Chapter 21
Clive’s boat waited in the Las Palmas harbor. He sat out on the vessel’s deck, next to a young doctor from Cuba. The two men looked out onto the steep hillside of spindly, naked trees, and above it, the actual town of Las Palmas. The doctor only spoke Spanish. Clive only spoke English. But Clive understood what was happening. The doctor had the IVs ready for Zara and the baby. He had the rest of the medical supplies in a mid-sized wheeling suitcase, but Clive couldn’t imagine how they would get it up the muddy, eroding hill on wheels. They’d have to carry it.
There was a vague track that snaked up the hill. Clive only noticed it after staring at it for hours. Along the track, the treeline was lower, because it had no standing trees, only fallen trunks and branches. Maybe it had once been a road.
Nobody came all morning. Would he and the doctor have to go up into the town and find Marisol’s cousins? What if they were too sick to come? Or worse, what if he was too late? He wanted to call Marisol to see if she knew anything, but he couldn’t get a signal.
How could he and the doctor even find them? Just start walking around asking for Nidia Rivera? He had a street address, but how could anyone give them directions? From what he understood, there were no discernible streets anymore.
Early in the afternoon, there was a rustle of movement at the top of the hill. The doctor saw them first.
“Mira!”
Clive sat up and set down his soda.
The two men saw a small knot of figures emerge from behind a tangle of fallen trees, headed down.
Wordlessly, the two men started up the hill. The knot of people turned out to be a middle-aged woman carrying a whimpering baby, and an older woman and younger man carrying a young woman who seemed barely conscious.
Clive and the doctor met them halfway up the hill and helped carry the two of them down.
The doctor conferred with the older woman, who apparently was named Mrs. Talamantez, and the doctor managed to take both of the patients’ pulses as they picked their way down the hill.
The middle-aged woman was crying silently, tears streaming down her face as they did their best to hurry toward the boat.
* * *
Nidia wiped her tears. She needed to focus. Once onboard, she went below deck with the doctor and Mrs. Talamantez and helped them hook up Zara and the baby to the IVs.
The doctor sent her above deck to drink water, and she watched as her neighbor helped Clive unload two pallets of bottled water from Jamaica.
Then Clive handed the suitcase to the man.
Shortly thereafter, the doctor and Mrs. Talamantez came back above deck and stepped off the boat.
Nidia translated for them. “She says they need to get to a hospital as soon as possible,” she told Clive, struggling again to control her tears.
“Are they going to be okay?” Clive asked.
Nidia’s jaw was tight. “We don’t know yet.”
* * *
The four of them were in the open sea off the coast of the Dominican Republic when the baby went from a whimper to a proper cry.
Nidia picked him up.
“Yes, mi amor!” she cooed, tears streaming, despite her smile. “Tell me all about it.”
Nidia held the baby in her lap. She sat on the foot of the cot where Zara lay. The IV had successfully rehydrated her, but she was still unresponsive.
Half an hour later, the baby had stopped crying, and Nidia brought him out onto the deck. The baby blinked, looking out at all the water, and let out a loud laugh when the wind hit his face.
“How’s the mother?” Clive asked.
“I’m praying,” Nidia said, biting back tears.
* * *
Zara was still unresponsive when the Coast Guard stopped them upon arrival in Miami. Nidia was below deck by her bedside. The IV had hydrated Zara’s body—the vein in the crook of her elbow was even fully raised above the level of the skin. But she still lay inert, her breathing shallow.
The space was illuminated by a single candle, flickering in a weighted holder.
“Wake up, mi amor,” Nidia said. “Just like your precious baby did. It’s your turn. Open your eyes. You can do it.”
The baby lay next to his mother. He had woken up briefly, drank formula, cried for half an hour, and then fallen back to sleep.
As Nidia squeezed her daughter’s hand in a whispered prayer, an amplified voice came from the Coast Guard ship.
“Please identify yourself,” the voice thundered. “You do not have authorization to dock in the United States.”
Zara scrambled up onto the deck. It was night, and she was nearly blinded by the spotlight of the much bigger ship.
Initially, Nidia was relieved, but Clive stood on the deck with his hands in the air.
“I have refugees from Puerto Rico,” he shouted into the wind.
“Keep your hands up,” the voice boomed.
Eventually, two officers came aboard the boat. By then, Nidia had gone down and brought the baby up onto the deck.
She pulled the passports and the baby’s birth certificate out of a zip lock bag.
Clive showed his Trinidadian passport, as well.
“My daughter needs urgent medical attention,” Nidia said.
“We have a protocol,” the Coast Guard agent said. “Neither this man nor this vessel has permission to enter the United States.”
“I don’t want to enter the United States,” Clive said. “I was just dropping off these three US citizens so none of them died while your own government wasn’t doing a damn thing to help.”
One of the agents swiveled around to him. His mouth was tight and his eyes were hidden behind reflective shades. “One more word out of you and you’ll be detained while your boat is impounded.”
Nidia could see Clive swallow hard. He stood silent and rigid as one agent inspected their documents, then she and her family were allowed aboard the Coast Guard vessel. The first Coast Guard agent watched Clive suspiciously, as if he might run for their boat. Meanwhile, the second agent trooped across the deck with Zara in a fireman’s carry over his shoulder.
Nidia expected them to turn their boat around and head immediately to the hospital. But instead, they accompanied Clive back out to international waters, and stood anchored for a while as they made sure his boat was headed away from the Florida coast.
As precious minutes passed, Nidia looked at her unconscious daughter, and her now screaming grandson. She cursed the yanquis under her breath.