"It is as he says, niña," the old man said to his daughter. "It is the good man, not the bad one. Where is — what have you done with the soldier?"
I told them. It would have been no good lying to them. Their eyes widened in horror and fright. I had to calm them.
"You don't have to worry about other Marines finding him," I said. "You'd have much greater worries if he were alive. Now, it's a certainty that his buddies will come here looking for him, and for Elicia. It's important that we get you all out of here, to some safe place in the mountains. I'll try…"
"No," Jorge said, shaking his old head vigorously. "Here is where I was born, here is where I will die. You take Elicia to my cousin's house in the hills. She can show you where it is. When the soldiers come, we will pretend ignorance. They will not find the body. If they do, we are ready to die. Please, take our daughter and care for her. Find our son and he will help."
"No," the old woman said, cradling Elicia closer to her ample bosom. "My child stays here."
"Basta!" the old man snapped, turning on her. "We deal in our own lives now, old woman. You cannot have all you wish in life. Take Elicia, take her now."
It was settled in that manner. When the Marines came, the old couple would say that the Marine sergeant came, raped Elicia and kidnapped her. A search would be made of the premises, but I'd buried the sergeant well, was wearing his uniform, and the smell of the stable would prevent even well-trained bloodhounds from sniffing out his grave.
Ten minutes later, I retrieved my knapsack hidden near the farm. Leaving my portable radio there, Elicia and I set out on foot in the darkness, heading along narrow trails in the inky blackness of the jungle night. The girl was no longer crying, but she was still terrified — and a part of it was fear of me. I made certain not to touch her as we moved through the night. A few times, we accidentally bumped together and she recoiled as though I were a snake. It was not the happiest of situations.
An hour after we left the house, Elicia came to a stop on a ledge high above the valley. She stopped without warning and I ran smack into her warm, supple body. She didn't recoil. I felt her finger against my lip and heard her low shushing sound.
"Just ahead," she said in a melodic accent that was surprisingly soft in view of her earlier screeching and carrying on, "is an open place where we should be able to see the main encampment. We must be careful not to be seen by them."
We moved slowly forward and, sure enough, entered an open area where we had a clear view of the Reina Valley below; clear, that is, except for the darkness that lay on the land like a black velvet curtain. In the murky distance, I could make out silhouettes of darkened houses, of trees, of the meandering river that ran down from the arroyos and gullies and springs of Mount Toro. There were few lights in the houses. Since the Cubans had come, most of the citizens had imposed a kind of curfew on themselves, afraid to venture out, afraid even of letting the pillaging Marines know that they were alive.
I brought my gaze upward and saw a dark column rising into the sky. It was Alto Arete and, from the lookout, the mountain column looked like an enormous chimney rising from Mount Toro. I hadn't seen Alto Arete from this vantage point before. It was imposing, impressive and, worse than all, frightening and impregnable.
Elicia tugged at my sleeve (the sergeant's sleeve, actually) and brought me nearer the sharp edge of the ledge. "To the left," she said, "where you see the glow of light."
I leaned forward, aware that my toes in Luis Pequeno's big combat boots were jutting out into space, and saw the glow, then what was causing it. Tucked away in a little valley off the main valley were dozens of campfires. They stretched up the narrow hollow and around the base of the mountain, like an electric necklace around an ebony neck. It was the thousand Marines, guarding the advances to the main trail up to Alto Arete.
In that moment, I gave thanks to the intuitive reasoning that had put me on the trail of the Cuban Marine. If I hadn't followed him, I wouldn't have found the Cortez family and this girl. Without the girl, I'd never had found this safe trail up the mountain opposite Mount Toro. Without this safe trail, I would have stumbled headlong into that encampment of Marines and would have been disemboweled and fed to the pigs. Or to those rabid dogs up on top.
"Beyond that encampment," Elicia said in that same soft, tuneful voice, "is the encampment of the guerillas supporting Don Carlos. None of us dares go near either encampment, but I have watched with my horse from this point. I am certain that Antonio is down there, with the other guerillas.
"But he's so close to home," I said. "Why wouldn't he break away and come back to his family?"
I could only guess at the expression on her face. I knew she was staring at me as though I were the dumbest gringo who ever lived.
"Deserters are shot," she said. "So are their families, including cousins and those who have married into the families."
"Sweet bunch," I muttered. "Okay, let's get you to your cousin's house, then I'm coming back here to wait for daylight."
"Why would you do that? You can stay with my cousin as well."
"I can't stay anywhere, Elicia. I didn't come all the way down here to hide."
"All right," she said, touching my arm again. I was starting to like that. "I will not hide either. Let us both wait for daylight."
There was no time to explain to her that I planned to figure out the best way to infiltrate that Marine encampment, as Sgt. Luis Pequeno, or that she would only be in the way of my progress. We were hours away from her cousin's house, considering how long it had taken us to reach this point from her parent's farm. I took her arm and pulled her away from the ledge. She didn't recoil from my touch.
"We'll do it my way," I said. "And that means getting you to safety and me coming back here alone."
"Everybody bosses the Nicarxans," she said almost sullenly. Then, she sighed. In the mellow glow from the Marine's campfires, I could have sworn that I saw a smile on her face. This time, the smile said, she didn't mind being bossed by an outsider.
It took three hours to get her to her cousin's house, actually a hut on Mount Toro's northern slopes. We had crossed and recrossed the valley, and the Reina River, so many times that I lost my way and doubted that I would ever make it back to that lookout point.
As we stood on the dusty road leading to the hut where Elicia would hide, she moved close to me. Her breath smelled of orange blossoms and I wondered how she had managed that, considering the lack of toothbrushes and toothpaste in her parents' home. She rummaged in a pocket and pressed a gold chain and locket into my hand.
"Antonio gave this to me on my sixteenth birthday," she said, "Give it to him and he will know that you are our friend."
"Maybe not," I said, always the doubting Thomas. "He might think I stole it from you. Or took it by force."
"No," she said. "Before we left my parent's house, I folded a note into the locket."
I started to object, recalling her reluctance to go with me, remembering how she had recoiled from my touch on the trail. And then I knew. She had trusted me from the beginning, but her memories of what those Marines had been doing to her was so fresh in her mind that she would have recoiled from the touch of any male. The fact that she had warmed to me at all was proof enough that the memories were fading as the trust built in her.
I thought about kissing her goodbye then, but discarded the idea. There is such a thing as pushing your luck. Even as I was thinking this, she stood on tiptoe, found my face in the darkness and kissed me soundly and sweetly on the lips.