Andreo's Race (11 page)

She's stout and lively looking, around thirty, wearing a crisp white blouse and gathered skirt. She has two
waist-length black braids whose ends are joined in a tiny beaded sack. She's also wearing a colorful
aguayo
—a bright, striped cloth flung across her shoulder and back holding a wide-eyed baby in a woolen cap not unlike my baby one.

“Mama?”

Looking for the voice, I see a toddler boy clinging to her legs.

Behind her is a man her age, short but strongly built, with black hair, a mustache and teeth slightly green, presumably from chewing coca leaves. He wears black sandals, a white T-shirt, a vest and ripped, faded jeans held up by a colorful belt. One hand rests on the thick hair of a boy around five.

“
Hola
,” I say, my voice soft and shaky.

The visitors stare shyly at me—I feel like it's some kind of freak show—except Ardillita, who rushes up with a broad smile and pumps my hand. “Andreo Gutierrez, I am Ardillita Espada and this is my husband, Juan Pedro, and three of our six. The older ones are at school, of course.” She speaks slowly and clearly so I can understand her Spanish. Grandma de los Angeles translates when I don't.

“
Hola! Encantado!
” The husband shakes my hand, then retreats to the sofa, where his wife soon joins him.

“Papa!” cries the older boy. As Juan Pedro lifts him into his lap, the toddler careens across the floor to press his face into his dad's vest.

I wink at the kids, and Juan Pedro's humming fills the room.

I watch Grandma de los Angeles trundle out of the room with empty dishes, emerging moments later with a tray laden with more bread and tea.

“Mrs. de los Angeles asked me to come over to tell you what I know about your mother,” Ardillita says. “I'm two years younger than her. I was fifteen when my parents sent me to Cochabamba for the same reason Vanessa's parents sent her.”

She waits for that to sink in. “The big difference between us is that my parents allowed me to come back to Torotoro. They were brave that way.”

I nod.

“Vanessa was nice to me while we were there, even though we barely knew each other before that.”

My throat goes dry.
What does she mean by
“
there
,”
exactly?

“Hugo Vargas arranged it all.” Her eyes narrow, and bitterness infuses her voice. “The scruffy, overcrowded house in Cochabamba. The housemother who cooked and washed for us—and made sure we never left the house without her. The nurses and doctor who checked us. And all the paperwork that allowed people in North America to steal our babies.”

My head jerks up at the word “steal.” The hint of a smile appears on her face, as if she's pleased that it has gotten my attention. She shifts the baby in her lap and reaches out to hold hands with her husband.

“After Vanessa had you,” Ardillita continues, “she stayed on to help the housemother. Nowhere else to go but the streets, I suppose. She was good to me.”

Was she devastated at having lost me?
I want to know.
Did she fight it? Has she searched for me since? Is she still alive?

“A month before I had my baby, I panicked. I decided I didn't want it sold. I told Mr. Vargas I wanted to keep it, even if I had to beg on the streets with it in my arms. He produced all kinds of forms I'd signed. Said I had no choice. I confided to Vanessa that I was going to run away. She seemed sympathetic, but couldn't help me. The housemother watched us all very closely. I wasn't even allowed out of the house the last while. When it was time for the baby to arrive, things didn't go well. They had to give me some drugs to help me. When I woke up, my newborn girl—the housemother and Vanessa told me it was a girl—was gone. Stolen.”

Ardillita's face crumples. She covers it as she sobs for a moment. Her husband strokes her back and whispers, “It's okay, it's okay.”

After a moment, she raises her chin. “I told Hugo Vargas I would never, ever stop trying to find my child. He laughed.”

“And did you find her?” I ask. This only produces more sobs. The three children are wide-eyed to see their mother's face buried in their father's neck.

“When Juan Pedro and I eventually married,” she
finally continues, “we swore we'd save until we could afford a lawyer to find our daughter.”

I glance at Juan Pedro. “Yes,
our
daughter,” he says in a quiet voice.

“We eventually did hire someone, and he tried. Vargas must not have liked that, because we started getting anonymous threatening notes and suspicious people following us—even here, hours from Cochabamba. In the end, the guy we hired could do nothing. Vargas was too clever. There was no paper trail to follow. And no one could lay a hand on Vargas. Until now.”

“Huh?”

“He has been arrested. Released, yes, but the police will get him in the end. Soon, I hope. We'll testify. He knows it. And they'll find others. That's why he's hiding, so they say.”

Silence weighs on us for several moments. The two older children have crawled down from Juan Pedro's lap to play with the kitten. The clink of dishes being washed sounds from the kitchen.

“Do you know who my birth father is?” I ask. It comes out in a weak croak.

Ardillita shakes her head sadly.

“And my mom. What happened to her?” My voice trembles.

“I saw her once after I returned from Cochabamba. A year or two later. She was in Torotoro just for the day; she stopped to see me. She had a wedding ring on. She
told me she was happy; she looked happy. She wouldn't tell me who she married or where she was going. She'd heard that Juan Pedro and I were engaged. She just wanted to wish me well. She also urged me to forget the baby I lost and to look forward rather than back.”

Like she did?
“So there's nothing more I can do to try and find her?”

Ardillita rises and walks over to where I'm sitting. With no warning, she leans down and hugs me, hard. I want to struggle loose, but somehow I know she needs this—to feel some kind of connection with one of Hugo Vargas's stolen children.
Do not pretend she's Vanessa
, I tell myself.

Tears spill down her cheeks again as she releases me. “The police will get him. Maybe then you'll learn something,” she says. “Maybe I will too. Remember, no mother can forget or stop loving, even if she's forced to hide the pain deep in her heart.”

Once again, my shoes make their way over the cobblestones as Ardillita and Juan Pedro walk me to the town square.

“
Dinosaurio!
” exclaims the oldest boy. As we stare at a giant fiberglass dinosaur, I wrap my arms around his little waist and lift him high to let him touch its teeth. We're both laughing as he squirms in mock fright.

“
Hasta la vista
,” Ardillita says as she bear-hugs me good-bye. Juan Pedro slaps my back like we're old friends, and then I head to the Internet café.

My fingers fly over the keyboard as I explain about Maria, her grandmother, Ardillita and Juan Pedro and all they've relayed to me. I tell him I'll sneak away from my parents at the race's finish to visit him the minute I can. I end the message, My parents must not be involved in this at all!

I've just pushed
SEND
when hands land heavily on my shoulders.

“Raul! You scared me!” I twirl around to see my friend displaying the world's largest grin. He plops down, face glowing, to tell me all about his caving adventures with Maria.

“This place is utterly awesome,
mon
. We did an exploratory on a cave that reminded me of that bear cave back home. And she showed me a couple of other caves, including one place so huge it's like a cathedral with big arched
ceilings. People even pay to get married there. Everything today was just totally, unbelievably awesome!”

“Totally, unbelievably awesome,” I mock him. “And Maria is …”

“…  totally, unbelievably awesome too, Andreo.” He feigns pulling a knife out of his heart. “Don't want this race to end,
mon
.”

I roll my eyes, but I'm happy for him. I tell my story rapid-fire, all the while keeping an eye on the door. “So, Raul, hurry up and check your e-mail, and let's get back to the hotel before Mother and Dad send out a search party. I never even left a note.”

He opens up his e-mail and I watch his face go from over-the-top happy to pale.

“What's up?”

“Dad got arrested for drunk driving.”

“I'm sorry,” I say, like I have a ton of times before.

“And this time,” he says, lowering his face to cup it in his hands, “he's going to jail.”

Uh-oh. That's new
. “I'm sorry.” I struggle for something else to say.

He turns his head so I can't see his face. “And Mom's leaving him. Divorcing him.”

I jump as his fist comes down hard beside the computer. “My family sucks. Totally sucks. Why bother going home?”

We sit in stunned silence. I reach out to touch his shoulder, but he slashes my hand away.

“We're not fighting, are we?” asks a sarcastic voice. “Where the hell have you two deserters been all day, anyway?”

David, just who we need
.

“David, we're about to head back to the hotel. Can you leave us alone till then?” I ask. “Where are Mother and Dad?”

He moves closer, shifts off his blistered foot, then stands with his hands on his hips, studying Raul before turning back to me.

“Tell you what, brother dearest. I'll tell you where they are if you tell me why Mom is so upset. Something about seeing you with people you seem to know in the dinosaur square?”

I freeze and look at Raul; he's slumped in his chair, arms around himself.
Distraction time
. “David,” I say, “it smells like your foot is infected. When was the last time anyone treated it?”

“My foot is fine,” he declares, but his eyes shift to it.

“Not,” I say in my most concerned voice. “You know what Dad says about my sense of smell. Your sores are starting to get infected. I know where the doctor is in this town. How about I show you? Raul, we'll see you back at the hotel.”

Raul doesn't respond as I put an arm around David's shoulder and steer him out of the café.

“It's just blisters,” my startled brother says.

“Infected blisters during an adventure race can be a
disaster. You know that.” We're headed up cobbled streets to where Maria's grandmother told me the doctor's clinic is located.

Walking together with arms around each other's shoulders feels weird. Like when we were six and performing in a three-legged race: Mother's “twins.” But even back then, I don't remember laughing and tumbling around together in fun, like normal brothers. I was too busy competing for Mother's love.

“What's up with Raul?” David interrupts my thoughts.

I tell him Raul's news from home. He goes quiet for a moment. “Sucks to be Raul,” he finally says, but I detect no sarcasm. He really means it. “You know, I prefer the four-person adventure races,” he says, changing the subject as we slow down on a steep uphill.

“You mean, when Raul's not with us.”

“Yeah. I mean, when it's just family, you and I can hang out. When Raul's around, you guys are such a unit. To be honest, I get a little jealous. And it forces me to be with Mom and Dad all the time.”

Hang out? Jealous? Since when are he and Mother and Dad not their own permanent, impenetrable unit?
His face reddens at my lack of response. “You really think I need to go to the doctor about this foot?”

“I think it needs a professional opinion, maybe some prescription ointment,” I lie.

“Thanks, Andreo,” he says, stopping and looking at me all serious-like. I feel a stab of guilt. We've reached
the clinic. I'm losing my nerve for going inside.
A beauty queen and a married doctor. And this is the only doctor in town, been here twenty years
.

“I mean,” David is saying, his face reddening further, “I wasn't sure anyone really cared. Mom was dressing it, but she and Dad were both saying that the trekking part's over and it won't mess much with caving and biking, so I should tough it out.”