14.4 Infidel

Nobody was braced for the moment. It took an embarrassing turn at the Parque de los Periodistas – the park of the journalists – near Hotel Saint James.

Monday, 2^nd September, shortly after a light rain and when the sunlight recapped the sidewalk, Jamal came out of hiding and stepped on the corner, waiting for Marina. She came up to him with a small bag on her shoulder, in white hipster and bustier.

“It’s a little colder,” he said.

“I’m fine,” she assured.

“Shall we?”

“Where do we go?”

“I’m thinking of Plaza Bolívar, near my hotel. Do you recommend any specific place?”

“No.”

Jamal thumbed a cab because he didn’t want her to know that he got a rented car parked not far from here. They climbed the taxi, like a picking tourist, and drove to the historic district.

They stepped down at the Columnists’ Park at five-thirty in the afternoon. Calima or Maria wasn’t there. They paused by the watercourse; an old stonework of the Vicachá River channeled under the city.

Jamal had to make this excuse, “I have to make a brief call. Let’s go to the hotel!”

“Where is the hotel?” asked Marina.

“Right around the corner.”

Hotel Saint James located on Carrera 5, with a black wall and a door to the pavement, screened of curtains behind glass panels and the inside could not be seen. This lane usually remained empty and at the hour not a single traffic on the road.

They turned the corner and took steps towards the hotel, in fact, three yards from the door, when Calima came out carrying a folded umbrella, followed by Maria with a  camera.

“MARINA!” cried Calima.

Marina stopped bemused. She did not know what was happening here. “No! No!” that was all what she uttered.

“Marina! I am Calima.”

“I don’t know…” she murmured.

“Mama sent me…”

“I don’t know you,” she was able to say in a clear voice. She turned away towards the corner.

“Hey Mary! Wait!” cried Jamal, “Talk to your sister!”

“NO!” she stepped away.

Maria Taylor quickly raised her camera and took a picture. Marina was terrified.

“Marina!” Calima stepped up.

“I don’t want to talk!” she took off in a run towards the corner and ran away. The rest began to run after her; that half-naked woman wobbling her bums.

Maria captured a shot on her camera. This was the first time she saw Marina.

Marina ran towards the park and Jamal caught her up 200 metres away, “Mary! Stop!”

She stopped by the graffiti-tainted wall of the Temple of the Liberator. Her eyes filled with tears, “I don’t want to talk.”

“It’s alright! It’s alright!”

The light fading and the mighty Mount Monserrate in the background, Calima reached and uttered, “Look at you! You are naked! What’s wrong with you? Mama told me to find you! She’s worried! She’s old and sick!” Calima wasn’t loud but a little rash and closed the gap to stand beside her.

Marina screamed in a fragmented voice and threw her arm, “I don’t know you! I don’t want you to follow me! I don’t know you!”

“Marina!” little sister played the bossy role, “You’re full of AIDS! You’re not behaving like a human being!” she wasn’t loud, “You are wearing a cross! You’re an infidel!”

Marina returned madly screeching and a crowd turned to watch, “I don’t care! I don’t want you near me! I don’t belong to you! I just don’t know you! GO AWAY!”

“Your mama is calling!”

“I HATE YOU!”

“I can call the police!”

“Hell with you!” and Marina dashed out of the park. Jamal motioned them to wait and followed. She ran across the street to the other side through the traffic and climbed a three-wheeler.

Maria continued to take pictures. She ran after them and clicked more.

The driver saw this American in white shirt and blue jeans and he did not promptly fire up. Jamal reached and grabbed the frame to talk, “I understand, Mary…”

“No, you don’t,” her tears poured down the cheeks on her bosom. She kept wiping her face but tears never break. “You threw me into this! I should have known!”

He saw Maria behind taking photos. He kicked a leg, “Cut it off!” and turned to Marina, “I am sorry.”

“No, you’re not. I want to go home,” she cried. She’d never forgive him.

Jamal tapped on the roof and told the driver, “Take her home!” He took off.

Three slowly walked towards the hotel and stopped to rest in a side park lit bright by the lamp posts and surrounded by six trees in circular bases and paved. They sat down on a bench.

Jamal Carreon sighed, “You will have to leave your sister. It’s no good.”

“Can’t we go to the police?” Calima did not have a tear in her eyes, in a white Madelena shirt and blue flare skirt.

“If you go to the police, she becomes an illegal migrant. Otherwise, they won’t bother,” said Jamal, “There are several illegal migrants from countries around. They come to find job. You should not cause her problems.”

“I came this far because my mom wants to see her,” Calima expressed, “What can I tell her? Look what she has done!”

“Forget it!” muttered Maria.

Jamal explicated, “Cal, she is not going to come back. She has chosen a different life. She’s very happy now. I heard her voice.”

“A different life!” doubted Calima, “She has millions in the bank. She has nothing here. She can’t be happy!”

“She won’t need that,” voiced Jamal, “If you want to do a favour, send her money but I don’t think she’d accept anything from you or from anyone.”

“She’s mad!”

“Oh Cal!” cried Maria, “Let it go!”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“I go pick my car,” he supposed, “meet you at dinner.”

“We go home,” Maria concluded.

“And tell them what?” asked Calima.

“Tell them nothing, it’s over.”