Fine Art of Murder Page 24

  “That sounds different. But what about you? You'll come, right?

  “No, I don't think so. You know I don't like crafts. I'll hang out here on the roof. I'm thinking about taking some pictures and writing some poetry to send back home.”

  “Oh, but think of how much fun it could be. When will you have the chance to see a real Peruvian potter's workshop?” Seeing her sister's hesitation, she added, “I don't think I'd want to go by myself.”

  “Well….” Janice hesitated. “I guess I can take pictures anywhere. Okay. I'll go along for the ride.”

  Early the next afternoon, Marti lumbered onto a minibus heading to the pottery shop. She was eager to have her hands on something culturally tangible, not just English worksheets from a Peruvian school.

  Marti counted twenty-one people, including an infant and two toddlers, crammed into a fifteen-passenger van that was colloquially called a mini bus. She was glad she found an open seat near the door and didn't have to climb over other passengers. She envied Janice, who nimbly shifted seats as passengers got out and others climbed in.

  After several stops in town, the minibus headed for the highway and picked up speed. Fewer passengers were interested in heading out to the remote villages, especially right after lunch. By the time they reached the outskirts of town, the sisters shared the bus with two young men whose eyes were glued to their cell phones and an old woman wrapped in a purple striped blanket, loaded down with three bulging fabric bags. Marti leaned forward to confirm that the bus would stop in Santa Rosa.

  “Sí, sí,” the driver assured her, but Marti kept her eyes peeled for road signs.

  “I'm afraid we'll end up in some remote village where no one speaks a word of English,” she whispered to her sister. Over the past five days, some of Marti's Spanish had returned, but the verbs were only in present tense.

  “Well,” Janice laughed when Marti complained. “You'll just have to live in the moment. Otherwise, I can be pretty awesome at charades.”

  Finally, the bus jerked to a stop. “Pottery, here,” the driver announced, looking at Marti. She smiled her relief to the driver as she and Janice bundled up their bags and followed the two younger men out the sliding door. She stopped and asked, “Cuando autobus otra vez?”

  “A la hora y media,” he replied.

  Satisfied that they could catch the bus again, Marti gave the driver a ten soles bill and climbed out.

  A crudely lettered sign that read ‘pottery’ pointed up a small hill from the bus stop. Most of the shops were closed for siesta. A trio of dogs, two multi-colored little ones and a larger gray one, trotted together down the center of the dirt street. “Quite a bit different from Lima, eh, Jan?”

  “Yes, and perfect to get some non-touristy shots. I may wander around this area. Would you mind?”

  “Nope, all I ask is that you help me get settled.”

  Marti noticed a woman opening a sliding metal door to an ice cream shop. “Maybe when we finish, we can get some gelato if the shop is still open. It might be a while until dinner.” Huffing up yet another hill, Marti stopped to rub her knee.

  Then they were upon it, tucked amidst some houses only three blocks from the tiny shopping district. Another sign hung precariously on the gate of a stucco wall. A large, yellow dog slunk over for a sniff and then wagged its tail as Janice reached out to scratch behind its ears.

  Marti knocked on the gate door. There was no answer. “I think I hear people inside,” she said. She cracked open the gate, peeked inside, then promptly pushed the heavy, squeaky gate fully open.

  Janice hesitated before she and the dog followed her sister into the abandoned compound. Weeds grew as high as their waists in some places.

  Intrigued by an adobe block well, Marti wandered over and peered into the dark hole. This was certainly no picture from a nursery rhyme book, she thought. It didn't even have a place to hang a bucket. Once her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she noticed bricks that protruded to form a spiral staircase. This must be the only way in and out of the well, she thought. Off to her right, Marti saw a large stucco building with a red clay tile roof. Through the open windows, she saw a few outlines of people moving from room to room. “That must be the place, Jan. I'm heading over there. Want to come?”

  “Sure, I'll stay for awhile.” She nodded. They picked their way through broken beer bottles scattered in the sand that flanked the stone walkway.

  “Hola,” Marti called as she entered the dim room.

  “Sí, sí,” she heard from inside an adjacent room. “Please come in.”

  “Hola, Señor. We are here for the pottery lessons.”

  “Yes, sí.” The rotund artisan dressed in a clay-stained apron motioned them toward a circular room with five pottery wheel stations. “I am Tomás. You make pot here. I show you.” He pointed Marti toward one of the stations. When Janice held back, he said, “You, too, Señorita.”

  “No, no,” she laughed, pulling out a water bottle from her backpack. “I am just here to watch.”

  Scuffling noises from the nearby room stopped her laughter. Tomás scurried toward it as Marti turned to look toward the other room. She shrugged and settled herself on a wooden stool at the simple potter's wheel. “I wonder what is so important that he would leave a paying customer,” she said.

  “Do you even know what you're supposed to do at this thing?” Janice asked.

  “Nope. Is this where I am supposed to put my feet?”

  Just then, a pretty teenage girl entered the room. “Hola, Señoras. I am Silvia.” She carried two balls of clay over to Marti's station and placed one of them on her wheel and the other on the wheel beside Marti. “Like this,” she said, as she then demonstrated kicking the wheel beneath the stool.

  Marti kicked the concrete wheel under her feet like Silvia had done. It glided easily, and soon, she had a smooth, easy rhythm that kept the turntable moving. “Now what?” she asked, looking at the girl.

  “Use your hands, Señora,” she said. “Like this.” The girl cupped her hands around the bottom of the mound of clay, making it more uniform as the wheel spun. She dribbled a little water from a dirty sponge onto the clay to keep it moist. “Just play.” She smiled encouragement at Marti and then turned abruptly as a young, bearded man entered the room.

  Marti noticed the man's expensive leather shoes and trim fitting pants. She was surprised to see the girl halt the other spinning wheel and hurry over to him. Marti saw him light a cigarette and smooth his oiled hair. They talked in hushed tones and then ducked out of the large workroom. Maybe he was Silvia's boyfriend, Marti thought.

  Marti went back to her task. She happily worked the clay up into a column that promptly collapsed, while Janice clicked a few photos to document her progress. Marti gathered the tumbled tower of clay into a ball and started over, training her hands in cause and effect with this new medium.

  “I think I'll sit outside for a bit with the dog,” Janice told Marti, who was too engrossed in her play to do more than give a nod and a brief okay. Janice grabbed her water bottle and her poncho and headed into the courtyard.

  Inside the cool adobe building, Marti soon became frustrated. Really, she thought, if they are supposed to be giving pottery lessons, why do they just disappear? That's not very good business. I need some instruction.

  She got up from her metal stool, wiped her hands on a rag that had been haphazardly tossed at another station, and followed the voices into the next room.

  The young man was shaking Silvia as Tomás stood nearby wringing his hands.

  “I beg your pardon,” Marti said. “Just what is going on here?”

  The young man released the girl and turned away from the group. He pulled out his cell phone and ignored the others.

  “No worries, Señora. Is okay,” Tomás reassured her, rushing over and taking her elbow to direct her out of the room.

  Sniffling and daintily wiping her nose with the sleeve of her embroidered blouse, Silvia said, “Sí, it's okay.”
/>
  Marti's eyes swept the room, taking in the situation. On a crude wooden table sat several clay pots in various stages of work. Some looked very amateurish. But others were quite good, probably Tomás's work, she thought. A few sat near pots of paint and brushes. Others appeared to have been painted and ready to be fired. Marti caught a glimpse of a few pots of a slightly different, lighter color resting inside a crate with wooden shavings, at the end of the table. The young man moved toward that end of the table and stood in front of the crate, blocking it from Marti's view.

  In a nearly unaccented voice, he ordered, “Go teach the lady, Tomás. This is not her business.”

  Tomás glanced back at Silvia, who nodded. “Come, please,” he said.

  Marti resisted. Should she leave this situation? This really was none of her business, but surely something wasn't right.

  Without a word about what had just taken place, Tomás took Marti's elbow and led her back to her pottery station. He picked up a new piece of clay, forced a smile, and sat at her wheel. “See,” he said, as he set the wheel in motion and used his thumbs to make an opening in the spinning ball of clay. As if by enchantment, the ball became a small vessel under Tomás's skilled hands. He adjusted his thumbs and began to create a slightly rimmed edge. Then he picked up a tool from the window ledge and began to level the top of the pot, the excess clay spiraling off the top as he held the tool perfectly still.

  “How do you do that so easily?” Marti marveled. “You're amazing!”

  Tomás smiled briefly. Then he pulled a piece of wire between the clay and the spinning wheel to free the pot. He lifted it, turned it in his hands to assess it, and motioned for her to take his place. Marti sat down and kicked the wheel again, eager to imitate Tomás's actions.

  Eventually, Marti succeeded in creating a bowl of sorts although it was much thicker than the one Tomás had so easily tossed off in his demonstration. It measured three inches across its uneven top and perhaps could be used as a sugar bowl, if it had a lid. Even with its flaws, she was proud of her efforts. “Janice,” she called through the open window. “Jan, come see what I made.”

  But it wasn't her sister that Marti saw in the courtyard. It was the young man who had been threatening Silvia. He was standing near the abandoned well with something in his hands. Marti let the wheel stop spinning as she watched him lean over the edge. The man looked around and then crossed the courtyard to the gate. Marti heard the roar of a motorcycle.

  Just then, Janice rushed inside followed by the yellow dog. She loudly praised her sister's craftsmanship, then whispered, “Marti, there is something funny going on here.”

  In her best high-school-theater-coach voice, Marti picked up the cue. “Thank you, Jan. I worked very hard on this piece.” Under her breath, she asked, “I just saw that man at the well. What did you see?”

  Janice whispered. “He hid something in it and then he left on a motorcycle. What's going on here?”

  Marti slowed the spinning wheel and made a face. “I'm not sure. Let's go check on Tomás and Silvia. Maybe they're in danger.” She gathered her belongings and the sisters headed toward the doorway to the other room. The dog trotted behind them.

  Silvia stood alone in the finishing room, her hands gently cradling a piece of pottery as she prepared to load it into a wooden crate filled with wood shavings. Marti's head spun around when she recognized what the girl was handling.

  “Silvia,” scolded Marti. “Where did you get that Moche pottery?”

  Surprised, Silvia jerked toward the voice. Her hands lost control of the ceramic vessel she was holding. It slipped from her hands onto the table and tumbled to the floor with a crash. A pile of potshards and red dust was all that was left. Marti gasped.

  “¡Dios mío! What have I done?” Silvia wailed.

  Tomás burst into the room carrying another crate. “¿ Que pasó?” he demanded.

  Silvia ran toward him and threw her arms around his neck. “Papá, forgive me, por favor.”

  Marti saw Tomás's eyes widen. He pushed the girl's arms from his neck and began to shake his head. “Desastre! This is a disaster!” He stooped to pick up the scattered fragments and then grabbed the broom and dustpan and nudged away the dog that was sniffing at the remains. Trying to help, Janice pulled the trash can closer to Tomás.

  Marti stepped in and looked from Tomás to Silvia. “Can we help, Tomás?”

  Silvia shook her head. “You must go now… please… before he returns. Hurry… He will be back soon.”

  Marti sidled over to the table to peek inside the crate. She gasped, “Oh my goodness! How many are here? These have to be worth a fortune!”

  “No look. This no good. You leave now, no charge,” Tomás ordered, pointing at the door.

  Just then, the mutt began to howl.

  “What is it, pup?” Janice exclaimed. “Oh, no, listen! That must be him again.”

  “He's coming for this pottery, no doubt, this ancient Moche pottery,” Marti guessed. “Is that right?”

  But neither Tomás nor Silvia would answer as the roar of a motorcycle got louder.

  “Hurry,” hissed Marti. She shoved both Janice and Silvia ahead of her through the door and into the shadows of the workroom. The dog followed them. Marti watched through the crack where the door met the frame. Only a moment after the three disappeared, she saw the young man burst into the room.

  “Is it ready?” he shouted at Tomás. “You said it would be ready.”

  “Lo siento, Señor. Almost ready.” The potter shrugged and glanced at the broom and dustpan in the corner of the room.

  Marti watched the young man swagger over to the trashcan. He pulled out two chunks of pale terra cotta, both with red engravings on them. His face became dark and he turned viciously on Tomás. Marti stifled a scream as the heel of his hand slammed into Tomás's face.

  “Do you know how much money you cost me?”

  Marti saw the older man crumple to the floor, blood gushing from his broken nose. She knew this was no act. Tomás was badly hurt.

  From behind the door, Marti swallowed the vomit that rose in her mouth. If only she could run. They would have to do something else. She motioned the two women into the darkened pottery room.

  Silvia began to whimper. Marti grabbed Silvia's face. “What does this man want?” she whispered. “Tell me.”

  “It is the smuggled pottery,” Silvia whispered back. “He uses my father to ship out the Moche pieces mixed in with the new pieces from our shop. This man, Arturo, promised my father he would sell his pottery to los Americanos, but it was a lie.”

  Marti set her jaw. “Shh, now. We have to stop him.” She pantomimed instructions to the two women. Janice gave Marti her poncho and held the dog, but Silvia hesitated, her eyes wide with fear. Marti nodded encouragement, and they all tiptoed toward the lighted room.

  “Now,” Marti whispered and shoved Silvia into the room. The dog strained, but Janice held its neck and watched.

  “Excuse me, Señor, we had an accident. I will finish the shipment.” Marti saw Silvia flash him a smile then coyly look down.

  “You'd better, if you don't want to end up like your old man,” Arturo laughed.

  The girl moved toward the table and began to place new pots in the crate, covering them in wood chips.

  Marti saw Arturo eyeing Silvia. He moved closer and then pressed himself against her back. “Hurry up, chica. I have plans for you.”

  Silvia turned toward him.

  On Marti's signal, Janice let go of the growling dog. Marti rushed into the room with the alpaca poncho. As the dog tore into the man's leg, she slammed into his slim shape and deftly threw the rough fabric over his head. Taken by surprise, Arturo shouted, his arms wildly grabbing at whatever he could.

  Janice was right behind her sister. She grabbed the largest piece of pottery from the table and slammed it down on Arturo's head. The man fell to the concrete floor, dazed, amidst chunks of pottery.

  “Nice throw,” Marti said
.

  “Now what do we do?” Janice shouted.

  “Run for help!” Marti yelled. The three women flew from the finishing room, into the courtyard and through the gate. Janice and Silvia sprinted down the hill to the business district, but Marti, gasping for air, stopped halfway down. Her knee bones ground and sliced away at her cartilage with every step.

  By the time she reached the gelato shop at the bottom of the hill, Marti was hobbling and gasping for breath. The other women were nowhere in sight. Where had they gone? Marti heard the wail of a siren. A gray police car raced up the hill, its flashing lights illuminating the gate of the pottery compound. Maybe the ordeal was over, Marti thought.

  Just as she breathed a sigh of relief, a warm hand clamped over her mouth. Someone dragged her backward into the ice cream store. With the little energy she had left, she managed a muffled, “Help!”

  “Stop, stop! It's okay, Marti. Shh. It's okay. They are keeping us safe.” Janice turned her sister around and shook her shoulders.

  Next to her, Silvia was nodding her head. “Sí, this is mi familia. They called the policía. Did you not hear the sirens?”

  Marti's shoulders sagged and she collapsed into a chair set out for gelato customers.

  After icing her knee and being talked into sampling a gelato from Silvia's relatives, Marti talked to the police. Silvia had already explained how she and her father had been duped, and with Silvia as the interpreter, Janice filled them in on their suspicions about the valuable pieces being stored in the old well. The local police informed the Policía Nacional de Peru, who alerted Peruvian customs authorities and were tracking Arturo and any possible accomplices.

  There was nothing new for Marti to share, only a confirmation that her sister had broken the two-thousand-year-old Moche vessel over Arturo's head, knocking him out until the police arrived. The police officers informed her that smuggling pre-Columbian pottery was a serious offense in Peru, but luckily, breaking it in the course of capturing a criminal was not.

  That evening, after a quick visit with Silvia and Tomás at the local clinic, Marti and Janice waited in the dusk at the bus stop to catch the last bus back to Huaraz. Huascaran loomed above the sleepy town in the purple haze of twilight, and Janice captured a shot of her sister posing in front of the snow-capped vista.