What You Have Heard Is True by Carolyn Forché

Author:Carolyn Forché
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2019-03-18T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

—

“You wanted to know where I live. This is one place.”

We had pulled in front of a wall. He turned the engine off and checked the side mirrors and the rearview.

It wasn’t late, but it was dark, not as dark as the road from El Imposible, because here a few windows glowed among the palms. This was not an elegant colonia, nor quite a barrio. There were no armed guards near the gates on the one hand, and no champas hanging on to the ravines on the other—neither rich nor poor. I hadn’t seen many such neighborhoods.

“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

He left the weapons in the vehicle with me and disappeared down a narrow walkway. I picked up the smaller of the two guns, just to see how it felt in the hand, but when I saw him returning I quickly put it back. He opened the door and told me to gather my things and follow him, pushing the guns into his waistband. We went down a walk lined with banana palms. He unlocked the front door with a key he took as if by sleight of hand from a trellis of bougainvillea. Before holding the door open, he turned and said, “Be careful. And don’t touch anything.”

“What are these?”

There were objects wrapped in newsprint secured with tape standing upright on the floor in rows.

“Especially don’t touch these. Come this way and step carefully.”

He led me into the kitchen and began opening and closing cupboards.

“I’m trying to find some coffee for you for the morning. I’m sure we have some. Here, here it is, and here is the pot, and what else? Drink the water from this bottle but not from that spigot. We’ll go out for breakfast.”

He opened the refrigerator door to reveal empty, lit shelves.

“Yes, well, that makes sense,” he said.

“What does?”

“Come this way.”

He held back a curtain, clicked on another lamp beside a bed neatly made up with plumped pillows. There was a stack of extra blankets folded at the foot, and a poster of Che Guevara mounted over the headboard. Leonel pulled the bedcover back on one side, revealing beneath it an AK-47, which he placed high on top of the armoire, out of reach.

“Someone else also lives here,” he said.

It would not have been the moment to ask him about this.

When I asked him about the Che Guevara poster, he said: “Yes, well, I have posters of Mussolini too, if the need arises. You can sleep here.” He patted the bed. “I’ll be back in the morning to pick you up. The bathroom is down that hall.”

“Where are you going?”

“I have to meet with some people. I’ll probably sleep at my brother’s house.”

He saw that I was looking at the top of the armoire.

“You won’t need that,” he said, adding, “don’t put too many lights on, just try to sleep. This isn’t my first choice for you, but we had to get off the road. Don’t poke around, Papu.”

“Why the telescope?”

A telescope was mounted on a tripod in front of a window.

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