Where There's Smoke

“¿Quién es?” One of the soldiers separated himself from the others. He was dressed in camouflage fatigues and armed to the teeth. His stance and tone were belligerent, his eyes hostile and suspicious.

The priest introduced himself. The soldier spat in the dirt. Unruffled, Father Geraldo said in fluent Spanish, “You know me, Ricardo Gonzáles Vela. I conducted your mother’s funeral Mass.”

“Years ago,” the soldier growled, “when we still believed in such foolishness.”

“You no longer believe in God?”

“Where was God when women and children begging for food were slaughtered by the swine under the command of Escávez?”

Father Geraldo was disinclined to engage in a theological or political debate, especially since the other soldiers cheered and raised their weapons to reinforce their comrade’s opinion.

The angry young rebel glared at the priest, then his eyes shifted to Lara, who’d had the good sense to keep her head down to hide her Anglo features. “Who is this woman?” Ricardo jabbed the barrel of his rifle in her direction. “And him?”

“They live in a small village in the foothills. Her husband was killed defending the village from con

tra forces. She’s pregnant. Her brother-in-law,” he said, hitching a thumb toward Key, who’d remained slumped down and seemingly disinterested, “already has four sons. He cannot afford to feed two more mouths. I offered to bring her to the city and provide food and shelter in exchange for housekeeping duties at the rectory until she can find someone else to take care of her.”

One of the soldiers made a crude comment about the kind of “housekeeping duties” she would be performing for the priest. Key had a basic understanding of Spanish. He didn’t catch all the words, most of which were slang, but these duties had something to do with her getting onto her knees.

Ricardo smiled hugely in appreciation of his comrade’s ribald wit, then instantly sobered. He gave Key a contemptuous once-over. “You look strong and tall. Why aren’t you fighting? El Corazón’s army needs fighters.”

Key’s stomach tensed, but he pretended not to understand that the question had been directed to him. Thankfully Father Geraldo took his cue.

The priest motioned Ricardo closer. He approached warily, his military accoutrements making sinister jingling sounds in the darkness. Key heard several guns being cocked and wondered if he should do the same with the one hidden in the sleeve of his peasant shirt.

Lowering his voice to a confidential pitch and tapping his temple with his index finger, Father Geraldo whispered, “He’s an idiot, good for milking goats and planting beans, but otherwise useless.” He shrugged eloquently.

“But you said he has four sons,” Ricardo argued.

“All of them nine months and ten minutes apart. The poor fool doesn’t realize that rutting makes babies.”

A roar of laughter went up from the guerrillas. Ricardo relaxed his vigilance. “When will he return to his village?”

“In a few days.”

Ricardo leered. “Perhaps we should pay a visit to his village while he’s away. Maybe his wife will be lonely.”

The others laughed, including Father Geraldo. “I am afraid you would find her unaccommodating, amigo. She was grateful for these few nights of rest.”

Ricardo swept his arm toward the road ahead. “We will not detain you. You are no doubt eager to have the widow begin her housekeeping duties.”

“Gracias, señores,” he said, addressing the laughing group. “God’s blessings on you and on El Corazón del Diablo.”

He put the jeep into first gear. Key’s gut muscles began to unknot. The jeep had rolled forward only a few yards, however, before Ricardo commanded them to halt again.

“What is it, comrade?” Father Geraldo asked.

“An airplane was sighted tonight, flying low over the mountains from the coast. Did you see it?”

“No,” the priest replied, “but I heard it. Unmistakably. About an hour ago. Back there.” He pointed toward the mountains, but in a direction several degrees off the spot where they’d hidden the aircraft. “I thought it was delivering supplies to your army.”

“And so it was.” Ricardo lied as nonchalantly as the priest had. “The army of El Corazón del Diablo lacks nothing, especially courage. We’ll fight with our bare hands if we must, to our deaths.”

Father Geraldo saluted him and let off on the brake. They were allowed to proceed without further delay. None of them breathed easily until they were well away from the reconnoiters.

“Very well done, padre,” Key whispered from the backseat. “I couldn’t have lied more convincingly myself.”

“Unfortunately this isn’t the first time I’ve had to break a commandment in order to save lives.”