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  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  RECONSTRUCTION

  Hurricane Olivia has departed Islas Tres Marias leaving behind a grey and churning sea filled with debris. Christopher thinks half the island is in the ocean. Countless trees, palms and brush are stripped bare and broken. Housing and roofing material scattered throughout the island. The dock half its original size; a miniature version, its pieces litter the shore. The guard’s launch still tethered, partially submerged in the sea, lying on its side. The storage shed has vanished.

  Another punch to the gut; Juanita, she is beyond mortal problems. Christopher’s dream was more vivid than life. It revealed her transformation. Did she change from woman to swan? A swan larger than life, filled with supernatural power. Had the swan’s strength lifted Juanita toward the sky? Are the swan and Juanita one? He cannot understand the strange merging of Juanita into the swan and the swan’s power. Is the swan an angel?

  He sits down on a piece of drift wood, his head in his hands. He’s unaware of tears sliding down his face. What happened to Juanita? He shakes his head, Juanita, dead. I’m alone on La Luna.

  Feeling like a zombie Christopher inches his way through the rubble with all his worldly belongings under one arm. Heading to the cliff, along the shore, where his money is hidden. The bluff where he and Juanita spent their time has dramatically eroded and large parts of the face have fallen away. Gaping holes redefine the silhouette and surface.

  The climb slippery, shifting terrain slows his progress. Christopher doesn’t care about the dangers of mud slides, Juanita is gone. Pulling himself up the hill, he looks for his marker. The small opening marked by a stick is full of mud. His heart sinks. He no longer recognizes the topography. Heedless of dangers Christopher drives his fist into a tight space. Clinging to the side of the cliff, essentially a mud wall, he uses every fiber of his strength to stay vertical. He presses his hand inside the wet mud up to his armpit and miraculously he feels the jars.

  “Yes!” The interior cavity holds three pickle jars of money. Safe. For the moment enough to know he still has his dinero. They are in-tact along with the bottle of champagne. He checks again. One, then two and yes, three jars; his life savings survived the hurricane. Thank you.

  Reorganizing the jars to the new surface of the tiny cavern takes all his muscle. Once he’s finished he returns to join Checo. Together they face the damages in the wake of Hurricane Olivia. The gates of the town remain securely lock. No one has ventured out to help or supervise the inmates.

  Reconstruction of the island is daunting. Securing a food supply and water is the first priority. “Has the storm damaged access to the island springs?” This is the first question Christopher asks Checo.

  Checo answers, “The town remains closed off. Their resources are available only to administration and town residents. We do or die and fend for ourselves.” Christopher watches Checo’s jaguar pace. Ave Bonita standing on the bare branch of a fallen tree squawking and ruffled.

  Checo says “Fights already break out. Without food, water and the organization we can expect violence.”

  At an island meeting Checo emerges as the alpha leader. He convinces the prison factions to work together under his organization. Leaving the meeting after each group is assigned a duty Christopher says “You are a charismatic leader.”

  Checo shrugs off Christopher’s comment. “Hey gringo, in case you haven’t noticed these men are a bunch of criminals. Without organization they’ll kill each other and maybe you and me.”

  “They could escape. Build a raft and drift out to sea.”

  Checo laughs, “You’ve forgotten amigo the currents pull deep in the Pacific. They would be lost at sea.”

  Christopher shrugs. Checo slaps him on the shoulder, “Remind me of the organization plan you designed for our crew.”

  Months ago Christopher had suggested to Checo he organize their crew like a futbol team. Some would specialize in repair. Others cleaned and serviced machinery. Christopher even trained a few men in electrical protocol. As a boy wanting to earn money Christopher apprenticed to one of his father’s brothers, an electrician. He ran for equipment, handed tools called for, held ladders steady. At first he wasn’t allowed to do much. But he’d watched and learned and saved his uncle time and hundreds of extra steps. Eventually his uncle allowed him to wire lights, install circuit breakers, and repair wiring. He taught a handful of me the protocols beginning with “turn off the power!”

  The reorganization in their crew significantly reduced mindless errors and poor performance. Christopher’s goal was also achieved. The observant eyes of El Jefe, no longer fall on Checo’s maintenance crew.

  Aided by Christopher’s suggestions Checo applies the same strategy to ordering crews responsible for tasks post Hurricane Olivia. Over the next days every group Checo sends out has a purpose and mission. Fresh water retrieved from indigenous springs, food, undamaged by rain or sea water collected and stored. Checo sends one squad fishing. Another squad collects undamaged fruit. Hunting parties look for wild pig, chickens. They achieve a surprising albeit modest success.

  Cooking squads butcher and prepare meat and fish. Fire pits dot the debris covered shoreline. They place canned food along the edges of fire pits to heat. Construction teams sort out buildable wood and begin rebuilding sleeping quarters. Until the repairs are complete inmates sleep unconfined under the stars. In the wake of Hurricane Olivia stars appear vivid, alive with primordial power. Christopher thinks he sees flashes of Star Woman. He sits most nights dug into the sand on the remainder of the beach. A nearby fire dries out the wet sand. He is sleepless with longing for Juanita. Watching the shifting movement of the night sky he sees Star Woman’s gigantic face filled with eons of stars. Her words seem meaningless now. “When two hearts, in their innermost heart, beat as one, all of time stands still to bow before them… This is the power of love… Never forget.”

  Grabbing his head, pulling handfuls of hair, these memories torture him. “What good are these memories?” He will always remember the words but the loss of Juanita robs Christopher of any serenity. He is erratic. One moment calm, the next moment shattered with his loss. Over and over he relives the waking dream. Without Checo’s guidance he would wander purposeless in the debris. Instead he searches for fruit undamaged by the storm. It helps when Checo asks him questions or for his opinion.

  When the Mexican Navy, the Armada, arrives with food, building supplies and armed guards they are surprised to find inmates well behaved and productive. The island outside the town is well organized and running smoothly.

  El Jefe has hijacked guards and staff to stay within the administrative compound. It’s a lock down of sorts, ostensibly for their protection. In reality they are a labor force to repair his hacienda and the administrative buildings. A twenty-four hour patrol of armed guards insures safety. The administrative compound look out posts supplied with machine guns and other artillery are engineered to survive disasters. They actually remain standing along with the perimeter fencing.

  Embarrassed when the Armada officers report the prisoners are well organized El Jefe flies into a rage. Pounding his fist on an ornately carved library table he screams, “Find me the leader. Find me the man supervising prisoners on MY Island!”

  • • •

  Ave Bonita flies at Checo’s attackers face and hands. She squawks her formidable outrage. Checo is brutally apprehended. In the distance Ave Bonita follows the jeep where Checo has been unceremoniously dumped. Now she perches on the open window ledge of El Jefe’s hacienda. When Checo looks for her through his swollen eyes he shouts a training word for her to leave. A private language he has constructed for Ave Bonita’s safety.

  El Jefe, and Fat Luis look at each other in confusion. El Jefe wonders this some sort of voodoo?

  Standing in front of El Jefe, his eyes blackening, his body bent in pain, Checo remains unrepentant. In fact he cannot believe his ears. He shouts, “Have I actually been beaten for providing leadership that is
well organized and running smoothly?”

  Checo presses forward glaring into El Jefe’s eyes. Standing on either side of him Fat Luis and his driver shift their feet. Checo shouts, “Someone had to keep the men from killing each other!”

  A hush falls throughout the room.

  His face contorted with rage, the table quaking beneath him, El Jefe shouts, “WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?” Spittle, tinged with flecks of his cigar tobacco flies at Checo’s face. Hopping and sliding across the wooden slab El Jefe is nose to nose with Checo.

  A fist to the gut has Checo bent double. Observing the vulnerable area exposed, El Jefe slams his elbow into the soft spot at the base of Checo’s neck. Checo hits the tabletop and crumples to the ground. Ave Bonita darts from the window ledge and leaps at El Jefe’s face. Gouging her talons into his scalp she screams lifting beyond the grasping hands. Large clumps of El Jefe’s hair and skin come away with her. Her parting gift, white poop sprays across furniture and head tops. A final circle of her vibrant wings makes the room feel small before she flies into the garden.

  El Jefe has one final and permanent reminder who is in charge. Lifting Checo’s head he blows on the tip of his cigar. Bits of ash fly away until bright orange pulses in its place. All the preparation El Jefe needs. Grinding his brightly tipped cigar into Checo’s right cheek the smell of burning flesh chokes the room. Twisting the cigar deeper, widening the circumference, deep ridges form before the cigar burns all the way through Checo’s cheek. He groans in his stupor.

  “Get him out of here,” El Jefe orders.

  Luis and his driver lift Checo by the armpits.

  El Jefe longs to hide Checo in one of the caves on the island. Somewhere he can torture Checo for days. Checo’s embellished version of the rapes has been retold to him during the town’s hurricane quarantine. Hunching his broad shoulders he grimaces remembering, “the rape that lasted thirty seconds.”

  Checo witnessed the rapes, embellishing the tale to humiliate him. It took a while for the story to find El Jefe. Now that it has he feels an urgency to have his revenge. The simple comment, a poor reflection of his man hood, burned into his memory. Despite El Jefe’s brutal beating he will not rest until Checo is further punished by his hands. He will have his vengeance soon.

  • • •

  Armada guards supervise island restoration. El Jefe, and Fat Luis leave for the mainland. El Jefe’s wife Carmen teeters behind the group in high heeled shoes, spilling out of a low cut, too short, dress. Having survived the hurricane El Jefe will be generously compensated, the Mexican government providing rest and relaxation.

  El Jefe, Fat Luis gone; Christopher does not worry about being dragged into the jungle. Losing Juanita he has lost hope. Tumbling into depression and hopelessness, disorienting. It’s difficult to put one foot in front of the other. No longer receiving a share of Christopher’s chicken farm profits and after his brutal beating Checo treats him with the formality of an inmate under his supervision. Embittered, a friendly banter or exchange of ideas impossible, Checo screens every interaction through the humiliation of his beating and the filter of his resentment. Christopher thinks poisoning him inside and out.

  Joking, laughter and embellished stories have dissolved from Checo’s world. Rebellion and stoicism vie for dominance in their place. The burn on his check weeps, oozing its refusal to heal. There is no one on Islas Tres Marias with the expertise to bind his wound or heal his bitterness.

  The medical question, should they sew the gap together? Or do they allow the burn to heal and regrow its own skin? Before they can successfully address these questions the burn cyclically becomes inflamed and infected. Checo’s never healing burn an ugly reminder. Leadership, justice, valor do not have a place on La Luna.

  Ave Bonita returned to her rightful place on his shoulder is also somber. Her songs carry the lower notes of sadness. She does not leave Checo’s side. His beating, the glaring wound, purple oozing infection, has diminished his self-esteem. Leadership after the hurricane gave him personal pride and respect.

  El Jefe threw his success in his face; literally with the cigar burn. His injury has become a stigma. He has been marked unworthy. Once admired now he’s shunned and avoided by all but Christopher. It re-enacts his loss of prestige after his futbol injury sidelined his career. His jaguar no longer visible to Christopher’s searching eyes.

  Christopher lost in his own pain cannot help Checo with his disgrace. He watches Ave Bonita snuggle under Checo’s chin. She sings softly and coos. Her music soothes Checo’s heart. It’s his one comfort. The parrot understands Checo’s wound to the soul. She does her best to console him.

  Each time he sees Ava Bonita, Christopher’s heart lurches in longing for Juanita. Ave Bonita’s generous spirit extended to Checo a catalyst for his own grief. He can barely breathe under the weight of his loss.

  Days are grueling. Servicing jeeps, generators and pumps without the extra protein from eggs, chicken and fish Christopher, along with everyone else, is emaciated. Bone tired prisoners fall asleep dressed. One night Checo loses his temper over the stench. He marches the men out at midnight and hoses them off. “Toss your stinking rag clothes over the fence. Sleep naked for tonight,” he orders.

  To a man, including bosses, guards and shop owners in the town, dysentery proliferates. Mexican Pepto- Bismal does little to quell the painful, bloody evacuations. Bent over in his own anguish Christopher begins a search of the jungle and kitchen for relief.

  He begins his recipe with bananas which are soothing, binding and filled with restorative trace minerals. Dysentery leads to dehydration. Without water housed in the body the kidneys are compromised, even breaking down. He notices when inmates eat beans the dysentery worsens. He tells the cooks, “Beans are bloating and cause pain in the digestive tract. Worse they absorb water, taking hydration from already dehydrated bodies.” The cooks look at him in confusion. Backtracking Christopher says, “The body already dehydrated… more dehydration challenges the kidneys. The organs start to shut down. Dehydration will kill.”

  A walk through the kitchen gardens reveals well established ginger plants. Talking to the cook and his helpers Christopher says, “Ginger root is an ancient tonic for the stomach. Rice calms and soothes. It puffs up with water while it’s cooking. In this way it returns water to the body.”

  Throughout his childhood vitamins and nutrition were a topic of conversation at the dining table. Christopher’s father too, had studied with Master Jojo as a teen. His interest healing injuries with food began during his martial arts apprenticeship. Now Christopher applies his second generation knowledge utilizing foods like medicine. He experiments in the inmate’s kitchen. Cooked rice, bananas, grated ginger, applesauce for additional fiber, pectin (historically known as a remedy for digestive disorders) and tapioca all blend together for a porridge that will grip the lining of the intestines. He continues his explanation to the cooks who look at him in bewilderment. He says, “Carbohydrates adhere to the lining of the intestines, slowing and calming digestion.” Hitting the wooden spoon on the edge of a large kitchen pot he adds, “Simple cures put an end to dysentery.”

  Christopher’s potion has become a magical elixir. Soon all the kitchens on the island prepare the soothing cocktail. It is a turning point for Christopher. Searching out life sustaining ingredients begins to heal not only his intestines but also his spirit. For the community at large, Christopher’s role in providing relief from dysentery makes him a hero even with the guards.

  His health restored so is his will to live. Once again escape becomes a priority. Back on his feet Christopher makes a visit to his money cave. Counting out the funds he finds he has ten thousand pesos, just over two thousand dollars. Confident he has enough money Christopher strategizes its possible distribution. He’ll give the Vargas duo one third of his money; provided they agree to take him to the mainland. The remainder will take him further north, maybe by ferry and bus. Before Christopher attempts an escape El Jefe, along with h
is love of fresh fish, must return to Islas Tres Marias. He has no idea how long El Jefe will be furloughed to the mainland. The prison grapevine has no information either.

  Prisoners begin to transition back to their pre-hurricane behaviors. Christopher and Checo are the exception. Both men have been devastated by the storm. Christopher lost Juanita. Checo lost the reflection of his esteem through other men’s eyes.

  Christopher once again spends late afternoons practicing martial arts. Evenings he sits on the cliff looking out to sea. He wonders when will I see the Vargas fishing boat?

  He no longer enjoys the beauty in the changing colors of the water. Without Juanita his life has lost its color and vibrancy. Hurricane Olivia stole his precious Juanita, stealing along with her the colors that made his life rich. Her flight, in his strange dream left little doubt in his mind that she and her father were consumed by the hurricane.

  One evening he sees what he has been looking for; the Cabalitto de Mar sits glowing in the sunset. But another week passes and still El Jefe’s hacienda remains empty.

  Anna the nurse has returned to the island with her husband the head accountant of the town. Christopher advises Checo, “Anna will help you heal the burn on your cheek.”

  • • •

  Christopher met Anna several weeks into his captivity. Exploring he’d slipped on the rocks and cut open his knee. He needed stiches and antibiotics. It was early in his incarceration and Anna gave him encouragement. Looking at Checo now, Christopher remembers his first encounter with Anna. While Anna sewed up his knee, she’d said, “You have not lost God’s Favor. Stay true to Beneficence. You will come through this time better, stronger than before.”

  Christopher had said, “Anna your words sound familiar to me. The Captain’s daughter, Juanita speaks about Beneficence. She taught me a chant; Goals, acts, faith in Beneficence.”