Memories of Guatemala
By Sandra Martinez
FF: "Memories of Guatemala" Part 1-?
Classification: Drama/Romance? Webb/other
Rated: PG13/R for some violence and adult situations.
Spoilers: "In Country".
Notes:
I tried to use what we learned in that episode: Webb was in Guatemala during the
Civil war, there was a Guatemalan woman who sang him sad songs, and what he said
in Spanish in that episode.
Since sad songs were what Webb mentioned to Gunny, I used several in this fic.
For those that don't know, the "Farm" is the way CIA operatives refer to their
training academy.
Guatemala- Mid 90's
Clayton Webb tried to run as fast as he could, but
with each step the pain in his leg grew worse. He
stumbled a couple of times, his heart racing as the
voices of his pursuers became louder and angrier.
Webb looked at the gunshot wound in his leg, his pants
covered in blood. He knew it was only a flesh wound,
but it hurt like hell. He knew that he would never be
able to outrun them. He fell to the ground, this time
unable to get up again. He crawled to the trees and
hid among the bushes surrounding it.
Webb tried to slow down his breathing. He lay on the
ground as quietly as possible and did the only thing
he could do. He prayed. He prayed that he would not be
found. He prayed that if he were caught they would
kill him quickly. Webb closed his eyes, tightly held
on to the gun in his hand and prayed until the voices
were lost in the dense forest. He then passed out.
The pain woke him up minutes later. He slowly sat up
and looked at the blood soaked pants. He knew his
situation could be worse. He could have been killed in
the ambush along with his informant. He would have
been just another casualty of this civil war. His body
abandoned here by his employer who would simply deny
his existence.
Webb knew someone had betrayed his informant. On the
way to his meeting with a member of one of the
guerrillas they had been ambushed and now his
informant was dead and he was bleeding to death alone
in the middle of this war torn country. Webb was
starting to miss his days with the NSA. Maybe he
should have listened to his mother and not join the
covert operations unit at the CIA. But Webb wanted to
follow in his father's footsteps and Fawkes had told
him he would be a good operative. So now he was here
alone and bleeding. Webb shook his head. He had to
stop thinking this way. So one of his first missions
had gone to hell. Now he had to concentrate on getting
back to
his unit and maybe, just maybe still save this
operation.
Webb took out his handkerchief and applied pressure to
the wound. He had to try to stop the bleeding somehow.
It was then he heard a noise coming from the bushes
to the left of him. He slowly pulled back the hammer
of his gun and waited. From behind the bushes a slim,
tall woman, long black hair in a braid, came out and
walked slowly towards him. Webb carefully watched the
woman. She was beautiful with spectacular dark brown
eyes. She wore a white tank top that clung to her
shapely body, a red scarf tied loosely around her neck
and a bright colored skirt that was torn up to her
thigh. Webb noticed that she was not indigenous. She
had fair skin, which had been tanned by the hot
Guatemalan sun, giving her a golden glow.
He pointed his gun at her.
Not afraid of the gun that was pointed at her chest,
she continued to walk towards him.
"Alto1." Webb said out loud.
"Tranquilo, gringo." Her voice was soft and friendly.
"Alto!" Webb repeated. For some reason nothing else
was coming to his mind at this time. Spanish had been
one of the foreign languages he had studied, but right
now all he could think to say was "stop."
"Take it easy gringo."
"You speak English?"
"Si. Enough to tell you to put down that gun. You are
hurt. Let me help you."
She said in fluent English with a heavy accent.
"No. Don't come any closer."
"I am not your enemy."
"I don't know you. That makes you an enemy." Webb did
not lower his gun.
"The enemies are the military and the government that
YOUR government is helping. But what would a gringo
like you know?"
"I know enough." Webb started feeling lightheaded.
The loss of blood was taking its toll on his body.
"Don't you know that your government gives money to
the military so they can continue to commit acts of
genocide to the Mayan people? Why do you fight on
their side?"
Clayton was taken back a bit. The woman's English was
very good, and even if misguided she knew what was
going on around her.
"If you don't let me help you, you will bleed to death
or get your head cut off by one of the guerrilleros.
They are more than likely still looking for you."
Clayton slowly put his gun down.
"Why do you want to help me?" He placed his hand on
the wound and winced in pain as he tried to move it.
The woman quickly walked over to Clayton and took her
scarf off.
"This does not look good. I will have to take you to
my place."
"No, I don't think so." Webb tried to move away. The
woman ignored him and moved closer. She tied her scarf
tightly around his leg.
"Can you walk?"
"I am not going with you." He tried to get up but
stumbled.
"You will not be able to get out of here on your own.
You will slowly die here in this mountain. That is if
you are lucky. If you are out of luck, which seems to
be the case right now, you will be captured, tortured
and killed. The guerrillas have seen their villages
destroyed, their men and women killed. They will have
no consideration for a worthless American." Webb
noticed a hint of anger in her voice.
"Why do you want to help me?"
"I want to see the fighting stop. I want peace for my
country. Killing Americans will only give your
government a reason to continue to help the military
here. More of my people will die."
Clayton remained quiet. She was partially right. If he
was a missionary or part of some humanitarian group
maybe that would be the reaction of the government.
But not in his case. She did not know that the US
government would never admit to him being there. He
was out of luck. The guerrillas wanted him dead; his
employer would deny his existence.
Clayton had no choice but to trust her. Maybe all he
was doing was just delaying his death a little while
longer. But he had a better chance of surviving or
fighting this woman than a bunch of guerrilleros.
"How far is your place?" Clayton tried to get up by
leaning on a tree.
"Not too far." The woman stood next to him and placed
his arm on her shoulders.
"Lean on me. I am stronger than you think." She smiled
at him. Clayton smiled back and got lost in her eyes.
"Como te llamas?"
"Maria Consuelo. Y tu?"
Clayton thought for a moment. He could not really
tell her his real name. She read his mind.
"Well. You are not going to tell me your real name
anyway, so why don't I call you.... Emilio. Yes, you
look like an Emilio."
"Emilio?" Clayton smiled. He did not really care
what she wanted to call him. All he knew is that he
loved the way it sounded when she said it. They
started walking and Webb prayed that he would be able
to make it to her house.
¿Para qué quiero vivir
con el corazón deshecho?
¿Para qué quiero la vida,
después de lo que me has hecho?
Cantando me pasaré
muy triste esta chacarera;
pueda ser de que me alegres,
en el instante en que muera.'
(Why do I want to live
with a heart that was destroyed.
Why do I want to live
after what has been done to me?
I will go on singing
my very sad song,
maybe I will be content
the instant that I die)
Clayton looked over at Maria Consuelo. She was
singing as they slowly walked along a small river. Her
voice was soft and smooth. She had the kind of voice
that could mesmerize a man. Not him, not under these
circumstances, but any other man.
"That's a very sad song." Webb interrupted her.
Maria Consuelo was surprised that he had understood
her song. He had to be fluent in Spanish to understand
it.
"In this country there is no reason to sing anything
but sad songs. That is all we can sing, sad songs
about all we have lost in the last 32 years." Maria
started singing again. Her words filled with sadness.
"No hay remedio, ya lo sé;
¿para qué quiero buscarlo?
Tan deshecha tengo el alma,
que inútil será lograrlo.
Cantando me pasaré
muy triste esta chacarera;
pueda ser de que me alegres,
en el instante en que muera."
(There is no remedy I know
why try to find him?
my soul is destroyed
it is impossible to find it.
Singing I will go on
my very sad song
maybe I will be content
the instant that I die?)
"If you are so sad about your life why, don't you want
us to help you?" Clayton interrupted her again
"Because you are helping the wrong people."
"Your guerrillas have committed 32 massacres."
"32 massacres out of 626. That leaves over 500 that
the military is responsible for. We are defending what
we believe in. They just want us to disappear."
"America is also defending what they believe in."
The woman shook her head.
"Boy they really have you fooled. Estas ciego Emilio."
"I'm not blind, I am telling the truth."
"You fight thinking this is about your war against
communism? You are misguided. This has nothing to do
with that. Your people lie to you! Almost 200,00 of my
people have died. There are almost a million homeless
people. Do not talk to me about your truth."
"But..."
"Mejor te callas Emilio, o te tiro al rio!" She sad
with a playful smile.
Clayton smiled back. He knew that if he did not shut
up, he would end up in the river as she had threaten
to do just now.
Maria started to sing again. It helped her relax. She
knew what would happen to her if she was caught
helping an American. She needed to think about
something else, so she sang.
"ya es muy tarde para remediar lo que ha pasado
ya es muy tarde para revivir nuestro viejo querer.
Preferible para ti que olvides el pasado que es muy
tarde si tratas de volver eso no puede ser.
En muchas ocaciones te busque y a tus plantas de
rodillas te implore,
ya no insistas en reuniur tu vida con la mia.
Si te enpenas en volver resignate a perder"
(It's too late to fix the past
It's too late to revive our old loves
its is better to forget about the past
it is too late if you try to go back, it cannot be
many times I looked for you, on my knees I begged you.
No, do not insist in reuniting your life with mine
if you try to return, get ready to lose)
"Do you know anything happy?" Clayton did not want to
hear more sad songs. His situation was depressing
enough as it was.
"Cuando haya paz en Guatemala, yo cantare canciones
alegres."
(when there is peace in Guatemala, I will sing happy
songs)
Clayton felt the pain in her voice and decided to keep
quiet. He breathed in deep, the pain in his leg was
starting to be unbearable. He did not know how much
longer he was going to last. It was then he saw a
small hut.
"Es esa tu casa?"
(is that your house?)
"Si."
He was relieved. He took a few more steps towards the
small hut and hit the floor, passing out.
Clayton woke up. He was on a small bed. He sat up and
noticed that his clothes were gone. He looked at his
leg. It was neatly wrapped in clean bandages. He
observed a few leaves sticking out from under the
bandage.
"Son hierbas para curar la infeccion."
("Those are medical herbs to cure infection")
Maria walked to the bed and sat next to him with a bowl of soup
in her hands.
"How long have I been here?" Clayton grabbed the sheet that
barely covered his body and sat up.
"A day. How is your leg?"
"It doesn't hurt as much, those herbs work pretty good." He
slowly moved his leg.
"Here, eat this." Maria carefully placed a spoonful of soup near
his lips. Clayton sipped the soup. It was tasty, filled with
vegetables and rice.
"Gracias."
"De nada." She continued to feed him until the bowl was empty.
"Where are my clothes?"
"Outside getting dry."
"You took them off." Clayton was surprised at how
embarrassed he suddenly felt.
"Yes." Maria smiled mischievously, as she remembered
the firm, sleek, slender body she had seen earlier.
She got up from his bed and quickly walked to the
kitchen area.
"Y tiene un cuerpazo" (And what a body he has)
She said to herself, or so she though.
"Gracias." Clayton quickly replied.
Maria turned around, her face a nice shade of red.
"You speak Spanish well. You are fluent aren't you?"
"Maybe not as good as your English, but it's good
enough to understand your songs and what you said
about me."
"I apologize. I forgot. Most of the gringos we get
around here don't speak Spanish, which is one of the
reasons they usually do not last long."
"So you think I have a good body?" He was not going
to let her off that easy.
"For a white boy." Maria chuckled.
Clayton smiled a little. Maria stared at him for a few
seconds and noticed the intensity in his eyes. He made
her nervous.
"Gracias Maria Consuelo. Gracias por todo." Clayton's
voice was soft.
(Thanks Maria Consuelo. Thanks for everything")
Maria sat next to him.
"You are still not safe Emilio. We still have to get
you out of here."
Maria started to feel uncomfortable. She was feeling
nervous by the emotions that Webb's voice stirred
inside of her. Especially when he spoke to her in
Spanish. He had such sexy accent.
"You're right. I need to go. If somebody finds me
here, you will be in trouble."
He tried to put his feet on the ground. He carefully
held on to the sheet that covered his body.
"Espera, no tan rapido!"
("Wait, not so fast")
"You need more rest. Get some sleep. Tomorrow we will
figure out what to do." Maria gently pushed him back.
"I've been sleeping all day I don't...." Clayton felt
her breath on his chest as she leaned over him. He
felt uncomfortable.
"Vamos, lie down. I will sing you a song." Maria
flashed him a grin.
Clayton could not argue with her. He wanted to hear
her sing again. He laid down and she sat next to him.
He could not help himself and his eyes slowly ran up
her legs. They were long, shapely and smooth. He told
himself not to stare. But could not help himself, she
was exotically beautiful and he found himself
attracted to her in a way he never had before.
"Me castiga dios porque aun te quiero
sabiendo que enganas a mi corazon
te sigo queriendo me siges mintiendo
y vivo enganada sabiendolo yo
muchas veces en silencio estoy lllorando
y bebiendo la amargura de mi llanto
me da pena de mi mismo por cobarde al callarme
la verguenza de tu engano"
(God punishes me because I still love you
knowing that you betray my heart.
I keep loving you, you keep lying,
and I live like this knowingly.
Many times I cry in silence,
drinking my painful tears.
I am ashamed for being a coward
ashamed for ignoring your betrayal)
"You have a beautiful voice Maria Consuelo."
"I was a singer. A folk singer. But that was before
the war knocked on my door. Everything changed then."
Maria could not avoid staring at the man in her bed.
She could not look away, instead she closely studied
his chest. He did not have big muscles, but his chest
was strong, covered with a few dark brown hairs. She
watched as it raised with each breath he took.
"You will sing again Maria. But you really need to
stop singing such sad songs." He tried to make her
smile.
"Are you going to give me a reason to sign happy
songs, Emilio?"
Maria could not believe she was flirting with the
American. She brushed an errant lock of hair from his
forehead. Clayton noticed as her hand trembled a bit.
He saw a look of concern on her face. Maria tried to
smile one more time in an attempt to hide her fear.
But she could not help it. She was afraid. Afraid of
what was going to happen to Emilio if the wrong
guerrillas got a hold of him.
Clayton tried to fight the urge to answer her
question. He did not understand why he wanted so much
to make her happy. It was crazy, she was a complete
stranger, in a
foreign country, and she was one of "them." He needed
to think about how to get out of there and not about
how he would love to bring some happiness into her
life. He knew it was impossible.
Clayton and Maria looked at each other. They could not
explain the attraction they felt. All they knew was
that they had to control the feelings that had started
to build up inside of them.
"Do you sing?" Maria got up and sat on a bed across
the room. She needed to get away from him.
"Oh no. That is not my style. But I play the piano."
"Chopin? Beethoven?"
"You know about...."
"We are not ignorant Emilio. We know about a lot of
things. Some of us are educated, contrary to what your
propaganda might say."
"I am sorry. I did not mean to... lo siento."
"We better get some sleep." She laid down, her back
towards Webb.
"No lullaby?" Clayton teased her.
"No. But I can sing another sad song if you want."
"No. I want a happy song next time."
"We'll see. Buenas noches Emilio."
"Buenas noches Maria Consuelo."
Clayton was surprised at how relaxed he felt around
this stranger. He had been trained to always be on his
toes, on the alert, trust nobody. But his instincts
this time told him it was ok to relax a bit.
Something told him he could trust her. Maybe he was
making a big mistake, but his instincts hardly ever
failed him. It was one of the reasons he had done so
well at the farm.
Clayton tried once again to concentrate on his
mission, but his feelings for her absorbed a part of
him he did not even know existed. He thought about
the mission, about his duty and true objective. That
had to be the only thing in his mind at this time. He
would make sure of it. He would not allow anyone of anything
to interfere.