We stayed up half the night, talking about how we were going to move forward with our lives. We agreed that we would wait until Emmy was fully recovered physically before restarting the implantation process to give our new baby the greatest possible chance for success. Emmy would take the sabbatical from The Downfall that had already been planned and I would continue to work as I had been, letting my Heads run the show. This would give us more time together, time we really needed. It was left unsaid that it was going to take us a while to reconfigure our expectations about life as a couple again, and how we would raise a baby without the most maternal of us there to lead the way.
Unable to sleep late the way Emmy could, I woke up at my usual time and slipped quietly out of Angela’s old bed and got dressed. The smell of coffee drew me to the kitchen, where everybody was having breakfast.
Mamá switched to English so I could follow the conversation, but I assured her that I’d prefer it if they spoke in Spanish. “I need to learn it better, and just listening is going to help me,” I said, earning me smiles from both her and Rafael.
Rafael suggested that I could take classes in Spanish while we were in Cartagena, mentioning a language school that was just around the corner. When I told him that I’d like to find a gym to train at, too, he said he’d ask around. I made it clear that I wanted a fight gym, not the kind of place that had spinning classes or pilates.
I didn’t mention what Emmy and I had talked about the night before- that was a discussion to have when all of us were present.
After breakfast I walked over to the Spanish language school, which was, in fact, literally just around the corner. After getting a tour of the facilities and discussing what the options were, I signed up for two weeks of three hours a day on weekdays, from nine to noon. My time would be spent in class two days a week and then with a private tutor the other three days. There was no way that two weeks would give me any sort of fluency, but at least it would help resurrect the Spanish I took in high school all those years ago.
Over dinner that evening Emmy announced that we’d talked and decided that we would try to have another baby once she was fully healed.
“Do not hurry too much,” Mamá cautioned. “You must heal first. Wait until your body is ready.”
“We will,” Emmy assured her. “We plan on taking the time to recover before trying.”
Later, after Cecilia had her guitar lesson and went upstairs to her room, Emmy and I sat down in the kitchen with Rafael and Mamá.
“Mamá, Papá,” Emmy said, resting her hand on Mama’s arm. “We have something to ask you. We would like your permission to have Angela’s baby.” At their puzzled looks, Emmy explained that we still had some of Angela’s egg cells and we could use them to fertilize an egg of Emmy’s, making it her and Angela’s child, genetically speaking.
“This way we can still have her in our lives,” I said.
“But it will not be your child,” Mamá protested.
“The baby will be my child,” I said, my voice firm. “Genetically, she’ll be a mix of the two people I’ve loved most in this world. There is no way I could ask for any more than that.”
The Castros were silent for a little bit, thinking things through. Finally, Rafael spoke up.
“Who would be recognized as the grandparents?” he asked.
“You would, of course,” Emmy said. “And so would my parents, and of course, Leah’s mother as well. The baby will be the child of all three families, just as we’d planned for the two we lost.”
Mamá and Rafael looked at each other without speaking, clearly reading each others’ minds with the benefit of many years of marriage.
“This is an amazing thing,” Rafael finally said. “We would be proud to be the grandparents of this child.”
“We would never do this without your blessing,” Emmy said. “Thank you for this gift.”
“You are giving us a tremendous gift,” Mamá said, tears welling in her eyes. “To be able to hold a baby of my Angela’s… This is something very special.”
The next couple of weeks went by very uneventfully. For lack of any better workout options I’d taken to swimming at the hotel pool before my language class. This meant I got home (and yes, the Castro house really was starting to feel like home) in time for lunch, which was about when Emmy rolled out of bed anyway.
Emmy worked on her music for a few hours every afternoon while I answered work emails and read my reports. In the evenings we had dinner at home, then sometimes went out to hear music at a local live music venue.
During this time we discussed with Rafael and Mamá about what to do with Angela’s things. None of Angela’s clothes would fit anybody we knew, so they would go to charity. Obviously Angela’s bank account would get turned over to her parents. Angela’s camera equipment would go to a cousin who was trying to start a career as a photographer, but we would keep her laptop. I told Mamá and Rafael that I wanted to buy Cecilia a new computer instead of handing her Angela’s. I explained that Emmy was still using it to correspond with Angela’s sponsors and needed it to unwind all of those sorts of things, and they understood. Of course, Angela’s laptop was a few years old anyway, and Cecilia really should have something new and current. They wanted to object at me spending money like that, but ultimately gave in when I pointed out that she really would need a better computer than the one she had as she got ready for the university.
The question of Angela’s little Z4 never really got resolved. While it was a nice car, it was useless for the Castros in Colombia. I offered to trade it in for an X3 which I would ship down, but Rafael waved that off. Too much hassle. I said I’d sell it and send them the cash, but then Emmy suggested that maybe it could be a nice car for Cecilia if she did stay with us for her final year of high school and that threw a monkey wrench into the decision-making process. Ultimately we all agreed to think about it, which seemed to mean that the Castros really didn’t want to deal with it just yet.
The idea of Cecilia coming to the US for her senior was complicated by the fact that their school year in Colombia ran from January to October, meaning there would be a scheduling conflict. Cecilia’s vote was to make arrangements to take her tests early and go straight from an early end of her junior year immediately into her new school in the US, but Mamá was skeptical of what seventeen straight months of school would do to her. Rafael was willing to allow it if Cecilia could actually do the work to get it done, so that’s where we left it. Cecilia would have to do her upcoming year’s worth in seven months if she was to be allowed to come to Los Angeles. On top of that, she had to continue her accelerated English classes. If she managed all that, we would get her enrolled in a top girls’ school in West Los Angeles. Mamá wanted to hold out for a Catholic school, but when she and Emmy did some research online it looked as if the top three girls schools were all secular, so she caved on that one.
I took Cecilia aside one evening and told her that it was going to be a lot of work, but if she wanted it badly enough and made the effort, Emmy and I would do whatever we could to help her out. I hinted at but left unsaid the idea that she could leverage excellent grades into possibly attending an American university afterwards, if that was what she wanted.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
I also worked on my projects for the local Night Children community, meeting with various elders and respected figures. Sometimes Emmy would come along for the meetings, but not always. She was content to leave things in my hands, which was fine by me. I was glad she put in the occasional appearance just to remind everyone that yes, she did exist. I don’t want to say that she was merely a figurehead, since that wouldn’t really be true. She was more of an aspiration, an ideal of what Night Children could be- an international star, beloved across the world. Emmy wasn’t a real person to our Night Children so much as a dream personified.
Of course, I ran our new nation in Emmy’s name. Sure, everyone knew me as their queen, but my legitimacy was based to a great extent on the fact that I was Emmy’s partner. The persistent myth that my father was from Night Child nobility helped make me acceptable, but without Emmy…
With all that being said, the Colombian Night Children were a bit more flexible in their assessment of who was and who wasn’t a member of the tribe than their counterparts in North America had been. Their community had been so well established for so long that many generations of mixed families and blended cultures were the norm.
This is, of course, why my proposed schools would be open to day walker kids as well as Night Children. If the families self-identified as having Night Children roots, far be it from me to deny them.
Planning for the long term, I met with a lawyer to set up a Cartagena-based corporate subsidiary to the US’ Royal Holdings, as I’d done in the past in Canada and Mexico. This corporate entity bought the hacienda I’d spotted on the outskirts of Bocachica on Tierra Bomba as well as an old warehouse in Barrio Albornoz. The warehouse had an empty dirt lot next to it that had been used as a makeshift soccer field, and one of my goals was to fix it up correctly. I wanted to give the locals in both areas a stronger sense of pride in their communities, after all. Nice sports facilities would certainly help in that regard.
Of course Rafael had friends who owned construction companies, so I met with a few of them to discuss building what I wanted on the sites. One guy, Alejandro Muñoz, was agreeable to hiring local labor, which swayed me in his favor. Mr Muñoz was also willing to accept oversight from my representatives, which I figured was a good sign.
All in all I was very pleased with our progress locally. Soon enough the Night Children of Cartagena would have real, tangible signs of our commitment to the area and the people. Yes, we’d already fixed up a couple of children’s playgrounds and paid to have doctors and nurses establish weekly free clinics in both Tierra Bomba and Barrio Albornoz, and those were appreciated, but still… Functioning schools and community centers would solidify things.
With Ricky’s help in translating I’d already laid out my long-term vision to the locals for the two communities, with permanent clinics and basic education schools as well as trade schools for adults. I wanted the people of Albornoz and Tierra Bomba to create better lives for themselves and their children, after all. Sure, I was going to create some jobs, but more than that I was going to give them opportunities to advance their own situations.
“I want to talk to you about something,” I said to Emmy one night as we lay in bed.
“You sound so very serious,” Emmy said, snuggling up against me.
“It isn’t anything bad,” I assured her. “I think I told you that I want to make Cartagena our base here in South America, right? This is where we’ll run the show from. I’m going to set up a training center for our outreach folks down here, and I expect I’ll be spending a decent amount of time here when all is said and done.”
“And, of course, Mamá, Papá and Cecilia live here,” Emmy added.
“Well, that’s actually my, um, concern, I guess,” I said. “I’ve been thinking we should buy a house here, but…”
Emmy paused a moment, then said, “But you enjoy staying here, in this house?”
“I do. I do very much. The thing is, the, um, politics are tricky no matter which option we choose. If we stay with the Castros every time we’re in Cartagena, we can’t project our… let’s call it ‘dignity’ to any Night Children we want to entertain, right? In fact, we really can’t invite any Night Children since it isn’t our house to make those sorts of invitations, anyhow. If we stay in a hotel, no matter how nice and impressive, we always look temporary, as if we’re just stopping in and aren’t really a permanent presence,” I said.
“I think I understand what you mean,” Emmy said, her voice thoughtful. “You want to show that we are here to stay, not just this week or this month, but forever. This means that we need to buy a house of our own, and not simply stay with Mamá and Papá when we are here in Colombia. But you do not wish to offend the Castros, either, by turning down their hospitality.”
“Well, yeah, I don’t want to offend them, sure, but even more than that, this home has warmth and love that I don’t think we can ever get in our own place here,” I said.
“There is a second, subsidiary question,” Emmy said after giving it some thought. “What and where should the house we buy be, and what should it be like?”
“Yeah, that, too. It would be a boost to either Bocachica or Albornoz to set up a home there, but, well, there aren’t any homes in either area that I’d think could give the impression of success that we’d want,” I said.
“Although I very much hate to admit it,” Emmy said, “Neither area has anywhere I would want to live. They are so poor, Leah, and the homes are barely more than hovels.”
“That’s a pretty harsh description,” I said. “But yeah, they’re poor neighborhoods. Most of the streets in Bocachica are dirt, and in Albornoz the pavement is rough at best. The houses are all made of cinderblock and most have tin roofs. Definitely not the lifestyle you’re accustomed to.”
“Nor are you,” Emmy countered.
“Nor am I,” I agreed. “So as much as I think it would be a good idea to show our support for the two areas, at the same time I think it would be hard for us to be impressive living in any of the housing available in either place.”
“You have been giving this a lot of thought,” Emmy said.
“Yeah, but I still don’t have any real conclusions,” I admitted. “I thought maybe we could build out a beach villa on Tierra Bomba, sort of near Bocachica, but being on the island would be ridiculously inconvenient in general and it still wouldn’t help the goal of showing our support for the community.”
“No, it would not,” Emmy agreed.
“Anyhow, think about it. There’s no rush to make any sort of decision on the matter just yet,” I said.
When I got home from my Spanish language class the next morning I found Emmy in the kitchen with Mamá, chattering away in Spanish. Several weeks of intensive classes had given me more of an ability to communicate in the language, but I’d likely never be as smoothly fluent as Emmy was. At some point somebody had told me that she spoke with a Barcelona accent, but I certainly wasn’t at the level to be able to corroborate that claim.
I’d gotten so I could understand the Costeñol accent there in Cartagena, but when speaking to less-educated locals I still struggled to understand unless they spoke slowly and did their best to enunciate. Mamá and Rafael were generally easy to understand, but the speed with which she and Emmy were talking made it a challenge for me.
“Hola, Baby,” I said, giving Emmy a kiss.
“How was your class?” Emmy asked.
“Good,” I replied, accepting the glass of guanabana juice Mamá handed me. “I re-upped for another couple of weeks.”
“Will we be here that long?” Emmy asked, surprised.
“Babe, that’s entirely up to you,” I said, sitting down at the table. “We’ll stay here as long as you need.”
“But your work!” she protested.
“I’m taking care of what needs to be taken care of,” I replied. “There’s no need to rush on account of that.”
“What about New York?”
“New York is a done deal. Now that we’ve taken control, lots of Night Children are flocking to join us. Our dominance is complete,” I said.
“You do not need to be there for that?” Emmy asked, doubtful.
“Nope. That’s what delegation is all about.”
“Emmy, niña, we are happy for you to stay as long as you need,” Mamá assured her, resting her hand on Emmy’s shoulder. “We want you to do what is best for you.”
“Thanks, Mamá,” Emmy said, a grateful smile on her dark face. “It has been very healing for me here, to be surrounded by family.”
“Good,” Mamá said, leaning down and kissing Emmy’s forehead. “Now help me set the table for lunch.”
Rafael walked in the door right at his usual time, a quarter after one. Once he’d settled into his seat at the table Emmy and Mamá set out the food and we all dug in.
“Mamá, Papá, we have a difficult question and we would appreciate your thoughts on the subject,” Emmy announced as we ate. “Leah and I, we plan to spend a lot of time here in Cartagena in the future. Night Children business, but also, and this is very important to us, to spend time with you two and Cecilia.” She went on to lay out the issues we’d discussed the night before, being very upfront about the ramifications of the various options. The Castros listened carefully, asking questions now and then but giving Emmy the time to state the situation clearly.
“I see,” Rafael said, nodding thoughtfully when Emmy finished. “Of course, this will always be home to you. Do not ever forget that.”
“I love it here,” Emmy admitted. “I love it very much, but Leah is correct when she says that we need our own house if we are to project the image we must for our people.”
“Yes, I think that you are right,” Rafael agreed. “You need your own palace. A place that your people can identify as the seat of your power and prestige. But as you say, there aren’t any places like that in Barrio Albornoz or on Tierra Bomba. But that is O.K. Your people must come to you. This leaves only two possibilities. Bocagrande, or here in the old city.”
“I’d rather be close to you guys than far away,” I said. “I want to be able to walk over here from our new house.”
“The old city it is, then,” Rafael pronounced. “There are some spectacular homes with modern renovations for sale.”