Chapter 1: Lisbeth

Guatemala, April 1978
Just a year ago Lisbeth’s best student would have tried to kill her.  Now Etelvina was bent over her desk completing her Economics 101 exam like the rest of the students in class.  Life had certainly tested Etelvina; now only time would tell if it would bring out the best in her.
The metallic bell rang announcing the end of fourth period.  Professor Lisbeth Alvarado de Santizo picked up her students’ exams and quickly stashed them in her leather briefcase.  It was 11:30 and she would have to rush home to nurse Rudy, her ten-month-old baby.  As Lisbeth inserted the key to open her car, she heard a familiar voice calling her.  Etelvina was running toward her, her pony tail bouncing back and forth, her tennis shoes crunching the gravel.
Lisbeth thought about driving off but that would only upset their fragile relationship, instead she opened the door to put her briefcase on the back seat.  Hot steam burst out of the car so she rolled down the windows and decided to wait in the midday heat for her student to catch up with her.
 It was always the same with Etelvina --expecting to be treated with privileges she thought she deserved.  The girl felt superior because she had spent two years as a guerrilla member living in the mountains.  There she had developed ideas far to the left of the faculty and students of Universidad Francisco Marroquín --sometimes referred to as the “Harvard” of Guatemala.  This small and new exclusive institution’s purpose was to teach the value of free market economics. 
“Professor,” Etelvina said, waving a white paper, “I’m sorry I didn’t turn in my exam but I really needed to make my point.”
 “It’s not fair to your classmates that you’re handing in your test late,” Lisbeth said, opening the door to her 1978 Saab, and putting her briefcase onto the back seat.
“I know, but it was important that I explain that free market economics doesn’t make sense in a country like ours where 90% of our people can’t even eat three meals a day.”
“If that’s what you think, then you’ve missed the point of our class.  Freedom of choice is the only way Guatemalans will prosper.”
As if to think about her answer, Etelvina tried to fix the red ribbon in her pony tail but gave up and stuck the ribbon in her jeans pocket.  Her thick shinny black hair fell loose down to her shoulders; she was really a brown beauty.
“Professor, I need you to understand that I joined the guerrilla because there is no freedom of choice for the poor.  They can’t choose.  That’s why the guerrilla movement is so important.”
“Etelvina, I don’t despise all the guerrillas,” Lisbeth said.  “Some of the first guerrilleros wanted to clean up the government, not destroy capitalism.”
  Etelvina was quiet for a second then she looked into Lisbeth’s eyes and said, “I just want you to know that if it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t have stayed at Marroquín.”
 Lisbeth held her stare, she sounded honest. “I’m honored,” Lisbeth smiled.  “I must go now.  I must get home to nurse my baby.” A little shock in her breasts had reminded her of Rudy. 
“I’m sorry I kept you,” Etelvina said.  “You don’t have to take my exam.”
“This will be the last time.” Lisbeth took the paper, got in her car, and quickly turned on the air conditioner.
“Thank you, Professor.  It will be the last time.”
Lisbeth was five years older than Etelvina and the only thing they shared was growing up without a mother.  Maybe that’s why Lisbeth wanted to help the girl.  Etelvina’s father was known to be an international playboy --married five times.  Lisbeth’s mother had died at her birth.  Both had been raised by a nanny and aunts.
Lisbeth slowed down to pass the wide bumps in front of La Guardia de Honor.   Luckily, she didn’t have to wait for a troop of soldiers to come marching out the building to practice drills at the Campo de Marte.  It was incomprehensible why a girl from a good family would risk her life by involving herself with the guerrillas.  Thank God Etelvina’s father, the current Ambassador to Italy, had forced her to give it up and enroll at the university.  Lisbeth would feel successful if she changed her students’ mind.  But the girl was so rough.  She wore jeans and tennis shoes to class everyday instead of the designer clothes and heals the other students wore.  And when she challenged other students’ points of view, she would often end the discussion by shouting in anger.  Lisbeth shook her head.  She would never display her emotions in public.  She had learned to be proper early in life.  She didn’t even own a pair of jeans nor wanted to.
Lisbeth agreed with Etelvina on one point:  The guerrilla movement existed because it had valid grievances with the government.  But the guerrillas were communists.  They were destroying the country and had kidnapped and killed several of her friends.  They had to be stopped.  There had to be order in the country --it was the only way to attract foreign investors.  And the military had to provide that protection for its citizens.
Lisbeth was listening to a Julio Iglesias tape when she drove up the mountain to boulevard Vista Hermosa in Zona 15; a suburban area far from the slums and the smog of the city.  It was a modern place --a small replica of a gringo city with a mall, supermarket, video store, gas station, and a couple of fashion stores.
Professionals, plantation owners, business people, foreigners, and some young couples with family money lived there.  It was safe and clean.  Most of the houses were custom built and made of concrete to resist earthquakes.  Bougainvilleas hung from the walls facing the road and many had beautiful landscaped gardens.
In the privacy of her car Lisbeth touched her right breast.  Though small, it was hard.  She could feel her milk would come soon.  She raced up the road.  Surprisingly, traffic was light.  In ten minutes she crossed Boulevard Vista Hermosa and turned toward Carretera a El Salvador, where she lived in the mountains near San Jose Pinula, a place where the morning fog lingered on the highway until the sun burned it off.  It was about 6000 feet high and cooler than the city a thousand feet below.            
Just as she turned to head up the mountain she saw several soldiers blocking the highway.  One raised his hand to stop her and told her to park at the end of the row.  Damn.  Cars were lined up several kilometers up the road.
Two tanks and eight military trucks were stationed across the two way lane.  About two hundred soldiers with rifles hung over their backs were jumping off trucks and moving into position.  This was insane, another annoying barricade.  She would be stuck here for at least an hour and wouldn’t get to Rudy in time.
Lisbeth ran through her mind the different reasons the military might be conducting a search; illegal propaganda, hidden explosives, a guerrillero trying to flee the country, the body of an important man or a kidnapped executive hidden in the trunk of a stolen car.  As much as Lisbeth didn’t like the military, and being delayed was a problem, she felt some comfort knowing they were doing their job.
In the last month, someone had even been calling her home threatening to kidnap her or Alejandro, her husband, and there had been a bomb threat at his company.  Menaces like this weren’t unusual; everyone who had money or disagreed with the guerrillas was on a black list.  Universidad Marroquín received anonymous calls just about every week.  Faculty and students had grown used to evacuating the building.  At campus, after a bomb threat was announced, everyone took a leisurely walk to the parking lot and finished their cigarettes before driving off.  So far, no bomb had exploded there.  Faculty and students would return to school the following day to take a test, turn in a paper, make a presentation, or hear a lecture.  Everyone acted as if nothing had happened.
The column of soldiers was now unfurling down the road.  With this many troops, the search could take hours.  Lisbeth didn’t have time for this.  She had to do something to bypass the line and get home to Rudy.
Lisbeth had waited six long years to have her baby and never did she dream that she could love him more than she loved teaching economics.  It took less than a month to know what motherly love meant.  Now every time Rudy locked his eyes on hers, butterflies of warmth rippled over her body.
To avoid the heat inside their cars and to kill time, most people were standing on the side of the road, smoking and casually chatting.  A driver turned the radio on.  The happy tune of  “Se van el Caimán, se va para Barranquilla . . .” blasted nearby.  Spontaneous events like this made the people in the country seemed fun and colorful but also made them appear as if they didn’t give a hoot about what happened around them.  Maybe it was just another way of tuning danger out of their consciousness.
Here in the middle of the road, the festive mood lasted less than half a song.  An army officer ordered the driver to turn the radio off.   The abrupt stop of a fair-like mood could mean this was serious. 
Lisbeth stayed inside her car hoping the lines would clear quickly.  After about thirty minutes her engine started to overheat.  She turned off the car and with it, the air-conditioning.  She breathed in hot humid air when she stuck her head out the window to ask a soldier walking by, “How long will this be?”
The soldier kept walking by.  Maybe he hadn’t heard her.  Little pearls of sweat dripped down her face.  She pulled out a tissue from her purse and patted her forehead and neck.  The Easter summer sun could make people faint in the humid heat.  Luckily, today she didn’t have to worry about Alejandro being trapped in the heat like she was.  He’d be in an air conditioned building at a business luncheon.  He had them every Wednesday.  She wished she could call home and hear Rudy giggle.
Lisbeth inspected her surroundings; in case of an emergency, she wanted to see who was close to her and whether she could trust them.  A middle-aged man wearing a suit and tie was sitting in the golden Renault behind her.  He was too well dressed to be a guerrilla member or involved in helping them; he would probably be a lawyer or a salesman.  He could be going home for lunch, just like she was.  The man caught her gaze through her rearview mirror and waved.  She blushed a bit and waved back.
The white pickup parked in front of her was loaded with a marble bench.  The man reclining in the back next to it was clean cut and well shaved.  His clothes were the workingman's uniform --jeans and a white t-shirt.  He was making a delivery; he couldn't have been hiding in the mountains with the guerrillas.  She concluded that at least her closest neighbors were honest hard working citizens, not dangerous rebels.    
The bus passengers, mainly peasants, were standing in line waiting to be searched.  A group of five soldiers walked down the line and stopped to look or say something to each of them.  Lisbeth couldn’t imagine any of the peasants being a guerrillero.  These people had left their chickens and vegetables inside the bus, they weren’t subversives.   The soldiers were wasting their time and hers.
When the soldiers reached the end of the line they huddled in a circle to discuss something and then walked the line again.  This time, two soldiers stopped in front of a young man wearing rubber sandals and a cowboy hat.  Without saying a word, one of the soldiers spread the man’s legs and searched him up and down, then handcuffed him.  He was led by one of the soldiers and pushed into the back of a police car.
Lisbeth watched with horror as the peasant was taken away in the patrol car.  She was sure everyone watching was grateful it wasn’t them in the car.  She wasn't sure if the man's liberties had been violated or if he had violated the law and deserved to be put in jail.  The poor man didn’t seem like a guerrillero.  But except for Etelvina, Lisbeth didn’t know any guerrilleros.
Possibly to break the tension, a group of about ten men stood by the ravine urinating, competing to see whose piss would travel further.  She hated this vulgarity.  She shut her eyes for a moment, but she had to stay alert and opened them just in time to see one man’s pee arching down into the ravine like a waterfall.  The men laughed and jokingly punched the winner to congratulate him.
By now her breasts where beginning to pain her.  Soon her milk would drip and mix with her sweat.  She had never gone thirty minutes past the time for nursing Rudy.  She had to think of some way to dissuade the soldiers from inspecting her car.  Maybe she could say that she was a doctor on an emergency call.  But if he opened her briefcase and found school papers instead of medical equipment, she would be in trouble.  They could very well take her away just like they did the peasant.
 Maybe she could say she had left lunch in the oven and it would cause a fire if she didn’t get home soon.  She wouldn’t do that, the soldier wasn’t stupid.  With a car like hers, he would know lunch would be prepared by the cook and served warm when Lisbeth sat at the dining table.  It was lunch time but for now she didn’t want food.  She was hot and thirsty.  She wanted a cold Coke, but there were only vendors -for the most part children under ten- selling peeled oranges and mangos with salt and lime packaged in little plastic bags.  The thought of walking past maybe another line of men urinating or zipping their pants changed her mind.  She hated the prospect of their stares, cat calls, and rude remarks.
An hour went by.  Her yellow silk blouse was drenched with sweat.  She leaned on the steering wheel to cool her back but also secretly to touch her breasts.  They were as firm as lemon-limes; her nipples were large and erect and needed a release.  If only Rudy could suck.  She felt milk beginning to wet her bra.  Maybe if she explained her situation to a soldier, he would let her go.  Indian people married young and had children nine months later.  If he didn’t have a wife, his mother was probably still nursing her tenth or twelfth child.  It was worth a try.
“Hey, Mr. Soldier,” Lisbeth called.
The soldier, a man about five feet tall, moved his chin up, which meant, “What do you want?”  
“I have a problem.”
“Everyone has a problem here, Señorita.  No privileges, everyone waits,” he said and walked away fixing his green helmet.
Usually his answer wouldn’t discourage her from asking someone else. But she had the sense that it wasn’t safe today.  The military had set up trucks at the beginning of the road and there were soldiers walking up and down.  The barricade was set up perfectly.  It would be impossible for any driver to escape without being shot or going off the road and ending up at the bottom of the ravine.  So like the rest of the people, Lisbeth's only choice was to wait her turn. She hoped Rosita, Rudy’s nanny, would figure something had happened to her and feed him.
Little geysers of steam were coming off the asphalt, the leather seat was sticking to her skin, and the line of peeing men had dispersed.  Now she could have an orange --a green one, juicy and a bit acidic.  That’s how she liked her oranges.  In her two inch heels she walked half a block to find a vendor.  It felt good to take long steps and stretch her legs.  She bought an orange from a boy wearing old tennis shoes without laces or socks and pants torn at the knees.  He charged her 150% more than she would have paid any other place.
Lisbeth smiled at the boy’s wit.  She had witnessed an economic principle in action.  If allowed, even young children without schooling would find a way to profit.  How can a boy that young know such a principle intuitively?  It had to be part of human nature.  If it was human nature then this boy would be wealthy ten years from now.  Not so –he most likely will still be selling oranges.  Etelvina’s words flashed back to her.  “Poor don’t have a choice.”
The vendor did have a choice.  He had chosen to sell oranges versus something else and had found a way to profit by it.  But how could his meager sales save him from poverty?  Annoyed with herself for not having an immediate answer, Lisbeth went back to her car.  She was about fifty feet away when she saw three soldiers surrounding her Saab.  She thought about running to them but with her heels on she was more likely to fall flat on her face on the asphalt than to get to her car faster.  In her hurry what was left of the orange fell from her hand.
“Señorita,” said one of the soldiers.  She was too hot to notice particular differences about the soldiers except that the one addressing her was about a head taller than the other two.  “Is this Saab yours?”
“Yes.”
“Show me your papers, please.”
Before searching her small blue leather purse for her driver’s license, she glanced at him.  His camouflaged green, tan and brown uniform was meant to blend in with the bushes but on the highway it made him stand out.  His black-laced boots seemed heavy and too hot to walk in on a warm day like today.  His green beret fit tight on his forehead.  On its edge, it had a triangle with narrow strips like an arrowhead and a sign that announced his division, ‘Cobra.’
“Señorita, I’m waiting to see your license,” he repeated.
Her hands were slightly trembling.  Stop.  She needed her hands to be steady to give the soldier her license.  She shouldn’t be scared; she should be used to these barricades by now.  Last year the army had set them up on every highway out of the country.  But this time Lisbeth had the feeling something was wrong.  She had never waited this long.  She gave him the paper.
 The soldier brought her license close to his face and wiggled his wrist.  Lisbeth saw his stainless steel watch shining on his wrist.  He was showing off a cheap Timex.  Maybe it was his first watch.
 “Nice watch,” she said.
“Thank you,” he said.  His left hand was holding the machine gun which hung from his shoulder.  The piece of metal seemed part of his body, like a third arm.  “Now, señora de Santizo, open all the doors and don’t forget the trunk.”  He pronounced her married name quietly, almost politely, but his jaws gave him away.  They were pressed tight and he sounded bitter, even vengeful as if she had offended him for having complemented him on his watch. 
Lisbeth opened the doors quickly and stepped out of the man’s way.  If she did everything as asked, she could be driving home soon.
A minute later he said, “Señora de Santizo, we found the red box.  You’ve got some explaining to do.”
Her heart lurched, she had forgotten about the box.  Alejandro had put together five emergency kits, one for each of their cars.  He wanted to make sure each vehicle had its own tools and a gun.  She was sure the soldiers had found the small silver gun.  For a second she hoped Alejandro had taken it out to clean it and had forgotten to put it back.  But knowing her husband, it was a wasted thought.  He would never risk their lives.  He’d do anything to make sure she and Rudy were safe.  She looked at the red metallic toolbox sitting on the black carpet lining.  The emergency kit was arranged so neatly it gave the impression it was on display for sale.  What would they do to her?  Would they body search her?
 The soldier pulled the silver gun from behind his back and held it in the palm of his left hand.  “Señora,” he said, “how do you explain the gun?”  The soldier’s green eyes held her green ones.  He raised the gun so that it touched her cheek, then put his finger on the trigger.  The soldier was acting macho and wanted to intimidate her.  She held his stare and didn’t move, while inside she was shaking.
“I carry it to defend myself . . . in case of an emergency.  You know.”
“It’s illegal for civilians to carry guns.”
“Captain,” she said, reading the emblem on his collar, “I’m a woman, a university professor, a wife, and a mother, and like you, I’m responsible for what happens in our country.  I hate violence.  But you’re aware as well as I am that if I get a flat tire and have to stop to change it, I’d better have something to defend myself with.”
 “How did you know I was a captain?” he asked, removing the gun from her face and putting the lock back on.
“I know the ranks.”
He rubbed the gun with his hand --and slowly, starting from her legs, his eyes traveled up her body.  “Were you born in the city?”
 Pig, she thought, he was undressing her with his mind.  She stayed cool, pretending it didn't bother her.  But she saw him stare at her breasts.  Lucky for her she had worn a maternity bra which absorbed the milk.
“Yes, I was,” she said.  “And Captain, I carry the gun for self-protection.”
“Cobán, were you born there?”
She had been asked this question before; people from Cobán tended to have brown skin and green eyes like hers and the captain’s.
“I said the city.  I was born right here in Guatemala City.  Hospital Herrera Llerandi."  That's what she had been told.  "Were you born in Cobán?”  Lisbeth asked him.
“I ask the questions,” he said, “But yes, that’s where I’m from.”
Lisbeth nodded, not knowing what else to say.  Maybe the Captain resented that his opportunities in life were limited.  Maybe he felt resentful because, she surmised, a German landowner from Cobán might have raped his Indian mother and never acknowledged his birth nor recognized him as his child.  One of Lisbeth's grandfathers was German and he’d always deplored that his co-patriots abused and raped the young Indian girls.
She stood on the road, sweating, her breasts aching, surrounded by the three soldiers and now people watching.  “Captain,” she said, “I’m tired and my baby is waiting at home for me to nurse him.”
“I’m going to have to take you to the police station.”  The muscles on his face didn’t move.  His green eyes, framed by his long dark eyelashes, reminded Lisbeth of a staring owl.  
Her legs wiggled a little, she needed air.  “I appeal to you, if you have young children, please let me go home to my child.”
“Ha, ha, ha.  You carry a gun illegally and you expect me to break the law and let you go unpunished?” He shook his head.  “Why do you expect to be treated with special attention?  Or in the case of a pretty girl like you. . . “
Lisbeth flushed, angry at the Captain.  Enough with being polite.  “My grandfather was General Xerofino Castellanos and he would never approve of what you’re doing.” Perhaps mentioning her grandfather’s name would change the Captain’s attitude.
“Xerofino Castellanos?”
“He taught me to shoot and he was the one who told me I must always carry a gun.”  Her grandfather’s passion was collecting guns and he had bullets in every possible drawer in his house.
The soldier suddenly straightened his posture and saluted her.  “I’ve heard about the General.  He’s been retired for thirty years.  Is he still alive?”
“He died.”  She didn’t dare add that she saw her grandfather as one of the few honest men in the military.
“My respects to you.  We learned about General Castellanos in class.  Always wanted to meet him.  Great man he was.”  The Cobra bowed his head slightly and looked at her with respect.
Though relieved, Lisbeth’s heart was still pounding.  Hoping the Captain would let her go immediately, she would tell him something that would make him feel she trusted him with a secret.  “He died peacefully in his sleep,” she said.  “The night before he died, the General told me he was sad to see our country bleeding.”
“So am I, so am I.”  The captain held himself to appear taller and professional.  “Here, keep the gun.  You’re right, you might need it.”
She gave him a half smile and took the gun.  “Can I go now?”
Suddenly, their little moment of truth evaporated.  The soldier stared back at her with distrust.  “Next time you might not be so lucky.  But as blood to one of our defenders, I’ll let you go.  I’m Captain Estevan Gonzales.”
 “Captain Gonzales, one question?”
“Sí señora?”
“What are you looking for?”
“It’s a routine check.”
“What sort of routine?” she asked.
 “You wouldn’t want to know, it would frighten you.”
“Oh,” she nodded.  She smiled at his attempt to intimidate her.  He was lying and contradicting himself.  This was not a routine check, not with over two hundred soldiers.  But she didn’t care, she was going home.  Aware that she was being watched, she tried to appear calm as she closed the trunk.  In calculated motions she got into her Saab, put the gun on the seat, turned the engine on and the air-conditioning full blast.  Just the mention of her grandfather’s name was better than lying, inventing an excuse, or even bribing.  She would remember that next time.
Lisbeth started driving past the line of other cars when she felt a jolt and heard the rush of a motor next to her.  The golden Renault that had been behind her sped ahead.  Lisbeth slammed on her brakes.  A machine gun went off.  She turned and saw Captain Gonzales had dropped to his knees and was firing at the car.  Bullets kept hitting the car, God knows how many times, until it skidded off the road and rolled down the ravine.  A group of nearby soldiers ran to the edge of the cliff and stood pointing their rifles, ready to fire.  She was paralyzed inside her car watching.  This couldn’t be real.
 An enormous explosion blew the soldiers to the ground.  Soon a dark cloud of smoke rose from the ravine.  Seconds later a ball of fire came running from where the car had gone off the edge.  It was the driver, shouting, “Help!  Somebody help me!”
The middle aged man she had smiled to threw himself to the asphalt and rolled around the dirt but flames were consuming his suit.  The Captain just stood there watching.
“Why doesn’t anybody help him!”  Lisbeth shouted, grabbed the fire extinguisher inside her trunk and ran toward the burning man.
The captain seized her by her arm.  “Don’t interfere!”
“Don’t touch me!”  Lisbeth pulled to get loose but the captains grip was like an iron claw.  “He’ll die if someone doesn’t do something!”
The captain clutched her arm even tighter.  “Let that communist burn,” he said.  He was looking at her with a wicked smile on his face as if enjoying her pain and not caring at all about the man.
Immobilized as she was, she was still able to open the fire extinguisher and point the foam at the man in flames but he was too far away and not even a mist of the spray reached him.  She shook the can and pointed higher but it didn’t help.  She had to end the man’s suffering.
 “Shoot him!” she said.
“He’s a lesson for everyone to see.  You shoot him, if you dare.”  The captian let go of her.
The man was rolling on the ground, growling.  “Ayyy . . . help me,” his voice becoming weaker, almost a whisper.
Lisbeth dropped the empty fire extinguisher and ran to the car to get her gun.  When she felt she was close to the man, she aimed at what she thought was his heart.  She pressed the trigger but her finger froze just before it fired.  She couldn’t kill him.  She was a coward.
The man stopped moaning.  The air smelled of burnt human meat. She hoped he was dead.
She should shoot Captain Gonzales.  She turned and aimed the pistol at him.  Immediately, two soldiers ran towards her.
“Let her be,” said the captain then turned to her.  “She doesn’t even have the stomach to shoot a man for mercy, she would never shoot me.  Besides, she’s General Castellanos’ granddaughter; she wouldn’t hurt a soldier.”
Horrified, she knew the captain was right.  She couldn’t kill another human being. That was God’s decision.  Only then did it occur to her the Captain hadn’t ordered his men to arrest her.  Maybe behind his green staring eyes there was still a spark of a good man left.  With her shoulders hunched, she put the safety back on the pistol and walked back to her car.
“You have your grandfather’s will to fight,” said the captain walking behind her. “You just don’t have his guts to finish what you started.”
“Don’t mention my grandfather after what you did.  He’d imprison you for torturing a civilian.”
“Your grandfather would have given me a medal.  And now, señora, you’d better get out of here before I change my mind and keep you.”
She had to leave while she had a chance, and before she fainted.  The man’s body was shrinking and quickly becoming charcoal.  With her ears vibrating from the blast and a sick feeling running through her, Lisbeth got into the car and drove towards San Jose Pinula.  Through her rearview mirror she saw soldiers hiking down the ravine.  They were bloodless murderers.  Maybe the guerrillas were right.  Maybe the only way to destroy the military monsters was to use violence against them.  As she drove up the mountain she heard ambulance sirens on their way.  What for?  The man was already pulverized.  The country was falling to pieces.
Lisbeth had been held for over two hours.  In minutes she would be home.  Thank God she was alive.  The last thing she wanted was for Rudy to grow up without a mother like she had done.  She couldn’t raise Rudy in a country where life wasn’t worth a dime.  She began to think about leaving Guatemala and taking Rudy to the States, away from this violence.  She would talk to Alejandro about it.
She drove into her five car garage and turned off the engine but sat inside the car.  Before walking into her house and holding Rudy she had to shake off the horror she felt.
She wiped away her tears with trembling hands, then leaned her head on the steering wheel to calm herself down.  She didn’t remember how she drove home.  She didn’t remember Antonio, the security guard, opening the gate or if she had waved to any of her neighbors in their gated community.  She hadn’t even noticed the sprinklers were on until she saw the drops of water sliding down her windshield.
Rosita, Rudy’s nanny, opened the garage door.  “Doña Lisbeth, we were so worried.”
 “I’m home safe, that’s what counts.”  It was comforting to Lisbeth to see Rosita impeccably clean, wearing her light blue uniform and white starched apron, her long braids tied with a string of white and blue wool.  At this moment, Rosita represented balance in her world. 
 “You must be hungry.  I can ask the cook to fix you something.”
“I couldn’t eat right now, Rosita.  How’s Rudy?”
“Asleep, I already fed him.”
“I knew you would.”  Lisbeth knew Rosita would never ask what had happened but they both knew Lisbeth was never late to feed Rudy.
“Don Alejandro called; he wants you to call immediately.  Would you like me to get him on the line for you?"   
Lisbeth nodded and got out of the car.  She didn’t want to think that something else could be so terribly wrong.  Her adrenaline was still surging through her, her pulse was quick, her feet were swollen in her two-inch heels and they hurt but she didn’t take them off.  She went into the house, passed through her modern kitchen, hallways, and two living rooms.  Usually she would stop to check if the furniture was dusted and polished or to fix a yellow or white pompom that was not sitting right in a vase.
In front of Rudy’s room, Lisbeth took off her heels and tiptoed in.  He was sleeping in his crib, arms and legs fully extended, wearing only a disposable diaper.  How peaceful he looked.  Lisbeth touched his chubby little feet to feel his soft skin and let him know that even when he was asleep she loved him.  Then she went to her room to take a shower.  She had to scrub away the smell of human flesh that had rooted in her nostrils, her lungs, her cells, her memory.
Lisbeth took off her clothes and thought about burning them.  Then she decided to keep them as a reminder of what the military was capable of doing.
Naked, she stepped into the shower.  As soon as she felt the freshness of the water on her shoulders, she pressed her right breast with both hands and began pumping it.  She had been blessed with an abundance of milk.  The white liquid immediately began to surge and streamed down her stomach, her legs, merging with the gentle flow of water dripping from the shower until it thinned down and disappeared into the drain.  She pressed her other breast and pumped it with as much vigor.  Finally the pain in her breasts ceased, now it was her heart that ached.
What an irony --her breasts were the sustainers of life and yet she couldn’t sustain the burning man’s life.  She was unable to end his suffering or rid the world of the soldier’s wicked heart.  She took a washcloth and savagely scrubbed her thighs, arms, and abdomen.  She saw her white bikini lines on her slim, firm body and wanted to make them disappear.  What kind of government would torture and kill its citizens like that?  She scraped her flesh hard over and over until her skin was pink and aching.  If Alejandro was home she would cuddle in his arms and talk to him about Boca Raton.
Lisbeth donned her robe and with a towel wrapped around her hair she walked into Rudy’s room.  He was awake and crawling on the floor.  She picked him up, hugged and kissed his soft baby cheeks.  She had been careful not to empty her breasts completely.  She sat on the rocking chair and opened her robe.  He put his little hands around her breast, found her nipple and began sucking --a little too eagerly.  It hurt.  She could see him swallowing but not relaxing.  Lisbeth’s heart was thumping loud, she could hear it and she was sure Rudy could too; he stopped sucking and stared at her.  In his own way he knew something wasn’t right.  She closed her robe and set Rudy on the floor to play ball.
Rosita walked in and said, “The phones must be down.  Would you like me to keep trying?”
“Blocked phone lines happen often.  Give it a rest.”  If something was wrong, Alejandro would find a way to let her know.
Lisbeth kept playing with Rudy until it was time to give him his evening bath.  She dressed him in his rubber ducky pajamas and sat on the rocking chair to nurse him again.  Finally his big brown eyes closed.  Lisbeth caressed his fuzzy black head.  He was so perfect.  How would she raise Rudy in such a world?  She couldn’t.  She had to convince Alejandro to move.  She squeezed Rudy’s body close to hers.  The movement woke him up but just enough for him to keep sucking.  Thank God she still had milk after the terrifying experience.  Women’s bodies had the capacity to produce nourishment for a child, no matter how deep the fear.  God was wise.