Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The next day, I woke up groggy and uneasy, my windowpane still a square of black.
I had slept maybe four hours the entire night, and they weren’t contiguous.
I had taken some herbal sleeping pills from the Central Market, which turned out to be a mistake.
They were clearly hallucinogenic. When I tried counting sheep, they morphed into sheep-guards chasing me with shotguns as I leaped over bloody spears.
When I tried to focus on something comforting, like my childhood dog, I saw a horned Dieter-and-Manuel conjoined twin trying to drown me in a vat of scalding hot coffee—single origin, of course.
At three a.m. I gave up and got dressed.
I needed to get a grip on reality. Café Alegre was huge; no one was going to catch us.
If someone came near us, we’d hop in the Jeep and go.
And even if we did get caught, would Manuel really shoot an internationally famous professor, a young female American, and his own stepson?
Wouldn’t that be more trouble than it was worth?
The Professor came for me at four-thirty and we headed into the city to pick up Tomás.
It was still dark, and vendors were just starting to unload their pickup trucks.
Men with wide-brimmed hats lifted crates of mangos onto folding tables while women unpacked cardboard boxes full of beaded necklaces.
Tomás was waiting on his corner, wearing old blue jeans and carrying a small backpack.
The Professor held out his hand to Tomás through the window.
“ Eugenio Ramírez. Un placer .”
Tomás’s eyes widened. “ The Professor Eugenio Ramírez?” The Professor nodded.
“What an honor,” said Tomás in Spanish as he climbed into the backseat of the Jeep.
“Dee, why didn’t you tell me he was coming?
I would’ve said yes right away.” He looked at the Professor in the rearview mirror with reverence.
“You were a legend in our house. My mom said you single-handedly released two hundred indigenous prisoners in San Cristobal de las Casas during the Zapatista uprising.”
“Well, it wasn’t single-handed. And it was more like three hundred.”
“You’re such a badass,” said Tomás. “Do you have a machete?”
“I do,” he said. My eyes widened. “However, I only approve of violence as a last resort.”
“But it’s okay for self-defense?”
“Certainly. But guns work better for that.” My eyes got even wider.
“Do you have a gun?” asked Tomás.
“Son, I have an armory.”
The two talked about the Professor’s exploits until we hit the Pan-American Highway, where the conversation grew more immediate and less murder-y.
“So here’s the plan,” said Tomás in fast, colloquial Spanish, moving to the middle of the backseat.
I was surprised to realize I understood it all, even the idioms. “When we get to the fields, I’m going to find the foreman, José.
He’ll select some people he knows we can trust to keep quiet.
Then he’ll bring them to you guys for the interviews somewhere close to the highway.
” Tomás’s fingers tapped against my headrest. “Then I’m going to find my little sister, Luisita, so she can get us the keys to the filing cabinets.
That’s where most of the documents are. Manuel keeps the keys in the urn with my grandmother’s ashes. ”
“Eeew,” I said.
“It’s a very safe place. No one wants to disturb the dead.”
“Or touch them.”
“Good point. Once I have the keys, I’ll sneak into the mill and get the documents.”
“I should be the one to do it,” I said. Tomás looked surprised. “I know what we’re looking for. You can’t just take every piece of paper in the place. Also, some of the information may be in his computer.”
“It’s too dangerous for you, Macha . If they catch me, at least I’m family.” I gulped, considering the implications. “Also, no way it’s computerized. Manuel is a dinosaur.”
I put my head straight back against the headrest while Tomás and the Professor discussed logistics.
I couldn’t believe we were actually doing this.
I thought back to when Adrián and I had hidden in the ditch in Café Bavaria.
Trespassing—hah! That would be a mere misdemeanor.
Now I was going to commit felonies. Images of me evading armed guards flitted across my eyelids until I sat up with a jolt.
Looking out the window, I realized I’d been dreaming.
Several hours had passed; it was now midmorning and we were in the Central Highlands.
Branches hung over the highway and the smell of burning trash wafted into the Jeep.
Without warning, the Professor turned off the highway and plowed through some ferns, continuing until we couldn’t see the road.
After he was sure the Jeep was hidden, he turned off the engine and rolled down the windows.
We all hopped out of the Jeep. As we followed Tomás through the forest, I thought of Adrián again.
We had been here together, and he would be here now if I had let him.
Had I made the right decision? Maybe I shouldn’t have been so cold to him in Manuel Antonio.
Maybe I was incapable of knowing myself.
“Are you okay, Macha ?” asked Tomás.
“Fine,” I said, trying to believe it.
Tomás gestured to a large cedar tree. “I’ll send the pickers here.
When you’re finished, meet me back at the Jeep.
” I nodded and sat under the shade of the tree.
The Professor sat next to me, and we went over our interview questions.
But my mind wouldn’t focus. It jumped from scared thought to sad thought, sad thought to scared, in an endless loop of no good.
I tried concentrating on the shifting patterns that the sun cast on the ground.
Maybe in the negative space I could lose myself.
After a few minutes, I heard a rustling and looked up.
Standing before me was a thirtysomething woman with hazel eyes, dark curly hair, and a small scar near her ear.
How did she get that scar? What combination of events had brought her here?
I thought of a proverb that was common here: Cada persona es un mundo.
It was the same as a Talmudic teaching: Each person is a whole world.
The Professor pulled out his phone and nodded at me to begin. I felt apprehensive, especially since he was watching, but this is what we were here for. So I attempted to draw her out while the Professor recorded. “What brought you to work at Café Alegre?”
“I came here because they told me it was a fair trade co-op,” she said in lilting Spanish.
I couldn’t identify her accent, but I knew she wasn’t from here.
“I knew that was a lie after the first week because they didn’t pay us.
They say they’re going to pay us at the end of the season.
They also say they’re going to pay us per basket, but they’re lying about that, too.
” She dabbed at a drop of sweat that was trickling down her neck.
“Another picker who worked here last season said they’ll pay us one sum for the whole season.
So now I don’t kill myself trying to pick the most baskets.
But we can’t pick too few baskets, or we get punished. ”
“How?”
“They give us less food or they put more people in our bungalows, or they don’t give us medicine if we are sick. Or they can fire you and never pay you anything. So it’s better to just be quiet and get paid at the end of the summer.”
“Where are you from?”
“Matagalpa, Nicaragua.” Her voice was heavy with longing. “I used to work there, but the Rust took everything.”
“I’m so sorry you had to leave your country, companera ,” said the Professor. “Thank you for having the courage to tell your story.”
José sent a few more laborers, and we continued the interviews. After the last one, we started walking back to the Jeep together. “We make a good team, I think,” said the Professor.
“I agree.” But wouldn’t any team be great with him on it? He was a legend.
“Matías was right again. You know, he talks about you a lot. He even sent me your website. How long have you known each other?”
“Not that long. We’ve never actually met in person.”
The Professor considered for a moment. “Sometimes it doesn’t take long.
It’s like in your thesis about charismatic leaders helping people’s class consciousness evolve during a moment of struggle.
People form strong connections quickly when they go through something important together. ” He paused. “ Como nosotros .”
Like us. I smiled at him, and we kept walking in silence. I was vibrating. The Professor felt close to me. And Matías talked about me—a lot. I couldn’t believe the way my life had opened up since I’d come to Costa Rica. It was so much more expansive and vibrant. Everything felt so much more real .
When we got to the Jeep, we found Tomás pacing around it, distraught, and my happy feelings vanished. “The key wasn’t in the urn!” he said. “It wasn’t anywhere! We can’t get the documents.” My stomach started forming a knot. “I’m so sorry, Dee,” said Tomás, anguished. “I failed.”
“You didn’t fail,” said the Professor. “So far, we haven’t succeeded.”
We stood there in grim silence, processing. Had we come this far for nothing? But then I remembered something. “Oh!” They looked at me expectantly. “Last time I was here, I kinda, well, snooped around.”
“Obviously,” said Tomás. “That’s how you found me and kidnapped me.”
The Professor gave me a sideways glance. “Kidnapped?”
“Long story.” I turned to Tomás. “I thought we determined it was ridesharing.” Tomás smiled. “Anyhow, I snooped around Manuel’s office in the mill. I found an armoire with a secret compartment, and I heard keys in there. I wonder if they open the file cabinets.”
“It sounds like him to keep duplicates,” said Tomás. “Now that I think about it, why would he want to dig around in his mother’s ashes every time he needed to open a cabinet?”
“That would be a very weird fetish.”
Tomás nodded. “Can you tell me where in the armoire the key ring is?”
“I’ll get it.”
“You will not,” said the Professor. “We already settled this. Tomás has a more plausible excuse for being caught on the premises. He is returning home after a small ‘ridesharing’ episode.”
“But if they catch him, he’ll have to stay here.”
“You kidnapped him once, surely you can kidnap him again,” said the Professor.
“Let’s park the Jeep closer to the mill,” said Tomás. “Dee, make a sketch for me of where the keys are in the armoire. Then I’ll sneak in through a window, get the keys, and find the documents. You two wait in the Jeep and I’ll return when I have everything.”
“But what if you don’t come back?” I asked. “How will we know if someone found you?”
“Give me half an hour. If it’s longer than that.
..” He picked at his lip with his thumb and middle finger.
“I don’t know.” He looked hopefully at the Professor.
“You’ll think of something.” Think of something?
Who did we think we were? Freaking James Bond and Mata Hari?
“If I don’t come back, you should return to San José, and then come back in a few days when things have settled down. ”
“We’re not going to leave you here!” I said.
“What are you going to do?” he asked. “Call the police on Manuel? You can’t be kidnapped by your own family.”
“Let’s not worry about every possibility,” said the Professor, starting the engine and backing out toward the highway. “Sometimes the cost of inaction is greater than making a mistake.”
“Agreed.” Tomás sank into his seat. The two of them were composed, but I was freaking out.
Was this a gender difference? Cultural? Or were they also freaking out but just hiding it?
I saw Tomás continue to pick at his lip through the rearview mirror, and the Professor was driving more maniacally than usual.
They were suppressing their feelings; I was sure of it.
The Professor took us back onto the highway and drove to the gate that marked the beginning of Café Alegre’s property.
About thirty feet from the gate, he veered off the highway and hid the Jeep in a bank of monkey tail ferns.
Before I could really absorb what was happening, Tomás was out of the Jeep and running toward the mill.
I watched the black laurels close back over him, branch after branch returning to place like a never-ending turnstile.
I turned to the Professor. “Do you think it’s a good idea to let him go by himself?”
“Do you?” asked the Professor. He studied my face. Here was the second test! I knew it was coming!
“No.” I grasped my snake necklace. “I’m going to follow him.”
“I’ll come, too.”
“No, it’s better if you keep the engine running. I’ll call you if we need backup.”
He nodded. “Do you want my machete?”
I blanched. “Not this time, thanks.” I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the door. I tried to keep my hands from shaking so he wouldn’t know how nervous I was.
But he saw. He leaned over and put a hand on my shoulder. “You can do this, Comefuego .”
But could I?