Against All Enemies

to make his belt. When so many had so little, he needed to be thankful and appreciate every luxury of his life.

A microphone-equipped lectern with a laptop computer stood near a large portable projection screen. As was his father’s wish, he’d give his presentation before the guests ate, because “swollen bellies have no ears,” he liked to say.

Arturo rose and went to the lectern. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll be seated, we’ll begin in a moment. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Arturo Gonzalez, governor of Chihuahua. I’d like to introduce my brother-in- law, a man who needs no introduction, but I thought for this particular occasion, I would tell you a little about Jorge growing up, because we went to the same school and we have known each other all our lives.”

Arturo took a quick breath and added suddenly, “Jorge was a crybaby. I kid you not.”

The crowd broke into laughter.

“Whenever we had homework, he would spend hours crying about it. Then he would come over my house, and I would do the homework, and he would give me some Coca-Cola or gum. You see? Even back then he understood good business!”

More laughter.

“But seriously, ladies and gentlemen, Jorge and I both truly appreciated our education and our teachers, and we would not be standing here without them, which is why both of us feel so deeply about giving back to our children. Jorge will explain more about the foundation’s work, so without further ado, I give you Mr. Jorge Rojas!”

Arturo looked toward one of the bars, and from behind it, the man appeared, wearing a suit that matched Miguel’s, save for his tie, which was a gleaming and powerful red with gold stitching along the edges. He wore his freshly cut hair gelled closely to his head, and for the first time Miguel noticed the gray hairs sprouting from his temple and from his long sideburns. Miguel had never before thought of his father as old. Jorge was an athletic man who’d played on the USC soccer team when he’d been a student there. He’d even been a triathlete for a few years before hurting his knee. He still kept in excellent shape and was an imposing six feet, two inches tall, unlike Miguel, who was merely five-ten and didn’t seem to be growing anymore.

While Jorge often had a few days’ growth of stubble on his chin, which he’d explained away by saying he’d been too busy to shave (and that always drew a frown, because one of the richest men in the world couldn’t find the time to shave?), on this evening he was clean-shaven, with the sharp jaw of a movie star. He grinned and waved to the crowd as he literally jogged away from the bar and ran up to the lectern to give Arturo a big hug.

But then he pulled back and began to wring his brother-in-law’s neck, drawing more laughter from the crowd. He released Arturo and went to the microphone.

“I asked him to never talk about me crying over the homework, but it’s true, ladies and gentlemen, it’s true. I guess I’ve always been passionate about school — in one way or another!”

Miguel glanced over at Sonia, who sat there, rapt. Jorge had that effect on everyone, and while it sometimes made Miguel jealous, he couldn’t have been more proud of his father, and he knew Sonia would find him utterly amazing, as most people did.

For the next fifteen minutes they sat, listened, and watched the guided tour of the work the foundation had done to build new schools, to equip classrooms with state-of-the-art technology, to hire the best teachers available from both Mexico and neighboring countries. Jorge even provided statistics and test scores to validate the work they were doing. But the most convincing argument came from the students themselves.

Jorge shifted aside and allowed an entire fourth-grade class to line up behind the lectern, and three of the students, two boys and a girl, spoke articulately about the improvements at their school. They were the cutest kids Miguel had ever seen, and they no doubt tugged heavily on the heartstrings of everyone present.

And when they were finished, Jorge concluded by urging everyone to make further donations before they left. He gestured to the kids. “We must invest in our future,” he told them, lifting his voice. “And that continues tonight. Enjoy your dinner, everyone! And thank you!”

As he left the lectern, Jorge was joined by his girlfriend, Alexsi, a stunning blonde who’d been standing by at the bar with him. He’d met her while on a business trip to Uzbekistan, and it was clear to all why he’d been so attracted to her. She had eyes as bright and green as Gula, the Afghan girl who’d famously appeared on the cover of National Geographic magazine. Her father was a Supreme Court judge who’d been nominated by the president of the country, and she was an attorney herself who didn’t look a day over thirty. Miguel knew his father could not abide a woman with whom he could not have an intelligent conversation. She spoke English, Spanish, and Russian quite proficiently, and she was a student of world affairs. Most surprisingly, she had outlasted all of his father’s other female friends. They’d been dating for nearly a year now.

Miguel had been wondering about a collection of seats on the far left-hand side of the yard, and when he looked again, those seats had been filled by a live orchestra, which began to play a subtle Jobim bossa nova.

Alexsi glided over to her chair, which was drawn from the table by Jorge, and she took her seat and grinned at everyone.

“Well, I see the world travelers are finally back from Spain,” said Rojas, beaming at Sonia. “And it’s very good to see you again, Ms. Batista.”

“And good to see you, too, sir. Thank you for the presentation. That was incredible.”

“We can’t do enough for those kids, can we?” He drifted into a thought. “Oh, forgive my terrible manners,” he added quickly, turning to Alexsi. “This is my friend Alexsi Gorbotova. Alexsi, this is my son’s friend Sonia Batista.”

As the pleasantries were exchanged, Miguel recoiled a bit while waiters came around and filled their wineglasses. He stole a glance at the label: Chateau Mouton Rothschild Pauillac, bottled in 1986. Miguel loved the wine and knew each bottle sold for more than five hundred dollars. Again, he wouldn’t share the price with Sonia, but she lifted the glass to her nose and her eyes grew wide.

Jorge lifted his glass. “A toast to the future of our great country, Mexico! Viva Mexico!”

Later, Miguel and Sonia slipped away from the table before dessert was served. His father was in an intense conversation with both his uncle and several other local politicians from the area. They had lit up their cigars, and Sonia had found the stench too powerful, the smoke burning her eyes. They retreated to an empty table not far from the orchestra and listened to a surprisingly good rendition of “Samba de Uma Nota So.” She was impressed that he knew the title of the song. His music education classes weren’t just electives; they were intense. She put her hand over his and said, “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He laughed. “Do you want the grand tour?”

“Not now, if that’s okay. I’d just like to sit here and talk.”

In the distance a siren blared, followed by more sirens. A car accident, perhaps, but not the violence that his uncle had mentioned, the violence that had settled on the city of Juarez like a fog clouding men’s vision and driving them to kill one another. No, it was just a car accident …

Sonia lifted her chin and stared across the deck. “Alexsi seems nice.”

“She’s good for my father, but he’ll never marry her.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s never stopped loving my mother. These girls can never compete with her.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to answer, but you still haven’t told me how she died.”

He frowned. “I thought I did.”

“That was your other girlfriend.”

He grinned and pretended to punch her arm; then his expression turned serious. “She died of breast cancer. All the money in the world couldn’t save her.”

“I’m so sorry. How old were you?”

“Eleven.”

She nudged in closer, draped her arm over his shoulder. “I’m sure that was very difficult, especially at that age.”

“Yes. I just wish my father had …I don’t know …learned how to deal with it better. He assumed I would freak out. He thought if I hung around I wouldn’t be able to deal with the pain. So he rushed me off to Le Rosey.”

“But you told me you liked it there.”

“I did. But it didn’t have him.”