Leon Vargas and his son Miguel head west at sunset in their thirty foot fishing boat, the Caballito de Mar. For five generations their ancestors have lived in the fishing village; Barras de Playta just north of Mazatlan. A simple life, when they’re not at sea they tend to their boat and fishing equipment. Devoted to a god and family, Sundays are a day of church and family gatherings.
Every few days they motor to their hereditary fishing spot one mile off Islas Tres Marias. They drink hot coffee and eat pan dulce. At sunrise they set their poles and fly jigs and begin to troll. On board is enough diesel fuel for a full day assault. Dry ice and canvas will protect the catch. Deep in the locker, frozen with ice, their cargo will be safe for the all night trip back to Mazatlan and then home. A good catch will be ten tuna that weigh anywhere from fifty to one- hundred-fifty pounds. A successful haul will also include several dozen Dorado. Father and son each prime shotguns to ward off tiburon. Leon nods to Miguel cleaning his gun, “A Vargas does not share his catch with sharks.”
Shotguns also provide protection. Fishermen fear an escapee prisoner from Islas Tres Marias pirating their vessel. Losing control of their fishing vessel jeopardizes their lives and livelihoods. Never once have the Vargas men seen a prisoner from Islas Tres Marias. All fishermen have been warned aid given an escapee will result in their own imprisonment. Most fishermen will shoot to avoid losing control of their boat.
• • •
Every day of his captivity a fire consumes Christopher. Each memory activated of his former life, the duplicity framing him with drugs and stealing his treasured car, beatings and illegal imprisonment; his outrage, singes nerves and muscle. Fury pours through him, triggering a cascade of bio-chemical reactions. In the rush of neurological and muscular response the combustion transforms, metabolizing his nature with its ferocity. Leaving him breathless, it’s more than his mind can assimilate. Oppressive and disjointed, anger ferments an indigestible bitterness. He struggles to remind himself, how will I escape trapped in my own negativity?
While his spirit struggles, his body does maintenance and repair work throughout the island prison. At each location he asks after Daniel. The prison grapevine has no news of Daniel’s whereabouts. After work hours he cares for his egg farm. At twilight practicing martial arts, sometimes in the sandy beach and other nights on the dirt trails, his focus is building strength. And always he strives to fly under the guard’s radar.
• • •
Late one Saturday morning standing at the supply shed going over inventory with Checo they turn to see ominous clouds rush in concealing the sun. Trees rustle. The boom of thunder rumbles beneath Christopher’s feet. A splatter of raindrops makes small puffs of dust. Closer now the BAH… BOOM of thunder dovetails with the flash of lightening.
Christopher runs toward his chicken coop and garden shouting, “Hang on girls. I’m on my way!” I cannot lose my money makers.
Clouds dark as night rumble, rain pours a torrential flood. Dirt paths instantly erode transforming into streams. It is a symphony of rain and howling wind. Lightning illuminates the rusty silver of his barbeque and chicken coop. The chickens are safe. Christopher hunches under banana trees while the storm spills across Islas Tres Marias. Trees bend in the wind. A crack followed by an explosion signals the nearby coconut tree split in two. Tree remnants fly by carried off in wind and rain. Lit by lightening the jungle flashes florescent hues of green and gold, colliding in the boom of thunder.
Every island dweller waits for a hurricane to rip across the land. As a force of nature the hurricane is a great equalizer. All the island’s inhabitants share the anxiety of waiting. Should a hurricane blow the island to pieces they will all be hunting for a safe place to wait the storm out. In this way waiting lives in the back of each man’s mind; guard and inmate alike. Christopher wants nothing more than to escape Islas Tres Marias before a hurricane strikes.
As quickly as this storm hits it dissipates. Clean air lays cool against his skin. Clouds part, the sun shines. A rainbow bends over the island. Christopher sighs with relief. Not the monster storm hovering in the back of each man’s mind. Today the storm’s drops of water glitter like diamonds.
• • •
Saturday afternoon turned mild by morning’s downpour, Checo and Christopher are summoned to town. A bad feeling surges through Christopher’s gut as they walk through the town past the guard’s dormitories to their garage. At the bay entrance El Jefe waits holding his whip. Christopher schools his face into a neutral mask. The air around El Jefe is inky like jagged obsidian blades.
Memories of Daniel’s ruined torso and the women’s bodies streaming blood; these images are burned, seared into his memory along with his strange waking vision. Christopher suppresses a shudder. That whip has broken countless threads of human skin and muscle.
In the corner covered in cobwebs stands the generator supplying electricity to the guard’s quarters. The equipment’s silence announces the problem. Taking his time cleaning off the generator one layer of dirt at a time Christopher finds the fuel filter clogged. He looks at Checo, “Do we have a replacement part?”
Pacing a small square of pavement, shaking his head, Checo adds, “We are in trouble. It’ll take a week to get the replacement.” In the deeper shadow of the garage the Jaguar paces, its spots illuminated and shiny. In the gloom Checo looks dangerous and wild. Christopher blinks and the cat disappears. “What?” Checo demands.
“Nothing,” Christopher drops his head. Clanging through his tool box he looks up with a grin. “I think I can clean the filter. For the future………”
Before he can finish a cough sounds from the corner. An uncontrollable cough, dark eyes circled like a mask.
In the murky light disembodied eyes stare at him. Like a raccoon. Leaning forward Christopher peers into the dimness. Is this a man? Shocked he questions, could the rumors of inmates used as personal slaves be true?
The shadow resolves itself into a man who stands and shuffles, stirring up clouds of dust and again the persistent cough. Grabbing a broom he vigorously sweeps. This further stirs the air with debris.
“Hola,” Christopher manages between coughing and choking on the dust.
Soiled and threadbare clothes hang from the man’s bony shoulders. Greasy hair partially obscures eyes widened in fear. Christopher replaces his tools. Pausing, reaching into his memory, something familiar about this man.
He turns to Checo. The Jaguar is pacing again.
“Does this hombre live in the garage?” Squinting Christopher takes in the hunched posture and sunken eyes. Daniel! It’s difficult to correlate this dirty bone-thin man with the muscular man Christopher remembers. And there goes the cough again. Daniel’s cough.
Checo ignores the question and the man standing in the shadows.
Christopher reaches a hand out to Daniel, “Como esta, amigo?” The silent man shuffles outside stilted and jerky. Dismayed Christopher sees a tear trickling down Daniel’s haggard face.
“Let’s finish and get out of here,” growls Checo.
Dismayed Christopher asks, “What about Daniel?”
Together Checo and the Jaguar pace, synchronized velvet, ready to leap and pounce. Checo grits his teeth and growls, “This is not our business. Nothing we can do.”
El Jefe steps out of the shadows into the bright afternoon. Daniel freezes.
Picking up the bucket of soapy water Christopher used to wipe down the generator El Jefe throws the mixture over the crown of Daniel’s scalp. Daniel howls in pain as the industrial suds burn his eyes. El Jefe gestures with his whip handle, “huele como basura. You smell like garbage. Go to the beach and wash yourself, pronto.”
Staggering Daniel makes his blind way down to the nearest exit and the beach next to the dock.
Christopher feels infuriated. Daniel’s injustices mix in a toxic brew with his own. Grinding his teeth, he turns away. He will not give El Jefe the satisfaction of witnessing his anger. Pretending he’s in a sensible environment, dealing with rational people, Christopher explains to the Big Boss new generator supplies are needed. He has left a list on the wall detailing the items to be ordered from the mainland.
El Jefe arcs his whip over their heads as they leave the garage. When the tip catches Christopher’s shoulder El Jefe’s laughter follows their exit. Christopher purposefully does not touch his shoulder. He will not acknowledge the destructive power of the whip in El Jefe’s hand.
They take a detour to the nursing station. A divot carved out the skin where his shoulder and back meet. It burns. The nurse quickly sews his muscle and skin back together. After five interior stiches and twelve exterior stiches Christopher shakes his head no to her offer of pain medications. A greasy salve cools the burn. She covers the entire area with a bandage.
Once they are safely on the dirt path Christopher looks at Checo who is walking stride for stride with his shiny black spotted Jaguar. Hatred shimmers off him in dark waves. Taking in Checo’s dark affect he says, “That went well, didn’t it?”
• • •
One mile beyond the island’s curvature the Vargas duo find this day’s fishing poor. Both men are tired and irritable. It takes a specific kind of man to live atop the ocean kelp forests, a wilderness inconceivable for most people. Weather is dangerous and mutable, a living entity capricious. After the morning’s storm a relentless sun bears down from a cloudless sky. Heat and light reflect off the still waters. Gentle swells slap the sides of the Caballito de Mar. They add to the monotony. Five small tuna is the extent of their haul.
Following the timeless fishing adage if you’re not catching fish move, Leon and Miguel relocate their vessel south hoping to snag Dorado a just a mile off the prison compound. Floating flotsam dislodged by the morning storm will hide gathering Dorado in its shade. Flashing florescent blue and green the Dorado hide, under the floating tree. Both men heave a sigh of relief. They’re happy for a new beginning.
As the Dorado hit the jigs out of the corner of his eye Leon catches the movement of an approaching swimmer. He does a double take. A man using an inner tube serving as a life jacket kicks madly towards them. “Reel in the jigs,” Leon calls to Miguel.
Father and son shout waving their arms high above their heads. Miguel begins to crank the hand winch pulling in the twenty-five pound anchor. Leon fires a warning shot in the air. “There’s not enough time,” he calls to his son. “The engine is off.”
The swimmer closes the gap. Miguel fires second shot and still the prisoner fights his way through the water seeking sanctuary on their boat. Father and son exchange a look of dread. They cannot allow their ship to be boarded. Miguel yells, “Holy Mother! Do you see this? Is he loco?”
They are screaming expletives in an effort to scare the swimmer into changing his course. Never in their imaginings of just such an occasion, did they realize to protect their boat they will have to overcome the sacred conscripts engraved across their mutual biology, a shared life force compelling them to honor this inmate’s body as holy.
The escapee holds the stainless steel railing with his hands and feet and will not relinquish his grip. Desperation has fueled his muscles with super human strength. Together the father and son do not have in their combined strength, the power to jettison the unwanted intruder from their boat. Leon and Miguel exchange a look filled with horror, the situation desperate. “He’s too strong,” shouts Leon.
In a burst of energy the man rolls onto the boat deck sweeping Miguel off his feet. Miguel goes down hard hitting his head on the railing. His eyes are blank and Leon fears him dead. The prisoner is diving for the cabin and control of the boat.
Caught with a prisoner aboard ship will be the end of fishing rights at Islas Tres Marias. Worse they could become inmates themselves. Who then will be the breadwinner for their families? They’ve heard the stories of innocent men as well as convicts forced to live the impoverished life on La Luna. In this moment Leon realizes their lives, livelihood and boat are in mortal danger.
“Por favor, por favor,” begs the man as he clings desperately to the side railing making his way to the helm. The wild eyes, stringy hair and emaciated limbs leave no doubt he is a prisoner off Islas Tres Marias. “Por favor, por favor! He pleads.
Leon cries out. Strangled anguish, “Arrrgggggghh.”
Miguel lies dazed and bleeding on the deck. Leon blinks against a terrible searing pain. Adrenalin surging, the trigger as light as a feather, the gun discharges. The bullets velocity carries the intruder’s body backwards. The man drops in the water. Leon runs to Miguel and lifts him to standing. They hear garbled screams as sharks converge. Looking beyond the boat they see a disappearing mix of man and fish. The water is streaked with ribbons of bright red blood and pink foam. “Damn tiburion!” shouts Leon pumping his shotgun into the boiling bloody water. Miguel shaky, fighting to stand, picks up his rifle to help.
Checo and Christopher are walking from the garage when a guard in a jeep speeds by yelling, “Daniel is swimming to the fisherman.” Gunning the jeep he races to the dock.
Christopher sprints toward the dock. It’s a screwed up world where a rapist goes free and the family protector is put in jail.
A group of inmates stand frozen on the cliff looking over the dock. The siren blares a warning. The town will be locked down. Lookouts armed with assault rifles will shoot any prisoners approaching the town wall. To Christopher the sea has become filled with miniature diamonds of light floating on the water. Within each diamond he sees a violet flame.
A violet flame, yes. What did she call herself? The ‘divine flame of transmutation,’ yes, that was it. ‘I am the violet flame of transmutation. I carry the cosmic balance. You are Redemption’s Warrior.’ Why do I think of that now?”
A faint pop-pop, like firecrackers discharging carries across the distance.
Finally they see a launch speeding toward them. “What took them so long?” Miguel yells.
A silence weighs heavily on the group. They wait overlooking the dock. Christopher feels like he’s been punched in the gut. Only Ave Bonita remains unaffected. She nibbles on Checo’s ear. The launch returns. For a brief moment the guard’s head droops. Catching inmates watching him his features harden. His voice flat and fierce he says, “Come and retrieve your comrade. Clean the launch.”
Wrapped in canvas they take Daniel to the land surrounding the church. Inmates have already been set to the task of digging the grave. At the fresh site they all stand quietly. Checo elbows Christopher. “Say something,” he hisses.
Mucus, thick with unshed tears, clogs Christopher’s throat.
Coughing, he reaches out toward the grave. “Daniel was a good man. He defended his sister from a lawman who used his badge as a shield to repeatedly violate her. They fought over a gun. The man was shot.” Christopher’s voice breaks. The men are staring at him in confusion. Apparently none of them knew the story of Daniel’s imprisonment. Mumbling grows to a collective growl. Taking a deep breath Christopher continues, “The law refused to consider Daniel’s plea of self-defense. He was sentenced to life imprisoned on La Luna.” Looking up Christopher soaks in the shocked and outraged faces. Choking out the words he adds, “Daniel stood for his sister and paid a terrible price. Today he chose death over slavery. He claimed his freedom.”
Christopher’s voice drops deep. “Daniel, today I saw redemption’s flame. Vaya con Dios, friend, redemption awaits.”
He turns away lost in grief. Although for a friend he barely knew. A man in the midst of his own turmoil Daniel took the time to explain to Christopher the dangers of La Luna. Checo stares at Christopher in bewilderment as he bolts from the graveyard.
Raw with emotion Christopher cannot tolerate being watched. Starting with a trot he hears his words, “redemption is coming.” Increasing his speed, his feet pound the rhythm to his chant. “Redemption is coming. Redemption is coming.” Running the dirt trails to the furthest beach on the island he throws rocks, boulders, stones into the wind whipping the peaks of waves. “Redemption is coming.” Finally he curls up within nearby drift wood and cries hiding his face in the crook of his arm until he is empty and sleeps.
Word spreads quickly, “Daniel tried to escape. He was shot by fishermen and eaten by sharks.”
Checo shares the story over the dinner table. As with every tale he elaborates, “His arteries pumped like garden hoses emptying into the sea.”
A dark sobriety fills the inmates. Already guards laughingly address prisoners as ‘shark bait.’
• • •
At home in their local café Leon reads the headline: On Islas tres Marias Prisoner Attempts Escape. In a rare expose the newspaper reveals the origin of the charges against Daniel. Horrified Leon discovers Daniel’s imprisonment the result of protecting his sister from the sexual assaults of a corrupt and predatory police officer.
To both Leon and Miguel this corruption is inconceivable. In the fishing village each male family member takes responsibility for the safety of the women. When Leon looks at his son he finds his own tears reflected in Miguel’s face. He puts his arm around his son’s shoulder and says, “Mijo, what have I done?”
Leon is Catholic. “I killed an innocent man.” He tells his wife, “My soul forever damaged.”
The shot replays itself over and over in his mind. When he closes his eyes he sees Daniel clinging to the railing, pleading, “por favor, por favor.” Saying the blessing over a family meal he hears Daniel scream. “Mio Dios.” In his dreams Daniel falls, bleeding, into the water churning with sharks.
When Leon looks at his wife or Miguel’s young daughter’s he sees Daniel’s sister. Even sun sparkling on the ocean triggers the bloody memories. Inconsolable he cannot eat or sleep. This inmate was not the terrible monster the fishermen have been led to believe live on Islas Tres Marias. This prisoner was a man who protected his sister and paid the ultimate price with his death.
The local priest tries to comfort him. In Leon’s shock and numbness the words just slide off. They slide off into an abyss created by the horror and trauma of watching an innocent man he’d shot eaten by sharks. Leon sleep walks through chores seeing only Daniel’s wild eyes and emaciated body. He asks Miguel, “What really goes on at the island?”
They have both heard rumors. Heart-broken Leon and Miguel can only tie themselves to their routine under the watchful eye of their family and community.
• • •
On Islas Tres Marias Christopher realizes without a relationship with fisherman escape will be impossible. Countless times he considers hot wiring the guard’s launch. He’d need extra cans of gas. Only accessible beyond the town gates with special authority gasoline is kept under lock and key. The launch filled with gas has a range of twenty five miles. Half-way to Mazatlan, he’d be stranded in the Pacific. Suicide.