During our long ride back from the northern border to southern Mexico, I would not answer anyone or eat anything. I lied down in the last row of the church van and pretended I was asleep, never removing my head cap with the light that Thad gave me. During one of the last times we stopped for gas, I finally got out to use the bathroom and stretch my legs. While sucking on a piece of spicy candy I stared at the giant decal on the side of the white van. It was the Virgin mother surrounded by her blue and gold aura, and a bright red bleeding heart on a cross with dying Jesus. Stenciled below them was a quote from Santa Teresa. “En el corazon de la iglesia yo seria el amor.” In the heart of the church I will be its love.

Dressed again as the Abbot, the Comandante came and sat beside me. He placed his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry my son. What mother would not lose all strength to see their child ripped away from them? Not knowing if they would ever see them again? Who but our holy mother had her own son taken from her and crucified? Like her, this is a trial from God your mother must endure. She will get through this.”

He looked straight ahead at the road and nodded his head. “And we will make sure she is reunited with you, soon.” He patted his revolver. “If that Gringo doesn’t get in the way. He was a surprise. But I was ready for anything.”

Yeah Comandante, you’re angel didn’t tell you about him, did he?

During the rest of the way to the Monastery, I continued my vow of silence. I felt like one of the monks who completed their daily task as was assigned, and being kidnapped was mine. Avoiding the highways, we took many detours and passed down many narrow streets through small villages. I would watch the townspeople going about their daily lives. They too had been given their assigned task according to God’s plan. Women with clothes baskets on their heads, the shoeshine man, the man frying tortillas in hot oil, colorful blankets and plastic buckets for sale at the marketplace. Some of them I noticed seem to walk with a blank stare. They looked far away, as if their minds were dwelling on something sad. Maybe someone they loved had been kidnapped and they were unable to sleep at night thinking about their missing son or daughter, a husband a sister. They would have already gone to the local police and reported it, days would pass, sometimes weeks and they still would not know if their loved one were dead or alive. Press conferences would be held and promises made and forensic experts from Argentina or somewhere brought in to verify if the ashes of bodies buried in a shallow grave were theirs. What could any of these folk in these small villages do, these farmers and shop keepers and seamstresses -- what could they do? Nothing but feel powerless. They might march and protest, but it would never result in any answers about loved ones disappearing. All they could do was to remember their loved ones still alive, protect them, and throw themselves into their work or child raising so their minds wouldn’t have time to mourn, or feel loss and pain. Was that part of God’s plan too? But God does not make people suffer, the Comandante said, evil men do.

As we reached the familiar mountain surroundings of the Monastery town, I thought of my mother and what she must be feeling right now. I imagined Thad at her side comforting her, as they looked for me. I began to admire this gringo, the way he stood up to the comandante and protected my mother. Maybe the comandante was wrong about Gringos, maybe they all were not bad. “You must always watch out for them, Julian,” the comandante would remind me, and when he did his jaw muscle would clench, his eyes glare. “Gringos smile and spend their money here, but never take time to really learn our culture. They would throw money at a beggar and think well of themselves, instead of taking the time to place their coins in the beggar’s hand and look them in the eye with compassion.”

So what do I have in common with this gringo, who is probably my father? His bravery and concern, or his country’s arrogance and cruelty?

Next Chapter: CH 7 Meeting my Father in a Monk’s cell