Harry and his father, the Colonel, from the airport one night.
Colonel Toledo, Harry thought. He’s not my father anymore. He’s just Colonel Toledo.
If rumor proved true, he wouldn’t be a colonel much longer, either. If the Colonel survived the scissors slash that had saved Harry’s life, he would be very lucky to stay out of jail. A fearful nausea washed over Harry at the thought of his father, so he swept that thought aside.
Harry pressed the bolt release himself and opened the front door. Francesca hadn’t shown up for work but Harry had taught himself the security drills. He had seen Williams only the one time, three months ago, and he’d looked so much younger.
“Jesus, kid!” was all Williams said.
Grace Toledo met them at the door and Yolanda Rubia handed her a plain envelope, the kind that might hold an invitation to one of the embassy parties.
“The Colonel, he did this?” Yolanda asked, nodding at Harry.
Neither Harry nor his mother answered. Grace Toledo glanced around the courtyard as she pocketed the envelope.
“The men?” Grace asked.
Her blue eyes indicated the unlocked gate behind the Archbishop’s car. Harry saw no sign of either of their guards, and neither did his mother. His part of the plan had worked. The kids that Harry had signaled were shooting off firecrackers down the block, and Williams wiped at his sweat as his quick brown eyes sought snipers on the rooftops.
Later, Harry would remember this as the day no roosters crowed, the day the crippled parrot in the mango tree did not bark at the cats, the day the cats and Francesca and even the fruit flies disappeared. He could never be sure about the truth, but that’s the way he would remember that last sunrise in Colonia Escalon with his mother.
Two concussions shook the house. Harry recognized the whap-WHUMP of “un tigre,” an antipersonnel mine that the army set up around power transformers, substations and relay towers. Harry flinched, though he’d been practicing not to. Gilbert Williams flinched, too. Harry’s mother didn’t, and neither did Yolanda.
“The gate was open,” Williams said. “I didn’t see anybody.”
“They’re throwing us to the wolves, the bastards.”
“There is much that you do not understand,” Yolanda said. “Whatever happens, I am with you. You must hurry. I will be in touch.”
Yolanda hugged Grace Toledo and kissed her cheeks, then shook Harry’s hand.
“Ciao,” she said, and hurried down the drive to disappear around the wall.
Williams had the door open for Harry; Grace was already inside. Harry limped quickly over to the car and slid into the back seat beside his mother.
She has a plan, and it doesn’t include the law.
Harry felt better already.
Another tigre blew on the block behind them. Neighborhood children taught Harry to find where they were buried. They lobbed water balloons made from the government’s free condoms to set them off. The substation behind them had been taken out three times this month by guerrillas. This time they did it as a favor to him.
“What about the kid?” Williams asked. “Nobody said anything about a kid.”
Harry suppressed a smile. Williams was getting very exasperated. Transporting the Colonel’s wife after she’d cut up the Colonel was not the most secure duty of the day.
“You’re a driver,” his mother said. “Drive.”
Harry said nothing and looked straight ahead. His mouth tasted like pennies and he could barely control his breathing. He concentrated on not touching his eye, which throbbed deeply with his pulse.
Someone would have to pay. The embassy had distanced itself from them overnight, the usual political precautions. Harry was surprised that his mother had a plan, and not one of the embassy’s contingency plans, but one of her own. The darkened windows of the Archbishop’s car helped Harry to relax.
His mother removed the envelope from her pocket and read the first line, and smiled.
“Do you have an
Colonel Toledo, Harry thought. He’s not my father anymore. He’s just Colonel Toledo.
If rumor proved true, he wouldn’t be a colonel much longer, either. If the Colonel survived the scissors slash that had saved Harry’s life, he would be very lucky to stay out of jail. A fearful nausea washed over Harry at the thought of his father, so he swept that thought aside.
Harry pressed the bolt release himself and opened the front door. Francesca hadn’t shown up for work but Harry had taught himself the security drills. He had seen Williams only the one time, three months ago, and he’d looked so much younger.
“Jesus, kid!” was all Williams said.
Grace Toledo met them at the door and Yolanda Rubia handed her a plain envelope, the kind that might hold an invitation to one of the embassy parties.
“The Colonel, he did this?” Yolanda asked, nodding at Harry.
Neither Harry nor his mother answered. Grace Toledo glanced around the courtyard as she pocketed the envelope.
“The men?” Grace asked.
Her blue eyes indicated the unlocked gate behind the Archbishop’s car. Harry saw no sign of either of their guards, and neither did his mother. His part of the plan had worked. The kids that Harry had signaled were shooting off firecrackers down the block, and Williams wiped at his sweat as his quick brown eyes sought snipers on the rooftops.
Later, Harry would remember this as the day no roosters crowed, the day the crippled parrot in the mango tree did not bark at the cats, the day the cats and Francesca and even the fruit flies disappeared. He could never be sure about the truth, but that’s the way he would remember that last sunrise in Colonia Escalon with his mother.
Two concussions shook the house. Harry recognized the whap-WHUMP of “un tigre,” an antipersonnel mine that the army set up around power transformers, substations and relay towers. Harry flinched, though he’d been practicing not to. Gilbert Williams flinched, too. Harry’s mother didn’t, and neither did Yolanda.
“The gate was open,” Williams said. “I didn’t see anybody.”
“They’re throwing us to the wolves, the bastards.”
“There is much that you do not understand,” Yolanda said. “Whatever happens, I am with you. You must hurry. I will be in touch.”
Yolanda hugged Grace Toledo and kissed her cheeks, then shook Harry’s hand.
“Ciao,” she said, and hurried down the drive to disappear around the wall.
Williams had the door open for Harry; Grace was already inside. Harry limped quickly over to the car and slid into the back seat beside his mother.
She has a plan, and it doesn’t include the law.
Harry felt better already.
Another tigre blew on the block behind them. Neighborhood children taught Harry to find where they were buried. They lobbed water balloons made from the government’s free condoms to set them off. The substation behind them had been taken out three times this month by guerrillas. This time they did it as a favor to him.
“What about the kid?” Williams asked. “Nobody said anything about a kid.”
Harry suppressed a smile. Williams was getting very exasperated. Transporting the Colonel’s wife after she’d cut up the Colonel was not the most secure duty of the day.
“You’re a driver,” his mother said. “Drive.”
Harry said nothing and looked straight ahead. His mouth tasted like pennies and he could barely control his breathing. He concentrated on not touching his eye, which throbbed deeply with his pulse.
Someone would have to pay. The embassy had distanced itself from them overnight, the usual political precautions. Harry was surprised that his mother had a plan, and not one of the embassy’s contingency plans, but one of her own. The darkened windows of the Archbishop’s car helped Harry to relax.
His mother removed the envelope from her pocket and read the first line, and smiled.
“Do you have an
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