I REACHED MY hotel reception at 3 pm, two hours later than agreed, expecting to find Camila and her father pacing in the lobby impatiently They weren’t. I checked my phone. My luck was in. Camila had left three nearly identical messages: her mother wasn’t feeling well. Could we make it dinner instead of lunch?
Señor Muñoz picked me up that evening at 5.30 pm. He was in a cheerful mood, and since Camila hadn’t accompanied him, I was forced to make future-son-in-law conversation. He thanked me for giving Camila a cell phone.
‘It gives me peace of mind to know where she is during the day and when to expect her home, although I wish the signal worked south of Garbanzos.’
I half expected a fatherly lecture from Señor Muñoz on the security situation. But, unlike Uncle Leo, he treated me as an adult. We spoke man to man, and he was even open about his reason for coming early – dinner wasn’t until seven o’clock, but it was safer to travel during daylight hours.
At least, he said, we didn’t have to worry about passing through the Guerrilla roadblock because it was located four kilometres south of his house, at the northern entrance to Llorona.
‘But my brother, who lives in Cali, told me that in his region the Guerrilla sometimes erect surprise roadblocks on lonely stretches of highway to kidnap rich people for ransom. Of course I’m sure that won’t happen here, especially with the peace talks, but I’d rather you stay the night.’ Señor Muñoz turned his head and winked at me. ‘In the spare bed, of course.’
I was surprised at how relaxed he was. It seemed he’d become accustomed to the Guerrilla’s proximity, even enough to have me in his car despite knowing that I’d defied their ban on burying Papá. I enjoyed him sharing these confidences with me – security issues weren’t something to discuss with women.
Dinner with Camila’s brothers and mother went smoothly. I talked about Ñoño and Coca-Cola as though they were work colleagues, and I even managed to crack a few jokes. When Señora Muñoz talked excitedly about the upcoming Díaz family fiesta, I didn’t have the heart to tell her I wouldn’t attend.
After dessert, I agreed to stay the night on the fold-out cot beside Camila’s eldest brother, Sebastián, in order to show Señor Muñoz that I, too, was cautious about safety.
When her brother was asleep, Camila pushed the door open slightly and signalled to me from the corridor. Placing her fingertip to her lips, she led me outside and under the house using a small flashlight.
The floorboards were thin and we had to whisper so as not to wake her parents. At first, I was expecting an illicit midnight tryst. Instead, she led me to a corner and handed me two pieces of wood.
‘I thought you might like to see this.’
‘What is it?’
She twisted one piece so it was perpendicular to the other. I drew breath, recognising my father’s cross.
I ran my hands along the splintered wood. My fingertips found the bullet holes and memories flooded back: making the cross from the scarecrow on the day they executed Papá; returning to the finca to find it bullet-riddled under the oak tree; driving it back into the ground before setting off to kill Ratón.
‘Thank you for rescuing this,’ I said, although Camila removing it to protect me hadn’t changed anything – according to Uncle Leo, everyone knew I was the one who’d written the pro-Autodefensa graffiti on our finca.
I looked up and saw that Camila’s arms were folded.
‘I don’t want you going back to the finca. It’s not safe. Promise me you won’t.’
‘Bien.’ I shrugged, since I had no intention of visiting our finca. ‘I promise.’
‘And promise that you aren’t going after Zorrillo or your father’s other killers.’
‘What?’ The space beneath the house suddenly shrank. I felt claustrophobic, hemmed in by the overhead floorboards and nearby concrete support columns.
‘Pedro, please! I’m worried about you. I know you. You’re planning something. I can feel it. I want you to promise me on your father’s cross.’
‘Promise you what?’ I hoped she wouldn’t mention Zorrillo again – that was a promise I could never make.
‘That you won’t do anything stupid like last time.’
I took her in my arms and hugged her tightly. ‘I promise, baby. I won’t take any unnecessary risks.’
The next morning I accompanied Camila to school on the colectivo. I kissed her goodbye at the school gates and waited until she had passed inside the cyclone wire fence, turned to wave goodbye and passed out of sight.
Then I took out my cell phone and prepared to make a call. I’d told Camila the truth – I wouldn’t take any unnecessary risks. But that wouldn’t stop me from taking the necessary ones.