact man, a Ladino in a crisp blue uniform and well-shined black boots that brought him up to about five six, a little bull with a neatly trimmed black mustache and dark serious eyes. I could see him studying me from across the room, taking his time, a man used to being in control. I was thinking he looked like a doorman at a nice hotel. I pictured him in a different uniform, one with epaulets and gold buttons.
“He wasn’t expecting anyone else to be there with Marina and I could see he wasn’t sure what to do. He asked Marina who I was and she said, ‘A friend.’
“I said to him, ‘If you touch her again I’m going to contact the American consulate and take whatever measures are necessary to have you prosecuted. That’s who I am.’
“He smiled at Marina in a shy formal way and said, ‘Do you agree with this?’
“Marina looked down at the floor and said, ‘Yes.’ Captain Garza said he understood. That was it. He walked out and got in his Jeep and drove away. Marina cried and we hugged.”
“That took nerve,” Owen said, “standing up to a cop in a foreign country. Was that the end of it?”
“Not exactly,” Kate said. “I’ll tell you another time.” It wasn’t the kind of story you told someone on the first date. Kate looked around. They were the only two people in the restaurant. She hadn’t noticed before.
Owen paid the bill and drove her home. He walked her up to the front door and kissed her on the cheek and said, “Can I call you?”
Kate said, “You better.”
TWO
Owen said, “What happened in Guatemala, you didn’t want to talk about? You can tell me now. You can tell me anything.”
They were at 220 Merrill, sitting at a table in the bar, Kate drinking a glass of chardonnay and Owen a Heineken from the bottle. It was crowded, as always on a Friday night. Kate felt close to him, trusted him after only a few dates. She said, “I went to my friend Marina’s and met Captain Garza. Remember that?”
Owen said, “The little guy in the uniform, right?”
Kate nodded.
“That night,” she said, “I was in bed, sound asleep, when they came in the room. I remember opening my eyes as they lifted me off the bed, wondering what was going on. Was I dreaming or was it really happening? There were two of them. But it was dark. I couldn’t see their faces. They cuffed my hands behind my back and wrapped tape around my mouth and eyes. It was hot, the air thick and wet and it was difficult to breathe through my nose.”
Kate picked up her wineglass by the stem and took a sip.
“They took me out to a Jeep and strapped a seat belt around me in back and drove out of town toward the jungle.”
Owen said, “Who’d you think they were?”
“Garza’s men,” Kate said.
Owen said, “The one who hit on your friend.”
“He didn’t hit on her,” Kate said. “He raped her. I thought he was paying me back for standing up to him, offending his Latin sense of honor. It was the only thing that made sense. I thought they were doing it to scare me. I didn’t think they were going to hurt me. I worked for the US government. They weren’t that crazy, I told myself, but I was wrong.
“We drove for a while-fifteen, twenty minutes, maybe-and the Jeep slowed down and stopped and they pulled me out and took me into the jungle and one of them whispered: ‘ Tu vas a morir.’”
Owen said, “What’s that mean?”
“You’re going to die,” Kate said.
“Jesus,” Owen said.
“I could feel the slash of wet branches across the front of my T-shirt and shorts and the mosquitoes were relentless, feasting on my neck and face. I remember the sounds: birds cawing and the low hum of locusts and the loud high-pitched clack of the tree frogs. I remember the smoke from their cigarettes mixing with the dense earthy smell of the jungle, trying to breathe that heavy humid air through my nose.
“We walked for some time-ten minutes, at least-and then stopped and they passed a bottle back and forth. I could hear the liquid splashing to the neck and back. They were drunk. I could hear the sound of their boots, feet unsteady, taking steps to keep their balance. They were speaking Spanish, talking about who’d go first with me, and then flipping a coin to settle it.
“They cut my T-shirt off with a knife. I could feel the blade pulling the fabric before slicing through it. Then they were mauling me. They pulled my shorts down and cut off my panties. One of them let go of me and I heard the jiggle of a belt buckle and the sound of a zipper unzipping. The other one started humping me from behind and I turned and brought my knee up into him and he grunted and let go.
“Then I was tackled, taken down hard and they were trying to spread my legs apart. I tried to fight them and they beat the hell out of me.”
Owen picked up his beer and took a long drink. He said, “Jesus Christ, this is unbelievable.”
Kate sipped her wine. “You want to hear the rest of it?”
Owen said, “I want to go to Guatemala, get those bastards.”
Kate said, “I woke up trying to breathe through the one nostril that wasn’t swollen shut. I started to panic, thinking I was going to suffocate. I knew I had to get the tape off my mouth fast. I could hear them close by, snoring. I rolled on my back and stretched my arms and brought the handcuffs over my hips to the back of my knees and then slid my legs through. I ripped the tape off my mouth, taking in gulps of air. I found the seam and pulled the tape from my eyes. It was early, the sun was just starting to rise. I was naked and put on what was left of my T-shirt, the back slit open, and found my shorts and sandals.
“Then I studied the men who were sleeping fifteen feet away, two Ladinos in blue policia uniforms. I moved to the closest one who was thin, slightly built like a lightweight fighter, and slid the gun out of his holster. It was a Beretta. I released the safety, and racked a round into the chamber. The second cop wasn’t wearing a gun but had a knife in a sheath on his belt. He was a bigger man with a fat stomach-on his back snoring.
“I aimed the gun at the skinny cop and kicked him in the ribs with the wooden toe of my sandal. He opened his eyes and looked at me and grinned. I told him to give me the key to the handcuffs or I’d blow his head off.
“He said, ‘ Calmese. Yo la tengo.’ He patted the outside of his pocket and slid his hand in his blue uniform pants and brought out the key, holding it up, showing it to me. ‘See, I have it right here.’ He grinned again and said they were having fun with me, that’s all-like what’s the problem? I wanted to walk over and put the gun in his mouth, see how much fun he thought that was.
“I pulled the hammer back on the Beretta and he tossed the key in the grass in front of me. I went down on one knee, searching for it and then seeing it partially concealed. When I looked up again, the fat cop was on his feet, the knife in his hand, charging me-up so fast I couldn’t believe it.