The Sirena Quest (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-eight

“Chow time!”

Lou rolled over in bed, squinting in the light. The tangy scent of hot pizza filled the motel room as Gordie entered carrying three takeout boxes of pizza. Right behind him came Ray with a case of Rolling Rock. Lou glanced over at Bronco Billy, who was on his boxspring trying to find his glasses. Lou checked his watch. 6:45 p.m. He sat up and looked around the room. Over in the corner, Sirena seemed lost in her own reverie, oblivious to them.

The pizza was delicious, the beer ice cold.

“There's a roadhouse about a hundred yards away,” Ray said. “Right next to that water tower. Looks cool. They got beers on tap and an awesome jukebox. Bartender told me it gets pretty wild after dark. What say we go over there after dinner? We can do it in shifts—two at a time with the other two standing guard back here.”

Lou and Billy drew short straws, which meant they had guard duty for the first two hours. It was still light out when Ray and Gordie headed off to the roadhouse. Lou had brought along a Frisbee. He and Billy sailed it back and forth on the motel parking lot until they'd worked up a sweat.

It was a pleasant night. There was a pair of folding chairs on the concrete walkway just outside their room. They each grabbed a beer and came back out to cool down and watch the sunset.

Lou opened his beer, smiled at Billy and shook his head.

“What?” Billy said.

“I still have trouble picturing you as a guerilla fighter for the Sandinistas.”

“I wasn't a guerilla for that long.”

Indeed, he'd lasted only three weeks in the camp before Carlos sent him back to Managua, trying to soften the blow by explaining that some men had special talents to contribute to the revolution. In Billy's case, that meant poring over newspapers and diplomatic journals from around the world to prepare reports for the Sandinista high command on the likely reactions of various world leaders to Somoza's impending overthrow.

As short as his stint had been, though, it had been long enough for one moment of sheer horror. The moment occurred one afternoon during the second week. Bored after four days of storms and depressed by the steady drum roll of rain on the green plastic covers suspended overhead, he wandered over to the mess area for company. He'd lifted the flap to the kitchen tent just as the cook was lowering what appeared to be the headless, skinned body of a child into a large cooking pot. It turned out to be a monkey that one of the patrols had shot for dinner, but the image would haunt his nightmares for years.

“Do you miss those days?” Lou asked.

Billy leaned back in his chair and studied the green bottle of Rolling Rock. It gleamed in the fading light.

He took a sip of beer. “No, but sometimes I miss the feeling.”

Lou studied his friend. “How so?”

Billy gazed at the setting sun. “Do you remember that concert you and Ray took me to freshman year?”

“Which one?”

“Jethro Tull. Down in Springfield.”

Lou vaguely recalled it. “Okay.”

“There was a guy down front—I don't know how it started—but all of a sudden he was up in the air getting passed around. He was kind of sprawled on his back, totally relaxed, big smile on his face, eyes closed, floating along on a current of people's hands. I watched him with such envy, trying to imagine what it would feel like to be so connected to the moment, to be so in sync with others around you.”

He took a sip of beer and shaded his eyes. The sun was now an orange ball hovering just above the horizon.

Billy said, “I'd never had that kind of experience, Lou. Never. Not at pep rallies in high school, not at church services, not even at camp. I was always outside the circle watching the others.”

“Until Nicaragua,” Lou said.

Billy nodded. “That was the first time I wasn't a spectator.”

“Until last night.”

Billy looked puzzled at first, but then he smiled. “Right. Until last night.”

They watched the orange sun slide beneath the horizon.

“Last night was neat,” Billy said.

“Tell me something,” Lou said.

Billy looked over at him.

“After all you went through down in Nicaragua, how did you end up a public school teacher in Chicago?”

Billy stared for a while at the empty horizon as the sky started to darken.

“I suppose,” he said, “I'd always thought about becoming a teacher, especially after the Literacy Crusade down there.”

“But what made you finally do it?”

Billy looked down at his beer bottle. “Hollywood.”

“Huh?”

Billy gave him a sheepish grin. “A movie.
A Man for All Seasons
.”

“The one with Paul Scofield?”

Billy nodded.

Lou said, “That movie came out a long time ago.” He tried to remember exactly how long. “When we were in junior high.”

“I never saw it back then.”

Lou leaned back in his chair and studied Billy. “Tell me what happened.”

Off in the distance was the hum of the traffic on I-80. Billy frowned as he thought back to that day seven years ago.

After Somoza's downfall, he'd landed in the Sandinista equivalent of the State Department. It was thrilling at first. After all, Nicaragua was on the world stage, Ronald Reagan was rattling his saber, Castro was blowing kisses. Diplomacy was the place to be in those days—the white hot center of the revolution.

But after a few years, the bureaucracy resurfaced. He was surrounded once again by backstabbers and opportunists—a Latin American version of Foggy Bottom. And even though he kept moving up the ladder, the constant scheming and in-fighting was discouraging. He tried to keep to himself, to avoid being sucked into the intrigues, but one morning an aide-de-camp to one of the faction leaders came into Billy's office and closed the door behind him. In a low voice he explained that his boss needed Billy's assistance in toppling the head of the department. If Billy went along, they would certainly remember him after the power shift. If not, well…

Billy paused, took a sip of beer, and shook his head. “I was so…bummed.”

“What did you do?” Lou asked.

“I didn't know what to do. I left the office at lunch and wandered through the streets of Managua, trying to figure out what I should do.”

In his wanderings, he'd found himself in front of the Cathedral on the Playa de la Revolución. Depressed, he'd thought back to the glory days of the Revolution. At that same plaza, just a few years earlier, he'd joined the ecstatic crowd celebrating the overthrow of Somoza. The Cathedral was still in ruins from the 1972 earthquake—roof gone, walls crumbled, dusty grass growing in the empty pews and on the floor of the nave. Suspended over the outer wall was a huge portrait of Augusto César Sandino in a cowboy hat and ammunition bandoleer—the revolutionary hero from the '20s, namesake of the Sandinistas, future namesake of Billy's only child.

Billy had wandered on, eventually coming to a movie theater. It was showing
A Man for All Seasons
. He bought a ticket and went inside. It was mid-afternoon, the darkened theater was practically empty. He took a seat on the aisle, his thoughts in turmoil.

Billy paused to finish his beer. He leaned over and placed the empty bottle on the concrete next to the chair. Lou waited.

Billy looked over and shrugged. “I was a mess. They were offering me a big career advancement. I wasn't that crazy about my boss in the first place, but I couldn't stomach the thought of doing what they wanted me to do to him.”

And then the movie started. Instead of the usual cheesy dubbing, it was the English language version with Spanish subtitles. Early in the film, Sir Thomas More is summoned to Cardinal Wolsey's headquarters, a day's trip down the river. Wolsey informs him that King Henry VIII wants More to publicly endorse his plan to divorce his wife. To support the King would require More to compromise his religious and moral beliefs, which he refuses to do. He travels home through the night and arrives at his dock the next morning exhausted. There he is met by Richard Rich, the young man who will eventually betray him.

Rich is an intense scholar, tormented by self-doubt and alarmed by his own ambitions and his weaknesses. Rambling, he tells More that he's decided to go into politics.

Billy had sat alone in the dark theater, spellbound, as the scene unfolded.

More tries to warn young Rich to stay away from politics. He tells him of the bribes and the other temptations that the wealthy and the powerful would use to corrupt him.

“A man should go where he won't be tempted,” More tells him. “Why not be a teacher, Richard? You'd be a fine teacher. Perhaps a great one.”

But if I were just a teacher, Richard replies, even a great one, who would ever know it?

“You,” More says, “your pupils, your friends, God—not a bad public that.” And then he gives a wistful sigh. “Oh, and a
quiet
life.”

Billy paused.

Lou waited.

“Two weeks later,” Bill said, “we left Nicaragua.”

Lou looked toward the horizon. The colors had faded. The sky was light gray.

He said, “That's beautiful.”

“More like embarrassing.”

Lou turned to him. “Embarrassing?”

Billy shrugged. “To trace the turning point in your life to a scene in a movie.”

Lou looked puzzled. “Why?”

Billy sighed. “Makes you realize what a basically middlebrow person you really are.”

Lou laughed. “I have news for you, Billy. Middlebrow is where life is lived. Down here on ground floor—with Elvis, Evita, and E.T.” Lou winked. “Not a bad public that.”

Lou finished his beer and stood. “You want another one?”

Billy looked at his empty bottle and nodded. “Sure.”

“I have to call home,” Lou said. “It won't take but five minutes.”

***

When Lou came back out carrying two beers, the sky was dark gray.

“How's everything at home?” Billy asked.

“Good.” He took his seat and handed Billy one of the bottles. “I'm bringing Katie and Kenny to the reunion. I called the travel agent this morning to make sure she dropped the plane tickets off at home. I just called the housekeeper to confirm the tickets got there. Everything is set. They arrive on June fifteenth. Two days before our big day.”

They sipped their beers and watched the lightning bugs start to appear.

After several minutes of silence, Billy cleared his throat. “I don't know how to say this.”

Lou looked over. “What?”

“I didn't find out about…about Andi until the day after the funeral.”

Off in the distance, at the edge of the parking lot, a street lamp came on. Lou shifted in his chair.

“It was too late for the funeral,” Billy said, “and then afterward I didn't know what to say, or what to do. I didn't know whether to send flowers or a contribution to a charity or what and meanwhile time kept passing and I kept thinking about what I should do but as each day went by it got harder to know what was the right thing to do and I guess I just sort of, I don't know, ended up doing nothing at all because it seemed like too much time had passed but I want you know it wasn't because I didn't care because I did. I really did, Lou. She was a special person. I felt just awful—for her and for you and for your kids and…and—”

There were tears in Billy's eyes. Lou reached over and patted him on the knee. “It's okay, man.”

The moths circled the streetlight at the edge of the parking lot.

“I don't understand how they can make that kind of mistake,” Billy said. “How can something like that happen?”

Lou watched the moths reel and whirl around the light as he struggled to keep his mind blank. He tilted his head back. The stars were coming out.

It was dark now.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Gordie glanced over again.

“Damn” he said. “I think she is smiling at me.”

Ray turned toward the bar. The chick was definitely a looker—and one helluva lot more sophisticated than you'd expect to find in a roadhouse in rural Pennsylvania. A tall blonde in a leopard print silk blouse, a leather miniskirt, and fuck-me pumps. Face out of a
Vogue
cover, legs out of a Vegas chorus line.

He grinned at Gordie. “So go ask her to dance, stud.”

Gordie glanced over at her again. “Yeah, I might just do that.”

He stared at her for a moment and then turned to Ray. “You think so?”

“For fuck's sake, Gordie, you could talk anything to death.”

Gordie looked back at her. After a moment, he nodded. “Maybe I will.”

“Just fucking do it, you douche bag.”

“Oh, damn, she's leaving.

Ray turned. “She's not leaving, bozo. She's going to play some tunes.”

They watched as she leaned over the jukebox. The tight skirt showed off long, tanned legs and a firm ass. She put two quarters in the slot and made her selection. A moment later, the opening guitar riff to the Rolling Stones' “Brown Sugar” sounded over the speakers.

She turned toward them and started swinging her hips to the music.

She smiled at Gordie. “Wanna dance?”

***

Lou and Billy were watching a Yankees-Orioles game on ESPN when there was a knock on the door. Lou checked his watch and glanced at Billy with a frown. He went over to the door.

“Who is it?” he called.

“Gordie. Open up, Lou.”

Lou opened the door.

Gordie was standing there with a stunning blonde. She was almost a head taller than him.

“Lou,” he said, grinning, “this is Sheila.”

Lou reached out to shake hands.

“Hi, Sheila.”

She shook his hand. “Hello, Lou.”

She had a sexy, confident voice.

Lou glanced at Gordie, who gestured toward the door with his head, eyes wide. “Ray's waiting for you guys back at the roadhouse.”

He put his arm around Sheila's waist. “Sheila and I can stand guard for a few hours.”

Lou turned toward Billy, who quickly got to his feet and turned off the television.

“Sheila,” Gordie said, “say hi to Bronco Billy.”

Sheila laughed. “Bronco? That's cute.”

Billy blushed. “Nice to meet you, ma'am.”

Sheila was staring past him at Sirena. “Wow, what is that thing?”

“That?” Gordie said with a dismissive wave. “Just one of those lawn ornaments.”

He turned to Lou and gestured toward the door. “Ray's waiting for you guys. He's lonely.”

Billy paused at the door and turned toward Sheila. “There is some beer in the bathtub.”

“Thanks, Bronco,” Gordie said. He gently pushed Billy through the doorway. “We'll take care of things here.”

Gordie gave them a wink and closed the door.

Lou and Billy stared at one another as they listened to the deadbolt lock snap shut on the other side.

Lou shrugged and smiled. “Let's see what's on tap.”