We drove back down into the ruined city. Partway, Carlos stopped the car and went back to delve into his duffel bag once more. He brought out a pair of signs, which he propped in the back windows; red crosses on a white background. "Just to keep the soldiers from stopping us," he said.
"But that's a Red Cross sign!" said George.
"Not quite; the proportions aren't the same."
"We'll get in trouble if they ask us for identification!"
"They won't. They never bother Red Cross workers. Besides, we're not saying we're Red Cross, are we?"
We went on. We parked in an area where most of the houses were still standing, and filled shopping bags with foodstuffs. Carlos gave us a handful of tracts each, to be given with the food. "Don't forget to tell people what we've just heard," he said. "God has given them a warning, and another chance."
I walked down a side street littered with shards of roofing tiles until I found a doorway standing open. A woman was sweeping the courtyard with a twig broom; a couple of ragged children stared at me. Another ran to hide behind her mother. I smiled at them. "Hello."
"Come in," the woman said.
There had been two rooms bordering on the courtyard, now there was one and a pile of rubble. A torn cloth, maybe an old sheet, was propped up on sticks to make a roof over a cot and a table. As I came across the courtyard, a man rose from the cot and came to meet me.
"What do you want?" he asked. His tone was polite, but cautious.
"I brought some food. To give you. If you want it. Oranges for the girls."
"Yes. Please." The caution was gone; the man and his wife were smiling broadly now. She came forward, and I filled her hands with oranges. I piled boiled eggs, three days old now, onto the table. A plastic bag full of powdered dry milk. Another one of oatmeal.
"Do you have a can opener?" I asked.
"A knife."
"That'll do." I put a couple of cans of Spam on the table.
The husband walked with me to the street door, thanking me over and over. Behind me, the children clustered around their mother and the oranges. She was peeling the first one; I could smell the sharp tang of it over the dust.
The tracts! I was supposed to hand out a tract. I turned back to the man at the door. "I have something else for you; some literature about God." I dug one out of the bag and gave it to him. "Read this. God protected you and your family last week. Now He wants you to know about Him."
He was looking at the tract dubiously. Large red letters on the front said, "Four Things God Wants You to Know." I wondered if anyone would read it. Then the man smiled again. "Thank you for the food," he said.
Much later, when I got back to the car with my empty bag, Raquel, George and Paco were waiting. Carlos had loaded up his backpack and gone out again. George was worried, remembering the curfew. It was almost 5 o'clock. Raquel thought maybe we would be safe with the Red Cross sign, even after dark; George was sharp with her, accusing her of being as foolish as Carlos. We were all relieved when Carlos finally came out of an alley way; George honked for him to hurry, and had the car in gear even before the door closed.
Once we were away from the stench and rubble of the city, George relaxed. It turned out that we had plenty of time, after all. He turned off the road to the Baptist hospital, and drove around the better residential district, as Parejon had suggested.
It was cooler up on the hills. Quieter. There were no cries of vultures. No bumping and creaking of car springs; the streets were well paved and undamaged. Behind high stone walls draped with greenery, we could hear music and laughter. In one house, where the wall was lower than usual, a large canvas tent stood in the garden. These were Somoza's friends, then.
At 6 o'clock, George headed back to the main road. Before we entered the hospital grounds, Carlos crawled back and took down our Red Cross signs.
Page Four of Six...Next page: The Presidential Palace
©Susannah Anderson, 1999
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