Erased Faces (36 page)

“In lak'ech.”

Adriana felt a pang of intense joy at hearing Juana utter words telling her that she was her other self. But her happiness suddenly melted away when she felt inexplicable alarm, as if a shadow standing behind her had whispered,
¡Ten cuidado!
Be careful! She was so shaken by the feeling that she looked around, expecting to find someone, but there was no one, nothing. She had imagined it. Was it nerves? She put aside her apprehension and smiled at Juana.

Suddenly, a ricocheting blast shattered the mountain tranquillity. It was a quick volley that echoed down the ravines and bounced off peaks, returning in distorted, rebounding sounds. Juana's eyes rounded as she stared at Adriana; she knew what had caused that rapid, violent noise.

Ratt-tatt-tatt!

The women got to their feet and they ran toward the firing guns. They passed a pickup truck that had been hastily parked, its doors still swinging open, its engine running.

Ratt-tatt-tatt!

Juana outran Adriana and was the first to come onto the killing scene. Adriana, rushing behind her, had a clear view of the carnage that was going on. She saw bodies piled one on top of the other, limbs entangled but struggling to escape. She heard the screaming of women and the wailing of children. She smelled the rank stench of sulfurous ammunition. She saw the backs of the shooters, men dressed in civilian clothes. In a fraction of a second, she caught a glimpse of one face. His sombrero was pulled down over his brow, his nose, mouth and chin masked by a bandanna. Then, in a nightmarish flash, she saw that all of the assassins were dressed alike.

The machine guns would not stop vomiting lead and fire, although there was no longer any movement or sound. Behind the assassins stood Juana, who had witnessed the crime. Behind her stood Adriana, whose
eyes had also captured the unspeakable deed. Suddenly, one of the faces snapped in their direction; its bandanna had slipped off, revealing the shooter's identity. Adriana saw the yellow eyes of evil glaring at Juana, but she saw more; it was a face she had seen before.

Adriana recognized Palomón Cisneros, the soldier who had lied about the murdered civilians in Ocosingo. Without thinking, she lunged toward Juana, who was planted on the ground motionless, paralyzed by the horror she had just witnessed. Adriana was able to reach her but not before the vicious barrel was lifted, aimed and fired. Ratttatt! Two bullets hit Juana, but the weapon jammed and could not spit out more of its deadly projectiles.

“¡Manflora! ¡Come mierda!”

Cisneros spat out the hateful word
manflora
, lover of women. Now it was Adriana who froze. Fear seized her for a second, but Juana was still moving when Adriana finally reached her to put her arm around her waist. With a strength she did not know she possessed, she lifted Juana and dragged her toward the forest, leaving the assassin cursing his weapon for failing him.

Terrified, Adriana carried Juana, oblivious of the ruts and holes in the ground, aware only that Juana was weightless in her arms, that she was something fragile and light. Adriana ran, sensing with each moment that others were running with her, and that they were also being pursued. The shouting of the assassins became barking, snarling. Dogs were chasing after her and Juana.

Suddenly she stopped; her feet dug deep into the jungle slime as she halted abruptly, running in circles, arms rigidly outstretched. She had lost something, but she could not remember what it was that had slipped through her fingers. She dropped to her knees, groveling in the mud, digging, trying to find what it was that she had lost. Her fingers began to bleed when her nails ripped from her flesh, and her desperation grew, looming larger than even her pain, greater even than the terror of being overcome by the dogs
.

The dream flashed through Adriana's mind. Her thoughts were clear as never before, and she knew now the meaning of that distant dream. Adriana saw her life clearly for the first time. She knew now
that Juana was what had once slipped through her fingers and who had returned to her.

She laid her
compañera
at the foot of a tree and took her in her arms, holding and rocking her, wiping her forehead and face, which was streaked with mud and sweat. Her left side was saturated in blood. Her eyes were shut but she was still alive.

“No me dejes, Juana.”

Unable to speak, Juana moved her head, letting Adriana know that she would never leave her. Then stillness overcame her, and Adriana knew that Juana had passed on to the other side of the rivers and mountain peaks, that her spirit had returned to the Lacandona Jungle.

Adriana, still swaying to and fro, pressed Juana's inert body to her breast, struggling to cope with the dry ache that had gripped her heart. Her body, convulsed by the uneven rhythm of her breathing, shivered uncontrollably, and anguished sounds from deep inside gripped her throat. Adriana wanted to cry out, to let the pain escape from where it was trapped, but she was mute; only short moans slipped through her lips.

She had no sense of how much time had passed before three villagers found her. When she first became aware of their presence, she panicked, thinking that they were the assassins, but when she recognized them, she finally began to weep, trying to describe what had happened.

“Cálmese, Adriana, sabemos lo que pasó.”

They attempted to calm her, telling her they knew what had happened, and that she had no need to explain. They had come, they said, to help her with Juana. As they spoke, one of them disappeared for a while and later returned with a shovel. Taking turns, they dug a hole under the tree. Adriana, although wasted by grief and the fear of an asthma attack, insisted on helping to dig down through the rugged, rocky soil. After hours of excavating, the grave was deep enough.

Adriana wanted a part of herself to remain with Juana forever. She also desired to keep something of hers to hold for the rest of her life, so she took the woven bracelet from Juana's wrist. From her own wallet, Adriana pulled a photograph someone had taken of the two of them. She gazed at their smiling faces and their intertwined arms, then she put it to her lips and slipped it between Juana's breasts, near her heart. On
her knees, Adriana stooped down to press her cheek against Juana's, where she stayed for a time, reliving the first time they had met.

Juana's body was lowered slowly into the ground until it rested on the bottom. Adriana was aware that her companions were murmuring prayers, but she was incapable of anything except feeling grief and rage. The sound of dirt and rocks striking Juana's body crept into Adriana's ears. It was a sound that would rob her of sleep for the rest of her life.

She returned to Acteal to find it swarming with strangers and soldiers. Word had leaked out about the massacre. There was weeping and moaning everywhere because the bodies of the slaughtered had been stolen; they had now “disappeared.” Hysteria prevailed, but the military police insisted that they knew nothing, had seen nothing.

Without speaking to anyone, Adriana gathered her things and began to walk the twenty miles towards San Cristóbal de las Casas. She did not stop, even when the day became night and then dawn. She kept moving, thinking only of Juana, not caring about anything, not even the fear that, in her haste, she might succumb to a breathing attack. She hiked without precaution, hoping to be killed. When she reached the city, she went to the bus station and from there she traveled until reaching Pichucalco and Chan K'in.

Time blurred for Adriana. She lost track of what day it was, how long it had taken to walk to San Cristóbal, how many days had passed before she reached Pichucalco. Her mind cleared only when she stepped off the bus and images of other visits to the village returned.

As she made her way toward Chan K'in, the aroma of maize and cooking beans reached her, reminding her that she had not eaten in days. With clarity came the awareness that she did not care about eating or anything else. All she desired was to face the only man who could decipher the enigma of her loss.

He was sitting under a
ceiba
tree, cross-legged as was his habit. He hardly glanced at Adriana, but as she stood looking down at him, he gestured that she sit down. She struggled to unbuckle her backpack and put it on the ground. After a few moments, she was facing him, sitting as she used to at the beginning of their encounters.

“Niña
, you have found what it was that you lost in your dream.”

“Yes, but as in the dream, I have lost it again.”

“When you and I first spoke, you searched your memory to see if it could have been someone in your past life. At the time, you said that there was no one, not even your mother or father, yet the loss inhabited your dream. Do you remember what I said to you?”

Adriana's head was hanging, tears dripping from her chin. Her mind was churning, and she found it impossible to speak.

“I said that perhaps it could be someone whose path had crossed yours in another time, another place, and who would again come to you in the future.”

“She's gone,
viejo!
”

“But not forever. We repeat ourselves. She's waiting for you in another life, where your paths will cross again.”

Adriana's heart ached, wanting to believe Chan K'in, desiring with all the strength of her being that she and Juana would again meet in a repeated life. Instead, all she felt was hurt for having their present time together cut so short. She stared at the old man, hoping that his unshakable belief would penetrate her. After awhile, she lowered her eyes to look at Juana's bracelet as it clung to her wrist. She understood that it would take time, that she could do no more than wait.

“You must be patient,
niña
. In the meantime, let me give you my blessing.”

Adriana shuffled closer, head bent, longing to receive Chan K'in's benediction. When she felt the weight of his gnarled hands on her head, she was impressed by their frail touch, and she prayed.

“Viejo
, I'm leaving now. I must go home.”

“Yes, but you will return.”

Adriana, perplexed by the old man's words but comforted by his wisdom, got to her feet, wiped her face and went in search of her things. After emptying bags and rearranging rolls of film, note pads, two shirts and some underwear, she tucked it all into her backpack. Before leaving, she went to the center of the village to take leave of the people who had been part of her beginnings in the Lacandona Jungle. Word spread quickly from
palapa
to
palapa
. Soon, women, children and men came to wish her a happy trip, inviting her to return and reminding her that she would always have a home in Pichucalco.
Adriana accepted hugs, hand clasps and small gifts. One child brought her four eggs wrapped in a handkerchief. When she turned toward the main road, she was crying again.

After Pichucalco, Adriana began her journey back to Los Angeles. She still had enough money to make her way by land to Palenque, where she boarded the small craft that flew daily to Mérida, Yucatán. On arriving at that airport, she discovered that she had missed that day's only flight to Los Angeles. She was forced to stay over in the city.

It was still early, and she would need a room for the night. She asked the taxi driver to take her to a hotel. He nodded without saying a word, and after a short drive from the airport, he left her at Hotel Casa de Balám. Adriana liked the place; its Mayan decorations and its location off the main square and cathedral suited her. After checking in, a young man showed her to her room. While chatting amiably, he remarked on the weight of her backpack. She smiled, knowing that his words were a hint.

Once inside the room, Adriana gave the boy a tip and closed the door, grateful for the dark coolness of the room. She was even happier when she peeled off her shirt, bra, trousers and panties, which had become saturated with sweat during her trip. Afterward, she stood in the middle of the room, naked and barefoot for several minutes, her head buzzing with thoughts and unanswered questions. Then she went to the shower, where she let the calming spray wash over her for a long while. Splashing water on porcelain created a rhythm to which her memories swayed, thoughts dislodged and ideas surfaced.

As she abandoned her body to the chill of the water, dunking her head and face over and again, she realized that she had several hours on her hands and she could, during that time, look up a camera shop. There were rolls of undeveloped film in her pack, and she was anxious to see what she had taken.

Among those rolls were the photographs she had taken in Pichucalco years earlier, the day on which Juana had invited her to join the insurgents. Adriana remembered that afternoon so well that she could
still see the women at work. She vividly remembered the young mother, the indigenous madonna with a child at her breast. Adriana even recalled her thoughts of wanting to be that child.

Then there were the last of her photographs, taken on the day of Juana's death. Those she wanted to see more than anything. Adriana yanked her head from under the spray, wiped her eyes, nose and mouth. She got out of the shower, dried herself, put on clothes, and went down to the lobby to find the address of the nearest photo lab.

“Sí, señorita. Aquí a la vuelta está un laboratorio. Pero, ¿No desea almorzar antes?”

Expressing gratefulness for the information regarding the lab, as well as for the invitation to have lunch, Adriana sped around the corner, hoping to find the shop open. It was, and the man at the counter was happy to assist her.

“Vuelva en dos horas. Estarán listas sus fotografías.”

With two hours to spend before the pictures would be ready, Adriana walked to the plaza. It was not large, but it was beautiful. The cathedral took up all of the space on one side of the rectangle, and the street in front of it served as parking for horse-drawn buggies available for tourists. The square itself was bustling with vendors, shoppers, children, and stray dogs. It was market day, and the place was filled with stalls and booths. Adriana considered returning to the hotel for her camera, but decided against it. She would just take in the colors, sounds and smells with her mind's eye and preserve them in her memory.