The Cartel (6 page)

Marta held on to the end of Elisa's skirt as they hiked up the hill. The stout, buxom woman didn't seem to mind. With her long hair twisted up into a braid, she reminded Marta of her grandmother. Following in her footsteps, a wave of gratitude came over her.

Halfway up the hill, they witnessed the effects from the night before. Tito lay half hidden in a bush, his shirt torn from the thicket he'd fallen into. There was a gunshot wound in the center of his abdomen and a trickle of blood dried on the side of his mouth.

"Don't look, Marta."

"He looks so awful."

"He's with Our Lord now. Turn away. I'm going to see if he has any food left in his pack."

"Elisa, no."

"If we don't get it, then surely the coyotes will. I don't know how long we'll be traveling, and we're going to need some food and water."

For a minute, Marta wanted to continue her protest. But then she thought about her unborn child, and realized that what Elisa said was the truth. She turned away. As she did she could see another one of the men they'd been traveling with. She went over to the corpse, even though she feared the sight of the man. However, she was smart enough to realize that it was her life which mattered now. She approached the man while Elisa scoured Tito's pack.

"What are you doing?" Elisa hollered to her.

"It's another one of the men. Maybe he has some food."

When she moved closer to the body, his chest heaved, gasping to fill his lungs with air. He was still alive. She rushed over to him. He looked up at her with glossy eyes. She knelt down.
Dios Mío. My, God, My God.
A gaping hole in the man’s pants exposed his bullet wound, blood oozing from it puddled onto the dirt beside him. The pain in his eyes sent an ache through her body, as she placed her hand on his forehead and stroked back his hair, doing what she could to provide him with some comfort.

The wretched stench of death permeated the air—the blood around her—its odor metallic and sour. It burned her nostrils, causing her eyes to water. She pulled her hand away and jumped back from his body when he flinched. Then, nothing.

She wiped the tears from her face and looked away only to be brought back to her knees by the sight of the body of the girl a few feet away. Marta brought her hand to her mouth covering both her need to wretch and scream. Then she covered her eyes and let out a wail. Elisa came to her side. Marta forced herself to look again at the girl, her nude body barely recognizable, covered in bruises and dried blood.

"Turn away," Elisa commanded in a voice taut with dread.

"What should we do now?" Marta asked, as they backed away from the carnage and looked northward.

“We keep moving.”

Six months had passed since Javier had hosted the party for his wife Cynthia. His father had passed away three months earlier and they were now back in their home in Guadalajara, mountains surrounding them on either side. Their home in the city was not the palatial vacation villa they owned on the coast. Like Guadalajara itself, their home was reminiscent of the entire city itself—colonial and historical. Javier and Cynthia’s home had been built over a hundred years earlier for a general in the Mexican army who had spared no expense. When Javier and Cynthia had moved in as he took the office of governor, Cynthia had had the place refurbished, maintaining its history. Much of the artwork placed in alcoves consisted of antiques from the colonial time period.

There were twelve bedrooms in the house and one of them had now been decorated as a nursery and another a play room. The Rodriguez’s baby would have every comfort imaginable.

Javier sipped sangria from his glass as he sunbathed near the pool located in the Saltillo tiled courtyard. While soaking in the incredible heat, he could not stop thinking about the large amount of money he and Antonio were making by shipping both heroin and marijuana up north. The distributors loved the stuff, and they couldn't supply it fast enough to keep up with the demand. The Vietnam War was in full force, and American kids were smoking a lot of the weed, and almost as many were shooting the brown poison into their veins. Javier and Antonio were living in grand style because of it. It amazed him that so many people wanted to change their state of mind, their emotions, whatever it was that made their life unbearable that they wanted to escape it through drugs. He shook his head and figured it was not about him. If people were honestly so stupid to buy the drugs he and Antonio supplied then so be it. Money was money and the money was fantastic.

"
Señor
Rodriguez," Lupe screamed. "
Señor—
come quick. The baby. Señora is having the baby.”

What? No that couldn’t be. It was too soon. He bolted from his lounge chair, spilling his glass of
sangria
all over his white shirt and shorts. He raced to Cynthia's room where several of the maidservants were gathered and pushed his way through. There his wife lie on the bed, covered in a pool of sweat and screaming out in pain.

"The doctor! Where in the hell is the doctor?" Javier barked.

"He's on his way,
Señor
. We called him. It happened so suddenly."

"Javier," Cynthia cried out.

He rushed to her side, and held her clammy hand—her face drained of color. "I'm so hot. The baby is coming too early.” She turned to him, tears pooling in her beautiful green eyes. Javier could see that his wife was caught in her own pain- filled world. Something wasn’t right.

He sat with her, stroking her hair back off her forehead and telling her how much he loved her as they waited for the doctor. Soon after her water broke, the doctor rushed in, immediately commanding everyone to leave the room, adding to Javier’s deep fear. After an initial examination, the doctor sent for Javier. Taking him aside, he told him, "I'm afraid she has a very high fever. I believe it is caused by a condition known as toxemia. It’s very dangerous for her and the baby."

"What is that? I don’t know what that is. How dangerous?” he asked unable to keep the panic out of his voice.

The doctor didn’t look at him. "I'll do everything I can.” He pushed his bifocals up his long nose.

"Let's take her to the hospital," Javier demanded. “Right now. We must go now.”

"It's too late, Governor. An hour ago, yes, maybe so, but the baby will be born soon. We can only pray."

"Pray? What do you mean, that's all we can do? There must be something,
anything
you can do. You have to help her."

"I will do what I can," the doctor replied, shaking his head and walked back to Cynthia's side.

Javier felt the walls closing in on him. Slumped against the door like a beaten dog, he prayed, tears running down his face. He could not believe his lovely wife could die. He had to be with her and comfort her. He pulled himself up and went to Cynthia, taking her by the hand again, praying his own life force would seep into her body through the warmth of his hands.

She weakly squeezed his hand and murmured, "I know something is wrong, Javier. I can feel it. I see it in your eyes."

Javier shook his head. "No, love, you’re fine. Everything is going to be all right. I'm a nervous father-to-be, that's all."

"Please, Javier, please have them save the baby. Let the baby know how much I loved and wanted…"

"You are talking nonsense now. You need to rest, love," he said.

"Bring me the priest," she whispered.

Javier sighed and sobbed quietly. His life passed before him. He could not lose his wife and child. He kissed her cheek, knowing it was useless to protest. He closed her door behind him, and had one of the maids call for Father Felipe. The priest came within the hour. By that time Cynthia's fever had risen and the sheets were soaked with her perspiration.

The priest went to her and read the last rites at her bedside. As he made the sign of the cross, Cynthia went into convulsions. Javier yelled out. He was powerless and grief-stricken as he watched her die. He held her hands tight as the priest finished giving the sacraments. And as if she’d been granted permission to die, she did so with grace. Her hands went limp, her breathing shallow until she took a last breath and her eyes fluttered closed.

The doctor placed a hand on Javier’s shoulder. I am so sorry, Governor. You must go now though. Please go and wait outside. “I have to deliver your baby. We do not have much time.”

Javier wiped the tears away and nodded. He didn’t want to leave Cynthia there. It didn’t feel right but he knew there was no other choice. Cynthia had specifically asked that her baby be saved. He left the doctor alone with her.

Standing outside Cynthia's room, Javier fell to pieces. She was gone. Grief and shock traveled icy cold through his body. His mind numb, his heart pained as if it were being held in a vise. How could this have happened? Tears blurring his vision, he punched a wall and yelled out, not from any physical pain.

His misery was shattered with the sound of a baby's cry coming from the other room. He pushed open the door, and witnessed the doctor holding up a tiny, red infant. He gazed at the scene for a moment. Cynthia covered with the bloodstained sheet, not moving. He pulled the sheet off of her peaceful face and kissed her tenderly. "I love you always," he whispered. He then turned around to see his new baby daughter wrapped in woolen blankets.

The doctor said, "She's tiny, only five pounds, but that's because she's a bit premature. I don't see anything wrong with her, however. She's breathing well and has good color. Give her to one of your maids and she should do fine. But if you’d prefer, I can take her to the hospital, where we can monitor her."

Cynthia’s nursemaid Consuela began to walk forward to take the baby, but Javier intercepted her, gently lifting her out of the doctor's arms. He cradled his newborn daughter. "No," he said firmly holding his hand up to Consuela, who reached out to take her from him. "I will take care of my daughter."

****

At the moment Javier laid claim to his baby daughter, hundreds of miles away, Marta Peña lay in a twin bed covered with a patchwork quilt she’d made over the months. She kissed the top of her small son’s head. He’d been born the night before.

"He looks so perfect," Elisa said.

“Mhhm. He is perfect," Marta replied.

The dark-haired baby slept comfortably next to the warmth of his mother. His birth had been easier than she'd expected. Elisa had helped deliver him, along with a midwife. The labor had only lasted four hours in the bedroom of their apartment.

"I’ll bet you never thought you'd make it." Elisa interrupted her thoughts. "Especially when we were stuck out in the middle of nowhere, with no idea how to get here.”

Marta let out a sigh of sheer exhaustion, mixed with the bliss she felt over the birth of her son. “I owe it all to you. If not for you, I would’ve never been able to settle here in the United States."

Marta remained grateful to God and to Elisa for getting her across the border, and that the rest of the trip had gone along without incident. Once in Los Angeles, Elisa convinced Marta to rent the room below hers, in the duplex where she and her boys lived. There were four families living in the small area, but it was clean, and they all treated each other well enough. Marta had taken on several jobs cleaning houses and made a decent living for a while, but now that the baby was here, she was afraid she'd lose those jobs.

"No one will want me back to clean now that I have a baby, and I can't afford child care."

"Don't worry about it, Marta. I have some good news for you. I am marrying Jefé, and he says that I don’t need to work outside the house any longer. I will take care of the baby." Elisa looked so excited that she blushed like a schoolgirl. "He has a good job, and said I could stay home with the boys from now on. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if I take care of the baby, too."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"He only asked me last night, and then you decided to surprise us not long after with the little one here." She bent over and kissed the baby.

"I can’t ask you to take care of him."

"And why not? We are like sisters, you and I. God has brought us together for a reason. We've already conquered much together. I would be honored to take care of our little baby. By the way, what are you going to name him?"

"I don’t know."

"What was his father's name?"

Marta paused for a moment. "Antonio." The name sounded foreign to her. Although she and Elisa had a bond, she never spoke of Antonio and it seemed as if Elisa knew not to ask, until now.

"That is a powerful name. So your son here must have one equal to it. Let me see. How about Jesús? Or Mañuel?"

"No," Marta answered, thinking hard for a moment for a befitting name. Finally she said, "I think I’ll name him Alejandro after my grandmother's father. She always told me he was a strong and brave man.”

Elisa nodded in approval. “I like that. Very strong.” She made a fist and held it up high.

Marta smiled. “Good then, I will name him Alejandro. Alejandro Peña."