“The other day. At the church. When you spoke-when you told us what happened to you-it really affected me, Ignacio.”
“I’m sorry. I should not have gone on the way I did. It was very childish of me. That woman upset me with her accusations.”
“Yes, of course she did. Of course. But it hit me hard. It hit me very hard, to hear what they did to you in that place. Even for me-it was hard to believe that anyone could hurt a man as gentle and kind as you. That they could beat you, and do those things to you.”
“No, no,” he said hopelessly. “It wasn’t so bad for me. I was just upset. I was nervous. That woman-”
“It made me so angry-I cannot tell you how angry it made me. I am going to testify, Ignacio. I am going to Washington and I am going to testify at those hearings.”
“Do you think that’s smart? How can you be sure it is safe?”
“Maybe it is not safe. But I cannot live like a rabbit, shaking in fear my whole life.” She turned on her side and smiled at him, flashing the broken tooth. “You see? Seeing you, Ignacio-seeing how brave you are, how cheerful in spite of the pain you have suffered-this has taught me not to be afraid.”
“No, Lorca. You are wrong about me.”
“I am not. Now, will you turn around so I can get dressed?”
It was nearly three o’clock in the morning, but he could not persuade her to stay. She wanted to take the subway home, but he would not hear of it, and pressed a twenty-dollar bill into her hand. He waited with her in the cold, damp wind that blew up Broadway until they managed to flag a cab.
“Please think more about these hearings,” he said, holding the door for her. “You are safe now. I want you to stay safe.”
She smiled up at him, and then he was watching the tail lights of the taxi merge into the other lights of Broadway.
Later, he sat for a long time on the edge of his bed, clutching the pillow Lorca had soaked with her tears. She was not a woman to be talked out of anything; it was pointless to try. “It’s the only way I have left to fight those people,” she had said. “I am going to Washington. I am going to the hearings. And there I will tell them all about our little school.”
TWENTY-FIVE
The bizarre landscape of New Jersey was behind them. Victor had never travelled on an eight-lane highway before, and he found the intricate turmoil of expressways, parkways, tunnels and bridges frightening-especially at seventy miles per hour. But the vast networks of pipes and vats, the chemical smells and the whoosh and roar of eighteen-wheelers, were over now, and the road that unfurled before them was the most beautiful Victor had ever seen.
Wyatt had borrowed a car for this trip-a cramped, rusted vehicle with a bad rattle in the engine and a powder of cigarette ash and what looked like cat litter covering every surface. Lorca sat in the back, and Victor, feeling it would be rude to leave Wyatt alone up front like a bus driver, sat in the passenger seat besside him.
“It makes sense,” Victor said. “They make the roads to Washington the best possible. You have to give people a sense of importance when they drive to their capital.”
Wyatt glanced over at him. “I don’t get you.”
“We have travelled at least fifty miles, and there has not been a single hole. No patches, no dirt sections. All your highways cannot be so perfect.”
Wyatt had been uncharacteristically subdued ever since they had met at the church. He just shrugged. “Most of the interstates are pretty good.”
“Not like this, I am sure.” The surface was so smooth, the curves and inclines engineered to such perfection, they seemed to waft the car along on a cushion of air.
“Look,” Bob said, in a different tone of voice now. “What I said at the church about Graciella and the others making other travel arrangements? It’s not true. The fact is, they backed out.”
Lorca sat forward in the back seat. “Graciella is not going to testify?”
“No. None of the others is going to testify. There will be a few people coming from Los Angeles. Some from Minneapolis. But they’ll be testifying about village raids, and about the disappeared. We don’t have anyone else talking about clandestine jails. So, Lorca, your testimony is more important than ever.”
“I am the only one from our group?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I misled you.”
“You lied to us,” Victor said sharply.
“I’m sorry,” Wyatt said-quietly, for him. “I was afraid Lorca would change her mind too.”
“She has a right to change her mind. Maybe she
Lorca was still leaning forward, gripping the backs of their seats. “No, I will not change. I will testify.”
“Good girl,” Wyatt said, and gave the steering wheel a light slap with his palm.
Victor cursed under his breath and looked away.
Half an hour later, Wyatt pointed at the passing landscape. The hills were bigger and deeper green, with patches of yellow and blue flowers. “This is Delaware we’re in now. One of the smaller states.”
They travelled another thirty miles or so in silence.
Then Victor felt Lorca’s hand on his shoulder, the warmth of her fingers through his shirt. He turned in the seat, and she raised her eyebrows in a quizzical expression. “What?” he asked.
But she shook her head and said, “Nothing. Nothing at all.” And sat back to watch the green parade of hills, the dark clouds gathering above them.
“This is Maryland,” Wyatt announced a while later. “Richest state in the union. Great for sailing-not that I’ve ever been sailing. Hope that rain holds off till we get off the highway.”
Victor fixed his eyes on the interstate’s vanishing point that shifted with each hill, each curve. “Perhaps I will write something out, Bob. Something for the hearing.”
“Write what? Instead of testifying, you mean?”
“I could tell them what I did at the little school.”
“If you want to testify, Ignacio, just testify. A piece of paper isn’t going to do it.”
“Why not? It is the same as the things I would say.”
“It’s not, I’m afraid. The committee allows written testimony, but it’s not as effective. They can’t question a piece of paper. They can’t test its credibility.”
“But suppose there was another witness. Another person who saw all of the things I wrote down. Who could say, ‘Yes, this happened. Yes, that happened.’ Who could swear that every word I wrote was true.”
“They could corroborate it, you mean. That would help. That might work.”
“What do you mean?” Lorca said from the back seat. “There was another prisoner with you? Someone who will give evidence before the committee?”
“There was someone there. Someone who can testify to the truth of what I write. I don’t want to say any more right now.”
“But there’s only the two of us, Bob said. Who else do you know?”
“It’s not a soldier, is it?” Wyatt asked hopefully.
“No. Not a soldier.”
“Man, that’s what we really need. A Guardia deserter. Someone who knows all about these jails from the other side. That would blow this thing wide open.”
There was some confusion at the hotel, which was a Quality Inn high up on Connecticut Avenue. Only one room had been booked for the three of them, and it took Wyatt twenty minutes to straighten things out. Victor and he ended up sharing a room on the third floor; Lorca got a corner room at the end of the hall.
Although the room was very plain, all of the furnishings looked new. “Have you seen the bathroom?” Victor asked Wyatt with excitement. “Take a look at it.”
Wyatt dropped some socks into a drawer and went to look. “What about it?”
