Owen said, “What happened in Guatemala, you didn’t want to talk about? You can tell me now. You can tell me anything.”
They were at 220 Merrill, sitting at a table in the bar, Kate drinking a glass of chardonnay and Owen a Heineken from the bottle. It was crowded, as always on a Friday night. Kate felt close to him, trusted him after only a few dates. She said, “I went to my friend Marina’s and met Captain Garza. Remember that?”
Owen said, “The little guy in the uniform, right?”
Kate nodded.
“That night,” she said, “I was in bed, sound asleep, when they came in the room. I remember opening my eyes as they lifted me off the bed, wondering what was going on. Was I dreaming or was it really happening? There were two of them. But it was dark. I couldn’t see their faces. They cuffed my hands behind my back and wrapped tape around my mouth and eyes. It was hot, the air thick and wet and it was difficult to breathe through my nose.”
Kate picked up her wineglass by the stem and took a sip.
“They took me out to a Jeep and strapped a seat belt around me in back and drove out of town toward the jungle.”
Owen said, “Who’d you think they were?”
“Garza’s men,” Kate said.
Owen said, “The one who hit on your friend.”
“He didn’t hit on her,” Kate said. “He raped her. I thought he was paying me back for standing up to him, offending his Latin sense of honor. It was the only thing that made sense. I thought they were doing it to scare me. I didn’t think they were going to hurt me. I worked for the US government. They weren’t that crazy, I told myself, but I was wrong.
“We drove for a while-fifteen, twenty minutes, maybe-and the Jeep slowed down and stopped and they pulled me out and took me into the jungle and one of them whispered: ‘Tu vas a morir.’”
Owen said, “What’s that mean?”
“You’re going to die,” Kate said.
“Jesus,” Owen said.
“I could feel the slash of wet branches across the front of my T-shirt and shorts and the mosquitoes were relentless, feasting on my neck and face. I remember the sounds: birds cawing and the low hum of locusts and the loud high-pitched clack of the tree frogs. I remember the smoke from their cigarettes mixing with the dense earthy smell of the jungle, trying to breathe that heavy humid air through my nose.
“We walked for some time-ten minutes, at least-and then stopped and they passed a bottle back and forth. I could hear the liquid splashing to the neck and back. They were drunk. I could hear the sound of their boots, feet unsteady, taking steps to keep their balance. They were speaking Spanish, talking about who’d go first with me, and then flipping a coin to settle it.
“They cut my T-shirt off with a knife. I could feel the blade pulling the fabric before slicing through it. Then they were mauling me. They pulled my shorts down and cut off my panties. One of them let go of me and I heard the jiggle of a belt buckle and the sound of a zipper unzipping. The other one started humping me from behind and I turned and brought my knee up into him and he grunted and let go.
“Then I was tackled, taken down hard and they were trying to spread my legs apart. I tried to fight them and they beat the hell out of me.”
Owen picked up his beer and took a long drink. He said, “Jesus Christ, this is unbelievable.”
Kate sipped her wine. “You want to hear the rest of it?”
Owen said, “I want to go to Guatemala, get those bastards.”
Kate said, “I woke up trying to breathe through the one nostril that wasn’t swollen shut. I started to panic, thinking I was going to suffocate. I knew I had to get the tape off my mouth fast. I could hear them close by, snoring. I rolled on my back and stretched my arms and brought the handcuffs over my hips to the back of my knees and then slid my legs through. I ripped the tape off my mouth, taking in gulps of air. I found the seam and pulled the tape from my eyes. It was early, the sun was just starting to rise. I was naked and put on what was left of my T-shirt, the back slit open, and found my shorts and sandals.
“Then I studied the men who were sleeping fifteen feet away, two Ladinos in blue policia uniforms. I moved to the closest one who was thin, slightly built like a lightweight fighter, and slid the gun out of his holster. It was a Beretta. I released the safety, and racked a round into the chamber. The second cop wasn’t wearing a gun but had a knife in a sheath on his belt. He was a bigger man with a fat stomach-on his back snoring.
“I aimed the gun at the skinny cop and kicked him in the ribs with the wooden toe of my sandal. He opened his eyes and looked at me and grinned. I told him to give me the key to the handcuffs or I’d blow his head off.
“He said, ‘Cálmese. Yo la tengo.’ He patted the outside of his pocket and slid his hand in his blue uniform pants and brought out the key, holding it up, showing it to me. ‘See, I have it right here.’ He grinned again and said they were having fun with me, that’s all-like what’s the problem? I wanted to walk over and put the gun in his mouth, see how much fun he thought that was.
“I pulled the hammer back on the Beretta and he tossed the key in the grass in front of me. I went down on one knee, searching for it and then seeing it partially concealed. When I looked up again, the fat cop was on his feet, the knife in his hand, charging me-up so fast I couldn’t believe it.
“I raised the Beretta and fired twice. I remember how loud it was and birds squawking into the sky. I hit him both times, center chest, but he kept coming, the momentum of his body driving him into me, knocking me over. He landed next to me, and as I sat up, the skinny cop grabbed the barrel of the Beretta, trying to take it out of my hand, and I pulled the trigger. The round hit him in his left shoulder and he let go of the gun and fell back. The second time, I aimed higher and shot him in the forehead. He went down, fell on his back and didn’t move.”
Owen drank his beer, never taking his eyes off her.
“I unlocked the handcuffs and followed the trail through the jungle back to the Jeep that said Policia on the side in white letters.
“I drove back to the outskirts of San Pedro and ditched it in heavy ground cover and walked into town. I knew I was on my own. The Peace Corps couldn’t help me now. No one could. I went home and got money and my passport. I had seven hundred US dollars and another hundred in quetzals. I took a final look at my house that I loved, knowing I’d never see it again and went to Marina’s. We took a bus to Guatemala City and from there, flew back to Michigan.”
He said, “Jesus.”
They stared at each other.
Owen said, “They rape you?”
Kate said, “Does it matter?”
He reached over and held her hand.
“I think they were too drunk,” Kate said. “Angry ’cause they couldn’t get it up, I guess and beat the hell out of me.”
“I think you got even,” Owen said.
“I don’t look at it that way,” Kate said. “It was them or me.”
Owen said, “Where’d you learn to shoot, or are you a natural?”
“My dad liked guns. He used to take me to the Metamora Gun Club and teach me how to shoot. He had a Walther PPK and a.45 Colt and a Smith & Wesson.357 Magnum.”
Owen finished his beer and looked across the table at her.
He said, “What’d the Peace Corps do?”
“Asked me why I left.”
“What’d you tell them?”
“Guatemala was weird and crazy. I couldn’t handle it.”
“They find the cops?”
“Marina’s mother sent the newspaper from San Pedro, describing the execution of two policia, kidnapped and taken into the jungle and shot.”
“That’s how they spun it, huh? Incredible.”
Kate said, “Now what do you think of me?”
“I like you even more,” Owen said.
Kate and Owen got married five months later. Her only regret was giving up her name-Morgan-for McCall. She liked Morgan better, but McCall wasn’t bad. Kate’s dad asked why they were getting married so fast, what’s the damn hurry?
Kate gave birth to Luke four months later, answering his question.