Horacio Castellanos Moya - Tyrant Memory

Clemen babbles something incomprehensible, his mouth full of saliva; he shifts around in his hammock.

With quick energetic steps, Mono Harris walks toward them along the gravel path through the sand under the almond trees. Sóter trots by his side, wagging his tail. The other man walks behind them, as if hiding under his straw hat.

“Get up, Clemen,” Jimmy shouts to him from the terrace. “Something’s going on.”

Clemen opens his eyes; he tries to rouse himself.

“Hey there,” Mono Harris says to Jimmy as he holds out his hand. “This is Adrián,” he adds, pointing to the man with the hat then asking him to wait on the terrace.

They walk into the living room; Sóter leaps around between them and barks playfully.

Clemen places his feet on the floor, still dazed, still unable to shake off his drowsiness or find his way out of the hammock.

“What’s going on?” he manages to articulate, his mouth all gummed up.

“You’ve got to leave, now,” Mono Harris says. “National Guard soldiers are on their way here.”

Clemen leaps out of the hammock.

“Shit!” he cries. “The Guard!”

Mono Harris asks them where the whiskey is; he needs a drink.

“What are we going to do?” Jimmy asks as he takes a bottle and a glass out of the cabinet.

“We’ll get you to Punta Cosigüina, once and for all,” says Mono Harris.

Jimmy looks at him, suddenly excited.

“Fantastic!” he cries. “It’s about time.”

“That guy outside, Adrián, is your guide. He says you can shove off this afternoon.”

Clemen pounces on the table and grabs the pack of cigarettes.

“Where are the soldiers coming from?” he asks, dismayed.

Mono Harris tells him that starting this afternoon soldiers will begin to “comb” the island searching for fugitives, starting at the bay; he found this out from the commander of the National Guard post on the hacienda.

“There’s nowhere else we can hide around here?” Clemen asks and lights another cigarette.

“Unless you want to hang out in one of the hidden channels in the mangrove swamps,” says Mono Harris, as he tosses back a shot of whiskey. “We’d save the money we’re going to pay the guide, but if they find you, neither Mincho nor I will know you guys from Adam.”

“Don’t pay any attention to this moron,” says Jimmy. “When do we leave?”

“Right now. I’ll take you in my boat to San Nicolás, the hamlet on the other side of the island, where you’ll leave from.”

Mono Harris takes an envelope with money out of his pants pockets.

“The agreement is that you’ll pay him when you get to Punta Cosigüina,” he says.

“Is he trustworthy?” Jimmy asks as he starts counting the banknotes.

Mono Harris shrugs his shoulders.

“Does he know we’re fugitives?” Clemen asks.

“He assumes you can’t leave the country legally and that’s why we’re hiring him, but he doesn’t know who you are. It’s better that way. Keep pretending you’re livestock buyers; let him think you’re rustlers.”

Sóter runs to the front door; he lets out a couple of welcoming barks.

“Good afternoon, Señor.”

It’s Lázaro, the caretaker.

“Our friends are leaving us, Lázaro,” Mono Harris announces.

The caretaker looks surprised, says he’ll miss them, asks them if he can get them anything.

They say thank you; Jimmy promises he’ll drop by soon to say goodbye to him, his wife Marina, and his girls. The family lives in a shack about thirty yards behind the house; she cooked for them and washed their clothes; he took them to look at the livestock and showed them all the nooks and crannies on the island.

“What do we need to bring?” Clemen asks after Lázaro has left.

“Nothing but your knapsacks with your few belongings,” says Mono Harris. “There’s a bag in the boat with canned food and other provisions.”

“Did you bring more cigarettes?” Clemen asks, anxiously.

“There are a couple of packs in the bag,” Mono Harris answers.

Jimmy goes quickly to the bedroom.

Mono Harris says in English that they can take Mincho’s shotgun, he’s given them permission, in case of emergency.

“How about the gun you gave me?” Jimmy asks.

Mono Harris says, of course, and urges them to hurry up.

“How should I dress?” Clemen asks, still confused, and lights another cigarette with the butt of the one before. “These shorts, or should I put on long pants?”

“This guy thinks he’s going to a wedding.,” Jimmy says sarcastically.

Mono Harris reminds them they will still be Justo and Tino, in case they meet anybody on the way; then he goes out on the terrace to discuss things with the guide.

“You don’t think it’s a bit too sudden.?” asks Clemen, while he’s gathering up his toiletries.

“If you want to stay, stay.,” Jimmy says.

Sóter paces around the rooms, excited.

“All I want to say is that for the last ten days, every time Mono has come here he’s said there’s no way we can go by sea, nobody will dare take us,” Clemen says; he picks the bottle of whiskey up from the table and places it in his knapsack. “And now he shows up here with a guide and tells us that some soldiers are on their way, and we have to take off right away. ”

Jimmy throws his knapsack over his shoulder, sticks his gun under his belt, puts on his baseball cap, and picks the shotgun up in his right hand.

“Let’s go.,” he says.

Clemen puts his straw hat on his head.

They go onto the terrace.

Lázaro and Marina, with the two girls, come to say goodbye.

“We’ll be back in a month,” Jimmy tells them, “to take the livestock we picked out. Thank you for everything.”

Lázaro and Marina wish them luck on their trip; the girls — snotty, barefoot, wearing a few filthy rags — point to Sóter.

Lázaro sees Don Mincho’s shotgun in Jimmy’s hand; he says nothing.

Mono Harris and the guide have started walking toward the jetty. Sóter trots along behind them.

Clemen jumps into the boat; he sits down, apprehensively, facing Jimmy.

“It’s been so nice here,” he mumbles, but nobody hears him because Mono Harris has started the motor with one pull, and Sóter is barking from the jetty. He’d rather not leave, he’s gotten used to the place, all the fear of their flight transformed into a peaceful vacation by the sea. And now, again, anxiety and fear.

“Are these the provisions?” Jimmy asks, shouting, as he rummages through a large paper bag.

The guide, curious, turns toward them from the bow; his tanned face, slanting eyes, and shaggy beard peek out from under his broad-rimmed hat.

“It’s enough food for the trip,” Mono Harris answers.

Clemen stares at the house, the silhouettes of the girls, and Sóter running on the beach as it all recedes; the bright light hurts his eyes.

“How long will it take to get there?” Jimmy asks the guide.

The boat suddenly lurches. Clemen grabs onto the side; his hat flies off his head, but Jimmy manages to catch it with a quick swipe.

“To Cosigüina?” the guide asks. “Depends on the current and the winds. If we leave before two thirty, we might catch the current.”

Jimmy looks at his pocket watch: it’s two o’clock.

“Will we get there before midnight?”

The guide shrugs his shoulders.

“Are we going in this boat?” Clemen asks, holding the hat Jimmy handed him between his knees.

“No,” Mono Harris says, “in Adrián’s canoe.”

Clemen shoots Jimmy a sidelong glance.

“You wouldn’t make it in this boat for long in the open sea,” Mono Harris explains. “Anyway, it needs to look like one of Adrián’s normal fishing trips. ”