The Sunflower: A Novel (13 page)

“My parents divorced when I was little. I know it happens all the time. But my father eventually just erased me from his life. He had a new family and to him I was just part of a mistake. He died a year ago. By that time we had completely lost touch.”

“I’m sorry,” Paul said.

Christine stared out at the hacienda.

“I haven’t told you why Jessica wanted me to come to Peru.” He looked at her. “She was trying to get me out of Dayton.”

“What’s in Dayton?”

“A lot of pain, mostly.” She nervously brushed her hair back from her face. “Last October I was supposed to get married. A week before the wedding my fiancé decided that he wasn’t ready and called it off.” Her eyes welled up with tears. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”

“It helps to talk.”

She found comfort in his tone. “Today was the first time since Martin walked out that I haven’t thought about him.” She frowned. “At least until now.”

“Your fiancé’s name is Martin?”

She nodded. “Martin Lyn Christensen. I was going to be Christine Christensen. Kind of a bad name, don’t you think?”

He shrugged. “At least it’s easy to remember.”

“Just try saying it three times fast.”

Paul tried and failed, and they both laughed. It felt good to laugh, Christine thought, especially about something that previously had only brought her pain. After a moment she said, “So, Dr. Cook, what brought you here?”

“To El Girasol?”

“To Peru.”

He looked out into the darkness as if he were contemplating the question for the first time. “I came to surf.”

She looked into his face to see if he was serious. “Really?”

He laughed. “No.” He turned away and said nothing else. After a moment he looked back over. “Why do you think I came?”

“I was thinking it was probably the Butch Cassidy thing. You got tired of robbing banks in the U.S. so you came down here because you heard it was easier.”

He smiled at this but still didn’t answer her question. A sudden gust of wind whistled down the mountain.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“That’s not fair. I shared
my
painful secret.”

“Proof again that life isn’t fair.”

“At least tell me why you wear a toy soldier around your neck?”

Paul seemed surprised that she had noticed it. “It’s a reminder.”

“Of what?”

He smiled. “Of something I’d like to forget.”

“You’re so…
mysterious.”

“Is that bad?”

“No, it’s kind of appealing.” She looked down, threading her fingers together in her lap. “We’re going to Machu Picchu tomorrow. Then we’re flying out to Puerto Maldonado. We’re going to stay at a jungle lodge.”

“Makisapa Lodge,” he said.

“Have you been there?”

“Many times. Sometimes I help Puma-Condor if they’re short on help.”

“Are there a lot of spiders?”

“I doubt you’ll see any. Well, maybe a few.” He paused. “Actually they’re all over the place.”

Christine dropped her head in her hand. “Great.”

“You’re afraid of spiders?”

“Terrified. Especially the big hairy ones.”

“I was bitten by one of those big hairy ones once. A Peruvian pink toe. Beautiful creature, really. It was crawling on my arm and I tried to lift it off. It got both fangs into me.”

“Okay, I’m going to have a nervous breakdown. Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I’d be lying.”

“What did it feel like?”

“It hurt.”

“No kidding. I want details.”

“It was like being stuck with two thumbtacks. My hand swelled up and turned purple. But it didn’t hurt for much more than a day.”

“Is it true that there are spiders big enough to catch birds?”

The question amused him. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“It’s my obsessive controlling side. I’ve got to know.”

“The Venezuelan Goliath bird eater. I’ve only seen one of them. It hissed at me.”

“The spider
hissed?
”

“Some of them do that. But it gets better. A year ago I met this British explorer in Cuzco. He was a spider expert. He was investigating claims about a spider they call
la araña de pollo
—the chicken spider. Eyewitnesses claimed to have seen a spider so big it actually kills chickens and carries them off.”

“I’m definitely going to have a breakdown,” Christine said. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“You started it.”

“Well, I’m stopping it now.”

He was quiet for a moment, then suddenly started laughing to himself.

“What?”

“I really shouldn’t tell you.”

“Now you have to.”

“Tomorrow night you’re staying in a town called Urubamba.
Urubamba
means Land of Spiders.”

“This just keeps getting better. So what does
makisapa
mean—lodge of Giant Spiders?”

Paul laughed. “You’re not that far off. A makisapa is a Brazilian
spider
monkey.”

“A spider monkey. Now I know you’re making this up.”

“I’m not that clever.” He smiled reassuringly, then put his arm around her, pulling her in close. “Don’t worry, you’ll be okay.”

Neither spoke for a few minutes, but it was a comfortable silence. Christine pushed thoughts of spiders from her mind and thought about the man with his arm around her instead.

“Do you miss America?” Christine asked.

“Most of it.”

“What do you miss most?”

“My family. My parents and sister.”

“When was the last time you saw them?”

“Three years ago. My mother had just been diagnosed with ALS. Lou Gehrig’s disease.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I. My sister moved back to help my dad take care of her. I feel guilty about not being there. But I can’t just leave these boys.” He breathed out deeply. “Sometimes I miss America more than I can say. And it’s not really the big things. You have no idea how nice it is just to speak English with you.”

“It’s nice talking to you, whatever the language,” Christine said. She looked down at the hacienda. A single light flickered from the kitchen. She pulled her hair back over her ears. Then she leaned back on her arms and looked back at him. “So how do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Leave everything behind. You’re a doctor; you must have had a pretty good life in America.”

Paul looked suddenly thoughtful. “ ‘The secret of success in this life is to realize that the crisis on our planet is much larger than just deciding what to do with your own life. The only work that will ultimately bring any good to any of us is the work of contributing to the healing of the world.’ ”

“That was profound.”

Paul rubbed his chin.
“That
was Marianne Williamson. I wish I really were that noble. But I’m no Mother Teresa. Sometimes I wonder what I’m doing here. I still fantasize about the ‘good life’ Of course my idea of the good life is different now. Luxury is an air-conditioned room, a TV with a clear signal and a shower with more than five minutes of hot water. But then I think,
what is my comfort compared to the lives of these children?

“And there are millions where they came from. Kids sniffing glue to take away the pain of an empty stomach. Kids sold into slavery. There are actually tour groups that bring American men down here to have sex with children. You read about these things, and you can either try to do something about it or just wince and turn the page to the crossword puzzle. Too many are turning the page. Not so much because they don’t care but because it’s not on their doorstep. And most of us don’t venture that far from our routines.”

“You’re making me feel guilty.”

“That’s probably not a bad thing,” he said. “But that’s not my intent. I’m as guilty as anyone. I didn’t come down here to help children. It just happened to land on my doorstep.”

“When you came down to surf…”

“To rob banks,” he said, laughing a little. “We’re talking too much about me. Tell me something about Christine.”

“What would you like to know?”

“Something…revealing.”

“My failed engagement and childhood abandonment weren’t revealing enough?”

“No, that was pretty revealing. But I was thinking something lighter. Like what’s your favorite movie of all time?”

“My favorite movie. Old or new?”

“Either.”

“I should probably say something that makes me seem hip like
Citizen Kane
or
The Godfather,
but honestly I’d have to say
Cinema Paradiso.”

“A love story,” Paul said. “That
is
revealing.”

“Not just
any
love story. One of the greatest love stories of all time. Have you seen it?”

He nodded. “I have. So was Alfredo right? Does the fire of love always end in ashes?”

She thought about it. “Probably,” she said sadly. She looked to see his reaction. “What do you think?”

“I think passion ends in ashes: But it’s just as well. Passion should give way to better things.”

“Like what?”

“Real love. The way my father is with my mother.”

“How is that?”

“Do you know anything about ALS?”

“Not much.”

“Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis,” Paul said, sounding like the doctor he was. “It’s a disease that causes the degeneration of the nerve cells in the brain and spinal cord. Eventually the body just shuts down.

“The average life span of someone with ALS is three to five years. My mother’s almost completely paralyzed now. She can no longer speak or write. She’s a prisoner of her own body. The only thing she can move is the forefinger on her right hand. At night she taps her finger against the bedpost when she hurts. My father wakes up and gives her her pain medicine. He hasn’t slept through the night for years. He’s always with her.” He looked into Christine’s eyes. “He’s given up everything he loves for what he loves most. Her.”

“That’s beautiful,” Christine said softly.

“I asked him how he did it, how he could give up so much for her. What he said taught me more about God and Jesus and life than a thousand sermons ever could.”

“What did he say?”

Christine could hear the emotion in Paul’s voice. “He said love is stronger than pain.”

She looked down and said nothing.

After a while Paul said, “It’s late. I better get you back.”

“Thank you for letting me stay for Pablo’s party. I really enjoyed it.”

“It was my pleasure.” He slid forward off the rock and turned back, took her hand and helped her down. She landed in front of him, stumbling a little on the incline. He caught her by the waist.

“Whoops,” she said, falling into him. She backed off a little and from just a foot away looked up into his face. In the moonlight his eyes faintly glimmered, and she wondered if she had ever seen such beautiful, clear eyes.

“I have a confession,” he said.

She cocked her head. “Yes?”

“The first time I saw you, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I hoped that I would see you again. Tonight was a wish granted for me.”

For a moment she just looked at him. “I think that is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

As they stared into each other’s eyes, the world around them drew far away. They pressed their lips and their bodies together and for a moment they were lost in each other.

When they parted, Christine was breathless. Her heart pounded fiercely. “Thank you for being so kind to me,” she said. “My heart needed some kindness.”

“It wasn’t hard,” Paul said.

He held her hand as they descended the hill, holding it until they were back inside El Girasol’s courtyard. Christine thought that his hand felt wonderfully warm and strong.

“My car’s around the side. I’ll pull it around.”

“Wait,” she said. “What time is it?”

“Probably one.”

“How long will it take to drive to Cuzco and back?”

“A little over an hour.”

“That means you won’t be back until after two. I don’t want to make you do that. I could just sleep here tonight. If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I’ll sleep up in the boys’ dorm. You can stay in my room.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“It’s more convenient than driving to Cuzco.”

“I’d have to let Jessica know.”

“I have Jim’s cell-phone number. I’ll call him.”