The Center of the World (13 page)

“I know I could do it,” said Will. He was sure no cats had passed this way.

“I know you can too, son. Where Thirty Seven needs you is in Guatemala. They've had a terrible civil war and we have business interests in the region. Not to mention putting an end to the pain and suffering of the people—we are interested in that of course.”

“What exactly is Department Thirty Seven?”

“It's a conglomerate of sorts. Part State Department, part private enterprise, and part investigative. A company of sorts. International relations.”

“Is this vague politico speak?”

“You do learn languages quickly.”

“Yes, sir. And my boss would be who, specifically?”

“You'll meet him in two months when you're finished with your Peace Corps tour.”

“I'm not finished for another four months.”

“No, you're finished in two months. With full benefits and an appreciative letter from me in your file. You're about to become a language specialist consultant. Congratulations.”

CHAPTER 20

F
ernando lowered his voice although no one else was in the café.

“So you have decided,” he said.

“Yes.”

Kate had known Fernando for only a week and yet she felt comforted by his steady warmth, his lack of embellishment. Her father would have called him a straight talker.

Fernando closed his eyes. “If you are successful, if you can get adoption papers for the little girl, then it will still be a hard life for both of you. You will save her from our war weary country, but there will come a day when she will long for the land of her birth, for the sight of people who look like her, and for a hint of those who came before her. Ancestors. But you are right; she will be alive.”

Did he think that she didn't know this? This wasn't the resounding validation that Kate hoped for, but it would do. It was only two in the afternoon, but she was already exhausted. She had started having nightmares in which she walked across bodies of murdered people.

“I've seen gringos here to adopt children. There are agencies in Antigua and I'm going to start with them. Today.”

“Are you going to tell them that you have a Mayan child, who is a war orphan?” He tilted his head and spread his hands on the table and then grasped the base of the Coke bottle. “We have been at war for thirty years. Our beautiful country has been the battleground of the military and large corporations that want our land. Some of us can't remember a time when there was peace. It has made all of us desperate in good or bad ways. If you walk into an adoption agency and announce that you have a child, you will arouse more attention than you want.”

“Okay, I'll be circumspect. But I need to find out what I need to do to get adoption under way.”

“You do your asking and I will do mine. And I will get word to Kirkland that you need help. She is a resourceful woman.”

“Wait, how do you get in touch with Kirkland?” The idea of phoning Kirkland, or anyone in the States, felt like a quantum leap in technology. She had thought of calling her father hundreds of times, but concerned about terrifying him, she had held off, knowing that this was a situation where he couldn't help.

“It is better if you don't know. The reaction to every totalitarian regime creates an intricate underground and Kirkland is one of us.”

Wasn't she just a foreign correspondent? What did it mean that she was one of them? A chill moved through Kate.

“I need to know something,” she said. “Why is the military killing the villagers? What could possibly be the point?”

“In order to eradicate the resistance, the government believes they must wipe out the support in the countryside for the rebels. If the villagers feed the rebels, they are subject to death. Or worse yet, if they are simply suspected of feeding or hiding the rebels, they are punished, burned out of their homes, sent to relocation camps. It is a masterful plan of terror and cruelty.”

“Who is supplying the army with weapons? The Guatemalan government? This is their army, but they've got to be buying weapons somewhere.”

Fernando passed her a bottle of soda and gave it a bumpy ride across the roughly hewn wood of the table. “Are you sure you want to know?” He tilted his head back to expose the tight tendons along his throat, highlighted by a band of sunlight in the courtyard.

“I'm a scientist,” she said. “Or a scientist in training. I'm apolitical. I forgot to vote in the last presidential election. I was taking my qualifying exams.”

An American man might have swaggered here, rocked back in his chair. Fernando leaned forward so that he could lower his voice. Somewhere on the street, music rose up, a man's voice tangled with a stringed instrument.

Kate pulled her sweater closer and tried to pull the sleeves down over her fingers.

“Knowledge can change you painfully,” he said.

“People change all the time. Tell me.” The image of the massacre had imbedded in her, lodged along her ribs.

“The weapons come from your government. The guns that killed the people of Santa Teresa? They have come, perhaps not directly, who would be so stupid? They wandered briefly through other hands, other countries, but their destination was the military government of Guatemala, put in place by your country over thirty years ago.”

Kate felt a rush of denial rise up like a flock of black birds.

“How do you know that? Excuse me, but no one in Kansas City has even heard of Guatemala. I might be apolitical, but I would know if we had declared war.”

Even as she said it, a thick sludge of oil crept down her back.

“There are many ways to start a war,” he said. What would her father say if he knew that North America had financed a war against Manuela and her family?

“Be very careful who you talk with. I saw you talking with the
norteamericano
. Had you met him before you came to Antigua?”

“You mean Will? No, I never saw him before. I'm not worried about him.”

“I have learned to worry about everyone. I will ask about him. Until then, please, do not talk with him about the massacre. Will you do that? It is important.”

Kate pictured Sofia back in the patio of the guesthouse, her dark eyes, the way the child woke in the night crying
Mamá, Mamá
. When Kate had picked her up to comfort her, the child shook her head and said,
Mamá, Mamá,
wanting Manuela.

“Will is just a guy, a Peace Corps type. I'll keep it at that,” said Kate.

As soon as she said it, her skin tingled along her palm, a place where she had touched him last.

“I can't wait for Kirkland,” she said, pushing back her chair, changing the subject. “What if the adoption agencies in town can help? My mother always said that you'll never know unless you ask.”

Kate had the clear feeling that Fernando's inquiries would glean more results than hers, but even so, she had to try.

 

The adoption pipeline from Guatemala to North America was deeply grooved and there were two adoption agencies in Antigua. Kate planned to approach them both with what-if questions.
What if I happened to have a Guatemalan orphan and wanted to adopt her? You know, let's say I found her. Where? Hypothetically speaking, just a village. Yes, a Mayan village. Could you help me get adoption papers for her so that I could take her home? I mean, if I had found an orphan.

The first agency was run by a woman from Wisconsin. Erika. Surely this was a completely legitimate agency. But was Kate legitimate? Two dark-haired children emerged from another room. A little girl put her hands on her hips and said in perfect English, “He said I can't play with the headphones. I want them.”

A fat headset dangled from the boy's shoulders. “I had it first.”

Erika swung around in her chair and held out her hand to the boy. He understood her immediately and turned over the headset. “Ask Maria if she will make you hot chocolate. Politely, say please,” said Erika. The children scattered and Erika sighed. “Sorry, this is a school holiday.” Erika was a large woman, in her forties, a cotton skirt of handwoven cloth pressed against her rotund belly.

“Hypothetically speaking, it would take more than six months to get the paperwork rolling through the Guatemalan government and they would need to know exactly where the child came from. It would cost six thousand dollars to us and because this would be an unusual strategy, you would be looking at a substantial bribe to get the paperwork through. We would need documentation that the parents are indeed deceased and that no other relatives exist who are willing to take the child.”

Money aside, Kate doubted that she could get evidence that the parents were deceased. How could she obtain papers if the military would deny the massacre? She noted the scent of onions clinging to Erika, the blunt cut of her fingernails, the crayon drawings that were taped to the wall behind her desk, the tinkling sound of children's voices from several rooms away, the sudden blast of diesel exhaust that found its way into the building.

The warning voice of Fernando, so quickly implanted within her, whispered,
You've said enough, perhaps too much. Get out
.

“I understand. Your job must be difficult. I'll pass along the information,” said Kate, standing up.

Erika turned her head toward the kitchen where the children were drinking hot chocolate. “Circumstances in the highlands can be difficult for the Maya. They love their children and will do anything to save them. Sometimes a mother will make the ultimate sacrifice and offer a child to an outsider if they know that imminent danger is coming. The military can be severe if they are trying to eradicate the guerillas,” said Erika.

“How long have you been here?” Kate stood behind the chair, keeping the thick slabs of carved wood between her and the woman.

“I've been here for six years. But I want to take my kids back to the States permanently. The adoption pipeline will be closing down in a few years.”

Kate raised one eyebrow.

“Insider information,” said Erika. “Trust me.”

If Erika had been here for six years, she fully understood the need to be circumspect. But Kate was now dealing with an adoption system that was closing down. As she left the office and stepped out to the narrow side street, she was struck by the sense of dropping beneath the top layer of the country, even after the massacre and the terror of escaping through the rugged highlands. This terrain of fear and distrust held the tinge of disease, spread under the rocky topsoil, infecting everyone. Now that Kate had fallen through to the subterranean level, she longed for the bliss of ignorance.

 

The second office was staffed by a Guatemalan man who stopped Kate before she went through her introduction of hypothetical questions.

“We do adoptions one way. We meet with married couples who have the means and the patience to go through a lengthy process. We cooperate fully with the government. Are you married?”

“Me? I wasn't asking about me. I was thinking about some friends in the States, really great people who can't have children. Married friends. I'll let them know.”

This time Kate remembered to smile. She acted like the ground beneath her feet wasn't thick with the infection of distrust. She had all but broadcasted that she had a Mayan child to two people in Antigua and she regretted it.

What if word got out that she had a child and she couldn't legally adopt her? Sofia was a commodity. Could she be kidnapped?

 

Kids learn early on that if they run, they look guilty. Kate learned when she was eight years old and had joined forces with her best friend, Buddy. For reasons that seemed vague even then, they decided to throw rotten pumpkins into Mrs. Dashell's yard. When they walked to school the next morning, Mrs. Dashell stood in her yard with her hands on her hips and looked at the two of them. Kate and Buddy sprinted away as if the living dead were after them. Mrs. Dashell was no dope. One phone call to Kate's parents and Kate was called out of school in a flash. She confessed immediately.

From now on, she would walk nonchalantly when she was with Sofia in Antigua. If she saw the militia, she would make certain that she picked up Sofia and faced the child away from the soldiers and their black guns. She could not be sure how the girl would respond, but giving in to the demand to run was no longer a possibility.

 

 

Kate was gatekeeping at the guesthouse while Marta was out for the night. If there was a checklist of options for adopting Sofia, she would have just crossed out “adoption agencies in Antigua” and circled “Kirkland, calling in favors.” That's what Fernando said his friend could do, whatever calling in favors meant. She had stopped by to give him the bad news about the agencies. Relief had flooded over Kate. She had someone helping in the States. Someone smart and brave. She pictured Kirkland hauling her in by a bright cord.

Now she watched Sofia and Felix, scanning her memory for little-kid songs when someone knocked on the massive door. Kate pulled her sweater tight across her chest, glancing at the two toddlers, who stopped their play.

Kate slid open the viewing slat to look out and saw Fernando looking back at her with his slender brown face.

“Let me in quickly. Something has happened,” he said.

Kate realized she had not taken a breath since she heard the knock. She inhaled, unbolted the door and heaved it open. Fernando slid in like a sleek otter and she threw the bolt behind him.

“Kirkland's story about the massacre has been picked up in Mexico and Europe. The military has lost its invisibility.”

Why was Fernando frowning?

“Isn't this exactly what you wanted?”

Kate felt a hand on her leg. Sofia clung to her. Something about Fernando's tone alerted the girl.

“Kirkland will not be allowed back into the country. She told the world what was happening here. If she comes back, she'll go missing.”

The rescue rope that connected her to Kirkland snapped and Kate winced as it whipped across her face.