Take the Money: Romantic Suspense in Costa Rica (12 page)

His voice grew somber. “Hookworm.  It’s rampant.”

Julie was incredulous.  “But shoes, tennis shoes, are so cheap.”

“Maybe to you, but when all of your money goes for food, there’s no room for luxuries like shoes.”

“But there are charitable organizations you could appeal to.”

“That money usually goes to the bigger cities.  Villages like ours are ignored.”

Julie thought of her bulging bank account.  Good heavens, she could buy shoes for the whole village with a fraction of it. “Maybe I could arrange something,” she said, trying to sound casual. “I have some connections to a missionary group back home.  They collect second hand clothing and send it overseas.”

Enrique shook his head.  “It wouldn't do to try and ship them.  It costs more for postage than what they’re worth, and anything of value that’s shipped from the US usually gets ‘lost’ in the post office.”

“But what if someone sent money?  They could buy the shoes in San Jose and have them shipped down here, couldn’t they?”

“I suppose so,” he said in a tired voice, but it’s not too likely it will happen.  Now, let’s turn to more pleasant subjects.  I assume you’re heading for Playa Hermosa.  A lovely beach resort, very elegant.  Lots of Americans and Canadians.”

Julie thought of the long lines of people sick and dazed at the clinic today.  The tiny houses overrun with children in tattered clothes.  The rusted ancient trucks and cars that only a few seemed fortunate enough to have.  In a luxury resort a few miles away, people would be spending as much in a week as it took support one of these families for months. How spoiled American tourists must seem to these two men. But that was the role she was playing now, and it was too late to change.

“How do I get to the beach from the airport?” she asked. 

“Buses. Taxis. You don’t have complete travel plans?”  Enrique gave her the same long curious look as he had earlier in the day.  The chocolate-colored irises of his eyes darkened as he waited for her answer.

She felt a flush creeping up her neck, as if he was reading all of her secret thoughts and desires.  “No, I wasn’t sure exactly where I wanted to stay.”

The men’s eyes locked, and there was a brief silence.  Juan tilted his head, as if trying to read her face.  “It depends on the experience you are looking for.  Snorkeling.  Nightlife.  Boating.”  Clearly, they were puzzled at her vagueness.

Julie trailed a finger around a circle of water on the wooden table, avoiding their scrutiny.  “I just wanted to spend a few days on the beach.”

“You can rent a car in Liberia and get a map,” Juan said, finishing up the last of his coffee.  “And now we’d best get you back to the clinic for some rest.”

Juan asked for the bill.  For once Julie didn’t mind the customary lesson in patience that accompanied such a request in this country.  While they waited the two men smoked, and she was surprised when her respiratory system didn’t react with a coughing fit as wisps of blue smoke curled under her nose.

She reached for her bag when the waiter finally came, but Juan insisted that she was a guest of the airline.

“And a most welcome guest,” Enrique added.  “I’m not accustomed to such charming company.”

Julie wondered how long ago he’d lost his family.  The sadness in his eyes indicated that the wounds were still healing, and his soft sensual lips had not yet hardened against the pain of misfortune.  He never laughed out loud, only allowed himself small smiles, pressing his chin against the tips of his long tapered fingers.  In unguarded moments, his mind seemed elsewhere, and the muscles worked in his jaw.

Julie inhaled deeply, breathing in the warm air and fragrance of eucalyptus, wishing that the usual fifteen-minute wait for change would stretch into hours. 

A flurry of activity near the front door and the sound of high-pitched voices rising in excitement interrupted the mood.  The candles on the table sputtered as cool air swept across the room. A young boy came running to their table. He looked to be about ten, was barefoot, and wore a dirty T-shirt and ragged jeans.

“Dr. Rojas!” he cried.  “You must come now.  It’s Rosita.”

The doctor turned to the boy and tenderly rested the palm of his hand against his small quivering cheek.   “What is it, Donito?  What is wrong with your sister?”

“She can’t get the baby out.”  The boy clutched at his stomach and bent over in a simulation of pain.

“Baby?  I didn’t know she was pregnant.  She hasn’t been to the clinic.”

“No, she was too ashamed.  But now she thinks she’s going to die.”

“I’ll come right away.”  The doctor threw down his napkin and stood up.  “Sorry to leave so soon.”

“Wait,” Julie said. “You may need some help.  Would you let me come with you?”

“I don’t think that would be wise,” Juan said.  “These are very poor people.  They live in a small crowded house, dirty, not what tourists want to see.”

“ I’d like to do something useful, if you don’t mind.”

Enrique stepped back and looked at her with narrowed eyes.  For a moment, she was afraid she’d made him angry.  But his voice softened as he said, “If you really mean that, I probably could use some help.”

They left Juan to settle up and rushed out to a small dark car, following the boy up a narrow road until they came to a low white house with a corrugated zinc roof shining in the moonlight. They hurried inside to the sound of moans and shrill female voices calling out to Jesus and the Holy Mother.

The tiny hovel had dirt floors and overpowering smells of kerosene and rotting food.  There were two windowless rooms, the front one containing a table and chairs, a lopsided couch, and a wall covered with pictures of saints. 

The back room held two large bedsteads with hide stretched between the sides, covered with tattered blankets and pieces of burlap.  Four barefoot children formed a tangle of arms, legs, and black hair as they lay huddled in one bed, while in the other, a naked young girl clutched her shiny extended belly and threw her head from side to side as her screams filled the room.   Her small breasts had just begun to sprout on her bony chest, but her dark public hair was thick and matted.  A squat woman with a braid of black hair down her back stood wiping the girl’s damp face with a dirty rag.

Enrique turned to Julie.  “Get the children out of here, now.”

Julie picked up the two smallest girls--sticky with dirt and tears--and carried them to the other room while motioning for the older ones to follow.  Desperate for some way to distract them, Julie dug into her bag for pencils and pieces of paper ripped from her journal and handed them to the older children.  She divided a couple of chocolate bars and parceled them out so that each child got a small piece.

Grunts, long guttural groans, and a piercing shriek came from the bedroom. Then all was silent.  Julie held her breath and exhaled in relief when the wail of an angry newborn filled the air. She sprang to her feet, anxious about the young girl.

“There’s a blanket in my car,” the doctor called to Julie.  “and a couple of towels.  I need them now.”

On the bed, Rosita was alive but exhausted, her pale face turned to the wall as if in shame.  Julie watched as the doctor gently wiped afterbirth from the baby’s small birdlike head, uncovering a fuzz of light yellow hair.  Enrique turned to the mother and said in a harsh voice.

“How did this happen?”

“I couldn’t help it,” the mother sobbed.  “We needed the money.”

“So you sell your daughter down at the beach to some filthy foreigner?”

“The men from Germany, they like them young. What do you expect me to do?  We’ve barely had enough to eat.  Besides, she likes to do it.  The men buy her pretty clothes that I can’t afford.  She’s a young girl, you can’t blame her.”

“Well, then, at least let me give her birth control pills. Bring her to the clinic in a few days when she comes for the baby.”

“You’re taking the boy?”

“Just for a little while.  Rosita won’t be able to breast-feed.  My nurses will look after him for a few days.”

He wrapped a towel tightly around the baby and handed the bundle to Julie who was stunned to be given such awesome responsibility.  She half expected the older woman to snatch the baby from her awkward inexperienced arms. But no one seemed to question Julie’s ability to safely hold this warm fragile human being against her breast.

Enrique wiped his instruments and put them back in his bag.  “When you finish cleaning up in here,” he said to the mother “keep her away from the other children.  Let her have the bed to herself.”

Julie carried the baby to the car, following the doctor’s angry stride.  He sat motionless for a moment, a slice of moonlight cutting across his face as his eyes glittered with anger. “Pigs,” he muttered under his breath, “dirty filthy pigs.”

The baby stirred, uttering a feeble cry, and Julie felt a moment of panic.  What if he smothered or died in her arms?

“I’m not very good with babies,” she said. “Maybe I should drive and you hold it.”

“What is it?  Have you never held a newborn before?”   Enrique snapped, his voice vibrating with tension.

“No.  And what’s more, I’ve never seen a live birth. So, I guess you think I’m some spoiled gringo?”

He shook his head. “A girl like you.  What are you doing here all alone in a foreign country?  What are you running away from?”             

So it was that obvious.  “There was an accident at home,” she told him. “Someone I was close to was killed.”

His shoulders slumped as if in memory of his own tragedy. “Someone you loved?”

“Someone who was kind to me.”  Julie knew that the grief she’d suffered at Kevin’s death could never equal the loss of a man’s wife and child and she was hesitant to misrepresent what had happened.

“I understand,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.  “It changes everything.”  He was starting the motor now, heading back up to the center of town.

“In what way?”

“Things that seemed important no longer are.  When you lose someone you love, you change.”

They were at the clinic now, and Julie’s heart hammered as she carried the baby inside.   His vulnerability stirred her in a way she would never have imagined.  

They put the baby in a small crib and covered it with blankets while Enrique found a bottle filled with formula in a cabinet and heated it in a pan of water. “Ever fed a baby?” he asked.

Julie shook her head, praying he wouldn’t entrust her with such an awesome responsibility, but he wasn’t about to let her off the hook.

“Now is the time to learn,” he said. “Just sit in this chair while I fill out the necessary documents about his birth.”

“Won’t he need a name?”

“Yes.  I’ll have to think of one.”

Julie was shocked.  “You mean you’re going to name this baby without asking the mother?”

“He’ll be baptized and given several names. An extra one won’t matter.  The important thing is to set up his records so that he can be brought into the system.”

“What will you call him?”

Enrique looked at the ceiling, pen poised in the air.  “Let’s give him a good start and name him Oscar.”

“Why Oscar?”

“For our country’s president former president, Oscar Arias. Winner of the Nobel Peace Prize.”

“Do you know him?”

“We’ve met.  His family and mine are friends.”

So, the doctor came from a good family, was well educated, yet had thrown it all away to bury himself in this backwater.  Maybe he would understand how a person with an Ivy League education and a promising career would find herself at a loss as to what life was all about. 

The baby’s eyelids fluttered and he went limp in her arms. “I think he’s asleep,” she said, putting down the bottle, surprised at how natural and satisfying it felt to do such an ordinary thing.

“We’ll let him rest, then,” Enrique said with a note of finality.  Hollowness rose in Julie’s chest.  There had been a humming in her body that almost seemed like happiness.  Was this new sensation going to vanish so quickly?  The doctor put his hand on her shoulder, his breath warm on her neck. “Thank you for helping me tonight, Julie,” he said.

She looked up, her face so close that she could see the tips of his dark eyelashes.  “
Nada
,” she murmured.  Their eyes met, but neither of them looked away.

“Why don’t we sit outside for awhile and enjoy the liqueur we missed after dinner?”  Enrique said softly.

Julie felt a jolt of pleasure.  It was the last thing she would have expected him to ask, but she accepted his invitation at once. Enrique switched on some music and opened a door leading to an outside patio.

She had to stop for a moment and catch her breath at the sight of the mountains rising in steep peaks on either side of the moon.  The night air was warm and moist; from the dense forest came the vibrant screeching of cicadas and the low croaking of frogs.  Enrique produced a tall brown bottle, its liquor gurgling as he filled two sparkling crystal glasses and handed one to her.  They sat in plastic chairs, a comfortable silence settling between them as they listened to the strains of “Luna Liberia.”  Julie savored the rich mixture of chocolate, coffee and alcohol flowing through her veins like a magic potion. She asked:  “What will happen to the baby?”