Chapter 15 #2
Suddenly, ten preschoolers ran by, all giggles and curls and scraped knees. They raced down the steps to a nearby play structure, followed by a teacher. Clara watched them wistfully.
“You know,” I said gently. “If the Truth Trip came here, that publicity could result in new contracts. I understand your concerns, but on balance, this could be a good thing for Las Nubes.”
She gazed into the distance, struggling with her options. “I’ll bring it up to the council.” She abruptly stood and left, leaving the chair rocking violently in her wake.
* * *
I spent the next few hours wandering around Las Nubes taking photos.
But I wasn’t just photographing; I was poking around.
And I went everywhere . There were no pesticides to be found.
No children picking berries. No shotguns to scare off organizers.
Las Nubes was the real deal. Maybe cooperation wasn’t a fairytale, and humanity wasn’t destined to remain in a race to the bottom.
Sure, Las Nubes was in a bad spot at the moment, but like Matías had said—the role of activists was to find the bad and turn it into good.
Justice Alliance could help Las Nubes—if they would let us.
I wished Matías was here; he would know what to say to Clara.
A great organizer was persuasive but also compassionate.
They had to see you and make you know that they saw you.
That’s how you got people to take risks.
Matías made me feel seen. I knew he could do it with Clara, too.
But it was just me here, and I had to hope I was enough.
I went to the drying platform to learn more about how it worked. Two chatty co-opers in their twenties, Ramón and Héctor, showed me the ropes. They asked if I would like to try raking the beans. Why not? They handed me a rake, and I went to town.
“ ?Muy bien, Macha! ” said Ramón, the skinny one.
“ ?Con fuerza, joven! ” said Héctor, the brawny one. “Put some back into it!”
There was something hugely satisfying about the physical labor—probably because in my case it was infrequent and not compulsory.
But after an hour, my back was beginning to ache.
When my phone buzzed, I was relieved to have an excuse for a break.
I put the rake down and sat on a bench. It was Adrián.
Hola, Preciosa.
Hi.
°°°
°°°
Last night was a little weird, huh?
° ° °
° ° °
Yes
° ° °
° ° °
There were some more bubbles, but they disappeared.
Guess he found this as awkward as I did.
I knew there was something fishy going on with Lucía, but I didn’t know what.
I wanted to believe he was telling me the truth, but something about her reaction just didn’t compute.
And what if he were completely blameless in the situation?
He was still a magnate in training. I was still a radical. How would we reconcile that?
The bubbles came back. Then:
How’s Cooperative Heaven?
Pretty great, actually. There’s a really strong sense of community.
Have they jumped you in yet?
It’s not a gang!
Right. Did you do blood rites? Or is it more of a branding-with-an-iron thing?
It’s not a cult!
Sure, of course not. By the way, are you into pain? I’m not, but if you want to explore it, I’m open. Within limits
I started giggling. How could he offend me and make me laugh at the same time? Ramón and Héctor heard my laughter and came to investigate. I stuffed my phone in my back pocket.
“Looks like someone has a boyfriend,” said Ramón.
“Not exactly. Sort of.”
“‘Not exactly’ sounds like no,” said Ramón.
“But ‘sort of’ sounds like yes,” said Héctor.
“It’s complicated,” I said. “Sort of.”
After some more raking, and a lot of razzing about my “sort of boyfriend,” Ramón and Héctor showed me how to change the shade nets hanging over the drying platform.
The first three days, the coffee dried under a zinc cover.
It was now time to switch to polyethylene netting.
I don’t think I’d ever done so much physical labor in my life, and I’d only been helping them for about two hours.
Later that evening, I met the Professor outside the church, where the meeting was taking place. “Were you successful in your persuasion campaign?” he asked.
“TBD. But I’m hopeful.”
“Never lose your optimism, Dee. Many people renounce it as they age, but that’s a mistake. The difference between people who can and people who can’t is in what they believe they can achieve.”
“So, The Secret ?”
“Ha!” he scoffed. “No, I don’t believe in that nonsense. Optimism isn’t magic. It’s common sense. It’s what keeps you going when things get hard.”
I envied him; common sense was not something I had in spades. He opened the door for me and we entered the church. The pews were lined with candles, and red-and-blue light flickered across the room from the stained-glass windows. Clara spotted us and ushered us to seats in the front.
Several co-op members spoke about their current issues. The cost of organic fertilizer. What to do with the unsold yield. Converting some of the fields to vegetables for community consumption... because they were getting to the point where they couldn’t afford groceries. It was grim.
After a few speeches, Clara went to the pulpit and waved her hands for silence. The group hushed. The only sound was that of the wind beating against the windows. The heat of several hundred bodies and candles filled the large space and made it feel smaller.
“We came tonight not only to discuss our worries or our failures,” she said. “We came tonight to celebrate our hopes and successes. So please join me in welcoming our guest and dear friend, Professor Eugenio Ramírez.”
Expectation swelled through the air at the mention of the Professor’s name. He proceeded to the front of the room. Candles cast dancing shadows onto the craggy nooks of his cheeks, making him look more imposing than ever. He waited until the audience was absolutely silent.
“I come to you today not as a co-oper nor as a scholar, but as a man.” The crowd gazed at him with reverence.
“As a man living in a world that poisons him. As a man trapped in a world that strips a person of his dignity and essence. I speak to you as a man who suffers in his world and longs to live in one like yours.” He gestured toward the crowd.
“In this world, people work for and with each other. They examine every aspect of their life to make it more beautiful.”
To make it more beautiful. The combination of his words and the light and the heat transported me into an interior world.
Look at your life like a work of art , my grandfather had told Sadie, so when it’s over, you’ve created something.
Maybe that’s what the Professor was saying.
That here in Las Nubes, people made their lives works of art.
They approached their lives with intention: examining their beliefs, challenging them, making them part of their lives.
Was I capable of such a high level of intention?
I looked back at the Professor. I must have missed some comments because he was closing his speech. His face was flushed and he was standing at his tallest. The people in my pew were straining forward to hear him better, even though his voice filled every space.
“... Las Nubes is a world that celebrates the essence of humanity, the productive and cooperative nature of man and woman. It is a world that uplifts humanity to its highest spiritual expression. A world that brings us closer to God.” Light from the windows quivered and sprayed the room.
“You are a gift to our world. You are a prediction for our world.” He stopped, scanned the audience, and found my eyes.
“You are a shining example of cooperative values.”
* * *
After the meeting, an army of admirers surrounded the Professor and took him to the plaza.
The town was having a feast as part of the Christmas festivities that began earlier in December.
Here, Christmas was a month-long affair.
The sound of villancicos , traditional Christmas carols, filled the night; the smell of roasting pigs saturated the air; and alcohol rained down in a deluge.
I sat on a curb with Ramón and Héctor, drinking guaro , the national alcohol, which was distilled from sugar cane.
It was a type of aguardiente —literally, water that burns—and I was feeling the effects.
I tried following the conversation, which was about fútbol , of course, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Clara.
Finally, she approached and signaled for me to follow her. I joined her by a small bonfire.
“I’ve been thinking about the Truth Trip,” she said. “And I’ve discussed it with the council.” The flames cast shadows onto her face. “We want to do it.”
“I’m glad. I think this will be beneficial for both Las Nubes and Justice Alliance.”
“As long as it fits our parameters, we do, too. Some of my companeros pointed out that I am genetically resistant to change. I won’t listen to music produced after 1999.” She gave me a wry smile. But suddenly anxiety creased her brow. “The thing is, I’m not sure if Las Nubes would qualify.”
“Of course you would,” I said. “I just have to run it by my supervisor.”
She bit her lower lip. “We’re about to lose our Ethical Coffee International certification.”
“What?”
“It lapses in a month.”
“But...” I grappled with the implications. “You’re still organic? And you’re still abiding by Ethical Coffee International standards?”
“Of course. But it costs money to stay accredited. Money we don’t have.”
I looked at the fire, thinking. “Maybe we can turn this into a selling point. People who go on these tours are do-gooders. They would love to know that by coming here, they were helping you renew your Ethical Coffee International status.”
“Do you think your supervisor will agree?”
“I do.”
Clara looked relieved. But still defiant. “You can’t Disneyfy us.”
“You’re in charge. You set the terms.”
“There will be no dancing.”
“We wouldn’t dream of it.”
She smiled at me as she stood and shook my hand. “Okay, companera . We have a deal.”
* * *
I was elated and overtired as the Professor drove us back to San José in total darkness.
We had a farm for the tour—a great farm.
And Justice Alliance could meaningfully help a truly special community during a rough time.
I tried to sleep as the Professor sang along with Silvio Rodríguez protest music, but it was useless.
I was too wound up, and also, the drive was terrifying.
I could feel the hairpin turns but not see them.
The Professor dropped me off at home just before dawn.
I crept past Eva and Luis’s bedroom and went straight to my laptop.
My phone had gone flat and I was dying to check my email.
It was now impossible to deceive myself regarding the depth of my obsession with Matías’s emails, but it was easy to rationalize.
I was in a foreign land; I needed something familiar.
The fact that Matías was only familiar to me in a virtual sense was something better left unanalyzed.
Besides, I thought, better a harmless addiction like email than a sinister one like crack.
I opened my browser, and as usual, there was an email from him:
TO: Dee Blum
FROM: Matías Khalil
SUBJECT: Chestnuts roasting on an open fire
I tried reverse searching your eyes and it didn’t work. Was that an AI generated image? Ooh, I never considered you may be an AI. How do I know you’re even real? Maybe you projected a hologram when you met with Suzanne?
So, AI Dee, how was Las Nubes? Sorry for being impatient, but I like reading your emails.
More and more, I catch myself looking forward to them.
There’s something so direct and vulnerable about them.
Plus they bear a suspicious resemblance to full stockings on Christmas morning.
Wait—are you an agent of Santa? Is that why you hide your identity? !
I hope Las Nubes was everything you wanted it to be. Can’t wait to hear all about it.
Tu amigo en la lucha , Matías
* * *
TO: Matías Khalil
FROM: Dee Blum
SUBJECT: Re: Chestnuts roasting on an open fire
If my messages are full stockings, then yours are the present on the eighth day of Hanukkah. Batteries included.
Las Nubes was beyond description; I wish you could’ve been there with me.
I can’t tell you how relieved I feel on an existential level that a place like this really does exist. But they are in serious trouble, and I think we need to help them.
I’d rather explain over the phone—that is, if you don’t just download the info from my brain chip.
Covertly, Special Agent Vixen
I hit send and sucked in my breath. We were entering dangerous territory here. And I was loving it.