“No. You’re paying for your father getting killed. It ruined my chance to have someone inside Enrique’s family and for being stuck in a house that once rivaled Pablo Escobar’s but is now a decrepit pile of shit.”
“It’s not like he asked Esteban Cardenas to murder him even though he’d already stolen Luciana.”
I hear her temper finally flare.
“Stole? You really believe that, don’t you? Yourmamáhas filled your head with bullshit. Esteban didn’t have to steal Luciana. She never loved your father, but she would’ve married him out of duty. She and Esteban loved each other more than you could ever understand. Your father died for trying to kill Luciana after she rejected him. The night Luciana left your worthless father for Esteban, he shot at the car she was in. Then he thought he could force himself on her. She nearly slit his throat and would have if Esteban hadn’t stopped her. That would’ve been too quick a death. Esteban tortured your father for his sins before he killed him. No one but your mother misses him. She was dumb enough to fall in love with a man who enjoyed fucking her until he found out she got knocked up. He dumped your mother and claimed she was a whore, said you could’ve been anyone’s. If you didn’t look like him, people might’ve believed him. Too bad he died a month before you were born. He never got to see God’s sense of humor.”
Humberto vomits the story at Florencia, and my heart aches for her. It’s an unfamiliar sensation when it’s for anyone outsidemy family. But I feel horrible. She didn’t deserve to learn the truth with such vitriol and disdain.
“Luciana went with Esteban willingly?”
“Ran away with him and never looked back. She killed three men who worked with your father when they finally got retribution for your father’s death. Only took the dumbasses eight years. She proved Enrique and Luis are pussies when it comes to torture. She taught her brothers some shit. She’s why yourabuelo’snever gotten his dick up since he ordered the Hierro brothers to kill her husband and leave her children fatherless. She fucking gelded him. Cut one of his fucking balls off and sent it to yourabuelain a box with a bow. Wrote a note that said if she couldn’t have her man, then yourabuelawouldn’t have hers either. The only reason he survived when the Hierro brothers didn’t is because Enrique already had yourabuelo’sdick in a vise. He was already indebted to Josue before my brother died. Enrique still owns him. You need me for protection now that Pablo knows yourabueloindentured you to me. Don’t doubt he’s figured out you’re repayment.”
The conversation I listened to yesterday still bothers me. It ended with Florencia agreeing to get the samples to Humberto before the end of the week. She convinced him she can’t get to the lab before that. If she misses work, her boss will demand answers since she already took off two weeks while she was at the lab. She needs the job to maintain the appearance that she’s just a typical woman with a career that pays her bills. Losing her job would draw attention from friends and extended family. Humberto bought it.
I keep replaying her initial refusal to follow Humberto’s commands, then her subdued response to learning mytíoandtíaloved each other. Mytíawill never remarry. She’ll never love anyone else. She’s been a widow longer than she was a wife, but she’s never looked in another man’s direction.
Just the opposite, she’s blinded men for looking in hers. She’s killed men for getting too close. Having to defend herself and my cousins one too many times in Bogotá convinced the rest of my family she andTres J’sneeded to move to the States.
I push my thoughts aside as I step out of the SUV and smile at my deadtío’sbrother in the early morning light. I can seeTíoEsteban’s father sitting in a chair near the window. He’s in his early nineties. He’s still one of the smartest men I’ve met, but rheumatoid arthritis makes it difficult for him to get around the poppy fields like he once did.TíoEsteban’s younger brother now runs the family’s business.
“Me alegro de verte, Pablo.” It’s good to see you, Pablo.
“Gracias por dedicarme tiempo, Fausto.” Thanks for making time for me, Fausto.
“Siempre.” Always.
Just like all the conversations I’ve had or listened to since arriving, we continue in Spanish.
“Do you have bad news for me?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“How much did we lose?”
Both Medellín and Bogotá get frequent hailstorms during their rainy season because of their elevation. Both cities are technically in the Northern Hemisphere since the equator runs through southern Colombia. However, Colombia’s weather believes it’s fully in the Southern Hemisphere. It’s summer right now, so it’s supposed to be drier in January. That didn’t stop Mother Nature from raining down a nasty unseasonable one last night.
I dread hearing what Fausto says since the poppy seeds they harvest make us millions. It’s what’s kept their rival at bay so far, but more weather like this risks the Cardenas family’s monopoly. The money’s in opiates made here in Colombia and the seed exports to Asia. It matters little to us that production has decreased over the past few decades. International law enforcement doesn’t consider Colombia a major player in the heroin market like it is cocaine. However, they still earn us more as opiates than they would in lemon poppyseed muffins.
“Half. We brought in the first half of the harvest at the end of last week. The last ten fields weren’t ready yet, but yesterday morning, the farm manager said they were.”
“¡Mierda!” Shit.
“At least we’ve already extracted the gum.”
Workers split the seedpods with a multiblade tool, releasing a gummy ooze the workers collect with a curved spatula-looking tool. Frequent rain, even in summer, prevents poppy farmers from using open wood boxes to dry the milky fluid like they do in other parts of the world. The liquid opium is mixed with hot water, then left to dry. As long as they’ve done that to half the crop, then we can still make a healthy profit.
This won’t be bad enough to give our rival any leverage. It’ll just piss off our buyers that we don’t have everything we promised. But no one can control the weather despite what conspiracy theorists say.
“That’s a relief. When will it be ready to roll up?”
Workers can roll or bag the semi-dry resin.
“If the weather stays like today, then about a week.”
It’s a gorgeous day. Bright blue skies and not a cloud in sight. You’d never guess frozen boulders fell from the sky not even eight hours ago. Last night’s weather fit my mood much better than today’s. The issue with the poppies is only a fraction of what’s causing my irritation.
Being here fills me with bittersweet memories. It reminds me of the role Humberto played inTíoEsteban’s death. What he didn’t tell Florencia was that Humberto paid Domingo’s father—herabuelo—who paid the Hierro brothers to murder mytío. Herabuelo—Ernesto—was only too happy to take the money to fund his revenge. Ernesto begged for the cash and further indebtedlos Aguilarto Humberto.
