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Chapter Eleven
"Are you going with him?"
The constant thrumming of the power plant's turbines was the only sound as Susan contemplated Sandrine's question.
"I don't know," she finally answered. "I know I don't agree with his reasons for leaving. This place isn't so bad after all." She paused and took a deep breath; her eyes seemed fixed on something miles away. "He's just been so angry at the government since the president ordered our shacks torn down. It's like the anger has taken him over. But I still love him and want to be with him. I know en mi corazon that we belong together."
"Do you think you can convince him to stay, then?"
"I hope so. I can only hope that my name comes up on the housing list before the exit visas get approved. Maybe then I can convince him." She looked at her hands and let them fall into her lap in despair. "Who am I kidding? I can't even convince him to go to the clinic. He's had a terrible cough ever since that night in the rain, but he refuses because they are government doctors. I just don't understand how he could be so stubborn!"
"It sounds to me like there's more than pride working there," Sandrine said. "It's almost like he's afraid of the government."
"Maybe he is," she said. "Maybe he's afraid he'll be arrested for going after the construction workers. But he has demonstrated above-average courage in the past. And he certainly had no problem going to the immigration office to ask government bureaucrats for his visa!" She shook her head. "I just don't understand the man."
"Some men just can't be understood," Sandrine commiserated.
"Senora Garrison? Senora Garrison!" came a voice from the generator room.
"Who? Carmelita?"
The door burst open, and Carmen Bigot rushed in. "Susan! I found you," the girl panted. "You have to come to the farm. Come quickly!"
"What is it?" she said, quickly gathering her helmet and clipboard. "Is it Rich?"
The exhausted girl could only nod in reply.
"Did he get his papers? Is he leaving now?"
"No," she gasped. "Worse."
"Oh, God," Susan said. "Sandrine..."
"Go. I'll cover the plant. Go to him. Go!"
The young girl raced from the room, followed by Susan, leaving Sandrine alone.
The engineer removed her helmet, folded her hands in front of her, and closed her eyes. "Dios bueno y justo," she breathed, "please hear your daughter's plea. Have mercy on your daughter Susan and keep her and her husband from harm. Amen."
The only answer was the hum of the generators.
"Where is he? How did this happen?"
Rogelio stood and waved Susan over. "He collapsed," he said, as Susan kneeled on the barn floor at her husband's side. "He was working in the field when he had another coughing fit. Only this one didn't end, and he finally collapsed."
"Hand me that water. He's burning up," she said. Hurriedly she pulled off his shirt. Rogelio gave her the well bucket, and Susan poured a ladleful over Rich's chest before soaking her scarf and folding it over his brow.
Another series of hacking coughs racked his frame, and his breathing became more labored. "That isn't just heat stroke," Rogelio said grimly.
"No, it isn't," she agreed.
Rich stirred and opened his eyes. "Susan," he wheezed.
"Don't. Save your strength," she said, smoothing his hair and adjusting the damp scarf. "We're going to take you to the clinic."
"No." Rich's body curled up as coughs rattled through his frame. "No doctors. Can't. I'll take a snake oil potion."
"You are in no position to argue. Rogelio, put some sacks in that wheelbarrow."
"No," Rich protested. "I'll be good as dead."
"You're already good as dead if we don't get you to a doctor!"
"You don't understand," Rich said. "If they find out where I am, they'll kill me."
"That's the fever talking," she said. "If Presidente wanted you dead, he would have sent soldiers here."
She tried to get her arm under his shoulder, but he pushed her away with a desperate strength. "Not the president," he wheezed. "The drug cartels."
To Be Continued
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