Emmy And Me

That evening we walked around, just enjoying the vibes of the walled city. We ate food from street vendors here and there as we made our “paseo,” as Angela called it. There were a lot of random hawkers trying to sell us this or that souvenir of our visit, but a few choice words from Angela in Spanish with her local accent sent them packing.

Since we had no agenda besides discovering the city after dark, we never felt any need to rush anywhere. This allowed us to take our time to savor the sights and sounds of old Cartagena, an amazingly colorful and vibrant place.

When the rain started we made our way into a nearby bar that specialized in rum and, oddly, chocolate. They claimed to have the largest selection of rums in Colombia and it could well have been true, judging by the very impressive display behind the bar.

When we sat down the waiter brought us chocolates with the menus. He explained that the chocolates are from a number of different small producers there in Colombia, and the bar has recommended pairings with their various rums.

Luckily for Angela and Emmy, they had a list of non-alcoholic rums (a small list, but far more than I could possibly have expected), so they could enjoy drinks and chocolates as well.

We’d just gotten our drinks (and chocolates) when a bunch of musicians took the stage at one end of the room. The music they played sounded to me like a mix of the Mexican styles I’d heard all my life growing up in Southern California but with an added Caribbean rhythm, especially in the singing. I could easily imagine Harry Belafonte fronting a Norteño band sounding just like these guys.

Angela’s eyes lit up when she recognized their second or third song, singing along and moving in her chair with the music.

“This one is a classic,” she said. “Everybody knows it,” and judging by how many of the other bar patrons were also singing along, I had to admit she was right. The band seemed to be hitting all the local hits and the audience there enjoyed the show quite a bit. I did, too, despite not being able to understand more than a word here and there. The music seemed to capture the Caribbean and Latin American feeling of Cartagena perfectly.

I noticed the singer and one of the drummers kept looking at Emmy, but I figured they realized who she was, as many had as we’d walked around that day. It was no surprise when the two musicians took the opportunity during a break to come over and say hello. Tiny and Grant tensed as the two approached, but thankfully the musicians were astute enough to recognize it and made no questionable moves.

“Emmy Lascaux?” asked the singer, a middle-aged man whose short hair was going gray. He was obviously very pleased to actually meet Emmy in person, his broad smile making his teeth show white against his dark skin. He asked her a question I didn’t catch, since my Spanish was not nearly good enough and his accent was thick. When she nodded and replied in the affirmative, he actually dropped to his knees and took her hand, kissing the back reverently.

She asked him his name, and when he responded, she had him stand up. “Leah Farmer, this is Ignacio Torres. Ignacio, Leah es mi esposa. Ella es la reina de nuestra gente in Norteamerica.”

I understood enough Spanish to catch the fact that Emmy had just introduced me as the queen of our people in North America, which must mean that Ignacio, and presumably the drummer, too, were Night Children.

Once I knew to look I saw the telltale signs- the color of the skin on their palms being the most obvious.

Angela got involved in the conversation and soon the two musicians were talking far too fast with Emmy and Angela for me to understand any of it. I leaned over to Grant and said, “Well, it looks as if we got our answer on whether there were any Night Children in South America.”

“Yeah, it sure does,” he agreed. “This could be our beachhead here, if these guys are willing to sign up.”

“Just what I was thinking,” I agreed. “I may need to stay here a bit longer than expected. Do we have anybody in the crew that speaks Spanish fluently? Who could we get down here quickly?”

“Those are questions for Michael,” Grant said with a shrug. “But I’m pretty sure we have a few.”

Satisfied, I started thinking about how things might play out. We’d need a full Spanish-speaking crew, but realistically, if Ignacio and whatever local community he was part of were willing to accept our shadow, then that gave us a real head start in South America. Judging by how Ignacio and Raymundo (the drummer) were absolutely beside themselves with even being in Emmy’s presence, they might be willing to do what we asked right away.

“Em,” I said, tapping her on the shoulder. “Ask them about their current leadership, and see if they’re open to…”

“Yes, of course,” Emmy agreed, “But this might not be the best moment. I have asked him what time they are done performing, and if we can talk then.”

“Perfect,” I confirmed, glad to see that we were on the same wavelength.

After another round of effusive hand-kissing, Ignacio and Raymundo rejoined their fellow performers and got back into the music.

“This could be really important,” I said to Emmy and Angela. “Ange, do you think your dad would be helpful with any negotiations we might have with the local Night Children?”

“He knows?” she asked, surprised.

“You know I don’t like to keep secrets with family,” I told her. “He knows.”

Thinking about it, she said, “He might be helpful. He knows the province better than anyone.”

“I have never asked,” Emmy said to Angela, “But what does your father do?”

“Our family owns a chain of hardware stores. My father is in charge of buying, and is the one that deals with our American suppliers.”

“That’s why his English is so good,” I said, nodding that I understood.

“After mis papís came to visit us at our new house, Mamá and Cecy both started taking private English lessons, too,” Angela admitted.

“That’s why their English is noticeably better now,” I said, smiling at the thought that they’d done that to communicate with their new in-laws.

“Yes,” Angela agreed. “When Mamá told me that they were studying English, I knew then that they had truly accepted you two. They never did that for Antonio.”

Much later that night, after the band had finished and packed up their gear, Ignacio and Raymundo came to our table again. Emmy and Angela spoke with them quietly so nobody else in the now nearly empty bar could overhear. I tried to pay attention, but again, my very weak Spanish just didn’t help much.

When we all parted at the bar’s two AM closing time, Emmy said, “They are open to outside help for their community. They are mostly subsistence fishermen and have very low economic conditions.”

“We are going to meet for lunch with them and several others tomorrow,” Angela added. “I will talk to Papí to see if he can be there with us.”

“Grant, Tiny,” I said. “You guys know what to do. If this works out in our favor, I think you can both expect to spend a lot more time down here.”

“Good thing I like the heat,” Grant joked, since even at two in the morning it was still plenty warm out.

“I know a couple of the other guys who speak Spanish,” Tiny volunteered. “I don’t understand a word of it, so I might not be that useful.”

Shrugging, I said, “Yeah, maybe not for the actual outreach, but you’ll still be Emmy and Angela’s bodyguard and they might need to come back here frequently, so…”

“I can’t believe you’re poaching one of my best workers,” Grant grumbled.

“It’s what I do,” I said, patting him on the shoulder.

When it came time to head to the meeting the next day we took Rafael, but Angela stayed at home with her mom. She’d wanted to come along, but I reminded her that she was pregnant and there was a non-zero chance there might be violence. “Emmy has to be there, otherwise I’d ask her to stay safe, too,” I told her, and after a bit of pouting Angela conceded the point.

“Be careful,” Angela said as the five of us left in a Toyota van taxi that Rafael had lined up for us.

The meeting place was in a neighborhood in the south part of town, hemmed in on the south and the north by the seaport’s container yards, the east by the major freeway leading into the country’s interior, and on the west, the harbor.

“This barrio,” Rafael explained as we exited the highway, “is mostly black. As sorry as I am to admit it, we still have strong barriers to social movement and it is very much harder for black people, who make up more than a third of our population. This area is poor, but not all poor areas in Cartagena are high crime. This is a hard-working neighborhood. They are poor, but proud.”

At one point the taxi van had to reroute because of road work that had completely torn up the street, leaving a giant pile of rubble blocking the way. Of course there was no sign of any workers, and it looked as if it had been that way for quite a while. When I asked Rafael about it, he sighed.

“This is typical,” he said. “Someone in the government starts a project with grand ideas, the project gets started, and then funding disappears. This is part of why my country fails to live up to its potential.”

The neighborhood’s streets were cleaner than a lot of parts of town that I’d seen, but yeah, it was poor. The brightly painted houses universally had corrugated metal roofs, no yards, and ironwork protecting the windows. The people we passed looked at us with curiosity, but no malice that I could see. It seemed exactly like what Rafael had described- a poor but hardworking neighborhood. Also, as he’d said, it was entirely black. I was surprised to see so much segregation, since in all of my experiences in Cartagena up to that point the people had seemed to mix freely.

The van pulled up in front of a poorly-marked place that looked like most of the rest of the houses in the district, except for the roll-up garage-style door that opened into a small dining room.

Rafael told the taxi driver to wait and keep the meter running, which he was plenty happy to do.

As we entered, the six men waiting inside quickly moved one table against another and set enough chairs for all of us. One of the men went and stood outside, presumably to keep anybody else from joining us or listening in. Tiny did the same without being asked, aware that his value was in being very visible.

Of course Ignacio and Raymundo had seen Emmy and Tiny the night before, but the rest of the local guys couldn’t stop staring. All five of the men were Night Children, as was the guy standing guard out in front. The old lady who ran the place was, too, but she wasn’t involved in our talks at all.

I indicated that we all should sit and held out a chair for Emmy. She took her seat, and then I sat down next to her. Rafael sat on her other side, while Grant remained standing, keeping an eye on everything.

The locals didn’t comment on Grant and Tiny’s obvious roles as protectors, but they were clearly aware that we were well guarded.

Once we were all seated an elderly lady came out from the kitchen to ask what we wanted. There were no menus, so Emmy and I relied on Rafael to order for us, which he did after a little bit of discussion with the old lady. I was pleased to see that Rafael hadn’t shown even the tiniest hint that the conditions bothered him at all. He seemed comfortable, raising my appreciation for the man.

After the old lady took our orders and returned with our drinks, we all got down to the important conversation. Between Emmy and Rafael translating I managed to be involved in the discussion, too. They were keenly aware of my position as queen on the North American Night Children, and treated me with appropriate deference. It was nothing compared to the awe they showed towards Emmy, though.

They explained that there were a few hundred Night Children in the region, mostly concentrated in that neighborhood and on one of the small offshore islands. Rafael pointed out that both places were not likely to be visited much by outsiders, which made sense.

When Emmy asked about their leadership, a man named Tomás explained that they really didn’t have any sort of power structure. Sure, there were respected elders, but really, they were just people like anybody else. When Emmy asked about the elders, Ignacio confessed that only a few actually could speak the ancient language- most only spoke Spanish anymore, and they had very tenuous connections to the old ways. That said, they all had seen photos and videos of Emmy and had recognized her as moon-kissed, a condition that they’d all heard stories about but never thought they were true until seeing her in person.

Emmy explained to them that her life was dedicated to bringing the Night Children into the light, and that’s why she never hid her true nature. She indicated Tiny and explained that he, like all our people, showed himself to the world as well.

She went on to tell them that I, as the queen, had declared that our people must leave the old ways of hiding in the shadows behind and integrate with the day walker societies we live in. She offered our shadow to any there in Cartagena who would be willing to live by our rules, and explained that we would help make life better for any who did so.

At one point I pulled out my phone and showed the locals the gallery of Night Children photos I had, showing quite a few working, playing or merely relaxing, but none of them with makeup on.

Of course I knew the sales pitch, but it had been a long time since I’d heard Emmy delivering it. The discussion continued through lunch, which turned out to be fried fish with black rice and plantains. Rafael and I were the only exceptions eating the grilled beef dish, also with black rice and plantains. I was grateful that Rafael had remembered that I didn’t care for seafood when he’d ordered, since the fish would not have been something I would have enjoyed.

When lunch was set out, Grant, Tiny and the local guard guy set up a table right in the big doorway and ate there, still functioning as a clear ‘stay away’ signal to anyone who might want to stop in for a bite.

Ultimately, after almost three hours of eating and talking, we left the locals with Rafael’s phone number. They said they would talk with others among their community and see what everyone wanted to do. I could tell that a couple of the guys would have accepted our shadow then and there, but the group’s caution was pretty deep-rooted, which we understood.

Back at the Castro house, we spent the rest of the afternoon out in the courtyard discussing what we could actually do to help the local Night Children population.

“Several hundred is a lot to take in all at once,” Emmy said, sipping the tea that Mamá had made.

“We’ve never stumbled across a cluster bigger than a couple dozen before,” I agreed. “Add to the fact this is in a different country and a language most of us back home don’t speak, things are going to get complicated.”

“It seems to me that you are over-thinking things,” Rafael said. “These are poor people. To make their lives better you don’t need to buy them mansions or Mercedes sedans. What they need are decent jobs, better access to healthcare, and education for their children. Simply paying for neighborhood clinics and schools would help immensely. In fact, that would probably be enough to start,” he said. “Better jobs could happen as you develop a network here in Cartagena.”

“How can we start a clinic to benefit the Night Children, but not the day walkers in the neighborhood?” Emmy asked. “I do not wish to cause any separation of these people from the friends and neighbors that they have lived among for generations.”

“No, I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Rafael agreed. “Tomás said that they almost all live in Albornoz and Bocachica. These are small, isolated places, and it is certain that many of the day walkers in these places know about the Night Children in one way or another. If you open a clinic in each of the two and staff them with Night Children, it will be very clear why you are doing it. I wouldn’t turn away day walkers, and the same with the schools, but…” he said, trailing off as he thought.

“This is all with the assumption they’ll accept our leadership,” I said, leaning back. “It can be hard for people to make the change, to leave the security of camouflage behind.”

“I think they will,” Rafael answered. “You saw how they reacted to Emmy. She is a walking, talking figure from myth. When she offered to make their lives better, they believed her. The only thing holding them back is knowing that they need to convince others as well.”

“I think that is true,” Emmy agreed. “I am certain that this will be just the start. I think we need to travel to this island to speak with the elders- they will be an important part of convincing the community.”

“I haven’t been to Bocachica in a very long time,” Rafael mused.

“I never have,” Angela said with a pout.

“There’s no reason you ever should have,” her father assured her. “There is nothing there worth the trip across the bay.”

“And that’s how the Night Children have kept their community cohesive,” I said. “Staying out of the way, in places no outsiders would bother with.”