33
grape
AFTER THE OSTRICHES HAD BEEN FED and all the fences repaired and in working order, Alejo carried a wooden porch chair into the luxuriant grape arbor. He plopped down in the chair, slinging his feet up on an overturned five gallon bucket he left inside the arbor for the times he was too lazy to bring a chair.
It had been two months since Alejo had visited his family in Lima, then flown with them to a medium-sized city in Italy, where they would make their new home. Since he had come back to Rupert’s farm, Alejo had been busy studying the Bible with Rupert and doing odd jobs around the property. Usually he was done feeding the huge birds by about five. It was now winter in Bolivia, leaving him an hour before sundown to sit out here and think.
It was crazy, but a lot of the time he thought about her.
He had talked to Wara a few times at her parents’ house, short, uneventful conversations that still made him really happy. In only three more weeks, he would see her face-to-face, and they would take a trip together to decide if they would work with CI. As to the destination of the trip, Rupert had kept silence, not even wanting to hint.
In reality, there were only nineteen days left until Alejo would talk with Wara in person. Less than three weeks. Alone behind the grapevines, Alejo couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t counted the days a few times.
Besides Wara, no one should have the number of the nondescript little cell phone Alejo carried in his pocket. So when it rang now, he startled. The number wasn’t hers, though. Alejo warily punched the talk button and pressed an ear to the speaker.
“Alejo? Is that you, che?”
The hairs on Alejo’s arm stood on end. “Stalin?”
“Who else? Oh my goodness, it’s been so long!”
Alejo was stunned. “How did you get this number?”
“Relax, che!” Stalin’s tone was not cautious at all. “I’m not with them anymore. I’ve run away, to join the circus, as they say. As to how I got this number---don’t ask. Let’s just say since I’m the only living member of the Prism who knows you’re alive, I’m the only one who thought to have a look around for you.”
“You left the Prism,” Alejo stated warily, crossing one leg over the other on the five gallon bucket.
“Yeah, che, I should have listened to you earlier. After you told me what was going on—about the poor kids being recruited and going over to do holy war—well, I just didn’t feel right. And Gabriel…man, I can’t even talk about that. I still can’t believe Gabo’s gone. But then that day, you know, at Pairumani…” Stalin’s voice cracked and he swore softly. “Alejo, I was a loser and a coward. I just stood there. I let Ishmael shoot my best friend for being an infidel.”
Alejo found himself grinning, despite the contrition in Stalin’s voice. It was so good to hear from a friend. “Yeah, well, there wasn’t much you could do,” Alejo said. “We would have been a pretty pair, both lying there with holes in our heads. You did the right thing in the moment. And from what Wara tells me, you saved my life later, dropping me off at the hospital.” Alejo couldn’t bring himself to mention the fact that Gabriel had also been there.
“Yeah, so what happened to her?” Stalin asked curiously. “She go off back to USAlandia to live happily ever after with some gringo?”
Alejo snorted. “Yeah, something like that. She certainly wasn’t about to stay here with me to live happily ever after.”
Stalin may be out of the Prism, but there’s no way he’s going to get any info out of me about Wara.
“So you got out...what about Lázaro and Benjamin?”
“Both sent to another country in South America. They’ll stay out of Bolivia for a while, I assume.”
“And Ishmael?” Alejo asked.
“I have absolutely no idea.” Alejo could picture Stalin shaking his head, scraggly hair dragging over his bulky shoulders. “I hightailed it out of there after we got to Asuncion, and took my parents with me. They’re safely tucked away in Japan…I know you won’t tell.”
The conversation cheered Alejo up more than he could have imagined. Stalin was alive and well, and possibly dining every evening on sushi and rice. Alejo assumed that Ishmael Khan wouldn’t be showing up in Bolivia for some time, after an anonymous call Alejo had made explaining that the Khan Foundation was spiriting away Bolivians to fight as mujahedeen, in the name of scholarships and higher education.
Surprisingly, Stalin kept in touch; a week after his phone call, Alejo’s cell shimmered with the alien sound that announced an arriving text from his old friend.
“Guess where I am?” the little screen read.
Alejo was debating between “Las Vegas” and “Disneyland” when a second wave of sound announced Stalin’s answer. Alejo clicked the sound off and read: “At mass. Yes, that’s right. I’m sitting here in Spain at mass with about five little old ladies.” Then, following quickly, “And they’re all dressed in black. Is that creepy, or what?”
Alejo pulled out the side keyboard, which he had used maybe once, and keyed in, “Despite the creepiness of black, are you finding what you’re looking for?” The image of Stalin, probably dressed in a t-shirt that accented his beer belly and ratty old jeans, kneeling on the thin wooden rail at the back of the cathedral pew was extremely amusing.
It was also fascinating, given the fact that Stalin believed he already knew everything about God and had said he would rather have his carnal pleasures. Alejo was sure the fact that he was nervously repeating mass along with five wrinkly, age-encrusted Spanish women meant that Stalin was rethinking whether he was going to pay the price.
“Not yet…there’s something here, but I still don’t know if I’m ready. But che, I’m thinking about it.”
Another message came. “I was very impressed with you, willing to die for what you believe.” Alejo hoped this was a good sign. “But then again, so was Gabriel,” Stalin added. “I’m still looking, che. God have mercy…he knows I’m looking, but the women here in Spain are so beautiful…”
Alejo typed, “Don’t you want to talk on the phone? My fingers are cramping.”
“Can’t. Time to sing. The priest is giving me the eye. Talk to you later, Alejo.”
Alejo slid his phone back in his pocket with a smile and leaned his head back towards the sunshine.