Laura Restrepo: Hot Sur

“First to Canada, then to Seville.”

“You’re crazy, María Paz, I can’t go anywhere.”

“You’re the crazy one; do you think I’m going leave her here for Sleepy Joe to make mincemeat of her?”

“Sleepy Joe no longer exists.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Sleepy Joe: kaput, fini .”

“What’re you saying?”

“He was gunned down by the police.”

“Really? Unbelievable… And how do you know, did you hear it on the radio?

“More or less.”

“A shoot-out? But that man is immune to lead. Are they sure he is dead?”

“Deader than John F. Kennedy.”

“Son of a bitch. Even better. But let’s go, Rose, tell me about it later. So let’s see, you in the Toyota with Violeta and the dogs, following Elijah.”

“I’m staying, María Paz. I can’t go.”

“No. Why not?”

“I’m tired, I want to go home.”

“What home, what’s there? Well, you have the dogs. But we’re your family now. Come with us, Mr. Rose, I’ll take care you from now on, like you’ve taken care of me. Don’t stay, don’t be afraid, come with us, we make a very good team.”

“I’ll be in touch, María Paz. I swear. I’ll look for you, you and your sister, wherever you end up.”

“You swear. Swear for me.”

“I swear by Cleve.”

“So be it, amen. So this is good-bye, Mr. Rose, until very soon. I love you, don’t ever forget that, and thank you very much for everything, absolutely everything. You have been my blessing. Are you sure you don’t want to come? Everything is arranged. Elijah has no problem taking all three of us, with the dogs… Cheer up, man, a little bit more and we’re on the other side, look at these trees, syrup trees. That means we are almost in Canada.”

“Go, María Paz, go.”

“Wait, I have to say good-bye to Ming, and to Otto, Dix, and Skunko. And to a few others before I leave here.”

The north wind is born in the lake, skating on the water, dancing on the surface as it pushes the waves against the shore, where they break in white foamy fans. After rising from the lake skyward, it becomes a planetary wind, reaching clouds, chasing them, swirling back down, wrapped in fog.

María Paz took a few steps away from Rose, stood with her back to him, facing the lake and the strong gale so that her hair shot back and her eyes became slits. “Good-bye, my dead,” she said. “Good-bye, Bolivia, my pretty Mami. I leave you here. Take care of yourself alone, because I can’t come back. Ciao, Mami, you see how things turned out, both a dream and a nightmare, and now, good-bye, Mami, good-bye. I’m taking Violeta, and I’ll always take care of her, like I promised you. So don’t worry, rest in peace. And good-bye, my Greg, you were a good person in spite of everything, and I know you are up there where you should be, feasting on your kapustnica with the Virgin of Medjugorje. And good-bye, my beautiful Pro Bono, the greatest of men and the most handsome among the angels. And good-bye, my creative-writing professor, Mr. Rose of my soul, my friend, and my love, I better not say good-bye to you because I won’t stop crying. Well, then. That’s it. Oh, wait! I’m forgetting to say good-bye to Holly, Holly, my fascination, my Holly with her beautiful black dress, as lost in the world as I was. Maybe someday our paths will cross, Holly Golightly, but for now, bye! Oh, dear God of mine, and I need to say good-bye to Sleepy Joe. How am I going to say good-bye to that? I would like to say good-bye forever and ever and ever, to the very point I never would have met you or seen you. But I can’t do that. That would be a lie, an impossibility, because Sleepy Joe, you are my nightmare, which I’ll always carry inside me. Even dead as you are and against my will, I’ll take you with me, what can I do, not everything is victory. So now. Since I have said good-bye to almost all my ghosts, I now say good-bye to the living. Good-bye, my coworkers, farewell, friends, I wish a good life for all of you. Good-bye, Mandra and my sisters of Manninpox, I wish you nothing less than freedom. And good-bye to America. Ciao, America, I won’t be coming back. I have no idea, really, if I’m leaving or if I never really got here.”

María Paz now turned to Rose.

“I won’t say good-bye to you, sir,” she told him, “because we will meet up soon, you promised me and I believe you, because you have to believe people. But I’ll leave you with a gift to keep you company. Take it, Mr. Rose, I’ve been taking good care of it to this very day, from now on it’s your turn to care for it.”

“What is it?”

“Cleve’s notebook. What he wrote here is how he lived his last days. You’ve been wanting to know for a long time, Mr. Rose. Take it, read it, let your son be the one to tell you himself.”

Rose took the notebook, stroked the cover gently, and put it in his pocket. He bundled himself tightly inside his coat to protect his skin from the wind, and passed a hand through his white hair in a vain attempt to keep it in place.

“I have something for you also,” he said.

And as Perseus offered Athena the freshly severed head of Medusa, old Ian Rose, ceremonious and overcome with emotion, handed María Paz the red backpack.

Photo © Daniel Mordzinski

Laura Restrepo was born in Bogotá, Colombia. She has written numerous bestselling and prize-winning novels, including Leopard in the Sun, The Angel of Galilea , and Delirium . Her books have been published in more than twenty languages.

Ernesto Mestre-Reed is a novelist, translator, and teacher from Brooklyn, New York.