Marjorie Thelen - The Hieroglyphic Staircase

“No, we have nothing on him, although we posted bulletins in-country and in all the neighboring countries in Central America. He may be part of an international ring of thieves I’ve been investigating. They’re a bunch we’ve had a tough time nailing.”

“What about the boy in the river. Do you know who he is?”

Connie shook her head. “We haven’t been able to get anyone to identify him. We need Miguel’s help.”

By the look on Elena’s face, Connie could tell she knew what had to be done. She had to tell Miguel about the death of the child.

Elena said, “I guess we have no other choice.”

“The child is in the morgue,” said Connie. “Can the two of you go with me now?”

Elena looked out the door at the pouring rain.

She was a beautiful, bright woman, thought Connie, and she hoped Elena wasn’t mixed up in any of this. But she had seen beautiful, bright women before who were as ruthless and deadly as the worst criminal.

“Do you have any more of those plastic ponchos?”

Connie smiled. “I bet Dominic has some. Let’s see.”

Jorge ditched the yellow car several blocks away from the hotel. That bitch might be on to him now, and this was a hot car. He didn’t need to be seen in it again. If she had just gotten into the car with the kid. Now he knew he had thrown the wrong kid into the river. Damn kids. How many were there anyway?

He put his jacket collar up and his head down as he walked in the rain. He wasn’t sure where he was going. He couldn’t chance going back to the hotel. Damn storm was complicating things.

If he could just find where she was going to ride out the storm with the kid ….

Damn that bitch.

Damn that little kid.

And damn this hurricane.

Dominic had the generator working, cots set up, water neatly stacked, and medicines accounted for by the time Elena and Miguel returned, dropped off in an Army truck. Bless you Connie Lascano, thought Dominic, for not letting them walk back on the streets alone. Little Miguel didn’t look happy.

“How’d it go?” he asked them.

“The boy,” said Elena, “was one of Miguel’s friends, not Gordo, but one of the other boys that sometimes hung out with them under the bridge. He drowned. The boy had abrasions that indicated his falling or being pushed into the river, maybe held down.”

Dominic hunkered down so that he could be eye level with Miguel, who still gripped Elena’s hand.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” he said. “You know you are safe here with us, don’t you?”

Miguel avoided Dominic’s eyes and cast his upon his sneakers.

Dominic gathered the boy into his arms and hugged him. Miguel’s small hand left Elena’s, and he wrapped his skinny arms around Dominic’s neck. He felt the child’s silent sobs against his neck and held him close. He thought of the child he would never hold, the one his cheating wife had denied him, the child who belonged to someone else. His bitterness had changed to sorrow, a sorrow that had taken up permanent residence in his heart.

Elena hunkered down and stroked Miguel’s hair. None of them spoke. Outside the wind howled in deadly earnest. When Miguel’s sobs quieted, Dominic released him, took out his handkerchief, dried Miguel’s eyes and wiped his nose.

“Hey,” Dominic said, “how about something to eat? One of the town ladies brought us some soup and pupusas . I can warm them on our burner in the kitchen. Probably there are cookies, too.”

Miguel sniffed and nodded his head. Dominic caught Elena’s gaze. They exchanged an unspoken understanding about Miguel, that whatever it took they would take care of him and protect him.

Miguel followed Dominic to the back. Elena took on the task of warming the food, while Dominic helped the boy change. Elena served the repast, and they sat together at the small clinic table.

“Elena,” Dominic said, “I think we should ride out the storm here at the clinic. We have cots and blankets, water and food. The building is sound. Then I can be here if anyone needs me.”

“I can help you, and we’ll know that Miguel is safe with us.”

“Then you’ll stay?”

“I will. I’d like that.” She smiled back at him, and he saw in her beautiful eyes and her easy smile a willingness that stirred unholy ideas in him.

“Then it’s settled.”

Elena finished and cleaned up the kitchen. She helped Miguel settle on a cot squeezed into one exam room. Dominic listened to her tell the child a story that sounded very much like Little Red Riding Hood, while he worked pulling cotton blankets from the storage bin. Miguel was soon asleep. Exhaustion had caught up with him.

“What’s next?” Elena asked, coming to see what he was doing in the main room.

“Here, have a bag of donated clothes. We need to sort them. Size them as best you can and arrange them on the shelves we have labeled.”

Elena threw herself into the task, humming a tuneless song as she worked. Dominic closed the windows in the back and secured the shudders. The clinic was solidly built of cinder block and cement and was surrounded by other similarly built structures. He wasn’t worried about the walls. It was the corrugated tin roof that might be a problem, if the wind were strong enough.

The rain kept switching directions and blowing into the clinic, so he pulled shut the big metal sliding panel that formed the wall of the clinic that faced the street. He opened the single door in the panel so that people would know they were open.

Townspeople drifted in and out for medical help, water, advice and to exchange news of the progress of the storm. Dominic helped as needed, glad to be doing something useful, glad to have Elena and Miguel under the same roof with him, glad in spite of everything that he had come to Copan Ruinas.

The storm worsened, and people stopped coming. Dominic shut the front door because rain kept blowing into the clinic. Corazón had gone home to be with her family. The cell phone still worked, and they were in touch with the police department. Connie told them not to leave the building. She had grounded all motor vehicles. No one was to be on the streets. It was too dangerous.

By night time, the wind was so ferocious the entire building shook. Water leaked under the doors and windows, and rain blew sideways. They stopped the generator to conserve fuel and lit candles.

Elena sat down to rest on one of the cots Dominic had set up in the main room. She listened to the storm. The banging and crashing outside set her nerves on edge and made her jump more than once. Fury was the word that came to mind. A fury had been unleashed outside, and she peered up at the ceiling, wondering if the roof would hold, wondering how her mother was fairing at the hotel. Knowing her mother, she was probably involved in a hurricane party. She thought of doña Carolita and knew she would be safe with her family. She thought of the child- mother Angelina in her village and wondered if she would be all right with her mute child, Eduardo. She thought of Armando and his family in their flimsy shanty home. She hoped they had taken refuge in a shelter. Fear dug a pit in her uneasy stomach. She prayed they would all make it through. And she was not a praying woman.

Dominic sat down on the cot across from her. The storm put an edge on everything including her awareness of Dominic’s close proximity.

“You okay?” he asked.

“So far, so good,” she said in what she hoped was a neutral voice. “I didn’t realize a hurricane could be so noisy. How long will this go on?”

“Depends on how well formed the storm is. That’s hard to track since the radio is dead. If it has a well formed eye, when that passes over everything dies down for a while. We might even see the moon. Then the whole fury starts again. When the eye comes, I’ll go out for awhile to check on damage and casualties, see if anyone needs help.”