Echo

springs, mud baths, coast lines on two different oceans and rich fabulous wildlife. Unfortunately, he now lived in New Jersey, with his adoptive family. A singularly ugly state of cement, asphalt, exhaust filled highways, billboards, high security prisons, massive tenements and poverty.
    He couldn’t bear to think about his beautiful mother yet he continued to torture himself with the pain, knowing he would never forget. She was found in the garden of their home in San Jose, where his father worked as a police officer.
    His father had been found that morning, in his car in front of his favorite breakfast place. He stopped there every morning, without fail, on his way to the station. He just loved what they could do with a few leftovers and some fresh eggs. He knew they were fresh because he personally knew the names of the chickens in the back of the restaurant. He liked to stick his head in the backyard and say hello to the old mama that fed them. That morning, his head was found sitting in his bloody lap, neatly detached. No one confessed having witnessed a thing.
    The town, ruled by the Para Militar who merged with the Farc from Columbia, knew survival meant silence. They used to have a mayor and a police force that enforced the law. Now, everyone answered to the drug cartels; the cartels that created their own army; the Sicario, the assassins. They wore snappy green and black uniforms and enforced all the laws the police used to enforce. Of course, now the laws were full of a few kickers. And they frequently changed depending on the whims of the cartels. The country belonged to them. They controlled all of much of Mexico, all of Central America and most of Northern South America. Life moved on even with the cartels in charge. The mass murders of fifteen years ago, well in the past, citizens were weary of the blood spilt in almost every family. But once the cartels stepped into the breach and took power, they unsurprisingly started to resemble the previous corrupt politicians and leaders. Some rule through democracy, some through intimidation. The people just learned to complain in whispers and behind closed doors. The cartels never gave up their well-known habit of silencing detractors with a well-placed bullet or the more silent stiletto; the occasional rape of a detractor’s spouse or youngest daughter, also a very effective tool.
    Jose wondered what brought the Garcia family to the attention of the cartels. His poor papa knew to keep his mouth shut. His job of law enforcement evolved over the years to traffic enforcement only. He didn’t even carry a gun. His parents were well known for their generosity and their well-bred gentility. They made a very striking couple.
    The hot afternoon drew to a close as he made his daily after school stop at Senor Brook’s house. Senor Brooks lived in what used to be his best friend, Juan Bastidas’ family home.
    A year ago, Juan’s father mysteriously disappeared, leaving the house available for Senor Brooks to lease. He was a fine retired military man; a gringo that loved the wildlife of Jose’s country. He lived near the Diaz family for about a year, getting to know Jose very well, enjoying Jose’s company. He never minded whenever Jose stopped after school to play with his small collection of primates. In fact, he encouraged it.
    Senor Brook’s collection consisted of two African vervet monkeys, a pair of howler monkeys and a pair of white face monkeys. Jose loved them all. He could not get enough of their tiny little wise furry faces, so vulnerable, so human and so capricious. Senor Brooks often sat and took tea with Jose as he played with the primates, asking him questions about school and sometimes commenting on Senor Brook’s past life in the United States . He told Jose how lucky he was to grow up in a country filled with such natural beauty, not spoiled and paved over like in the United States. He talked of the great slums and the poverty in the U.S. He often inquired into the health of his parents noting how they never seemed to be ill (an odd remark, he thought in retrospect). His parents were blessed with excellent health, except for the polio his mother contracted while she was pregnant with Cara.
    Senor Brooks always perked up when he mentioned Jose’s baby sister. At nine months old, Jose loved her desperately. From the top of her head all the way down to her tiny feet with the purple half-moon on her tiny big toe. He would actually have nightmares