15

“TELL ME THE story, Manny. How did you pull it off?”

“It was a great day for the people, young revolucionario. Tomorrow will be another, and you will see the power of justice with your own eyes.”

Daylight had been slow to reach through the moist foliage to light the rebel camp. Only thirty miles outside of Bogotá, the jungle was thick. They had been here for almost a week. Word was this would be their last day waiting amongst the mosquitos and beetles in sweat-soaked green fatigues. The time for action was coming.

Manny poured himself another cup of coffee from the battered tin pot, then tipped it across to his companion’s cup. “Have you ever shot that gun of yours, San Juan el Bautista Velasquez?”

“Only in practice. But I’m ready.”

“You’d better be.” Manny looked at the boy with his thin frame, skinny arms, and hairless face. How old could he be—seventeen? He wondered if he could even lift his gun. Manny decided to treat the child like the man he would need to be.

“Be ready not to think, only to act. It’s a shock to fight for the first time, but if you stop to think, you’ll be the first one killed.”

Manny looked up as a tall, thin woman stepped out of his tent, dressed in the same green fatigues as he wore, with her black hair pulled tight into a bun. He smiled at his wife. Even dressed as a soldier, her face etched with sadness, he thought Marissa was the most beautiful woman in the world.

“What are you men up so early talking about?”

“Manny is going to tell me the story of when we took the Dominican Embassy. Were you there too?”

“No. But my father was, along with Manuel. I was pregnant at the time.”

“If I had known, I would have stayed home.”

“¡No te comas sus cuentos! Nothing could have kept him away.”

Manny laughed. “Quizás. Bueno, do you think the boy with the cumbersome saint’s name deserves his story?”

“Oh, leave him alone about his name.” She turned back into her tent.

San Juan el Bautista Velasquez fidgeted. Manny knew he was embarrassed by his parents’ strange choice of a name.

“Picture it.” Manny stretched out his hand. “Ambassadors from around the world gathered at the embassy for a celebration. They were dressed in their finest regalia, all their pins and medals, eating and drinking. We surprised them in tracksuits.” He laughed. Two other men, stationed to watch the road, took a few steps closer to listen. Manny nodded at Carlos and Pasqual before continuing.

“That was the day the Colombian government finally took us seriously and saw us as the voice of the people that we were. M-19 had waited ten years for a day like that. Even the United States’ ambassador was there, so you can be sure the world took notice.

“We released all the women the next day to show we are a movement of the people and only held the diplomats. We are a political movement after all, not animals. I’m proud that not a single hostage was killed. The president tried to make us out as terrorists, but the people were behind us the whole time. When it ended, the crowds cheered us as heroes.”

“Was the mission a success?”

“I suppose it depends on your point of view. Not all our demands were met, but we showed the government that the people will stand up, that we are willing to fight and die for justice. We made the name of M-19 famous in Colombia and around the world.”

Manny paused, then looked from Juan to the other two men. “I believe this new mission will be an even prouder moment for us, our proudest moment. Even if we die, it will be for the honor of the people of Colombia, and others will follow in our footsteps.”

Someone grunted. Manny thought it was Pasqual but couldn’t be sure. He had spoken the heroic words they all wanted to believe, but none of them felt eager to die, himself included.

“Did you go to Cuba with the others?” asked Juan.

“Yes. Most of the group is still there, including Marissa’s father. Since I wasn’t one of the leaders, I was allowed to return to Colombia in less than a year.”

“In time for the birth of your child?”

The question brought a pall over Manny’s good memories. His face darkened. “Yes, in time for the birth of my child.”

San Juan el Bautista stopped asking questions. But after a moment, Manny continued talking anyway. He wanted to share his story, even the painful parts.

“I had many dreams in those days of what Colombia could become once its people were free and also of the family I could have. I wanted to start a better life for myself—that was what we were fighting for, after all. I used my share of the ransom money to start a course at Universidad de Cartagena.”

“What did you study?”

“Computer programming.”

Juan started to laugh. “Computers?”

“Don’t mock the future. Unfortunately, God had other plans for me. I quit the program, and now here I am.”

The day was growing hotter. Humidity hung thick in the air. Droplets gathered on the wide green leaves of the foliage that encircled the camp.

“Okay, enough of your stories,” said Pasqual. “My feet ache. Time for you two to take a watch.”

“Fair enough.” Manny leaped to his feet. “Grab your rifle, Juan. Don’t let it weigh you down.”

The relieved watchmen sat down. Pasqual shook the empty coffee pot in disappointment as Manny and Juan walked toward the edge of camp.

Early that afternoon, after his watch had ended, Manny retired to his tent, hoping there would be time for a siesta before the others arrived.

Marissa handed him a mug of water. He took it and held her hands around it. She looked into his eyes for a moment before slipping her hand out and walking back across the tent. He would not get the kiss he had hoped for. Manny knew he was sticky and unshaven, with his mustache overgrown—hardly the handsome husband she had married long ago. But he also knew that wasn’t why she had walked away. He could not be blamed for his appearance after a week in a jungle camp.

It wasn’t he who had changed. Their pain affected him, but he was still the same man, full of hopes and dreams. His heart ached for their lost child. But it also still ached with love for his wife, even though the spark was gone from her eyes. He wouldn’t push for her love. He believed it was still there, deep in her broken heart, and would return to him in time. He missed her, even now when they stood beside each other. He missed her most at night when they lay together, when sometimes she even allowed him to make love to her, but he could tell her heart wasn’t in it.

“Do you really believe everything you told that boy earlier?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing changed after your success at the embassy in 1980. Nothing will change if we are successful in the days ahead.”

“We must believe it can. If people like us don’t work for a better future, Colombia will be lost.”

“A better future—I used to believe in that.”

Manny came up behind her and took her bony shoulders in his hands. She flinched at his touch, but he held firm. He would never stop trying to restore the connection that had once been so intense between them. “Have hope, Marissa, both for our country and for ourselves. We can have another child.”

She twisted out of his grasp. “Do you think another child can make up for the daughter we lost? This hole in my heart is not something that can be plugged with a new thing to love.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’ll never forget that loss either. But it doesn’t mean you can’t love again.”

“Look at us. Look at our lives. This is no place to raise a child.”

“We can walk away from it, like we did before. I’ll go back to the university and finish the course.”

“This thing we’re doing will always follow us. It would have poisoned our daughter’s life if she had lived, and it will poison another child’s life if we have one.”

“It doesn’t have to.” Manny sighed, desperate to make her understand. “Don’t you want the chance to love again? It wouldn’t be to undo the pain. A heart is big enough to carry love and pain together. Pain alone will kill you.”

“Maybe it already has.”

Manny sat down on his cot. There was nothing more he could say. It had been three years since their baby died. Marissa had to find the will to heal in her own heart before his love would have a chance to reach her again.

How he wished she would try, even if only for him. He had loved their baby too—so much. He would never forget. But he wanted another chance at fatherhood. His heart burst with love that had nowhere to go. Without a child, and with a wall of pain between him and his wife, there was nothing left but to channel his energy toward the cause of his people.

He believed Marissa’s heart could still love too. He remembered her before, in the intimate early days of their marriage and during the happy months with their daughter. He believed motherhood could bring back the woman he loved. If only she would give it a chance.

The rumble of trucks sounded sharply from the distant road. Manny jumped up from the cot, instinctively reaching for his rifle. Marissa remained calm.

“They’re here,” she said. “The time has come at last.”