A Sign of Good Fortune

Edward stepped off the plane and walked down the stairs, evoking a thirty-nine-year-old memory. Back then, as a child travelling with his parents Ecuador was exotic and new. He was thrilled, riding the high of expectations despite the exhaustion of travel. He remembered stepping to the bottom of the plane’s stairs outside of the terminal and walking across the apron toward Customs. There had been a line of soldiers preventing the new arrivals from skipping past the Customs line, and he dutifully followed along.

Snapping back to the present, he saw that little had changed. The soldiers looked younger, but that was because he was no longer a child. Before, the nineteen-year-old with the rifle had loomed large. Now, the soldiers looked like kids, scared they might actually have to do something beyond standing merely looking imposing.

His mind seesawed back and forth between the past and the present… between being twelve and fifty-one. Then, as he’d approached Customs, his mother had tightly held his hand and walked him through the door. This time, his mother was in his hand as he held her cremains in in an urn in a box, twine wrapped around it. Memories of that old trip flooded back into him. Wonderful moments and looming heartbreak. He wondered what memories this trip would hold.

There was one constant between the two adventures. His lack of control. In the prior trip, his parents had set the itinerary. This time, his recently deceased mother had made the arrangements. Everything had been in place before she passed and set into motion during the reading of her will. As before, he didn’t know what would be happening. He climbed into the back of the taxi for the hour drive to Manta from the airport, pondering the immediate future.

The cab stopped outside of the house on the bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. He gathered his bags and the box holding the urn. He carried everything inside and settled in to rest after his trip. After unpacking, Edward went to the balcony to sit and watch the sun setting over the ocean. He let the tears flow freely as he thought back to the last time he’d sat in this very chair. Smiling through the tears, the memories slammed into him harder than he expected. He picked up the glass and swirled the rum and Coke. The last time, the only Rum and Coke he’d enjoyed were two of the family dogs, the third dog being named Whiskey. Taking a sip, he let it burn down his throat as he watched the bobbing lights of the boats start to twinkle in the fading light.

“Well, Mom, I don’t know your plan, but it’s underway,” he said as he held his glass aloft before taking a sip.

A scarlet macaw lit on the edge of the balcony, thirty feet away. The large, colorful and majestic bird sat and watched him as he split his attention between the bird and the magnificently painted sunset.

***

“Eduardo,” the woman standing in the doorway said as she was framed by the morning sun at her back, “I heard about Mom. She was a great woman.”

When they had visited before, his mother was known to all as “Mom.” Family, friends, everyone they met. That was how she was introduced, and she relished the name.

“Marcella,” he said, pausing to look at her, “it’s been so long.” Words caught in his throat when he saw her for the first time in almost forty years. “You’ve barely changed.”

She crossed the living room and wrapped her arms around him. He couldn’t help but notice that she fit perfectly, as if they belonged together. “Do you need anything? I’m here to help you with Mom’s plan,” she said, shaking him from his thoughts.

“Half of her ashes were interred back home; I’m spreading the other half in a few places. A couple places that she had been and a couple others that were on her bucket list.”

“What is a ‘bucket list’? I’m sorry, it’s a new term for me.” Marcella asked.

Ed laughed. He forgot that not everyone used the same slang. “It’s what we call that list of things we want to do before we die.”

“I guess she didn’t get to all of them,” she said, her smile soft and as beautiful as he remembered.

“Not even close…” Edward laughed. “But I would be grateful for your help and companionship. It’s been a long time.”

***

Twelve-year-old Edward had made a new friend. Marcella was his exchange sister’s little sister. And he thought she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. She also only knew about seven words of English… eclipsing his five words of Spanish. But she seemed as enamored of the exotic blonde American as he was with her. As the two families travelled around the country, Edward and Marcella became inseparable.

They didn’t speak a common language, but that never stopped them from talking… or understanding each other. Each spoke their own tongue but conveyed their meaning through their actions and expressions. They walked hand-in-hand through markets and cathedrals, along the beach and in the mountains.

At eleven and twelve, they were far too young to be in love, but they didn’t care. They were busy living in the moment. After spending a few weeks travelling the small country together, they had to part, though. Standing in the terminal, the jet that was to take him home sitting outside, Eduardo kissed Marcella. It had been impetuous, and it happened before either could think about it. It was the first kiss for both of them. For a couple of years after that, each sharpened their new language skills by writing letters to the other. Eventually, the letters slowed, but they each never forgot the other.

***

Marcella sat on the edge of the couch, turned toward Edward as he sat next to her. Their knees were touching as she reached over and touched the inside of his left knee. “Do you still have the scar?”

“It’s faded,” he replied, “but it’s still there.”

Her brother Patricio had been riding his motorcycle to the beach, Edward on the back, when a car ran a stop sign. He had almost recovered it, but the bike fell over onto Edward’s leg. The exhaust burned his knee.

“My brother was still upset about that when he passed away last year.”

“I was so sad when I heard about Patricio and the cancer. When I was a kid, he was my hero. He’d done such amazing things and was so fearless,” Edward said. “I wanted to be like him. I’ll never forget when he taught me to waterski in the bay… then, after I got up on the skis, he told me there were usually sharks there.” Edward laughed at the memory.

“I remember when Miguel beached the boat because you wouldn’t let go of the tow rope, too,” Marcella laughed. “What’s funny, though, is that he kind of idolized you. When he went to live with you, he was touched by your generosity and the way you welcomed him into the family. Even after that motorcycle accident, you never condemned him.”

She smiled at him, thinking of her brother and his relationship with his “Little American Brother.” She didn’t mention that her brother had often compared her boyfriends to Eduardo… to see if they measured up as having the same heart. They seldom did.

“Do you know where we are taking your mother first?” she asked after a moment.

“I think Otavalo. I am supposed to rent a motorcycle for the trip.”

“Carlo will deliver the motorcycles just before lunch. We can have lunch with him and his wife before we head out.”

“Are you riding up there with me?”

She nodded and smiled at him.

“Are we going to the market?”

Again, she smiled. “And maybe a few other places.”

The two sat together on the couch and talked a little longer. When it was Edward’s turn to talk about his mother’s passing, she took his hand to comfort him. It remained firmly in hers for the remainder of the conversation. Separately, both were at ease with the touch of the other. They had missed it the years they were apart.

***

Edward overheard the conversation in the other room between Carlo and Marcella after lunch as he sat with Carlo’s wife. He couldn’t catch all of it, the rapid Spanish surpassing his limited language skills, be he’d heard part of it… enough of it.

Their parents thought Carlo and Edward should have been natural friends. Carlo was a year older, so everyone thought the boys would form a bond, but they hadn’t. Each was polite to the other, but that was as far as it went. Edward seemed to only notice Marcella, and Carlo seemed intent on “protecting” his sister from the American. Carlo’s soccer schedule kept him from most of their adventures that summer, but when he was around, his displeasure with the growing relationship between Edward and Marcella was always just below the surface.

“He is going to be here a couple of weeks, and then he will leave, just like before. And you will be broken-hearted again,” he told his sister as they argued. “You need to keep your distance.”

“Eduardo is grieving for Mom,” she replied. “He needs someone to be there for him.”

“Like he was there for you when our parents passed away?” Carlo shot back.

“Maybe he would have been if anyone had told him.”

“You have lives away from each other now,” Carlo said, touching his sister’s shoulder. “Too much time has passed. Besides, your husband wants to reconcile.”

Edward couldn’t hear the remainder of the conversation as Carlo’s wife, Maria, asked him about his trip.

***

The following morning, they were sitting across from each other in a small street-side café in Otavalo, north of Ecuador’s capitol.

“You should know… I talked to your mother a few months ago and she told me what she had in mind. I promised her I would help you. Then, two weeks ago I got a call from her lawyer that she had passed away,” she said as he held her hand.

“Do you know the whole itinerary?”

She smiled and looked back down at her coffee. A moment later, her smile creeping into the corner of her eyes, she nodded. She knew a lot more than she would let on.

“Do you remember the village with the carvings?” she asked, veering away from talking about what she knew.

“San Antonio de Ibarra? I wanted that one carving so bad… the skull in the racing helmet. Your dad said it was too much and that he would get it next time he was up there.”

Marcella laughed at his excitement. She was surprised the name of the village and the story had been on the tip of his tongue. But she remembered it just as well.

After they finished breakfast, they climbed on their motorcycles and rode north to San Antonio de Ibarra. Riding through the Andes was breathtaking for Edward, who hadn’t visited since his childhood. His memories were scattered and disconnected from each other, just snippets of a distant past. Riding above the clouds, no guardrail on the side of the mountain. Clouds opening to green valleys hundreds of feet below. Their destination was a quaint old town. Parking their motorcycles, they walked hand-in-hand through the old village, stopping in galleries and workshops, watching craftsmen as they created their beautiful woodcarvings.

“Oh my God,” Edward cried out, walking into the open workshop of a sculptor. “That is almost exactly like the skull I wanted when I was here before.” He turned to the craftsman who’d just laid down his chisel and mallet. “How much do you want for this?” he asked him, his Spanish rusty and slow.

“Five hundred,” was the reply, the man’s gap-tooth smile wide.

“One hundred, Tomas,” Marcella said, stepping up close behind Edward. She put her hand on his shoulder possessively as she stood next to him.

“Oh, Marcella Martinez… for your friend, two-fifty.”

Edward turned back to her, seeing her smile. “One hundred will make him a happy man, Edward,” she said, her voice quiet.

Edward pulled out two one-hundred-dollar bills. He held them out toward the sculptor. “Two-hundred. If you package it well.”

They shook hands, both men smiling.

“Tomas, we will come back after lunch. Please wrap it for my friend.”

“Absolutely, Senora Martinez.”

“You seem well known here,” he commented.

“I have purchased many carvings here. It was part of the business with Pedro.”

“Your husband?” he said quietly.

She shook her head in response and looked at the ground as they slowly resumed walking. “Not anymore,” she finally replied.

Marcella led him toward a small gallery. The woman running the gallery stepped from the door when she saw the couple. She held up a small, hand-carved macaw. “A gift. It is a sign of good fortune,” she told Edward.

***

After leaving the village of San Antonio de Ibarra, Marcella and Edward had stopped along the mountain road to spread some of his mother’s ashes. He uncapped the container and freed a portion of the contents. The cloud of dust wafted on the breeze and dissipated into the valley below.

“Do you remember how much our parents struggled to breathe when they were here before?” Marcella asked as they had stood along the road that afternoon.

“Now I am a little out of breath… but yes. I remember you and I running around excitedly looking at everything and they were barely able to get out of the car and walk to the edge.”

Marcella hugged him as they watched the ashes float away. He’d looked into her soft brown eyes and thought that he could easily get lost there. But maybe Carlo was right. Maybe too much time had passed.

Edward pulled the twenty-inch-tall statue of the skull in a helmet from its packing materials, folding everything neatly on the floor beneath the table upon which he placed his new piece of art. He sat down across the room and stared at the object he’d wanted since childhood. A small wooden macaw sat on the table in front of it, several other carvings arrayed around it.

“Thanks for that, Mom. I’ve wanted that statue since I was a kid,” she said as he glanced at the ever-present urn.

She dropped onto the large couch close to him. Her hand dropped comfortably to his knee… more comfortably than she expected. His arm slid off the back of the couch and onto her shoulder. She turned a little and leaned into him, luxuriating in his embrace. Butterflies churned in her stomach. Thoughts of Pedro faded from her consciousness.

Edward’s mother had called her a few months before, the plan had seemed so simple. He was the one man she longed to see again, and she was excited at the prospect. Then, as the time drew near, fear crept into heart. What if he didn’t feel the same way? What if he had changed? What if she had changed?

Knocking on his door a few days before had been terrifying. She’d planned on meeting him at the airport but had chickened out. Marcella had actually watched him walk down the steps from the plane and across the tarmac to the terminal, but with her heart in her throat, she had rushed away. She knew where she would find him.

But when she had looked into his eyes, her fears had dissipated, like the fog burning off in the morning to let the sun shine through. She had kissed each of his cheeks, the same way she had greeted him all those years ago and felt the same butterflies. In that moment she knew there was still a spark between them. A spark that might be nurtured.

“Eduardo, do you mind if I ask what happened between you and your wife?” she said timidly.

“It’s ok… A lot of things happened. We drifted apart after the boys grew up. Things went downhill. I moved out. Then she got sick. I came back to take care of her. She didn’t have anyone else and I felt like I owed it to her. Our sons had their own lives, and her parents were both gone. She passed last year. I guess that’s one of the things about being an only child that sucks.”

“For an only child, you sure have a lot of siblings,” she laughed. “My brother and sister, my sister’s best friend, the girl from Colombia.”

“Your sister and Gina were the ones Mom was closest to. I’m surprised you didn’t come.”

“I wanted to. I tried to talk my father into letting me, but he wouldn’t. Your parents separated; I think.” She looked away, knowing there was another reason. Her father didn’t think she would come back. “Why do you think she wanted her ashes spread here?” Marcella asked, twisting more in his arms so that she could watch his face.

“Happy times. My parents were together then, and their marriage was strong. They were in a place where we could afford to do things like that trip. It was the biggest adventure in her life. She flew off to an exotic foreign land where people spoke a different language and had a very different culture. And she was surrounded by people she loved and that loved her.”

“Do you remember when our mothers got drunk at Gina’s mother’s? They were so funny, laughing and telling bad jokes. I remember Mom couldn’t speak Spanish, and my mother and Gina’s mother could barely speak any English.”

“I think they were speaking tequila… They sure understood each other, though,” Edward laughed.

***

As lunch approached while they were at the Otavalo Market, Marcella led Edward to a café in the market teeming with activity, the Scarlet Macaw, a beautifully painted carving outside of their door. Soon they were seated at a long bench table enjoying grilled bananas, roasted corn, and other local treats. A man with his children sat down across from Edward and Marcella. His children were giggling and happy, staring at the couple, especially Edward’s blonde hair.

“Your wife is a beautiful woman,” he said, smiling.

“Thank you,” Marcella said, smiling at Edward and holding his arm a little tighter. Her gentle smile silenced Edward from disagreeing.

The man smiled before rising from the table, his children filing after them.

After lunch, Edward was able to pour out a little more of the ashes to mingle with the dirt of the paths between market stalls. His mother had loved to shop, and now she could be a part of the market forever. Again, Marcella served as lookout, as she had done that morning when they spread ashes at the Equatorial Monument. As before, they followed that up with walking hand-in-hand after returning the urn to the saddlebag of one of the motorcycles.

***

Once again back in the house in Manta overlooking the Pacific Ocean, Edward and Marcella found themselves sitting on the balcony watching the sunset. She handed him a margarita before sitting down next to him, snuggling under his arm. When a knock at the door came, Marcella went to answer.

“Pedro, why are you here?” he heard her say a moment later.

“I could ask you the same thing,” came the reply, the man’s voice deep and powerful. “I came here to talk with you… to make sure you aren’t doing something you’ll regret.”

“I will regret nothing that happens here,” she said, her voice challenging his.

Edward rose and walked into the living room. He crossed the room toward the entry, the margarita still in his hand. The men sized each other up as Edward neared.

“Pedro Martinez, I presume,” Edward said, reaching out with his hand to shake. “Edward Cook. I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Are you?” he said, his smile holding no trace of happiness.

“Please, come in. Would you like something to drink?”

The man held up a bottle and smiled. He crossed to the kitchen and gathered three glasses. Edward lifted the glass of Pajaro Azul aguardiente to his nose and sniffed. He raised his eyebrows and looked over the glass at Marcella.

“Here’s to adventure,” Edward said, following it with a deep drink. He coughed and took a sharp intake of breath, leading him to cough again. Pedro laughed at Edward’s discomfort.

Pedro took a swig of his “fire-water”, the smug smile never leaving his face.

“It’s made from fermented sugar cane juice. It burns the whole way down. I guess it’s the Ecuadorian equivalent of ‘moonshine’,” Marcella said. “Not as smooth as a nice rum, but stronger,” she said. “It is a drink favored by locals because it is inexpensive.”

“Yeah,” Edward choked out.

“Surely it isn’t too much for the gringo palate,” Pedro laughed. “Perhaps Ecuadorian tastes are too strong for Americans.” His glare burned into Edward.

“So, tell me, Pedro… why did you leave Marcella?” Edward asked.

The other man had gotten under his skin, and he wanted to return the favor. Pedro choked on his drink, his eyes flashing with anger.

“You should not speak of things of which you have limited knowledge,” Pedro said after he recovered. “Just as you should be very careful putting yourself between man and wife.”

“We are no longer married, Pedro,” Marcella said. “Besides, I’m interested to hear your answer as well.” She scooted her chair around the small table, slightly to Edward, facing her ex-husband more directly.

“He doesn’t belong here, Marcella,” Pedro said, nodding toward Edward.

“There certainly is someone here that doesn’t belong,” she said, her hand moving to Edward’s, and covering it warmly.

“Pedro,” Edward said, rising, “I think that means it is time for you to go.” He reached out his hand to shake.

The other man looked down at his hand, leaving it hanging in the air between them. “Why, because she thinks so? Do you always defer to a woman? Have you no strength? Marcella, you’ve played your game long enough. Let’s go.”

“Frankly, I also think it is time for you to leave,” he said, withdrawing his hand. “And no, I don’t always ‘defer to a woman’… however, I certainly would consider the counsel of my partner. Marcella has been a wonderful companion for me since arriving here, and I would certainly not wish to be disrespectful after she has been so supportive, and it appears she would like you to leave, as would I.” Edward opened the door and held it for the other man.

“If I don’t?” he replied, leaving the question hanging in the air.

“You will.” Edward stood his ground, keeping his gaze intent on the other man.

Pedro stood and walked through the door, shocked by the American’s brand of machismo.

Marcella took Edward’s hand as he closed the door. He pulled her to him as her arms went around his shoulders. She reached up, closing most of the distance between them as he leaned down until their lips met in the second kiss they had ever shared. This time there were no parents watching over them, and they took their time.

“My mother never went to New Orleans, but it was somewhere she thought about. I would love to have you by my side.”

“And then?” she asked, her head resting on is chest.

“There has been an empty place in my heart that you fill perfectly.”

“I would love to accompany you for your next journey, Eduardo,” she replied.

The scarlet macaw alit on the balcony railing outside the sliding doors and looked at the couple wrapped in each other’s arms inside. It watched for a moment; its wings spread wide before again took flight.