The Rise of the Fourteen (8 page)

Terrance looks out over the field of coffee trees, so calm
and peaceful in the morning light. His eyes are a deep, sea forest green, and
they sparkle with the rising sun. He walks among the plants, caressing the
berries and running his hands over the cool bark. He stands by a gnarled old
tree, relishing its fruity embrace. He remembers this tree and what it gave
him. He rolls up his sleeve and traces the serpentine swirls on his left bicep.

This tree is looking rather sick. What is troubling you,
my friend?
Terrance leans his ear to the tree and listens. It is so quiet.
He can hear everything breathing together. The leaves begin to lose their
spots. The dead crisps unfurl into deep green banners.

He smiles. Life has come back. From above there is a
rustling in the tree.
An arrow?
It is made of branches twisted together
with golden fletching and an ivory tip. An unearthly ether surrounds it, coming
off it like waves of mist. He reaches up, plucking it from the tree's boughs gingerly
as if handling a bomb. He marvels at the filigree and the masterful
intertwining of the branches.
Should I take it home? Mother would find out.
Father would demand to see it. They would both sell it. But shouldn't I do the
same?

He turns it over in his hands once more, familiarizing
himself with the plaited framework.
It must be a secret. But where can I hide
it?
Absentmindedly, he cradles the arrow against his arm. His arm begins to
tingle, and an eerie green aura envelops his forearm, rising past his elbow and
up to his shoulder. There is a sizzling sound, and the scent of burning flesh
permeates the air.
A brand?
No, a tattoo. A tattoo of a shimmering arrow
painted in thin black and silver streaks.

He rubs his arm again and then rolls down the sleeve of his
thin tunic. The warm musky air is starting to blow in, the day properly
beginning. He turns and begins walking towards his house.

After a quick breakfast, it’s off to work in the fields picking
coffee berries off row after row of burgeoning trees. Maybe he imagines it, but
the branches appear to sag under the weight of the plump little jewels. The
work is repetitive and slow, but it must be done. It’s not so bad in the
morning. He laughs and jokes with Ravi and Diego, his cousins. Father and
Xander are in the south fields; Xander is probably doing more harm than good, as
usual.

As the sun begins to rise over the grove, they bear the
worst of the midday heat. They retreat into the shade, hiding from the threat
of heat stroke. When the sun dips, they return to the fields, trudging with
already weary feet.

But the day is not yet done. As darkness falls, they return
to the house for the last time that day. Dinner is short and uneventful. What
is really needed is fitful slumber. There is the rush to the thin scratchy
bedding and the sounds of snoring. The moon rises over the trees, ending the
day.

***

English lessons. That is the thing Terrance despises the
most about Wednesday mornings. English lessons.
Getting up before the crack
of dawn is always unappealing but, then again, so is getting yelled at by
Mother.
So, out of his room he goes and into the kitchen. There it is, as
it always is, with its white block letters and azure background
—
an English textbook. There’s
his mother, smiling and dedicated as always.
Let’s get this over with.
Terrance
drags a beat-up wooden chair to the table and sits down, letting out a deep
sigh.

Today wouldn’t be so bad, just some simple writing.
Speaking is where it gets harder, with all those funny sounds and word orders
.
Terrance exhales to clear his head. Now it’s back to picking, where his green
thumb serves him better with his limited language skills.
Trees cannot
betray you with conjugations
. Terrance starts down the line, basket in
hand. The sun is only beginning its blazing arc, just barely peeking over the
horizon.

When Terrance finally gets back to the house Ravi and Xander
excitedly wave a letter in his face. Terrance takes it from their sticky
fingers, attempting to calm them.
An American executive is coming.
Inspector
Fraus. They all seem to have funny names, but you can’t argue with a slip of
paper. He’ll be coming in three days’ time. That will be refreshing.

It’s only three weeks into the season, and the working is already
getting to Terrance. He loves nurturing the plants, watching them grow and
blossom. But picking berries can be tiresome. Some break in the monotony will
be welcome. Father’s excitement at breakfast shows that he shares the
sentiment. But that is still three days away. Terrance shoves away his bowl.
Today
is still for work.

Ravi and Xander must be incredibly disappointed. They must
work while the exotic “gringo” comes to make sure the plantation is up to
scratch. Everyone was rather looking forward to a break, but Father decided
that only three Cardosos should be present.

“Three is a lucky number, my boys, and I feel that today
will bring us luck.”
He has probably been talking to Grandmother again. She
spouts that kind of mumbo jumbo all the time. “Brazilian traditions” she always
says. I always thought lucky numbers was a Chinese thing.

Anyway, it was names out of a hat and Ravi and Xander lucked
out. He almost feels sorry for them. Almost.
Any pity on my part could
result in me joining them and another taking my place.
So, he is quiet as
the gleaming silver Cadillac pulls up. They cough as the wind wafts the exhaust
into their faces. It smells like coal and suburbia.

Everything about this man screams “development.” From the
moment he steps out of the car, he seems hopelessly out of place. Whether it’s
his sleek earpiece, his enormous tablet, or his finely tailored suit Terrance
cannot tell. But one thing is certain: this man would raze your livelihood to
the ground for a high rise and then send you an apologetic letter on lovely
navy stationary.

His smile sends shivers down Terrance's spine. Father rushes
to greet him. The executive shakes hands and makes all the polite talk expected
of him. But, through all the chatter, one thing remains the same. His gaze is
firmly fixed on Terrance.

Measurements? Is that the only thing that this man cares
about? Every leaf, berry, branch, and twig has had a tape measure put to it
sometime this morning, and he’s made so many notes. He must have hundreds of
pages of them on that tablet of his. It’s sunset, and he’s still quibbling with
father about the process used to dry the beans. Ravi and Xander snuck back
early about an hour ago, tiptoeing into the house as they went. Mother didn’t
even try to stop them.

Terrance is antsy and shifts his weight from one foot to the
next. The sun has just vanished beneath the horizon, and it will be twilight
soon. Field day or no, dinner is always much appreciated. Terrance tries to
sneak back, but a gray sliver stops him. Even out of his periphery, the
executive is still watching
. Watching for what?
Terrance shudders and
rubs his arms as if he’s cold, despite the muggy air.

“It is dark,” the executive finally says. “I think I will
retire for the night.”

“Sir, can you find your way?” Terrance’s father asks. “The
roads are windy and it is not easy see.”

 
My father still messes up his English and then he gets
on my case about my mistakes.
But he is my father and what he says must
go.

“Sir, that is not safe. Stay with us for the night.”

I hope my groan is not audible as my father leads him to
the house. He is merely a strange foreigner. He will be gone by morning.
Terrance
starts up the path behind them, trying to quell his fears.

 Dinner is an awkward affair. The boys eat in silence.
Father and the executive chatter on about coffee beans, but their conversation
is terse and strained. Mother only opens her mouth to ask if anyone wants more
water. Otherwise, only the sound of utensils scraping plates comes from the
family side of the table.

 “Tell me more about your sons,” the executive says.
Terrance pauses mid-chew then swallows suddenly, nearly choking on his chicken.
“They seem like such hard workers.”

Father, eager to gush about his offspring prattles on for
some time about our talent and promise. Even Ravi and Diego snag some praise,
and can barely hide their grins.

Terrance however, doesn't look up from his plate. He knows,
by some divine reckoning that the executive is talking about him. He doesn't
lift his head when he brings his plate to the grimy sink, or when he goes down
the corridor to his room, seeking some protection from prying eyes. He feels
overwhelmed by the heat, but can't sleep without the comforting pressure of the
blanket around him. He drifts off into an uneasy slumber, soaked with sweat and
doubt.

 Morning breaks and Terrance is nearly jumping with joy at
the thought of being back in the field. The repetitive action of picking
berries soothes him, cleansing him like an elixir. It is not until sometime
later that he realizes that he forgot to have breakfast. He doesn't see Ravi
and Diego though.
Not even Xander is making his troublesome noises?
Something isn’t right.

Terrance tries to ignore his feeling but, after another few
moments, he can no longer push it aside. He sets his basket down and runs
towards the house. There is some smoke, and acrid fumes float through the air.
Fire?
Terrance runs faster, his sides heaving with the effort. A wooden house will
burn to a crisp in minutes.

He shields his eyes. Where is that light coming from? He
reaches the front of the house, panting for breath. He looks around. There is
no fire, no screaming. Then he sees it. The executive's shining silver
Cadillac, with black smoke pouring out from under the hood.

“I guess I’ll have to send for a tow truck,” the executive
simpers.

“Please, stay in the house while you wait,” Father says,
nearly bowing in quite a servile fashion.
What happened to the proud coffee
farmer of yesterday?
Terrance looks accusingly at the executive who merely
smiles back, a menacing glint in his eyes. Terrance runs back out to the
fields, frightened of the sudden change that has come over his family. A pair
of steely gray eyes follows his footsteps as he runs.

 When Terrance comes back, the sun has long since set. He
had stayed all through the day, even through the middle heat. The trees had
given him some shelter, but the back of his neck is still raw and red. He
ignores the burning pain as he comes up to the house.

The silver Cadillac is still there.
The tow truck should
have come hours ago.
He pushes aside the fabric curtain and enters the
house, puzzled. At the table, the executive is sitting talking to his father.
Of course, his pinstripe is still perfectly unwrinkled and his hair freshly
combed. Everything about this man worries Terrance.
He just seems
unnatural.

“Would you be willing to do that?”

“He's a strong boy and shows great promise. I'd be happy to
take him on as an apprentice.” Terrance's arm jerks up in shock, almost
knocking over Ravi and Xander, who are listening from behind a corner. “That
is, if he’s willing.” The executive turns his chair around to face Terrance,
who nearly falls over in fright.

 Is it the flickering fluorescent lamp that gives Terrance's
eyes that iridescent quality? No. It is the tears pooling in his eyes
—
tears of fear, of shock, and
tears of disbelief, as he sees his parents smiling and nodding.

By the next morning, the tow truck has, oh so conveniently,
arrived. Terrance has only packed some clothes in a small rucksack, but he
feels heavy, heavy with fear and too many cups of water. He keeps swallowing as
if trying to wash away his misgivings, but to no avail.

Mother and Father are buzzing with excitement. Ravi, Xander,
and Diego pointedly ignore him. They are always looking at their feet when
Terrance turns to say something to them but, when he looks away, he can feel
their jealous stares. They are like flaming javelins thrown at the base of his
neck. But he knows there is nothing that he can say to them.

The deed is done; the contract is signed. Rejection would
only bring dishonor to his family and further alienation from his cousins.
Terrance knows this, and he leans against the fence, his lips sealed. There is
a blur of advice, hugs, and well wishing, and he is off, smushed against the
window of a smelly city tow truck reeking of cigarettes.

 The yacht is absolutely magnificent with its perfectly
crafted hull sparkling in the sunlight. The water lapping at the boat only adds
to the effect. As Terrance is led up the gangplank, he looks around at the busy
marina. Diego always did love boats. He pushes the thought aside and forces
himself to keep walking forward
.

It was never a choice, not really. It was what Mother and
Father wanted, and letting them down wasn’t an option. But letting myself down
was.
Terrance focuses on the slender figure in front of him, this time in a
dark navy suit.
What horrors do you hide, mysterious man? I guess I’ll find
out.

Terrance wastes no time exploring the deck of the ship.
Plush beach recliners litter it. There is even a small hot tub with its own
mini bar.
A high-up executive that makes enough money to afford all this has
to go out for plantation inspections?

There’s no chance to question it now. The gangplank has been
raised, and the ropes undone. The hum of engines joins the sound of seabirds as
the boat casts off. Terrance goes to the bow and grips the metal railing. The
water swirls off the sides of the boat.