North South

When I reached the Trans American Highway I stood for a long time. South was Santiago and eventually on to Tierra del Fuego, by far the nearest you can get to Antarctica from a major landmass, and a place with a great sounding name that I’d wanted to go to ever since I’d heard it. North was back; the journey home.

I’d had the spirit and the enthusiasm jolted out of me, and an icy block of fear had run into the space it had left. Part of me just wanted to get back to Bogota, back to London and then to my room back home, where I could sit in peace and quiet until it was time to go back to school. But another part of me, the remains of my extremely bruised and battered ego I suspect, wanted to carry on. Not so much because I was as interested, but because I would hate to slink back early without making the journey everyone was expecting me to make.

I sat by the side of a distance marker to Santiago. There were other reasons to carry on. If I went home, people would ask why. I could shrug, and say,

‘Wanted to.’

But people would push harder than that, some at least. If you want to have friends you can’t just brush everything off, you have to talk, especially about something like this trip when their curiosity is only natural.

If I carried on, I could simply tell my story—my real story, boring bits and lack of girls included—I could even make the boredom into part of the story, make it funny:

‘Huh. While you were stuck in London in West Ham’s magnificent promotion season, Jakes the Great Adventurer was crapping himself silly in the stinking toilet of an Arequipa hostel, wishing a girl would appear in place of all the six foot surf babes who kept giving me a mumsy hug and patting my head like I was their favourite stuffed toy.’

I was drifting towards the idea of carrying on. But the fear was still there. The image of the pick-up landing where I should have been stood was burned into my memory. On the other hand, with her warning, hadn’t Balarubu saved me?

Sure. But saved me from what? Saved me from her ‘accident.’ The fearful part of me just wanted to cross over to the Northbound side of the road and head for safety. I was completely torn. I couldn’t hide from the fear. But I didn’t want to deal with the shame when I got home, and I certainly couldn’t tell people the real reason for cutting my trip short. First they’d laugh themselves silly, then they’d probably fall under the Tube.

A car pulled up. A big fat Merc. I stood. As the window came down a crack, cool scented air rushed into my face. The ‘continue or go home’ argument raging round my head was very finely balanced. I was very hot. The Merc was cool and comfortable. The balance tipped.

‘Santiago?’

That was hundreds of miles.

I nodded gratefully.

‘No falling asleep. I need company to keep me awake.’

The driver was a very glossy looking, glamorous middle aged woman. Probably about the same age as my mum, but with the fancy surface shine that comes from being regularly buffed up with big rolls of money.

We chattered. She was easy company, didn’t patronise me, listened to my plain spoken stories of my journey that, Balarubu aside, was pretty extraordinary. I just left Balarubu out of the story. I even included my crossings of the desert and meeting an interesting old man in a quaint old Andean village. All I skipped was one strange story told by one strange old man, and one flying Toyota. Her name was Ava. She spoke passable English and wanted practise as much as I did, so we skipped comfortably from one language to the other. At one point she told me she was tired and asked if I could drive. I’d driven my dad’s car slowly around the Asda car park, but that was about it. I knew what the pedals did but I couldn’t really drive. I felt silly. I was sure all sixteen year old middle class Chileans would be able to drive, responsibility being handed over so much earlier here. But I told her the truth. I can make cars move but I really can’t drive. She shrugged.

‘Fine, no matter. Better that I know and we don’t risk our necks eh?’

She stopped at a small family motel overnight. It was a little fancier than I was used to these days, but I didn’t want to look cheap, and she had already confirmed that she would take me the rest of the way in the morning. The reception cashed a traveller’s cheque and I paid for a nice clean room with airco and its own bathroom. I realised why the paths of tourists and travellers don’t cross. Because their places are nicer and they have no need for the hostels. That’s the advantage of going away for a fortnight instead of a year.

I think she had expected me to hang around hoping she would pay for the room, and even though we were already getting along well, standing up for myself and paying my own way loosened her up further. We had a nice steak dinner, she had a cocktail and then red wine, I had ice cold water. The last thing I needed was alcohol loosening my tongue.

‘You’re having a pretty big adventure for such a young man—even such a mature and sensible young man, but how on earth did you persuade your parents to let you take such a trip. I have a young daughter of your age and my heart would give up if I had to spend every day thinking of her travelling the world.’

I flushed. I had meant to call home as soon as I had the chance, and now I had a decent room I hadn’t even thought to charge my phone.

‘I just came. I gave them a lot of unnecessary worry. I call them, but I haven’t…’

She pulled a sleek little mobile from her purse and passed it to me.

‘Call her now for goodness sake.’ She shook her head.

‘Boys.’

My dad picked up the phone. He sounded resigned to my trip and to hearing from me too infrequently.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Good. Then I’ll pass you to your mum.’

I took this to mean that she wasn’t as cool as I expected.

‘Micky?’

‘Hi mum.’

‘You didn’t call for over a week. You have to keep in touch, Micky. You’ve done this crazy thing; the least you can do is keep in touch, please, promise me, every other day. I need that, Micky.’

‘I promise, mum. If I don’t think the phones are going to be good, I’ll tell you, and I’ll still try to find call boxes or something.’

Ava was flapping her hand at me.

‘Come on Micky, pass me the phone.’

I thought she was worried at the cost of the call, which surprised me.

‘I’m sorry mum, I’m on someone else’s phone, I have to hang up, I’ll call you later.’

‘No Micky, it’s not the bill, I don’t want to make a call, I want to talk to your poor worried mama, give me the phone.’

She took the phone and introduced herself to my mum. I realised how badly I wanted to listen in, but I suspect to protect my feelings, Ava made a ‘Stay where you are’ sign with her outstretched palm and went over to the restaurant bar to talk to mum. I sipped my way through my bottle of water and finished the plate of olives, pickles and chillies in the middle of the table. I turned the napkin around in my hands until the table was a wreck of shredded tissue. Then a waiter came and cleared it up and brought more water. I saw the same waiter pour Ava a glass of red wine at the bar. She smiled and fluttered her fingers at me. I couldn’t imagine what they could find to talk about, so I tried to think about nothing at all. I failed and thought about Balarubu and the burden of truth.

‘You did a really terrible thing, Micky,’ she told me when she returned to the table. But her voice was gentler than her words.

‘Stealing away like a thief, lying about your route. You are a well brought up young man, and your parents made a more than reasonable offer. A very broad-minded and generous offer. Why Micky?’

‘Stubbornness, Pig headedness, Big headedness, lack of sensitivity, thoughtlessness, maybe stupidity, definitely cruelty.’

‘But if you know all that Micky, and you still go ahead…’

‘I told my parents that it would be an experience. I didn’t understand how much. I know all those things now, those explanations for why I did it. I think before if I’d been honest, I could have seen that some of those things were behind my trip, but I wasn’t honest with myself.’

‘And now you are?

‘I’m trying.’

‘I think you are growing up very quickly, Micky. I think you are even growing a wise head. It is a pretty shame that your lovely mama had to suffer such pain so that you could grow up.

‘I’m sorry I did that to her; to them.’

‘Well don’t worry.’ Eva beamed. ‘It’s all sorted, the arrangements will be made tomorrow. You are to stay as a guest at my house in Santiago for a couple of weeks. You can clean up properly and re-learn how to wear fresh white shirts, long trousers and real shoes. We can re-civilise you before you carry on with your trip to our southern glaciers.’

I wanted to reply but Ava was in full flood so I nodded and smiled.

‘And your mother can be assured you are well.’

‘While we are in Santiago I will call every day. On my own telephone.’

‘Yours, mine, pah! You will do better than that. Your mother also will be my guest. She will fly out in two days and will be with her dear son.’

My inner squirm obviously showed on the outside.

‘Shame, Micky! You hurt her. It is an expensive journey, so your mama alone will fly out. We are agreed you are a very mature young man. From what I told her it sounds as if you are right, you are very much more mature than the boy who stole away a month ago. After a week, your mama will return and leave you to complete your journey.’

That was such a relief. How had she swung that. It sounded like a happy reunion, no shouting, just reassurance for mum.

‘Thank you.’

‘Your thanks are accepted. We have another long drive tomorrow. Walk me to my room.’

We linked arms and walked first through the hotel grounds and up to her room. She looked at me with a wicked look in her eyes.

‘Do you like me, Micky?’

I swallowed. I wasn’t sure of the appropriate answer.

‘Very much.’

‘Good, Micky. I like you too. So, well rested in the morning, we should have an entertaining and interesting drive ahead. You may kiss me on the cheek to thank me for my efforts with your mama, who is by the way a very intelligent and very lovely woman.’

I kissed her demurely, blushing as I did.

‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ I said.

‘Early, fresh and happy.’

Sitting at my desk back at school, I had imagined South America. I had read about the countries I was to visit, seen hundreds of pictures of everything from the dense fetid jungles of the North to the storm battered glaciers of the South. I had imagined winding mountain roads and shimmering vistas and high plateaus. What I had not imagined was soft and comfy upper middle class suburbs. This was something on a different level from anything any of my friends at home knew. I realised that while most of us live in our own towns, cities and countries, the rich all live in more or less the same cushioned place.

Ava lived in a lovely white villa in the Southern suburbs of Santiago. It was big without being ostentatious, it had a small pool in the lovely, lush garden, it had a servants house at the end of the garden—a servants house—that would be where the servants lived. A cook and a housekeeper, full time, live in, not to mention the gardener and cleaner who came in from their own homes five days a week. I’d never seen anything like it.

Ava’s husband, Sergio, ran a telecoms company and spent a lot of time travelling. I heard his voice on the speakerphone, he was an ever-present part of their conversation, and he filled the family photographs that littered the house, some professional portraits, plenty other casual shots: papa on the beach, papa and family skiing, papa hugging the servants at Christmas, papa kissing Ava, papa kissing his beautiful daughter Lucia. Did I mention his beautiful daughter Lucia? Did I also mention that she was brilliant and witty and her senses were as bright as her perfect white teeth? That she swum like a shark’s fin, and that while she was in the pool she wore a swimsuit and that caught my attention too? Her English was better than her mum’s and was as good as my Spanish so we could slip in and out of each other’s languages without even thinking. From the moment we met we talked non-stop. There was a spark there. There was chemistry.

Needless to say I fancied her like crazy, but there was a lot more than that. More than ‘fancy.’ I really, really liked her. I felt like I knew her well from the start and I wanted to know a lot more. I felt different inside when I looked at her and when I thought about her. This was the one thing we didn’t touch on when we spent the hours talking and laughing, but I was pretty sure she felt the same. Ava looked on, amused. I’m sure she was aware what was happening, she was a very sharp woman with a finely tuned emotional sense. It didn’t seem to worry her. It worried me. I was happy. I had already, I thought, rolled Balarubu into my way of life. The truth wasn’t causing me problems, I just didn’t lie. And now I had that worry tucked away, maybe as a reaction, with Lucia I was delirious.

After a few days, mum arrived, and that didn’t go the way I expected either. After a few minutes of emotional hugging, a quick telling off, a spot of finger wagging and of course a few sighs, my old mum returned. Now she knew I was safe, and that already I seemed more responsible, she could go back to her own self. She hardly seemed to notice the sparks flying between me and Lucia. But she and Ava hit it off incredibly, and Ava set about showing her the best of Santiago—the shops, restaurants, pavement life and salsa clubs. She came over to see me and spent a week with Ava. I was so smitten with Lucia that I barely noticed when she left. How was that? My mum flew out to Santiago to see me and it was a case of

‘Hi mum, sorry mum, bye mum, say hi to dad mum.’

A couple of nights after Mum left to go back home, Lucia took me to the fair. The night was warm and the air had some moisture but not so much that it wiped you out. Everyone was dressed light, the night was dark, the air was sweet like fairgrounds everywhere, with cheap hot sugar and odd pork type stuff grilling. A thousand lights flashed, music blared and there was an atmosphere of fun and abandon. A lot of the rides were similar to home. We rode the dodgems in separate cars and she showed a mean streak and she bounced me so hard I bit my tongue. I won a cuddly frog for her when I tossed the hoops over the bulls’ horns. And when we went on a fast and scary ride she gripped my hand hard.

‘I’m scared, Micky,’ she said as the big dipper slowly approached the top of its incline and neared the take-off point.

‘I’m here,’ I told her.

She curled a lip. ‘And what are you going to do to stop me being scared, Micky?’ she asked.

We were feet from the take-off.

I gave a big clownish grin.

‘Nothing very useful!’ I yelled above the rising hysteria around us. I held on tight to the bar with one hand (I’m a bit of a wuss on these fast rides) and put my other arm tight around her. She gripped the bar with both hands and leaned into me. She made a full eye contact and touched her lips for a fleeting second to mine. My heart leapt and my stomach turned inside out. Still, falling a hundred and fifty feet in three seconds might have affected the way I felt right then.

Our legs were wobbly as we climbe out of the buggy at the end. She hugged me and rested her head on my shoulder. She looked at me again.

‘That was fun. You’re fun. And you were wrong.’

‘I was? I’m sure I was. Tell me though, what was I wrong about?’

‘You helped, Micky. Your hugs, they really helped. They made me brave. I Like your hugs, Micky.’

I didn’t have much to say. I kissed her again. Teenage kisses; isn’t that what fairgrounds are for? I felt big and strong and in control and weak and lost and helpless and I didn’t know what else. We went back to her place soon after. We held hands on the way back, like we had on the way there. But we held a little tighter and it felt different. And I still couldn’t swallow properly even though the big dipper was a half hour behind me.

In the midst of all the marvel in my life, I had a problem and nothing could possibly make it go away. Lucia lived in Santiago. I lived in London. I was there as a guest on the understanding that soon I would resume my travels. It was the beginning of October. Lucia went to a private school and her term started in the second week—lots of time for long holidays in distant places—and it was understood that this would be my departure point. The understanding was between me and Ava.

You might be wondering, did anything happen? You know; anything?

Not really. It was a pretty demure relationship. I think a combination of us both being brought up in pretty orthodox Catholic families, then the fact that there was a bit more than lust going on: we both thought a lot of each other so neither of us wanted to complicate things right now by taking things too far too fast. And I was more than a bit in awe of Lucia. I still get a lump in my throat and an extra beat in my heart when I think about her.

You can believe me when I tell you that’s the truth.

The answer to the question then; we kissed. At first we’d peck on the cheek when we both went to our rooms at night. By the final days when I was set to go, after the big dipper, we were really kissing, tongues and all. While we were kissing I was in such a place I could feel my eyes filling up. If I die after a good life and go to heaven, then the middle of those first kisses with Lucia will be what the place feels like. As I tell you now, goosebumps are rising and my fingers are trembling. True. I liked Lucia a lot. Beating heart, trembling fingers? Come on, we can all read, we’re none of us stupid.

I loved her, in forty foot letters in the Hollywood Hills with firework displays and lighted fountains.

Ava took me to one side. She was businesslike.

‘In a couple of days, Lucia’s back at school. I expect you’ll want to make your arrangements: your bus or train, however you plan to go.’

‘I was thinking about the train’

‘It’s been delightful having you here, Micky. And I know Lucia has enjoyed having you here. And when you pass through Santiago on your return, you must stop for a couple of days.’

I swallowed. ‘I’ve enjoyed being here, Ava.’

‘I’ve seen you. I know how much you like it here. You’ve been marvellous for Lucia’s English.’

I resented being reduced to such a functional purpose, but then parents can be like that.

‘And I so enjoyed meeting your mama.’

‘It was very generous of you to invite her, and to have me too. I don’t know how I could ever repay you.’

Ava smiled. The smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

‘There is something you can do.’

I was about to say ‘Anything.’ but my constant ticking awareness of Balarubu caught the word and made me think. I didn’t want to go making promises that future events would turn into lies. I wasn’t sure how Balarubu might take something like that, and she didn’t seem like a very ‘shades of grey’ kind of Deity. Better to stay well inside the boundaries.

‘Tell me, and if there’s anything I can do, I’ll do my best.’

‘You always choose your words very carefully when it comes to important matters, Micky. Were you aware of that? I think one day you may be a fine lawyer.’

I suspected that Balarubu might have different ideas for my career.

‘Your favour, Ava?’

‘My favour, quite. I worry that you might see it as something more than a favour. When you pass through Santiago, you will see Lucia again. Have a pleasant couple of days, cement your memories of Santiago in the November spring together.’

Southern hemisphere seasons still threw me.

‘That sounds great Ava, but I don’t really see escorting Lucia as much of a favour to be absolutely honest.’

‘The favour comes next. You visit us again, then you go. I know you quite well I think, Micky. I don’t want any juvenile schemes to win Lucia’s heart, because I suspect you may already have that, as I know certainly that she owns yours.’

‘Yes she does,’ I admitted.

‘And you are ingenious and headstrong. I don’t want you to plan ways that you could be with Lucia. Lucia can be in love, she cannot make love, she cannot be distracted from her studies, and one day she must make a good marriage to a good Santiago family. Perhaps one day you will return, a clear success, and win my Lucia all over again. But not this time. You are an interlude, Micky, a happy Summer adventure, not the main feature. This time, you must visit, then you must go, and you must stay gone. Can you do that Micky? To repay our hospitality, can you do that?’

I felt a cold heaviness in my heart.

‘I wasn’t making plans, Ava.’

‘Can you do that, Micky? she repeated.

‘I can’t promise. I’d love to repay you, but I can’t. Hospitality and love, Ava, they live on different planets. I can’t settle a debt on one planet with currency from another. I’m sorry, but I can’t promise.’

‘That’s fine Micky. But I’m afraid I will have to rescind your next invitation.’

I felt needlessly painted into a corner. I couldn’t make a promise I couldn’t guarantee I’d keep, even thought I wanted to see Lucia again more than anything. And even though I hadn’t been making any kind of plans at all, my inability to hedge about the truth was excluding me from seeing her at all. I gritted my teeth and cursed my tie to the truth.

‘You can leave the day after tomorrow, as planned, but if you call when you pass through again, you may find that we have taken a sudden trip. You may find that your mail is not received, and that your calls and emails are returned invalid. My husband can make these things happen. But he is no mere technician. He can make other things happen too. Listen carefully Micky. I asked you to do something for me, because that would have been easy for us both. But that was not my only option. Now I am telling you, and I intend my wishes to become fact. Go and stay gone.’

I had nothing to say. I couldn’t make empty threats. She was countering plans that I hadn’t even made. I went to my room to think what it meant. In a way, she had scored an own goal, making me desire and plan what I’d not even considered. There was no doubt I could make a kind of living in Santiago, as a translator or an English teacher. As a kid, no doubt people would try to take advantage, sure, it would be hard to be taken seriously, but I was sure I could make some kind of a pass at it. Unfortunately, I was looking at a kind of a plan at exactly the point that I had been told that any plan of mine would not be allowed to work. Ava also had the secret weapon. Her husband, Sergio. I was sure that if I created any kind of a nuisance, however legal, he would at the very least be able to have me thrown out of the country with something in my passport that would make it extremely hard to get back in again.

I stared at my feet. I decided—no decision really—I caved in to the fact that I would simply have to leave. I decided to step back down a stage further. It would be worth it to have an extra couple of days with Lucia.

I left my room to find Ava. She was coming down the hall, wrapped in a white towelling gown, her hair still damp from the shower. She didn’t look like Lucia’s mum, or like any kind of mother. She looked like an extremely attractive older woman—the kind boys of my age think about when they imagine being seduced by an older woman.

I brushed these thoughts aside.

‘Ava,’ I said. ‘I’ve been thinking about our discussion.’

‘Yes, Micky.’ She said.

‘I think we both kind of argued ourselves into a corner. I only said I couldn’t promise because I hate being pushed into a corner, and you then pushed me out because you don’t like to be refused. So I have a better idea. Why don’t we go back where we were before, so I come back and spend a couple of days together, then we part as friends, exchange birthday and Christmas cards, the odd email, then maybe meet again someday, when we are older and wiser.’

Ava shook her head. ‘Micky, you have such a wise old head on those young shoulders. But you should have thought have that earlier. Now you have crossed me and I am very slow to forgive.’

I heard someone climbing the stairs behind me. It sounded like Lucia’s tread. Ava pulled the cord on her gown and let it fall open. I stared in shock, and didn’t see the sweeping roundhouse coming as she slapped me in the face.

I was shocked into silence, but you could not have looked more shocked than Ava who had a perfect expression of shock and proper indignation on her face.

‘Mama, Micky, what is happening?’

‘Our guest, your young friend, just made a very improper suggestion to your mama.’

I turned to object, but I could see it could go nowhere. The only way I could ever make her disbelieve me was if I persuaded her to disbelieve her mother, and how could she ever trust her mother again after such a huge, corrupt and sordid lie. And face it, whatever I thought, she needed her mother more than she needed me.

Facing Lucia, I saw tears already forming.

‘This didn’t happen. I love you, goodbye.’ I quickly blew her a kiss and went to my room to throw my few things into my bag. As I was stuffing the last few items in the bag, there was a tap at the door and the maid came in.

‘Sir, the madame wanted me to give you this.’

She gave me an envelope. Inside was a short terse note.

“42562A1 This is the reservation number for the train to Temuco. This will take you well on your way. It is a first class seat and it is paid.

Sorry, Ava.”