Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Tomás had hinted at violent repercussions if someone blew the whistle on Café Alegre, but would that really happen here?
Sometimes I just felt so hopelessly lost in Costa Rica.
Being in a foreign country was like having everything you thought you knew stripped from you, washed in the laundry with a red shirt in hot water, and returned to you.
The same clothes, but tighter, and pink.
But even though I didn’t know exactly what I was getting into, I knew I had to do something. If I didn’t follow through on my beliefs, who would I be but an armchair intellectual with the added dubious distinction of being a college dropout?
I went to my call spot outside the Chinese market.
As usual, the employee was painting over some graffiti: Chinos Go Home .
But this was their home now. Their relatives in China probably thought they spoke horrible Mandarin and liked weird food.
I felt for him. I had never fully belonged anywhere, either.
I hadn’t had my bat mitzvah—there was no money for that.
I was never Jewish enough, but not goy, either.
I stood under the Christmas lights they still hadn’t taken down and called Matías, feeling a little hesitant.
We had never actually spoken, and somehow crossing the email-and-text barrier seemed more perilous than traversing the Siberian land bridge.
I couldn’t believe the things I had written in my emails.
There should be a mandatory twenty-four-hour consideration period before you send those things.
After a ridiculously painful ten seconds, an intern answered and put me through.
“Dee,” he said, warmly. “ Mi companera en la lucha . We speak at last.”
“Hi,” I said, suddenly forgetting both English and Spanish.
“Why didn’t you Facetime me? You’re really very mysterious, you know.”
“It’s part of being a covert special agent.”
“I see. You know, I did finally find a photo of you. On one of your friend’s Instagram accounts.”
“You Insta-stalked me?”
“Of course. I had to make sure you weren’t a Russian spy.”
“How’d you figure out which one I was?”
“The one of you dressed entirely in blue, standing in front of a painting from Picasso’s Blue Period. Very erudite. You know, Dee, you’re... not unpleasant to look at. Why do you hide yourself?”
I blushed. “Not unpleasant to look at” was now the most wonderful compliment I’d ever been paid. “Uh, you know, privacy, etcetera.”
“Uh-huh. Do you think it’s weird this is the first time we’ve spoken? Since we know each other so well?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Have you noticed we’re basically ideological twins?”
“I... have.”
“We need a better analogy. I don’t really think of you as a sister.”
This was accelerating fast.
“Five minutes,” I heard the intern say in the background.
“Okay, looks like we only have a few.” His voice became slightly more businesslike. “What’s up?”
“Something terrible is going on here,” I said, forcing my vocal cords to work. “There’s a giant conspiracy with one of the Ethical Coffee International cooperatives.”
“That’s disturbing.”
“I know it isn’t totally relevant to the Truth Trip, but I think Justice Alliance needs to do something about it.”
“Listen, I want to hear all about it, but our intern is threatening to cut us off, and she has a very sharp letter opener. Here’s what we’re going to do. You sit tight, and we’ll discuss it in person in a few days.”
“In person?”
“Yes. I’m going to Colombia to do some work with the oil pipeline. So why don’t I stop by for the summit?” Jesus. I was talking to a man who thought nothing of stopping by internationally .
“Uh, yeah, that would be great.”
“Good.” His voice became softer and more intimate. “Also, I’d love to talk to you more about your higher power. Because it sounds from your last email like it might be chocolate?”
“That’s a fair interpretation.”
“Mine’s whiskey.”
“Whiskey and chocolate go great together.”
“They do,” he said, with more than a hint of double entendre, “they really do.” My heart thudded against my ribs. “Maybe when we see each other we can do a taste test. You know, to confirm that hypothesis.”
Oh. My. God. “Scientifically.”
“Of course,” he said. “But seriously. I’m really looking forward to meeting you properly. The old-fashioned way.”
My heart shot straight out of my mouth. I think it hit a Starlink satellite. Fortunately, before I had to respond, I heard the intern again: “They need you in the conference room. Eco Alliance is here.”
“Gotta go,” he said. “But I’ll see you soon, Chocolate. Tuesday, three o’clock, the café at the Gran Hotel.”
I hung up, my head spinning. I was going to meet Matías. We were finally taking this thing offline.
* * *
But before I met with Matías or Suzanne, I needed to find physical proof of Alegre’s misdeeds.
After all, I still only had Tomás’s word and an inconclusive photo.
But how to actually get this proof? And in just a few days?
This is where the Professor came in: he was the saint of impossible battles.
Where others might become discouraged, he only became more resolved.
I climbed the steps to his office. It was a Sunday, and just two days after Christmas, but I knew he’d be there.
This was a man who didn’t understand the word leisure .
I decided to be a person who didn’t understand the word pain .
My calf muscles would be springs that propelled me up the stairs.
My biceps would be lean, mean fighting machines.
I stepped into his office with one long stride, my fists pumping at my sides.
“The triumphant warrior returns,” said the Professor, putting down his newspaper. “How many did you kill?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You look like you just came back from battle. What did you do? Slay Christmas presents?”
“Only the bad ones.” I sat in the chair opposite his desk. My nerves were tingling. I couldn’t keep my decision to myself one minute longer. “I know why Las Nubes lost their market share. Café Alegre stole their contract. And they did it by bypassing Ethical Coffee International price minimums.”
“What takes you to that conclusion?”
“Do you remember I told you that Café Alegre used child labor?” The Professor nodded.
“Well, I spoke to one of the kids again.” No need to mention the kidnapping.
“His name’s Tomás. He confirmed that Café Alegre cuts their production costs by using illegal labor and pesticides.
Then they make themselves more attractive to buyers than the other co-ops, by selling at an illegally lower price.
They also sell surplus conventional coffee from other farms as organic and fair trade.
So we’re going to make a case for decertification to Ethical Coffee International. ”
The Professor stared at me for a second. I was vibrating, waiting for his response. “How?” he asked. “You have one kid’s testimony.”
“I’m going back to Café Alegre to interview the pickers.”
“You’re going to need more than interviews.” He started ticking items off on his weathered fingers. “You’re going to need receipts, contracts, bank transactions. How are you going to do this?”
“Tomás will help me.” I crossed my fingers in my lap. Tomás didn’t exactly know this yet. “And I’ve been in the offices. I have an idea where they keep their documents.”
The Professor chuckled. “You’re so naive.”
My heart sank. How would I do this without him?
The Professor opened a pocket calendar. “When are we going?”
“You’re coming with me?”
“Of course.”
I sighed with relief.
“There’s no way I’d let you go there by yourself. Revolution is a team sport.”
“Thank you.” I pulled a gift out of my purse. “I brought something for you.”
The Professor didn’t look at me as he unwrapped it.
I knew he must have been remembering his daughter.
All the gifts he never received, the Christmases he didn’t celebrate, the years he’d lost. All of them were right there on that table sitting between the two of us.
He peeled away the last layer of newsprint and tossed it to the ground.
“Hughes.” His face lit up when he saw the title of the book. “ Good Morning Revolution . How did you know I love him?”
“I didn’t. These poems just remind me of you.” It was an out-of-print collection of his later poetry, all fire and revolution. I didn’t know how to tell the Professor what I really thought. That he was these poems. The words turned into action.
The Professor looked straight at me, and I felt he understood.
“I have something for you, too.” He handed me a neatly wrapped package.
Now it was my turn to remember. That presents from my parents had never been gifts; they had been a way to control me.
I unwrapped the package and saw a silver flask engraved with the words La Comefuego .
“Do you know what that means?” he asked.
“The Fire Eater?”
“Yes. It’s slang for revolutionary .”
I traced the engraving, unable to speak.
The Professor had put me in his category and that was better than ten thousand words.
When I looked up, I saw that he was standing at his file cabinet, staring out the window.
He stayed there for a moment. When he turned back, his face was softer.
He sat down at his desk and his voice was uneven.
“I have to make some calls, but I’ll pick you up tomorrow. ”
I nodded and started walking toward the door. The Professor motioned for me to stop. “Try not to murder any innocent presents on the way, Comefuego .” He swiveled in his chair and picked up his phone. “Not all gifts are the henchmen of the evil capitalist economy.”
* * *
Five minutes later I was sitting under a tree across from the Noxious Brook, with my blended guanabana drink from the soda , calling Clara from Las Nubes.
“So, I haven’t been able to arrange Las Nubes being on the Truth Trips yet, but I’m still working on it. My boss is calling around to see if she could make an intro for you with an ethical roaster.”
“That would be great.”
“But I’m calling for another reason. You were right about Café Alegre. They did steal your contract.”
“ ?Hijueputas! ” I heard her bang her coffee mug on a table.
“I think we should present a case to Ethical Coffee International to decertify them.”
“We’ll help.”
“Great. First I have to interview the laborers. I’ll disguise their faces, but I’m still a little worried about their safety.”
“We can give them sanctuary here,” she said. “Look, Dee, I know this goes without saying, but you shouldn’t tell anyone what we’re doing. Until you’ve delivered the evidence to Ethical Coffee International, you’re vulnerable. We all are.”
Vulnerable . That word had a strange effect on me. It made it feel true. I knew the fewer people who knew, the better, but it still freaked me out. We were vulnerable, but to what, exactly?
“So, there’s something I have to tell you,” she said, dread filling her voice.
“What?”
“The Rust is here. I found it on a bush yesterday.”
“Shit. What are you going to do?”
“I killed the plant. And all the plants surrounding it.”
“Hopefully that’s enough.”
“ Ojalá .”
But we both knew it might not be. I tried to shake off my concern as I rode the bus to downtown.
The Rust was a foe that had no morals, no reason, and no easy answers.
I jumped off the bus near the Central Market and headed toward the corner where I had last seen Tomás.
He was in the exact same spot, except this time, he was selling a collection of plastic mooing cows. Mario must’ve been on break.
“ ?Macha! ” he said, giving me the hello-goodbye air kiss. “Did you come for more chickens?”
I looked around. We were surrounded, but no one seemed to be paying attention to us. There was a major commotion in the street because a disheveled young man was standing on top of a taxi, whipping his shirt around in the air, crying, “ ?Yo soy Che! ?Yo soy Che! ”
“We’re going to get Café Alegre decertified,” I said, looking around to make sure no one was listening. “I need you to come with me tomorrow. We’re going to record interviews with the laborers, and we need to secure some documents.”
“We?” Tomás was smiling, but his eyes were distant. “I told you. I’m already out. I don’t care what happens to them.”
“What about your brother and sister? They’re still there.”
“I’m going back for them. I just need to save a little bit more money.”
“What about the other pickers?”
“It’s too late for them this season. Next season, they’ll work somewhere else.”
“Tomás, I need your help.” He was startled by my directness.
I could see him struggling with his desire to help and his unwillingness to go back.
He was so smart for someone so young, but he was still a teenager.
I decided to appeal to his worse half. “I need your help to give Manuel what he deserves.”
I watched the battle play itself out in his eyes. Revenge. Getting caught. Revenge.
“Do you think Manuel would get in a lot of trouble?” he asked.
“ So much trouble.”
“Jail?”
“He’d definitely lose the farm.”
“But you don’t think jail?”
“I don’t know the ins and outs of the Costa Rican legal system, but it’s a distinct possibility.”
“What would happen to my brother and sister?”
“I know a wonderful co-op that will foster them. Until you have the money to get them yourself, of course.”
“What about the people we interview?”
“I’m going to distort their faces when I edit the film.”
Tomás watched police approach the man on top of the taxi. Then he studied my eyes. “You aren’t scared?”
“As soon as we have the evidence, we’ll give it to Ethical Coffee International. Then it’s out of our hands. It’d be pointless for anyone to come after us after we turn in the evidence.”
“ After . But what about before? What if we get caught?”
I hesitated. “We won’t get caught.”
Tomás smiled. “You’re brave for a macha .” The police began to handcuff the man and drag him to their car. “And you know what?”
“What?”
“I always knew you were the inspector.”
“I’ll pick you up here at five a.m.” And before he or I could change our minds, I lost myself in the crowd. I was scared. But I was doing it anyway.