Cave of Little Faces. Aída Besançon Spencer

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      “I’m so sorry, JoJo. Your mom and I will be right over.”

      Living in the same town—and it being about midnight, so the usual traffic of the day had dissipated—brought her parents swiftly to her side. Jo was more composed now, but the ache was still new and her uncle’s absence as large in her heart as was Uncle Sol himself and his presence in her life. The three of them sat mourning, huddled together. Her stepmother took hold of her hand. Neither of her parents made any attempt to call her brother or either of her two sisters.

      “Do you think we ought to let Ruby and Ben know?” asked Jo once.

      “No,” said her father, sadly. “Tomorrow is plenty of time to bring them in on it. Ruby will process it swiftly. Ben wasn’t home when we left. And you’ve already told Daniela. She’ll certainly let the rest know. You were Uncle Sol’s favorite.”

      “Yes,” said Jo. “That was always the case. I could never make head or tail of it. Uncle Sol was so active and—well—dynamic. I don’t know why he even noticed me. Ben is more like him—impulsive—always jumping into stuff headfirst. Ruby is the active one of us—he used to do all kinds of sports with her that I was no good at. Daniela’s always been the prettiest one of us. I don’t even know why he was interested in me.”

      “He was looking for something, Joey, something your brother and sisters didn’t have but only you had,” said her stepmother, patting her hand.

      Jo looked up in surprise and caught a look passing between her father and her stepmother. “What do you mean?” she asked.

      “Oh, oh, well, just, just something special in you that he appreciated,” her stepmother faltered and shot a nervous glance at Jo’s father.

      “He was looking for one of you he could trust his property to is what your mother is trying to say,” said her father quickly.

      “Yes, that’s it,” said her stepmother with what sounded to Jo like a nervous chuckle, laced with a kind of relief.

      “It’s a sizable property,” said her father, centering in on the prospect of inheritance.

      Jo considered that. “You know, it’s an answer to prayer. I’ve got so many things going here that need money. My salary, you know, is only start-up—it has a three year limit on the present grant. If the Spanish ministry isn’t self-sustaining by then I’d have to reapply, and there’s no guarantee it would be extended. I suspect that Toni and Ron are funding it at great sacrifice out of their own tithing. I know for a fact that they practice graduated tithing and are giving away something like a third of what they earn—and they don’t earn much as it is—on the low end of presbytery salaries. Besides that, I have all these programs I want to do—and stuff I need like new computers and ESL software for the program you’ve been helping me with, Dad, and . . .” She broke off. Her father was frowning.

      “Did I say something wrong?” Jo faltered.

      Her parents were looking at each other. Neither of them said anything for a while. Then her father looked at her intently and said simply. “Jo, please don’t make any plans about anything yet. Your mother is taking a leave from her work in the coronary care unit and I am dropping everything here. We are both needed there. We have to go immediately to the Dominican Republic—you know—to make arrangements and things. As the younger brother, I’ll be considered in charge, and they won’t do anything until I come. Give us about three days, then you come. One of us will try to meet you at the airport in Santo Domingo. If we can’t, we’ll send someone who will identify himself or herself as coming from me. That person will say, ‘Baiguanex has sent me for you.’ You will know then to go with her or him. They will bring you to Barahona and we will meet you there.”

      Jo looked at her father with astonishment. But, before she could speak, he added, “And, Jo, you must make certain that you bring the ceremonial dress that your uncle gave you. You must not forget it.”

      Jo’s mouth dropped open.

      “It’s for the service, dear,” said her stepmother swiftly and, to Jo’s ear, a little glibly.

      “We have to go now, Jo,” said her father, standing up. “Use the credit card that we have jointly. Don’t go searching unduly for cheaper flights on cheaper days, as I know you always do.” He smiled warmly at her. “Sweetie, I’m not telling you to throw away a lot of money, but the most important thing is that you come in three days. Whether anyone comes for you or not is not important. Rent a car and come yourself, if no one meets you. You know the way, for there is only really one road, and you’ve taken it since you were a child. I am telling you to get there any way you can and at whatever cost it takes. But only go with someone who says what I told you: ‘Baiguanex has sent me for you.’ Otherwise, come alone. And, Josefina, bring the dress—please don’t forget it.”

      When her father was determined to leave, no force in Richfield or anywhere else could stop this otherwise mild-mannered man, and he was now at the door dragging her stepmother gently but with firm determination by the arm. Just before he left Jo, he paused and said, “Let me pray for you.” His prayer, instead of his usual “Dear and Gracious Heavenly Father,” was in Taino, an adaptation of Jesus’s Lord’s Prayer. Jo had come to know it well, since it was now intoned at every family celebration and every gathering of her extended family in the visits to Barahona. Particularly poignant for her this moment was the petition to “Our Father (Guakia Baba) [for deliverance from evil] (Juracan-ua—bad spirit no; Maboya-ua—ghost no, Jukiyu-jan—good spirit yes), of God (Diosa).” Evil was the worst spiritual bad business—the great cosmic upsetter of all plans and all lives that turned hope to grief and joy to misery. It stopped everything in defiance of good and of progress and it had only one antidote—final grace to match its own finality. And her father called upon that now. When he finished, he embraced Jo and kissed her tenderly and then stepped out. Jo did not try to stop him and ask any of the questions racing through her head because she knew he had to spend the rest of the night securing plane reservations and packing.

      But, just before they left, her stepmother stepped back in and said in a low, quick voice, “Jo, you know I love you as if you were my own daughter, and I want you to succeed in everything. Wait a bit, dearest. Before you make any plans to sell, there are some absolutely crucial things you need to know.” Her striking eyes pleaded with Jo through her thick glasses. Then she hurriedly kissed her too and left.

      Jo simply stood there in the doorway, gaping after them.

      5

      If Basil and Star thought the little patch of unfinished road up which they had nipped to see the little faces was a cause of concern in the otherwise well-paved highway north of Descubierta, they were totally unprepared for what lay to the south. They had begun the afternoon’s adventure in good enough spirits, remarking how beautiful it all was, as the sight of the lake, now continually in view of the road, filled them both with its promise of a brand-new opportunity about to blossom. That they may have been misreading what that promise was exactly did not occur to them. So, even the poorer little towns to the south, desperately trying to ignore the lake’s own ineluctable agenda and carry on business as usual, did not daunt their enthusiasm.

      “Nobody’s developed this,” Basil kept marveling, as Star now guided their little truck up the narrowing road that ran along the lake’s western shore. “Honey, I was looking at the map in the guidebook while you were sleeping this morning, and I think we should give Pedernales a miss.” He waved down Star’s immediate chagrin before it turned into a protest from which he feared there’d be no return. “I know, I know, it’s СКАЧАТЬ