The Extended Tribe

Chapter 1 - Santiago

All of my favorite streets seemed to be named after warriors. I ticked my way down Mariscal la Mar, my white cane explored the sidewalk ahead. To the right, up the hill, I could hear children playing in the park. The river was to my left, gurgling its inevitability towards the Amazon. I owed my sightlessness to  Gyrate atrophy, a disease which attacks the thin coating of the eye and retina. Total blindness usually occurs between the ages of 40 and 60, but for me, it had come much sooner, when I had just turned 32, four years ago. The disease is caused by a mutated gene found on chromosome 10, or so said the doctors. They also said that there was no cure. Being blind is a terrible thing, but there are compensations, and in my case, one compensation was a heightened ability to hear in three dimensions. 

I like Mariscal la Mar for the simple reason that the sidewalks were new and therefore relatively smooth, without obstacles. My white cane could traverse the area in front of my step without encountering too much interference. There was an Ocellated Whippoorwill up the hill a few blocks, singing a simple, repetitive song, probably looking for its mate. I returned greetings from the occasional neighbor who could find the courtesy to speak to me and to see me as just a man, rather than a blind man. Rails ran down the street next to the southernmost sidewalk. People used the extra lane however they could, whether as an extra area for walking or as an impromptu motorcycle lane. The street was lined with little shops selling everything from designer clothing to pigs on a spit. Life was full of sounds.

The city of Cuenca — in full, Santa Ana de Los Cuatros Ríos de Cuenca — is located in the highlands of Ecuador at about 2,500 meters (8,200 feet) above sea level. Due to its proximity to the equator, Cuenca enjoys a mild climate through all four seasons. The days are usually warm and the cool nights encourage the nightlife that was the source of my livelihood. The four rivers are the Tomebamba (named after the Inca culture), Yanuncay, Tarqui, and Machangara. Cuenca is surrounded by mountains on all sides, with passes to the west, south, and east.

The Ecuadorian economy, which relied on natural resources of all kinds, was expanding, and the current wealth was amply demonstrated by the abundance of workers cleaning and repairing the roads and structures. The center of the city was listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Trust site because of its many historical buildings and was well known for its handsome architecture.

I listened to the world around me, a babbling world of barks, bleets, chirps, coughs, thumps, and guffaws. I can simply hear things better than other people. Things that should be too far away to hear. As a child, I was captivated by the world around me in a way that others weren't. I could listen to my Grandfather for hours, not just listening to the stories, but also listening to the way Grandfather told them. So much could be learned about the man just from listening to the inflections he put on certain words, and the way parts of certain stories would put a slight tremolo in his voice. I would also listen to the sounds of nature, especially the birds. By the age of nine, I could imitate nearly a hundred birds. Growing up in Quito did not mean being separated from nature. Nature impinged upon the city in many ways, and there were parks aplenty and the occasional trip to visit relatives to the north.

For the familia to the north were the only ones there were, besides my Mama and Papa. I have no siblings to share my adventures with, and this makes me an outcast in my own neighborhood full of big families. No one was mean to me, to be sure, but I wasn't always included in the neighborhood games. Which was all right with me, I had other things to do. The marvels of nature took my full attention.

I excelled in school and learned to play guitar at 8. For some reason, I never seemed to tire of the practice, and the instrument itself was fascinating. I also did well at math and science, but academics were not to be my future. My interest in birds never waned. Looking back many years later, I have no regrets. I spent my one year of military service in Quito, which taught me self discipline, self-reliance, and self-respect. The big city had such an amazing cultural aspect and I soon fell in love with the nightlife and the girls.

At the end of my military duty, about the time I was getting pressured to apply to University, a group of musicians came to Quito to give a performance. They were from the United States and had been touring Latin America, spreading their brand of jazz fusion. I really liked what they were playing, and I approached them after their performance. Their guitarist was from Colombia. That explained the Latin American tour, but it also revealed a conflict within the band. The guitarist, Eduardo, could not return to the United States with them because he must remain in Colombia to aid with the care of his parents. To my ear, it sounded as if Eduardo was tired of music and was glad to be returning to a "normal" life.

Soon it was discovered that I could play guitar, so I was given an audition the next day and hired on the spot. That left only informing my parents of my decision to join the group. I had obtained my passport the previous summer, so I took a bus to Cañar to tell my parents about my decision. Happily, they were very supportive and excited for me. Perhaps they knew me better than I thought.

My days in the United States were like a dream. The band became relatively popular and marginally famous, enough so that there were a couple of years where everyone was making quite a bit of money. I did my share of splurging, but I saved the bulk of my earnings, following in the footsteps of thousands of Ecuadorians who went to the U.S. to earn their fortune. Because it was a fact, money goes so much further in Ecuador, simply because of the lower income level. But to me, it never felt like poverty, just a simpler lifestyle with less emphasis on material wealth.

After my stint with the band, I found myself living in Los Angeles, California, accepting studio sessions on a regular basis. Soon I was a wealthy man, by Ecuadorian standards. I met many women and fell in love once or twice, but the relationships didn't last. I met many intelligent men and women who would have a strong influence on the rest of my life. Then came tragedy.

Adjusting to blindness came as a challenge, but I had never flinched from tough problems, always preferring to take them head-on. My blindness came relatively suddenly, leaving me little time to train for the new skills I would need, but train I did. Within a year I had developed my own form of echolocation and I became adept with a cane. It didn't hurt that I already had super sensitive hearing.

I returned to Ecuador, where it would be easier for me to get around. I chose Cuenca because I knew I could continue to play. Soon I had started my own band and had found some new friends. I met some nice girls, but no one special.

Here there was a mix of accents and different Quechuan dialects used by the descendants of the various indigenous tribes that had peopled the area prior to their conquest by the Spanish. I could understand the Spanish, but I had never been taught Quechua or picked up enough to comprehend it. But the swirling dialog around me, combined with the birdsong, and even the barking dogs, was a sort of music, and I was happy just to listen in.

Chapter 2 - Tara

At the Codo con Codo, there is a side room apart from the entertainment area that allows for more comprehesible conversation. But that only means comprehension will be improved for those who are speaking and listening. For me and Tatiana, the advantage was meaningless. We could communicate using sign language and, in my case, by reading lips.  We were also proficient with Ecuadorian Sign Language and were active in keeping it current, which involved slowly detaching it from its French origins. So, there was no need for my lover and me to retreat to the side room. Besides, Tatiana wasn't much of a talker.

The Codo con Codo is located in El Centro in Cuenca, on the Calle Larga. Santiago Olmedo and Gabriella Cevallos were performing "Streets in the Rain". They were not trying to play the tune exactly like the original, which was recorded in 1993.  Instead they had chosen to play it with a slow reggae beat. 

Gabriella's vocals gave the lyrics more passion than the original. She stood tall at the front of the stage, next to Santiago, who sat on a stool. She was wearing an African print dress that hung from her shoulders to her ankles. The print depicted the daily life of an African child.  Gabriella also wore several strands of necklaces, which she had designed herself. Her black, curly hair identified her African heritage, borrowing only its color from her mother's Ecuadorian side. The two cultures seemed to merge in her voice, which ranged from a breathy contralto to a ringing soprano, always remaining smooth and clear.  

My friend Santiago was playing his electric guitar, a Davoli. He was wearing his new favorite outfit which I had just given him. It was a black shirt with a black vest. Somehow it made him look handsome. At least there were one or two girls in the audience who thought so. The shirt's collars were broad enough to reach the vest, and the black ensemble was nicely hightlighted by Santiago's thin mustache and well-trimmed goatee. As usual, he was wearing his Serengeti sunglasses.

The audience seemed to like the tune, but it was unlikely they had ever heard it before. A comparison in styles between the original and what they were hearing would not be part of their consideration.

We sat at the bar. Being a United States citizen I was the one audience member most likely to have heard "The Streets in the Rain". I had not, however. It made no difference. I appreciated the bouncy joy of the tune. I could feel it with my whole body. The music in Ecuador always made me happy. I knew I was wearing a broad smile. Tatiana leaned over and gave me a kiss.

"What was that for?" I signed.

"Podemos escuchar tu amor," Tatiana replied, aloud, She had learned a lot of American Sign Language, but she didn't need to sign as long as I was watching her lips. I raised my eyebrows in question, but I did not contradict my partner. I had learned quite a bit of Spanish since moving to Cuenca, but 'We can hear your love' didn't make much sense to me. I guessed it must be an idiom. Tatiana's narrow face broke into a rare grin. It lasted only for a moment. Then she was back to being her usual, serious self. We resumed listening to the duo. We listened in our own separate ways.

"What kind of name is Codo con Codo?" I signed. "Doesn't it mean elbow with elbow?" I used sign language so as not to interfere with the music. I could just as easily have made myself understood by speaking aloud. Unlike those who were deaf from birth, my speech was almost normal.
"It means side by side. It's a figure of speech." Tatiana said. She did not elaborate further. Which was normal.

Tatiana got up to go to the bathroom. I spotted Domingo across the room. He had been coming to Santiago and Gabriella's gigs lately and it seemed to me that there wasn't any reason for him to do so. He didn't seem to enjoy the music very much. He certainly wasn't socializing. In fact, people were giving him a pretty wide berth. It was as if they could all tell there was something a little off with him. Santiago had noticed it too, but he had introduced himself on a previous occassion anyway, as was polite.

Santiago ended the song with the guitar coda. The applause was heartfelt, if somewhat light. There were only about 25 people in the bar. "Thank you all", he said, "We're going to take a short break. Don't forget to tip your servers." He set aside his guitar, gathered up his cane, and moved towards the bar. I made a ticking noise with my tongue against the roof of my mouth, to indicate where I was. When he was close enough I touched his arm and unobtrusively guided him to the stool next to mine. We had been friends for almost two years. It seemed like more than friendship to me. More like family. It was a nice feeling.

"Where's Tatiana?" he signed.  In two years Santiago had managed to become fluent in sign language. He knew Tatiana wasn't at the bar. He wasn't sure how he knew. He and Tatiana had a strange but undeniable connection to each other.

"Ella fue al baño," I said. I had gained a fluency of my own in the time I had known Santiago. "That's a nice new song, I don't believe I've ever heard it before. Sorry I missed the last rehearsal."

"Yes, we learned it yesterday. You should know it. It's by the Samples. They were a group from Boulder", he signed, "Did you not ever hear of them?"

"Boulder is a world away from Denver", I said, "They used to call it 'The People's Republic of Boulder'. I didn't get out much when I lived in Denver, not like I did in San Jose. Did you ever hear of the 'Rebel Rockers'? I liked them a lot. They used to come to Denver all the time.  I think they lived in San Diego, but I also caught their act in San Francisco one time. They were great. One of my favorites."

"No," he signed, "I do not remember hearing them. But that is not a surprise. There were many bands in Southern California when I lived there, and many of them were very, very good. But not all of them would become household names. You know how it is with the music business." Another peculiar feeling came over him. "Is Domingo here tonight?"

"Of course. He seems to come to all the shows now. He's sitting right over by the door. Or at least he was. Why do you ask?"

"I do not know. I just have a feeling. Where's Tatiana?" 

"I told you. She went to the bathroom. You stay here, I'll go see if she's all right."

As he sat at the bar Santiago was approached by a few of the audience, telling him how much they enjoyed the performance. He thanked them in his humble way.

Santiago could hear Tara calling Tatiana's name, and from the sound of it, heading for the front door. Unfortunately, the door to the bathroom was near the front door of the bar, down a hallway and out of sight from the bar. He decided he needed to investigate, prompted by his feeling. When Santiago got to the door, Tara was standing outside, scanning the street in both directions for any indication of where her lover may have gone. Santiago heard a distinctive engine receeding to the west. It had an intermitant rattle accompanied by a high pitched whine. "She wasn't in the bathroom." Tara said, trying no to cry. Gabriella hurried out of the bar to see if help was needed, but Santiago shook his head and nodded towards Tara. Gabriella took her back inside, where someone had taken the phone from the bartender and was trying to convince the police that there was an emergency. She asked the bartender to look after Tara and headed back outside.

Santiago listened carefully as he started walking east on Honorato Vásquez. Gabriella fell in beside him. She whispered, "Can you hear something?"
"Yes," he said, "I am following a car that just left here and is headed the other direction. It has a very distinctive sound. I think as soon as they come to Tomás Ordoñez they will turn left. We need to hurry. Gabriella took his arm and guided him. He tucked his cane in the crook of his other arm. "Turn right on Manuel Vega." As soon as they came to the next street Gabriella guided them right and they hurried south. Soon Santiago held back, so Gabriella stopped and watched him as he listened. "Yes, they are going south on Tomás Ordoñez. I am hoping they will head east on Calle Larga. Hurry!" They resumed at the fastest pace they could and for three blocks Santiago caught only faint echos of sound from the car, but enough to assure him they were going the right way.

When they came to Calle Larga, it was just as the car was about to pass. "Try to see if Tatiana is in the car," said Santiago, "And try to get the license number." As they came out on the sidewalk on Calle Larga, an older model Ford passed quickly by. Gabriella halted their progress. 

"The car's license plate is missing" she said, "but it is a Ford, an old Focus, with light green paint. I could not see the driver very well, but it was a man. Someone was in the back seat.

Santiago didn't even bother being curious as to how Gabriella could have identified the make and model of the car. She had surprised him too many times in the past. "Was it a taxi?" he asked.

"No. It was a normal car."

"Are any cabs coming?"

"No."

The car was moving away fast. "It sounds as if he is turning south." They waited another minute in case a cab would come by, but their luck was bad. "Let us get back to the bar and see if we are going to get any help from the police."

As they hurried back towards Codo con Codo Santiago couldn't help remembering a conversation at rehearsal a few days ago. 

"What's the story with that guy that's been hanging out with you at the gigs?" Gabriella had asked Tatiana.

Tatiana just shook her head, but Tara had said, "His name is Domingo. He says he admires your music, though he never seems to be listening to it. He asks Tatiana a lot of questions, about where she lives, and what she does. Poor guy. He never gets anything out of her."

"Most people do not," Santiago had agreed, "but that is a reason we like her so much. She is mysterious." Tatiana had hit him on the arm, not lightly.

Tara had laughed, that glorious, infectious laugh that was as much a part of her personality as her analytical mind. Santiago so much wished he could see her laughing. 

"I just don't like the looks of him", Gabriella had said, "he reminds me of some thugs I knew in Biblión. I don't like him hanging around. Have you heard him talking to Tatiana, Santiago?"

"Yes, I have heard him speaking to her. He seemed nice enough. We cannot prevent him from coming to the shows." Santiago had reasoned. "He is a free person. Besides, I do not think he will cause harm." Santiago knew himself as a bright person who could think well, but he also knew that sometimes he made obvious mistakes. Though it hadn't been obvious at the time, it certainly turned out to be a mistake. Now he was regretting his nonchalance.

He allowed Gabriella to guide him back to the bar. The bartender was comforting Tara. She was crying openly now. It made Santiago feel sick. He knew how she must feel. He made a promise to himself. He would find Tatiana, and make sure she was returned to Tara, his best friend.

Chapter 3 - Santiago

As I sat at the bar I was approached by a few of the audience, telling me how much they enjoyed the performance. I thanked them all.

I could hear Tara calling Tatiana's name, and from the sound of it, heading for the front door. Unfortunately, the door to the bathroom was near the front door of the bar, down a hallway and out of sight from the bar. I decided I needed to investigate, prompted by a disturbing feeling I was getting. When I got to the door, Tara was standing outside, scanning the street in both directions for any indication of where her lover may have gone. I heard a distinctive engine receeding to the west. It had an intermitant rattle accompanied by a high pitched whine. "She wasn't in the bathroom." Tara said, trying no to cry. Gabriella hurried out of the bar to see if help was needed, but I shook my head and nodded towards Tara. Gabriella took her back inside, where someone had taken the phone from the bartender and was trying to convince the police that there was an emergency. Soon Gabriella was back at my side.

I listened carefully as I started walking east on Honorato Vásquez. Gabriella fell in beside me. She whispered, "Can you hear something?"
"Yes," I said, "I am following a car that just left here and is headed the other direction. It has a very distinctive sound. I think as soon as they come to Tomás Ordoñez they will turn left. We need to hurry. Gabriella took my arm and guided me. I tucked my cane in the crook of my other arm. "Turn right on Manuel Vega." As soon as we came to the next street Gabriella guided us right and we hurried south. Soon I held back, so Gabriella stopped and watched me as I listened. "Yes, they are going south on Tomás Ordoñez. I am hoping they will head east on Calle Larga. Hurry!" We resumed at the fastest pace we could and for three blocks I caught only faint echos of sound from the car, but enough to assure me we were going the right way.

When we came to Calle Larga, it was just as the car was about to pass. "Try to see if Tatiana is in the car," I said, "And try to get the license number." As we came out on the sidewalk on Calle Larga, an older model Ford passed quickly by. Gabriella halted our progress. 

"The car's license plate is missing" she said, "but it is a Ford, an old Focus, with light green paint. I could not see the driver very well, but it was a man. Someone was in the back seat.

I didn't even bother being curious as to how Gabriella could have identified the make and model of the car. She had surprised me too many times in the past. "Was it a taxi?" I asked.

"No. It was a normal car."

"Are any cabs coming?"

"No."

The car was moving away fast. "It sounds as if he is turning south." We waited another minute in case a cab would come by, but our luck was bad. "Let us get back to the bar and see if we are going to get any help from the police."

As we hurried back towards Codo con Codo I couldn't help remembering a conversation at rehearsal a few days ago. 

"What's the story with that guy that's been hanging out with you at the gigs?" Gabriella had asked Tatiana.

Tatiana just shook her head, but Tara had said, "His name is Domingo. He says he admires your music, though he never seems to be listening to it. He asks Tatiana a lot of questions, about where she lives, and what she does. Poor guy. He never gets anything out of her."

"Most people do not," I had agreed, "but that is a reason we like her so much. She is mysterious." Tatiana had hit me on the arm, not lightly.

Tara had laughed, that glorious, infectious laugh that was as much a part of her personality as her analytical mind. I so much wished I could see her laughing. 

"I just don't like the looks of him", Gabriella had said, "he reminds me of some thugs I knew in Biblión. I don't like him hanging around. Have you heard him talking to Tatiana, Santiago?"

"Yes, I have heard him speaking to her. He seemed nice enough. We cannot prevent him from coming to the shows." I had reasoned. "He is a free person. Besides, I do not think he will cause harm." I consider myself a bright person who could think well, but I also know that sometimes I make obvious mistakes. Though it hadn't been obvious at the time, it certainly turned out to be a mistake. Now I was regretting my nonchalance.

I allowed Gabriella to guide me back to the bar. The bartender was comforting Tara. She was crying openly now. It made me feel sick. I knew how she must feel. I made a promise to myself. I would find Tatiana, and make sure she was returned to Tara, my best friend.



The bugs were beginning to bite around my neck as I lay in the yard of the large house on the hill in Rio Amarillo. They were annoying, but I could not afford to move much since someone might see me and ruin the plan to gain entry to the house. It was well after midnight. Gabriella and I had decided to break into Tatiana's parent's house in an attempt to find clues to her whereabouts. My role was lookout, which was ridiculous since I have been blind since the age of twenty-five. But I can hear things no one else can, and I was concentrating on the task at hand as the bugs made lunch of my legs, arms, and neck. Bad as the bugs were,  I was regretting more the damage being done to my black shirt and vest, both of which are my favorites. They were new ones given to me by Tara, probably with input from Tatiana. Now my perfect outfit was being muddied and sweat upon to the point of ruin. Tara had told me that she loved my black outfit, that it so perfectly matched my curly black hair and mustache. My discomfort would have to stay in the back of my mind as I concentrated on my assignment, listening for signs that the attempted break-in had been discovered.

I had taken action as soon as I could. Hours ago, as Gabriella and I had been entertaining at Codo con Codo, I had had a feeling that something was in the air, that something wasn't right. When I learned that both Tatiana and Domingo were not in the bar, I had gone after them then and there. I had tried to follow them. Afterwards there was no clue to the whereabouts of Domingo or Tatiana. We had immediately started thinking of our next logical moves. 

Now, as I listened, Gabriella crept to the maid's entrance of the house and I could hear her picking the lock to open the door. Gabriella has many talents, including music and chemistry. She had grown up on the streets and learned the language of stealth. She became a singer, a mechanic, a seamstress and a mediator. But tonight she was a lockpicker. She always carried her hook pick and torsion wrench in her purse. Natural curiousity had led her to learn lock picking. It was amazing how often it came in handy. Even so, it takes a while to pick a pin/tumbler lock. Luckily, Gabriella had been practicing, so it only took her a few minutes to open the lock to the maid's door. I heard a Killdeer whistle a question. Who's in my field at this hour?

No other sounds came from the house. It was approximately 3:00 AM, so it stood to reason that the Molina's would be asleep. I heard Gabriella open the door. They had not brought Tara with them. They left her behind and she was working to get a list of all the cars in the city that matched Domingo's. There was still no sound from the house, other than Gabriella entering the maid's quarters.

Ever since Tatiana was abducted, I had no other thought but to figure out a way to get her back. She is my friend, and nothing will stop me from making sure she is safe and reunited with Tara, her best friend. If I have to walk through fire, so be it. I had called Tatiana's parents to see if they knew where she was or might be. They had been cool towards me, too cool, as if they didn't care where Tatiana was or what was happening to her. In fact, Señor Molina had made the statement that Tatiana would be better off not being with Tara, whom he referred to as esa mujer, that woman. Something wasn't right about his attitude, and I felt a need to act fast. I could feel something deeply wrong about Tatiana's disappearance and had decided that my only course was to obtain more information about the connection between her appearance and her parent's seeming indifference towards her abduction. So, I had decided that I would, with the help Gabriella, break into their house in search of information that would lead to the location of their friend. It was perhaps a bit brash, but there it was. They had driven to the Molina address and cruised by slowly. As with most houses in this neighborhood, this one had high fences and locked (presumably) gates and windows. They decided to try to enter from the back. They drove around until they could see the back of the house. It was decidedly uphill from where they were, on the other side of a pasture. The fence in the back was mere barbed wire, which they had slipped through easily.

The bugs were definitely getting to me now, but I grit his teeth and concentrated on listening hard, committed to my role as the "lookout". Gabriella was not making much noise but the sooner she was done, the better. I had heard nothing to indicate that anyone in the house was awake until a slight sound of fabric on fabric caught my ear. Suddenly there were changes in the subtle sounds that the bugs were making. No audible alarm had been triggered, so I assumed that the Molina's had heard something and turned on the outside lights. I had no way to alert Gabriella, except to jump up and run to the house to alert them, which I was in every way grateful to do since I was long since extremely tired of being dinner for the bugs. So jump up I did, and I began running to the maid's entrance, hoping not to stumble over anything major. But before I could get to the door, I heard Gabriella sprinting out. She grabbed my arm and dragged me away from the house. We made it to the property boundary without hearing a thing.  Soon we were on a side road that led down the hill to where we had parked. Gabriella led me past the few obstacles and as soon as we reached the van she jumped in the driver's seat and got us underway back towards town.

"Did anyone see you?" I asked.
"No, and I didn't see anyone," she said, "but I found some papers on a desk,"
"I think I heard someone moving upstairs."
"Probably someone getting up to go to the bathroom. I don't think anyone saw me. And if they did, it was dark."

Gabriella drove downhill and soon we came to Ordonez Lasso. She turned left and picked up speed, heading towards Avenida de las Americas. From there she would turn left again and take us to Totaracocha, where Tara was. But first she pulled to the side of the street, anticipating my suggestion.

"Let us have a look at these papers," I said.
Gabriella turned on the dome light and unzipped her purse. Out spilled a variety of papers and letters. Gabriella started studying them. I found a towel and tried my best to clean myself up. The insect bites still stung.

"I have lots of receipts," she said. "It looks like they have been remodeling. And lots of invitations to events. They must have a very active social calendar. Wait, here's something," she said. "This is a wedding invitation. It's got Tatiana getting married to some guy named Ernesto. What the hell? Is this a casarse de penalti? Here's something else. Tatiana's parents signed a contract with a group called Amor Ganado. It appears to be a gay conversion therapy camp. Listen to this: 'Once the American Psychiatric Association stopped classifying homosexuality as a mental disorder in 1973, conversion therapy groups such as Amor Ganado have struggled to do God's good work. But forward-thinking organizations such as Exodus International and Focus on the Family took up the charge, promoting successful 'ex-gay' therapies. Our small group of psychologists continue to promote these therapies, founding the conversion therapy organization Amor Ganado in 2005. Our group offers the only proven conversion techniques.' Can this be real?"

"Benevolent God," I said. "we must call Tara and tell her what we have found." I was thinking that the world was a place full of stupid people. I thought of my friend Tatiana in the hands of religious zealots, being held against her will. I was pretty sure that the vast majority of religious people would be dead set against such activities. How groups like Amor Ganado managed to survive was beyond me. Maybe it took people like the Molinas, who were perplexed by their daughter's behavior, and chose to try to change it rather than let her make a decision on her own.

Chapter 4 - Tara

Santiago and Gabriella held their rehearsals in Totaracocha, near the Avenida del los Americas, alongside the Rio Milchichig, which at most times was little more than a stream. The neighborhood was perfect for rehearsals because it was mainly an industrial area situated near a main street. There were few neighbors to complain about the noise. Gabriella had acquired a small taller in the area, and rehearsals were conducted at night, when other businesses were closed. Gabriella used the taller to repair cars and motorcycles, amongst other things. Her friends teased her that she was like a mad scientist. Out in back was a medium sized building used for rehearsals. Gabriella lived upstairs, above the taller.

In the rehearsal room, I was waiting for Santiago and Gabriella to return from Codo con Codo. I had taken a cab back to Totaracocha while Santiago and Gabriella dealt with the police. I desperately wanted to start working on finding the car that Gabriella had described, and that meant a fast internet connection and a Macintosh computer, both of which the rehearsal space included, thanks to Gabriella's fascination with electronic music and information in general. 

Years ago Santiago had heard Gabriella singing with the University Symphony, on nights when they performed opera. Something in her voice told him that she could sing anything in any style. When they first played together she proved him right.

Their practices usally consisted of running through the songs needed for the next engagement and then trying out something new, either something they had written or a cover turned into something original. Santiago and Gabriella could be considered a hybrid duo, incorporating jazz, reggae, latin and pop into a wholly unorthodox mix that somehow worked. Santiago was considered leader, though he would not have considered a leader necessary. The heart of the duo would be Gabriella Cevallos, a singer extraordinaire, who brought life to every nook of every measure, even every silence.  

I had moved to Ecuador from California two years ago. I had been the only woman who worked for Tacksi, a startup in Silicon Valley that offered ride sharing applications. Women who worked in software development were rare and as in the case at Tacksi, often discriminated against, sometime to the point of harassment. Because of this, I had learned Sambo, a russian martial art. By the time I tendered my resignation, I had accumulated enough Tacksi stock to make me financially set for life. I am medium tall for a North American, which makes me quite tall in South America. I have one other remarkable talent. My vision is so acute that I can make out visual details as far away as a mile. They tell me I have an infectious smile.

I wasn't smiling now. By the time Gabriella had come in to tell her about the car that carried Tatiana away, I had already extracted all the information I could from the bartender, which was nothing. Nothing was known about Domingo, nothing was known about where he came from. No one knew him. The bartender had called the police and gone through the frustrating process of determining that the police didn't care, unless there was a body, or perhaps a wealthy family involved. A missing person could usually be attributed to a romantic misunderstanding. When the bartender pointed out that Tatiana was gay, the policeman merely stated that his point was amplified. Another woman must have carried her away. 

"I do not think the police are going to be much help, at least for now" Santiago had said to me. I decided to head back to Totaracoch, to see what I could find based on the car's description.

Once back at the rehearsal space, I wasted no time getting the computer configured for my own use. I shut down all the programs that had been running and opened a shell. My goal was to get a list of all the owners of all the cars that matched the description of the one that had taken Tatiana away. It was a daunting goal, one that would lead through government servers and probably involve illegal activity, a consequence hardly worth mentioning, at the moment. My skills for the task at hand were impressive. My involvement in a Silicon Valley heavyweight had taught me many things, and most of them were about the internet and how it worked, how many protocols were used when exchanging information. I set to work.

Santiago called me then and told me about the group, Amor Ganado, and about the wedding invitation they had discovered with Tatiana's name on it. I shook my head at the thought that people would try to impose their will any way they could. I set to work looking for information about Amor Ganado.  I am extremely good at searching for information and now I had a new resource at her disposal. Even so, there wasn't much about the group that helped them. I kept working at it.

When Santiago and Gabriella returned, I filled them in on what I was working on, and the results of the call to the police. Gabriella told mr about the papers they had stolen and what they had found in them. I could only gasp in amazement. The world works in strange ways. 

"I want you both to know that this isn't your fight," I said. 

"Don't be silly," said Gabriella. "We will not and would not leave our friend in the hands of the likes of Domingo. We want her back, en cuerpo y almas. With all our hearts." I nodded.

"Any information on the car?" asked Santiago.

"I was having trouble breaking into the Comisión de Tránsito, but I found another way. I am now the proud president of The Austro Insurance Company. It turns out that it was easier to buy an insurance company to access the records I needed than to try to hack my way into the databases I needed."

"You bought a company in the last few hours?" asked Gabriella.

"It was easy. The company had been siezed by Banco del Pacifico for not paying their loans. I have a friend at the bank who signed their charter over to me in exchange for paying off their debt. As an insurance company, they have direct access to vehicle records. It saved a lot of time."

"How many matched Domingo's?"

"I have condensed the list to three good leads. They are all in the city. There is no matricula in the name of anyone with Domingo included in their name. I would doubt he owned a car anyway. It must be someone else's car that he's using. Any one of my leads could be the right car, or none of them. But at least it's a place to start."

"We also have news." signed Santiago. He conveyed to her what they had found out about Amor Ganado and their contract with Tatiana's parents. To his evident surprise, this did not particularly upset me. He supposed a conversion camp was better than a serial killer. We decided to dispatch Gabriella to one of the three locations where the cars were registered and have her wait until the cars were started to call Santiago. "I will know it when I hear." he said. Gabriella took the van. Before she left, Gabriella went to her chemistry workshop to the side of the main taller. She was gone only a few minutes. 

When she had gone, I had Santiago sit next to me as I continued to mine the internet for any information I could find about Amor Ganado.  As I worked, I told him about the history of "gay reparative therapy" in Ecuador.

"Homosexuality was illegal in Ecuador until 1997. Remember, this country is 80% Catholic. Then, in 2012, it was discovered that there were about 80 conversion centers working around the country, most of which were camoflaged as drug abuse centers, but if parents had enough money they could send their children to these centers to be "cured". The government started taking action and the number of places that did this kind of thing dwindled almost to nothing. But lately, they have taken a different tack, hiding in residences and using the religious networks to get the word out. Remember, this movement started in the United States and it wasn't until 1973 that the American Psychological Association declassified homosexuality as a mental illness. It was such a lucrative business that they moved the centers mostly to South America to keep the money flowing. "

"Have not they made this illegal in the states?"

"By and large, but recently, the Republican Party included such therapy as a plank in its 2016 platform. Anyway, it's still a struggle."

"I had no idea. As a represententive of those who had no idea, I am sorry. Now, we both need to get sleep, so we can relieve our friend in a few hours." We moved to another room, one furnished with two stuffed couches and several chairs. We were both were exhausted from being up all night and being incolved in activities that were totally outside anyone's usual experience.

Chapter 5 - Tatiana

I found myself sitting on an army-issue cot in an otherwise empty brick room. I could see a single heavy wooden door but no windows. With my hands cuffed behind my back, it was hard to get the canvas bag off my head. until I remembered that I could pull my legs through the circle of my arms. Once my hands were in front of me I had no difficulty with the bag or the tape on my mouth and ankles. Not that it improved my state. I could kick myself for being taken in by a stupid man, one who I knew only in passing. Even a child knows better.

There was a wooden slatted vent in one corner of the ceiling, but I knew that it wouldn't help me. Ventilation tunnels were a ubiquitous feature of Ecuadorian architecture and much too small to crawl through. The cot consisted of canvas and steel tubing. I examined the rivets that held the tubing together, then rejected the idea of making a club from the frame. The cot was too sturdy for me to dismantle without tools. I could hear a bird through the ventilation, warbling from outside. If Santiago was here, I thought, he could tell me what kind of bird it was. It was funny that I should think of him. Tara and I had known him for just a few months, yet we both considered him a friend. But Santiago wasn't here. For a moment, I thought about how to resist whoever came to the room to get me. I am a tiny person, compared to the men who had brought me here, so I didn't hold out much hope that I could defeat them physically.  Outside I could hear the sounds of passing cars and trucks, dogs, and car alarms. I began to feel a slight edge of panic approaching, but I pushed it away. Panic would not help.

Hours passed. I could not think of sleeping, nor did any productive activity suggest itself. I examined the room again and again. There was no way to get out. I know where I am, roughly, but I don't know exactly why. My parents have money, but would they pay a ransom for my release? Hardly. They thoroughly disapprove of me and my partner. I had to admit that I didn't have much use for them, either.

Then there was a sound at the door. Before I could move, the big ugly man with the hideous complexion burst into the room. I could see blood seeping through the bandage on his arm where I had sliced him. He barked, "Little bitch, How did you get your hood off?  I come to pay you back!" I didn't say anything. "I would fuck you but he tell me no," he said, "but nobody say anything about taking away your clothes. Now, let me see what underneath." I still didn't say anything. He started moving towards me. I would be no match for him. It could be worse, I thought. He was only a leering goon. "Stop," I said, "let me do it myself." My assessment of the situation demanded that I stay as far away from this asshole as I could.  "Take these handcuffs off," I continued,  "so I can remove my clothes." 

"Stupid bitch!" he snarled. "I take your clothes off. I rip off." He started moving forward again.

"Stop," I repeated, "I can do it myself. I'll make it, ah, good for you. Watch." I started to pull my blouse up over my head. It was awkward with the handcuffs. But then the door opened and Domingo entered.


Just a few hours ago Domingo had been waiting for me when I came out of the bathroom at the  Codo con Codo. All it took to lure me away from the nightclub was the mention that he had seen Tara running out the front door. It was easy. He had talked to me before. He wasn't a stranger, exactly. I pushed past him and went through the front door without going into the main part of the bar. Domingo followed me, catching up as I stood on the street outside named Honorato Vásquez. I was swiveling my head to look both ways down the street like a spectator at a tennis match.  He grabbed me from behind, embracing me with his considerable strength. He put both arms around me, pinning my arms to my sides. My struggling was inconsequential. He had worked the streets of Cuenca for a long time and had used his strength on a regular basis. Those few who knew him knew that he was strong, stronger than he looked. Strength was quite possibly his only attribute.  I figured he was not sure what this said about his intelligence. Or his choice making.

It now seemed clear that Domingo had prepared for this moment. He must have come outside to his car, during one of the band's sets, when he was sure I would be inside watching. He had managed to park very close to the entrance to the bar, leaving the door to the back seat ajar. Now, as he pulled the door open with one foot he shoved me into the back seat. I immediately started to scream, but he slammed the door. Domingo had rigged the door to lock when closed. There was no mechanism for unlocking it from the inside. He had installed a plexiglass divider between the front and back seats like he must have seen in some police cars. He had attached the plexiglass with metal screws into the frame of the car. I wasn't going to be able to get through it.

He hurried to the driver's door, got in and started the engine. As it rattled to life I wondered stupidly if he knew that the car needed service. It probably wasn't his car, so he probably didn't worry about it too much. Traffic was light, so Domingo had no trouble maneuvering to Tomás Ordoñez, then down to Calle Largo, then to Santos and finally to Paseo 3 de Noviembre. Then it was a straight shot to Las Herrerias and down past Avenida Diez de Agosto to Avenida 24 de Mayo. Heading west, I could hear nothing from the back seat. I could see Domingo in the rearview mirror. He must know I could not get out and struggling only helped to tire me out as he drove towards the south.  At the short street, Diego González del Barco, he took a left. Then he turned right on Camino Viejo a Turi. There was a large house located on the left. Domingo activated the security gate, waiting for it to swing open. Then he drove into the compound, safely hidden from the outside world.

I felt foolish. I had been shocked by Domingo's strong grip around me. With my arms pinned to my side, I couldn't fight back. He had lifted me off the ground and thrown me into the back seat. I wasn't able to keep him from slamming the door. I had tried the doors, but they were locked and they had no latches. I then spent too much time trying to find the door lock mechanism. It had been removed. I tested the plastic partition between the front and back seats, but it was like a wall. There was no way to roll down the windows because the cranks were missing. But I yelled anyway.

I realized that I should prepare to escape the minute the door opened. Months ago, my friend Gabriella gave me a gift, a crucifix necklace that hid a folding knife in the lower part of the cross. I was far from being Catholic, but Gabriella liked gadgets, and I didn't mind wearing the necklace. It was well made and pretty. Now, it looked like my only weapon.

Two men were waiting. One was big, overweight, and ugly. He yanked the back door open as I sprang out at him with the knife. I swiped it across his arm. He flinched away, holding his other hand against the bleeding wound. I pivoted to take a swipe at the other man, but Domingo grabbed my arm and took the necklace out of my hand without apparent effort. He dropped it to the ground. The small man and Domingo wrestled me out of the car.  The ugly man cursed at me and stalked off, presumably to tend his wound. Domingo held me while the small man handcuffed my wrists, taped my mouth, taped my ankles, and put a bag over my head. Then they carried me upstairs to the holding room. I could hear the big man coming out of a bathroom as they took me past. Again he cursed at me. 

I stopped struggling as soon as the bag was over my head. I knew I needed to conserve my strength for a time when the odds were closer to being in my favor. I had realized that I had left my phone on the bar. I had no way to contact anyone and no real hope that they could find me. I had watched carefully as Domingo had driven out to Tres Puentes. I had tried to resist, to escape, but I had failed. Domingo was too strong. I knew that my friends would look for me. I could only hope that they would find this place, given enough time. I had no idea how they would find me, but I knew they were resourceful and intelligent people. Moreover, they cared about me, like I cared about them. They were my friends.

I was thrown onto a bed in a small room. I heard the door close and lock.  Now I was alone. I decided not to try to free myself from the handcuffs because I was afraid that I would hurt her hands too much in the effort. I got the bag off my head by bending over enough to get the bag near my feet and then holding the bag down while pulling my head out. The tape over my mouth was aggravating. I sat back, putting my legs through my arms to bring my hands to my front, freeing them to remove the tape. It took me a bit longer to remove the tape from my ankles.

Later, the big ugly man came in, with malice in his eyes. Just in time, so did Domingo.

"Marcus, you dumb shit," Domingo said, "Didn't you hear Marco tell us not to touch her. Fool!" Domingo backhanded the big man he called Marcus to the side of the head. It looked like nothing more than a horse tail flicking at a fly, but it sent Marcus realing across the room. Domingo grabbed his arm and marched him out of the room. He turned his head to look at me as he was closing the door. It seemed to me that he looked sorry. Sorry for Marcus. Sorry for getting me into this. But of course he wasn't sorry, I thought.

I settled in to wait again. 

After about an hour the door burst open and Marco and Marcus strode into the room. I tried to evade them but they lunged at me, grabbing me by the arms when I tried to block them away. They drug me out into the hall, up some stairs, and into a room where a man sat behind a desk. They pushed me into a chair in front of him and then left the room. The man was past his prime, probably in his sixties, and balding. His mouth was wide. Had he been smiling he would have looked like a shark. But he wasn't smiling. His cheeks were a little too big for his face. He looked weak.

"Hello,", he said to me. "My name is Joseph. You must be wondering why I've brought you here." This was a stupid way of saying, "had you kidnapped", I thought. I remained silent. The man pursed his lips in disappointment but continued. "Your wonderful parents, marvelous people, have intervened in your life. Your sins will be a thing of the past. Even though you don't know it now, soon you will lose your lust for other women, and return to the righteous ways of the Lord." I felt, in some ways, relieved. If my sexual orientation was what this was all about, then I could simply out-wait these fools. "Before I bring your family in to talk to you, I want you to know one thing. You will not leave here as a lesbian. And you will be respectful to your parents."

"That's two things," I said.

He scowled at me. "Whatever. You will do as they say, and you will become a good Christian woman." He stood up. Now I could see that he was also fat, as well as ugly. He went to the door and stepped outside. I heard the distinct sound of Domingo's car starting downstairs in the driveway. and then pulling out and driving away. I wondered how I knew it was his. My father, José Morino, entered the room. My mother, Marta, was not far behind. They did not greet me. They did not say hello or tell me to go to hell. They only stared at me. I did not say anything. This is the way it had been for years. They never stopped trying to change my mind. And today would be no different. 

"We have news for you," said my father. "There is a gentleman you will meet when you leave here. His name is Ernesto Zamora, and he is from Cuba." I remained silent. "He is a businessman, like myself, and he seeks Ecuadorian residence. You will be his wife." I could think of no response. It was not unheard of for young Ecuadorian women to marry for money, usually to Cubans. Still, this was taking the absurd to a new level. "You will start living with Ernesto in his house in San Joaquín. It would be best if you go out in public with him and socialize with his friends. For now, we will leave you with these gentlemen. They have assured us that they can cure you of your wretched preoccupation with other women."

I still did not speak. My parents stared at me for a few seconds. Then they turned and left the room. The man who called himself Joseph did not return right away. I could hear conversation outside the door. I stood up and walked to the desk. There wasn't anything on it that I could use. I went over to a bookshelf on one wall. There were only books. I couldn't imagine how they would be of any help to me. The two thugs came back in the room. If they were surprised to see me looking at the books they didn't show it. They took me back to the room with the cot, locking the door as they left.

After a few minutes I heard sounds of activity outside the room. Shouting. I heard two cars start. She supposed one of them was her parent's Audi. It pulled out of the driveway and drove away. But there was also a different car. Not Domingo's. It idled for a minute like it was waiting for someone. Then it pulled out and drove away. There was still sound in the house. At least a couple of people were still here. I turned my mind to plotting an escape.

Chapter 6 - Gabriella

The house I went to was on Camino Viejo a Turi. The road was at the foot of the mountains to the south of El Centro. If I followed the road uphill I would eventually come to the Mirador de Turi, a huge white church sitting on the mountainside. Turi was derived from the Cañari word "kuri", meaning gold. Legend had it that there was a relationship between a boy named Turi and the Lord of Bethlehem. The legend says that one day, many years ago, the shepherd boy Turi was found by the pastor on a hill playing with a boy dressed Cañarejo. Unfortunately, they forgot to care for the flock. Later, in the afternoon, the shepherd realized he had lost his sheep, whereupon the the cañarejito played his pingullo and managed to gather the flock. The boys spent a quite a few days together, joining other children to play in the afternoon. One day in December, near Christmas, the cañarejito told the pastor that he was the Child Jesus.

I don't know whether I believe the legend or not. To me, history could not compare to the life I was living. I was still wearing my dress from the performance. There were two sets of two triangles on the front of the dress, half squares attached to each other running up the sides, and a band of red and three lines sprouting towards my head representing feathers. Often I would wear this dress for days at a time. Sometimes it made me feel powerful. Other times it made me feel like Turi in the legend. 

I was not thinking of the legend at the moment. I was sitting in the van, trying not to fall asleep. I was thinking of my sisters in Biblián. They were living a simple life, tending the fields and herding the cattle. I was very sure I didn't want to go back to that life. Now that I had friends, I wouldn't have to. The sun was up when the gate opened and the car I had seen before backed out into the street. I saw one other car in the driveway, an Audi. Immediately I speed dialed Santiago, but it took him several rings to pick up. Meanwhile, the car had pulled into the street and started north. I was too far away to make out who was driving. . I put the phone on speaker, started the van and began to follow. Finally Santiago picked up, sounding groggy. "Hello?"

"I've found the car. I don't know if Domingo's driving it." I said, "Here, listen." I picked up the phone and held it outside the window until they came to a stop and traffic noise was lessened. Putting the phone back to my ear I said, "It's the same car. I'm following it. We're headed north from Tres Puentes."

"That is the car, yes. I will wake up Tara and we will start driving west. Call when the car stops somewhere."

"I will. Wait. I"m getting closer." I focused hard on the car ahead of me.  "That's Domingo. He's driving."

"O.K.," said Santiago. He hung up the phone.

In just a couple of minutes I called him back. "He's pulling into the parking lot across from the Milleneum Plaza. I'm following him in to the lot. He's parking near the south end." I  parked the van. "Now he's going towards the plaza. Yes, he's going in. How far away are you?"

"We will be there in five minutes. Put your phone on speaker. I'm thinking  about our next move. How can we capture Domingo?  We can't take him to the police because we have no proof he has done anything. But we need information from him. It may be necessary to overpower him. Is there any other way to get the informatin we need?  I cannot figure out what we are going to do to make Domingo talk to us."

"I've got an idea," I heard Tara say, "Take off your vest." There was a slight pause. "Good, you're filthy. You're going to be a blind begger. All you need to do is divert Domingo enough for me to get behind him. I'll do the rest."

"How will you do the rest?"

"I've training in self defense for serveral years. I took Sambo lessons in San Jose until I was sure I could always protect myself. It seems like women are always deferring to men. Not me."

"Sambo? What is that?"

"Sambo is a form of martial art combined with wrestling. It was developed early last century by a couple of Russians. I found out about it from my mathematics professor in college. She didn't take shit from anyone. No, I won't have any trouble subduing Domingo. And remind me, Tatiana needs to learn, too. For that matter, why don't I just teach all of you."

I was encouraged by Tara's positive attitude that we would rescue Tatiana unharmed. I was hoping she was right. I knew I would do anything to help make it happen.

When they pulled up I was waiting next to the van.

"He's only been gone two minutes," I said. "How are we going to work this?"

"You and I hide behind the van and Santiago will divert him." said Tara.  "I'll get behind him and take him down."

"What then?"

"We've got to have some way to tie him up." 

"I brought zip ties," said Santiago, holding them out. Tara took them from him, marvelling at his foresight.

"Good," she said, "We'll use these. Let's get him into the van as fast as we can. Throw whatever he has in with him. We'll get him to tell us who's in the house and how many there are. I'm assuming Tatiana's in there. We'll drive the van back to the house where you spotted him. We must get as much information out of him as we can."

"Can we call the police then?" I asked.

"At least not until we know with certainty where Tatiana is." said Santiago. "We do not have any proof of a crime. The police do not seem so very interested when we called them last night. If we can get some solid evidence then at that time we can get them involved. But for now, I think we are on our own."

"O.K." I said. "We can do this. I want to hurt somebody for doing this to Tatiana."

"I feel the same. I have certainty that we all do." said Santiago.

"Just make sure I do most of the fighting," said Tara. "Your job will be to hold him down while I get the zip ties around his hands and feet. Once we get him in the van we'll make him answer a few questions." 

"What then?" asked Santiago.

"We take him with us."

I spotted Domingo coming out of the mall. "Let's get ready," I said.

Chapter 7 - Domingo

I sat in the living room, along with Marco and Marcus, two members of the conversion camp, or so I had been told. Marco and Marcus were not my friends. They acted like they were better than me, but I knew they were not. They were ugly and stupid. I am stronger than both of them put together. The three of us were in a house in Tres Puentes, not far from the Rio Tarqui, in a building made of stone, steel, and concrete. It was a little different from most other houses in Cuenca, which were generally made just of wood and concrete. Tatiana was in the "interview" room upstairs, presumably talking to the camp leader, whose name was unknown to me. I had been hired by Marco, who was presumably the thug in charge.

I could hear the Rio Tarqui outside as it bubbled its way down from the páramos of Cumbe and of the high part of the Victory of the Portete. My family had farmed the upper basins where the river originated. In the high country life was harsh but satisfying, and anything other than adherance to God's will was not tolerated. When I came to the city to make my fortune I was dismayed to find that my new home was full of miscreants and sinners. As often happens, I soon became one of them. I had hacked my black hair down to my skull. I still sported a scar through my left eyebrow from a knife fight years ago. Now, it seemed I had come up in the world. I wondered why it didn't feel that way.

At first, I was attracted to the camp because they shared my strong religious convictions and those of my brother, Tomas, who is the only person in the world who cared about me. Tomas was my only real friend. It ocurred to me that having no friends, outside of family, may not speak well of me. But I had what I had, and made decisions based on this fact. Now I began to wonder a little bit about my decision to join, or at least help, these people who claimed to "cure" homosexuality and bring the fallen back to God. They did not seem much like religious zealots to me, but I suppose they saw little of the Lord in me. Either way, it was a step up from the petty street theft of my youth. Marcus had told me the camp and its workers were funded by a large religious organization in the United States. There was always plenty to eat and drink, and even drugs were not technically forbidden, it was just best to keep them hidden. I don't like drugs anyway.

I had heard nothing from upstairs. I found myself thinking about Tatiana Molina. To my surprise I discovered I liked her. Except for her sexual deviancy, of course. I had found her silence strangely soothing. The other women brought to camp were vitriolic in their hatred for the camp and its members. Tatiana was stoic, in a way that I found pleasing. It was like she knew she was here for a good reason and wouldn't fight her conversion. I did not know who had turned her in to the conversionists, and it did not matter to me. The less I knew the better. 

It had been a long night. I had caught a few hours of sleep on the couch and now the sun was high in the sky.

Marco came into the living room with a paper in his hand. He was rotund and sloppy. "Here Domingo," he spat, "we need supplies."
He handed the list to me and then dug into his pocket for his wallet. He yanked out a few bills and handed them over. "Make sure you bring me a receipt."

I said nothing. In the old days I would have rolled this pig for whatever he had in his wallet. Times were different. I shoved the money and the list into my front pocket and walked through the living room, into the kitchen, then out the back door to the car. It was morning now, with birds singing and dogs barking. In the distance I could hear a car alarm. Just another day. On the ground, next to the car, was the knife Tatiana had used on Marcus. I picked it up and examined it. It was a rosary style, crucifix pendant necklace. The knife folded back into the lower part of the crucifix. I put the necklace in my pocket and got in the car. The car started with the familiar rattling noise. I found that I didn't really care any more.

I drove to the Milleneum Plaza, near Estadio Alejandro Serrano Aguilar and Parque de la Madre. There was a Supermaxi there that would have all the groceries on the list. Traffic was light so it took me barely ten minutes to get there. Once inside I checked the list for anything that wouldn't be available in Supermaxi. There wasn't anything unusual. My shopping went quickly, and I remembered to get a receipt for the fat toad Marcus. I would see if I could get away with short changing him. Outside, the chilly morning had turned into a warm, beautiful afternoon. I wished he was in Tarqui, riding a horse. As I walked to the car I did not notice the two women standing next to the van nearby. But I did notice the blind begger who approached me just before I made it to the car. I hate beggers, their filthy bodies and their dirty clothes. This one had some pretty nice clothes but they were definitely dirty. "No hoy," I said, and tried to push past the begger, but the man stepped in front of me, almost colliding with me. Then I noticed that the begger looked familiar. And he was wearing expensive sunglasses.

Suddenly there were hands on me from behind. I dropped the bags and pivoted to confront my attacker, who I was surprised to see was a woman, but she used my own momentum to push me backwards, tripping me with her knee. I found himself falling to the pavement, hard. I hit his head on the parking lot surface and it seemed all the sense was knocked out of me. Two women were standing over me. How could they have over powered me? The tall one leaned down and held my hands together while the black one pulled a long zip tie around his wrists and pulled it firm. They looked so familiar. Then I recognized the tall one. She was the girlfriend. Understanding slowly began to dawn. But I couldn't think straight. The women and the blind man wrestled me up and into the back of the van. They put restraints around my ankles.  They threw my purchases in on top of me. It seemed to me that several people got in next to me. Then they closed the door behind them. I felt dizzy and unable to think. My head hurt.

"He doesn't look so good." said the black woman, "He hit his head pretty hard. He may have a concussion."

"Domingo." said the tall one. "Is Tatiana at the house were you were?" I looked up at her. I couldn't seem to register her question. "Tell me. Is Tatiana at the house?"

"Of course," I said, as if it was obvious.

"How many people are in the house?"

Again I had trouble understanding. "People?"

'Yes, people," said the tall one. "How many people are in the house with Tatiana?"

"Marco and Marcus," I said. "And there's a man upstairs." I couldn't believe the pain.

"No one else?"

"No."

"We need to get him to a hospital," said the black one, "He needs attention."

"OK," said the beggar, "take him to Monte Sinai. Make sure he is admitted and that he doesn't cause any trouble. We will meet you at the house so get there as soon as you can. We'll call and let you know where we are. Try to make him comfortable for the ride." 

The beggar and the tall woman got out of the van. They got into a car and raced away. The black woman started the van and then they were on their way, he supposed, to the hospital.

Chapter 8 - Santiago

On the way to Tres Puentes I told Tara about a dream I had a few weeks ago. In the dream Tatiana and I were walking through the forest. Tatiana started to fly. In the dream I was not blind; I could see Tatiana rise into the air, slowly at first, but gaining speed as I watched. I called out to her, but she flew higher and faster until she was out of sight. 

I said, "I have had this type of dream before. Many times they have come true. Some times they come true in ways that I did not see in the dream, but in ways that must have been there. I do not know why I did not say something, or do something when I had that dream. I do not know why."

Tara asked, "How long have you had these types of dreams?"

"My mother was the dreamer in our CañariTribu. Her dreams would tell her if something bad was going to happen. She was often able to prevent these bad things from happening. I started having vivid dreams as a child and they would wake me up in the middle of the night. I have only had these foretelling dreams a few times. It is hard to know what to do, when so many dreams do not seem to indicate anything at all."

"Don't worry about this," said Tara. "Such a talent is hard to know." She shook her head.  "I did not know you were Cañari."

" Yes, I am descended from the ancient Carchipullas. The word 'Canari' originates from two Kichwa words meaning snake and macaw.  For some of my teachers at the University the name signifies 'descendents of the snake and macaw'.  These animals were considered sacred. I had some teachers who found no significance in the combination."

Tara drove them to the house on Camino Viejo a Turi. The house was quiet. We couldn't see any activity through the upstairs windows. The downstair windows were also uncovered. One car left as they watched the house. It was driven by an older man who appeared to be by himself. We decided not to follow him. It was getting late in the evening. In an hour it would be dark.

Gabriella had taken Domingo to the hospital, having him admitted with the symptoms of a concussion. When she joined us in Tres Puentes, she parked the van behind Tara's car which was about 50 yards from the house. Now we all sat in the back of the van, trying to formulate a plan. We needed to get into the house. We needed to get Tatiana out of the house. We could see through the downstairs windows. Tara had seen only one man walk past the window since we had been here. We may not meet much resistance inside. Getting inside would be a different story.

In Cuenca, houses in middle class areas are surrounded by fences. The fences could be metal. They could be brick or concrete. They could have electrified wire strung along the top. There would be at least one locked gate in the fence or wall. It would have a locking mechanism on the inside. Picking such a lock from the outside was difficult. It was hard enough to get a key into such locks.  Looking at the house down the street, we could see it was no different from any other. It had a concrete wall about seven feet high. The top of the wall had been inset with broken glass. This was a common tactic in Ecuador. The glass looked forbidding, and it was.  There was a gate directly out from where the front door would be. There was also the larger gate for vehicles, which was motorized.

Gabriella decided to look more closely at the gates. As she was getting out of the van, I said, "See if you can find the power panel. If we can get into it and turn off their electricity, we may have an advantage." Gabriella said she would look and set off down the street. "Domingo said there were at most three people in the house, besides Tatiana. If Gabriella can turn off the electricity I intend to go into the house myself, after dark."

"If I can get Tatiana out of the house without having to deal with anyone else, I will feel better," I said. I knew what was coming.

"There's no way I'm letting you do this by yourself," said Tara. Tatiana is my responsibility. I shook my head. She looked at me. "All right," she said, "we're in this together. I can see pretty well in the dark." 

"If I cannot get her out without raising an alarm, I am going to need all the help I can get," I said. "All we want is to get Tatiana back."

"You have no desire to bring these men to justice?", asked Tara. "Tatiana can't be the only one they've kidnapped, We need to put a stop to this."

"What," I said, "Do you want to take down the whole organization?"

"Don't you?" asked Tara.

"Yes, actually, I do. But first things first. Let us just get her out of there. Once we get Tatiana, we'll worry about the rest of it."

Gabriella came back to the van. "We're in luck. I took care of the outside gate. It is no longer locked. All I'll have to do is pick the lock on the front door."

"And the electricity?" I asked.

"The box is right next to the gate," she replied, "and there is no door on the box. Very simple."

The last of the light left the sky to be replaced by heavy dark clouds. As night fell, we formulated our plan. It wasn't much. 

Thirty minutes later we were in place, inside the wall, watching through the windows. I heard a Ocellated Poorwill, singing it's last song of the day. The two men we had seen previously were relaxing, watching TV. Tara and Iwatched as Gabriella picked the lock to the front door.  After she opened the lock she went back to the gate and turned off the power to the house. As soon as the house went dark Tara yanked open the door and ran towards the room where the men had been watching TV. Gabriella followed her. I headed for where I thought the stairs should be. I was making ticking noises with my tongue against the roof of my mouth. The sound bouncing back to my ears gave me a pretty good picture of the interior of the house. I dodged a table and some chairs and made it to the base of the stairs. Up I went. At the landing I paused. I could hear a ticking noise coming from a room down to my left. 

I got to the door where I now knew Tatiana was being held. Tatiana was still making the ticking noise. I did not know if there was anyone else upstairs with us, so I whispered quietly. "Tatiana, do you know where the key is?"

"No," she whispered back.

"I'll be back." I said.

Gabriella later told me that she had run directly into one of the men. He had merely grunted and swatted her out of his way. He ran into a wall and grunted again. Tara was able to see fairly well with just the dim light coming into the room from the lights down the street. She yanked the first man off his feet. She kneeled on his back, on the floor. Gabriella held a cloth over his nose, sending him directly to sleep. Tara had no time to ask her what the cloth contained, or where it came from. The second man was fumbling around in the dark. Tara came up behind him and put him in a full nelson, lifting his feet off the floor. He seemed confused. Gabriella again applied the cloth to the man's face. In seconds he was out cold.

I had come back down the stairs. I came into the living room quietly, ticking as he went. Tara said, "Did you find her?"

"Yes," I replied, "but the door is locked. We need the key." We searched the men's pockets and found a set of keys that looked likely. Then we upstairs to the room where Tatiana was imprisoned. Tara tried two keys before she found the right one and unlocked the door.

When Tara got the door open, Tatiana literally fell out onto us. "A buenas horas," she whispered, sensing the need to be quiet. The three of us hurried toward the stairs. Before we got there Tatiana whispered, "There is an office on the right. We need to see if there is a man inside." When we checked the room she had indicated we found it empty. I was able to navigate the room to the desk, with Gabriella in tow. It was very dark. "Find as many papers as you can," I told her. "We'll need some information about their operation." Gabriella was able to find some loose papers in one of the drawers. Tatiana took a book down from the shelf. There was a great deal of bumping and scraping as they ran into furniture in the dark. When they were satisfied that they had gathered all they could, they let me guide them out to the hallway and then to the stairs. As soon as we got downstairs we moved to the front door. I was in the lead. I made my clicking noise and the others joined me. Then we were out the door, down the street, and into the van.

On the drive to Tara and Tatiana's house Tara asked Gabriella about the cloth she had used on the two men. "Esos hombres fuera de combate. They were really knocked out. Was that chloroform you used on them?"

"No, it was amylene. It's not as toxic as chloroform, though it is harder to produce. I thought I might need some."

Chapter 9 - Tara

The gate buzzed just as I approached it, so I opened it and went to the front door of Santiago's house, where, of course, he was waiting.

"I'll never know how you hear me coming," I said. "I tried to sneak up on you this time. You like to show off, hacer alarde, si?"

"Yes, of course. There is nothing you can do," he signed. "You have a very distinct walk and you smell lovely."

"Great. Or thanks, maybe. Let's go for a walk by the river. Today is the art fair." I knew the sounds of the river were a soothing balm to my friend's over-active sense of hearing, so I tried to stop by a couple of days a week to get him out of the house. I knew he liked the sounds of birds. There would be plenty along the way. And the art fair was always interesting, with its variety of sights and sounds, half of which each of them could enjoy.

Santiago combed his long black hair and grabbed his cane. His curly hair was not cooperating today. The Rio Tomebamba winds through Cuenca, separating the north from the south, basically defining the south border of El Centro before it embarks on its final journey to join the Amazon.  Cuencan sidewalks are notorious for their traps, being perpetually in a state of ill-repair, but the north side of the river was well known to Santiago and posed no danger to him. Over the years he had developed his own form of echo location, similar to the technique used by bats, where he would make short, high-pitched ticks, by placing his tongue against the roof of his mouth and snapping it while forcing air through his teeth. It was mostly unnoticable to passersby, but it gave him a three dimensional picture of the world, which could come in very handy when trying to navigate the streets of Cuenca.

We crossed the busy Avenida de los Americas. Santiago allowed me to take his arm, and we followed Mariscal Lamar down to Calle Eduardo Crespo Malo. We descended south towards the river. I allowed Santiago to walk freely, using his cane and clicking, until we had crossed Gran Colombia and Avendia Tres de Noviembre to the river. Then I took his arm again and guided him through the traps left by an eroding sidewalk.

"How is Tatiana?" he signed.

"Glib as ever," I replied. "She is very anxious to put an end to Amor Ganado. What do you think we should do?"

"De vicio! If Tatiana wants to put up a fight, then I am with her."

"We'll have to go to Quito. I have found their headquarters. They have a larger operation in Quito than in Guayaquil and I believe that's where we can find the head of the operation."

"And chop it off. I have been wanting to book some gigs in Quito anyway," Santiago signed. "We should change Amor Ganado to Amor Perdido. What else did you find out about them?"

"They work outside the law. Ecuador no longer tolerates gay conversion groups. In fact, in 2012 Presidente Correa appointed a lesbian as his health secretary. But Ecuador is over 80% Catholic. Her values are old fashioned. Amor Ganado has no trouble finding wealthy Ecuadorians who wish to maintain the traditional mores. I thought they may be bribing the police and other officials, but I could find no evidence. We'll see when we get there. Also, my friend, I've been meaning to talk to you about how you book gigs for you and Gabriella. I believe you would be better off letting me do it."

I watched Santiago thinking about it. He truly loved all aspects of his musical life, even the mundane aspects of booking gigs. "Have you talked to Gabriella about this?" he signed.

"Yes, and she is in agreement. It seems she would like to travel more and play for larger audiences."

"And you can make this happen?'

"Of course. Do you doubt it."

Santiago laughed. "That would be literally the last thing I would do, just before I entered my last dreamless sleep. O.K., you book the gigs from now on."

"You don't mind?"

"Only a little. I will get over it. I am going to the hospital later today, to get Domingo checked out."

"Do you want me to go with you," I asked.

"There is no need. You stay with Tatiana."

We came to the first of the streetside vendors. I kept up a running commentary about the various trinkets and touristy items being sold. It seemed many of the booths had the same items for sale. But some other booths had completely unique artwork that was far superior in quality to the trinkets and knock-offs. We could hear a brass band farther down the river, a lot farther. Santiago was comfortable relying on me to peruse the art along the way. He said he  heard a White-tipped Swift, ignoring the commotion, looking for friends.

We had taken Tatiana home immediately, fearing that she had been harmed in some way. She appeared to be fine. Gabriella took the handcuffs off her wrists. We were surprised that she wasn't more shaken over the whole affair. We sat with her a while in Tara's sala, thinking that she may wish to talk about it. Some hope. Tatiana had never been much for talking. Gabriella called the police. They were more interested in the case now that they heard the details of the rescue. They sent an officer over immediately to take the evidence we had collected and to interview Tatiana. I kept copies of the documents we had found in the office and the contract Gabriella had found at the Molino residence. When the police officer was finished, he thanked us, telling us that there was a unit headed for the house on Camino Viejo a Turi. We would later learn that the house was empty, apparently abandoned. The policeman left, saying they should all be ready to give testimony, if needed.

Once we could see that Tatiana would be all right Santiago and Gabriella had started to leave. Tatiana surprised them by hugging them at the door and saying, "thank you, friend," to each of them. They had left her with me, and I was was only a little upset. Life goes on.

"By the way," I said, "what kinds of insurance do you have?"

"What?" signed Santiago, perplexed.

"Well, I own an insurance company now and I need customers."

"You are going to keep it?"

"Absolutely. It's a wonderful way to get information about people and corporations. I'm thinking it may come in handy. If I can get it to pay for itself."

Santiago chuckled. "You gringas are always taking our businesses from us."

"No, this one is based in Seychelles. It only had one employee. But it is licensed to do business in Ecuador as Seguro Insurance Compañia"

"O.K. I have home insurance. That is all."

"Not any more."

I had come a long way. My parents had disowned me at the age of 18, once I told them I preferred women to men. They simply kicked me out of the house, giving me no resources at all. I had been raised, until then, in Denver, Colorado and had started attending the University of Denver at the age of 16. I was able to secure a scholarship to the University of California, Berkeley to continue studying computer science, which came easily to me. To make ends meet I had built websites for local businesses. At the age of 20 I became the only female developer at a ride-sharing startup in San Jose. This is when I learned to fight off the attentions of nerdy young male software developers. It wasn't hard. It was as if their hearts weren't in it. I rose to the level of lead software architect after two years and was made independently wealthy when the start-up went public when I was 26. I was happy to escape the confines of the office in San Jose, and the attitude of the industry towards women.

I had decided on a whim to tour South America and had met Tatiana on the third leg of the journey. I fell in love and had not left since. Then we had met Santiago and found in him a true friend. They fit in here. They had a new family to replace the ones they had lost.

Chapter 10 - Santiago

Gyrate atrophy affects the choroid, or the thin coating of the eye and retina leading to gradual vision loss. Total blindness usually occurs between the ages of 40 and 60. For Santiago Olmedo, it came much sooner, when he had just turned 32. The disease is caused by a mutated gene found on chromosome 10, or so said the doctors. They also sadly informed him that there was no cure.

But blindness was only the second most dramatic thing that happened to me. The most important event of my life was meeting Tara Shaw at Parque Calderon a year later.

"Hello", I signed.  The woman I would soon learn was named Tara had just taken a seat next to me in the always crowded square. It was not unusual to be spoken to by strangers, but it was unusual to see sign language in Ecuador. I could feel Tara exchanging glances with the girl I would soon know was named Tatiana, Tara's constant companion.
"How did you know I was deaf?" she asked.

"I could hear you talking to the helado vendor and I could tell you were deaf from the way you speak", I signed. "But you speak very well", I continued, "I congratulate you." I could not help thinking that I would rather be dead than unable to hear.

"I can see that my speech gives me away.  But why would a blind man know sign language?"

"Ah. My grandfather was deaf. He was so much fun to talk to that I learned sign language to speed up the stories he would tell. Eso fue cuando pude ver."

Tatiana whispered, "He says that was before he lost his sight."

 "He started traveling the world at a young age," I said, "and had stories about everything and everywhere. To me, he seemed invincible and brave. Who could imagine going out on your own like that? He told me stories about the history of Ecuador. This park, for instance, is named after Abdon Calderón Garaycoa. He is a famous hero who came by his heroism the old fashioned way.  He inherited it from his father. Francisco Calderón supported the coup of August 10, 1809, was arrested and sent to Guayaquil, then Cuenca and finally Machala where he was freed by the Superior Board of Governors established in 1810. He then joined the patriot army of the State of Quito with the rank of colonel and subsequently fought on the side of the radicals from 1811 to 1812.  After the final defeat of the patriot army, after the battle of El Panecillo, Francisco Calderón was shot in Ibarra on December 1812. His last wish was that his blindfold be removed and that his scapular (which had been owned by the hero Eugenio Espejo) be given to his son Abdon. Thus the central plaza took the name of the hero of the battle of Pichincha of 1822, Abdon Calderón Garaycoa. As you can see, the plaza is guarded against the sun by the eight pine trees (among other species) that were brought from Chile by Presidente Luis Cordero. The park benches are divided between sun and shade and the square is surrounded by the Old and New Cathedrals. ¿Me dirás tus nombres?"  he asked.

"My name is Tara, and this is my friend Tatiana. ¿Cuál es su nombre?"

I bowed a little where I sat. "I am Santiago Olmeda, at your service. How is it you come to Cuenca?"

"We live here. I am from the United States. Cuenca is a very attractive city and I like it very much.  Plus, it is where Tatiana lives."

"Do you read lips?" I signed.

"Yes. It comes in handy."

"And Tatiana, do you know sign language?" 

There was a short pause and the sound of hands moving as Tatiana signed in the affirmative before realizing her mistake. "Yes," she murmured.



A year later we were good friends. Each of us had a unique personality, Tatiana, her quietness and sharpness, Tara, her sense of humor and her fine honed intelligence, and myself, I suppose, brought a bit of energy to the three of us, often spurring us on to adventures and expeditions that we would not normally have taken. To embark on a journey, you needed a road.

The road had led me to this room, at the Hospital Monte Sinai. Domingo stirred in the bed.

"Buenos Dias, Domingo Benavides," I said. "They are letting you out of here today. I understand you made a satisfactory recovery."

I could hear Domingo sitting up in bed. "Why are you here?"

"We were responsible for putting you here. I wanted to apologize for your injuries. Ir de la mano. It goes hand in hand."

I could imagine what Domingo was thinking. awakened wakened here in the hospital to the best of care. His concussion was quickly diagnosed and he was prescribed two drugs for pain and dizziness. And a few days in bed. He had found out along the way that everything was being paid for by one Santiago Olmeda, one of the musicians who had put him here in the first place.  "Why did you help me? Why didn't you just abondon me here?"

"Domingo," I replied, "what you did was a terrible crime, kidnapping. But we do not just leave someone in the hospital when we put them there. That would be hypocritical. I can only hope that once you have thought about what you did you will come to the conclusion that it was wrong."

Domingo, no doubt, had thought about what he did and had, maybe, come to the conclusion that he was wrong. "Did you get Tatiana out of there?"

"Yes," I said, "we got her back."

"You went there and took her back?"

"Yes, we all went there and took her back."

"Nobody would do that for me. Nobody even came to see me in this hospital, except for the police. Apparently, you told them that I cooperated with the rescue of Tatiana. Why did you do that?"

"Where do you live, Domingo?"

"I've been living in the house on Camino Viejo a Turi. I'll probably go back to Tarqui, if my family will have me."

"Why would they not?"

"I've been in and out of jail. I'm not proud of the life I've been living." I could hear him rolling over in the bed and putting his feet on the floor.  "I need to say something to you."

"What," I asked.

"I'm sorry."

We were silent for a few moments. Outside I could hear a Snowy Plover, warbling away, probably looking for its mate.  After a while I said, "You are healthy enough to go. Where are your clothes?"

"They're in the closet. I can get them. Thank you for coming to see me, for putting me here in the first place."

"It was Gabriella who put you here."

"I know. I figured that out, that it was a strong woman. I also figured out that I'm not so much better than women than I thought."

"None of us are superior to women. It is a mistake to think so. Anyway, I am leaving now. You can come with me if you wish. I have a place where you can stay, for the time being."

As Domingo walked a little behind me, I know he was marvelling at my ability to avoid the pitfalls, literally, encountered everywhere in the sidewalks of Cuenca. We were walking west, toward the Cajas, to my house. I knew Domingo was confused by the generosity being shown him. Who would treat their enemies this way? After a long walk we came to the Tejar section of Cuenca, where most of the retired gringos lived. My house was not terribly large, but it did have a separate small building in the back that served as the maid's quarters in these types of dwellings. That is where I installed Domingo. It gave him a tiny bedroom and bed and a tiny bathroom. It was completely separate from the main house. As long as Domingo stayed here, Santiago would be sure to keep the house locked. The less temptation, the better.

But what I discovered was that Domingo was the perfect guest. He cleaned up around the yards and fixed things on the exterior of the house that I couldn't see. Domingo even offered to go out for supplies every day. He brought back a newspaper one day and read the articles to me. One article told of the exploits of two local musicians who had taken the initiative to rescue one of their own. It was making quite a splash. I was satisfied that helping Domingo was the right thing to do.

Chapter 11 - Tatiana

Santiago and Gabriella's going away performance was a return to Codo con Codo. Given three days, Tara had successfully booked three nights at different clubs in Quito. They would be leaving tomorrow. The group didn't know how long they would be gone. If it took more time they would book more gigs. Tara certainly had the knack for it. I could see that Santiago was content. His world had returned to normal. There was a bonus. They got to headline at three of the hottest spots in Ecuador's capital city. Tonight they would give a farewell performance to their loyal fans in Cuenca.

"I am not really any good at anything," Santiago signed to Tara. We were sitting at the bar, my three friends talking personal philosophies.  They had an hour to go before the first set. "Looking at it from the point of view of others, they may think I am skilled or gifted. But really it all comes down to practice, and unlike many young men of my experience, I enjoyed practice and had no problem spending hours each day practicing. So, whatever apparent skill I have is just lots of practice, nothing more."

Tara nodded her head.  "I studied hard and for many hours, and like you I enjoyed those hours. The skill I learned was not terribly glamorous. I may be a little smarter than average, but my success was built on persistence, not talent." I followed Santiago's hands and Tara's words closely, and I couldn't help but think they were full of shit. I said so.

Gabriella didn't share my opinion, exactly. "I agree that persistence is important," she said, "and that practice is an excellent recipe for proficiency, but you can't discount blind luck. No offense, Santiago."

"None taken," said Santiago. "I will take luck any time over skill or strength."

"I would say there is another ingredient to success," Gabriella continued. "Interest is necessary for achievement, otherwise practice would be neglected and persistence would fade. Santiago loves music and the guitar. Tara's interest in information technology is obvious, like second nature to her. Tatiana loves people. Not all people, of course, but you can tell she is fascinated by people and the things they do and say."

"Except for you, right now," I taunted. "And you are generalmente tan interesante."

They all laughed, as they usually did when I broke my silence. They no longer treated me with kid gloves, guante blanco. 

Then I noticed that Tara was staring towards the door.

Domingo had come into the bar. He looked left and right. Seeing us at the bar he approached. No one said anything. 

Domingo addressed Gabriella. "Lo siento por lo que hice. Lo Lamento Mucho. Please do me the favor of marking me for the wrongs I have done." He held out my crucifix. The knife blade was extended.

Gabriella did not ignore what Domingo had said, as she could have, simply dismissing him. A man of honor, if Domingo was such, would come to the person he had wronged and would say exactly what Domingo had said. It would be an injustice to Domingo and to honor to ignore his request. Gabriella took the knife from Domingo and raised her eyebrows in a question. Domingo indicated the top of his forehead, up in his scalp. Gabriella carefully nicked the spot with the knife. The small cut oozed blood. Gabriella handed the knife back to Domingo. Domingo went to Santiago next. He guided Santiago's hand and he solemnly nicked his scalp, next to the cut Gabriella had given.

By the time he got to Tara the blood was beginning to trickle down his face. Tara scowled at him but took her turn.

Turning to me, Domingo said, "Lo siento por lo que hice. Lo Lamento Mucho. I have caused you harm. I was wrong. I ask for forgiveness."

I gazed at him for a few seconds and took the knife. Reaching back to the bar, I took a napkin and wiped the blade. Then I closed the blade into the crucifix and put the necklace around my neck. I took the napkin and carefully wiped the blood from Domingo's face and forehead. I dabbed at the wounds to make sure they had stopped bleeding. "Tu es un bicho malo. But you are forgiven," I said. 

Domingo nodded, then turned to go. "Wait," I said. "We need your help. Tara and I struggle with the heavy equipment used by these thoughtless concentidas. Will you help us?" Domingo stared at me for a few moments as if he found it difficult to see. "It would be my honor," he said.