The Mexican Sun

“The streams of the mountains plays me more than the sea”, Maria smiled brightly at the thought, then took a moment to survey the stabbing valleys and fresh mountain mists. From the east, at play with the morning sun, the San Jorge river cut its patient path through the range.
Suddenly she heard it. A bark of panic; not far off. She sprinted away, kicking back dust and pebbles.
“Help me- help!” split the air. There, surreal against the cliff’s horizon; pale knuckles edged out of sight. Maria skidded to the cliff top- and caught her breath, for below was a sight so nightmarish as to seem almost comical. A man, terror melting his features was dangling from the precipice.
She pulled herself together, slapped a hand on his rucksack and began to pull. Inch by inch they struggled. Finally his fumbling fingers closed upon the rock and with one final heave he was up.
Maria collapsed into the dusty rock and closed her eyes, breathless.

She was still young at the time. Young and idealistic, with bright eyes and short cropped brown hair. That morning she was decked out in her full hiking attire: shorts, boots, a white sleeveless top and a large brown rucksack.
Since her arrival in Mexico, almost a year earlier, she had taken up the pastime with a passion, and adored venturing up to the air and the sun.
Needless to say, this was the most eventful of her sojourns to the hills.

After a spell recuperating she rose and turned to her comrade- and froze; it was Jacques, from Lev’s villa! Amidst the adrenaline and panic of the rescue she had not recognised her friend. Now however, they fell into a hug. Jacques seemed in shock. Maria felt his hot breath in her ear as he offered a feeble whisper.
“Thank you, Maria”.

A week later found Maria walking to Lev’s villa. It was dusk, the moon was on the rise and she was eager to see Lev. It had been almost three weeks since she had last seen him, and she wished to catch up on life. As she approached, however, Maria was thinking wistfully about how they never truly talked anymore. Not like they had done in the past; prior to exile and the limbo of the Mexican villa. Back then, every depth was explored of religion, justice, love, law and all other inventions of man, designed to distract from a simple, happy life… or so Lev seemed to believe these days.
There was a refreshing breeze upturning dust as she entered the verdant garden. The garden was Lev’s pride and joy; the lush palms and the peaceful ferns. The solidly built rabbit hutches and the persistent stream which tickled the stones on its journey out.
Maria was surprised to see only one guard on duty that evening. He gave her a strange look as she entered, only serving to increase her unease. Once inside, she hurried through the many halls and doors but saw no one. With a feeling of uncertain panic in Maria’s chest she broke into a run. Eventually she reached the study- only to find it locked. There were voices, however. Voices crept down the hall toward her. They emanated from an iron bolted door, one she had never entered and had never really concerned herself with. That night she crept closer and, upon recognising Jacques’ voice, listened in upon a fragile monologue.

“He was feeding those rabbits in the garden… I approached and-”, there was a brief pause, “I gave him my article to, to read. We went to his study and he bent over the desk- like this- to read. I had to take my chance. I lay my coat over the alarm and took out the ice-axe.”
There was an eternal silence.
“I took it… in my fist and closed my eyes.. The man screamed in such a way as I will never forget… it was long- infinitely long! It seems to me as if that scream were piercing my brain still-”.
Maria was numb. She slid to the floor. She felt ill.
Lev, her friend, was dead.
Leon Trotsky, her leader, was dead.
She knew for whom she mourned.
“With the poor people of this earth, I want to share my fate”, she wept quietly at the thought.