Bishop as Pawn Page 0,58

in greater poverty than he had ever experienced or imagined. Sandego and the lovely people he served completely fulfilled him.

There was a cloud on the distant horizon. It lay just beneath the consciousness of the inhabitants of Sandego.

It was a band, a group, an army called the Contras. The Contras were at war with the revolutionary Sandinista government of Nicaragua. Later, it would sicken Carleson to learn that the U.S. government had overtly and covertly subsidized the Contras.

It had been more than a year since the Contras’ previous visit to Sandego. But that visit had been so savage that the inhabitants had not been able to forget it.

Carleson of course knew of the Contras, but gave them no more than passing thought. He was certain they would never inflict themselves on the sleepy hamlet of Sandego. It would be like bombing a small town in the Louisiana bayous. Why?

They arrived one night as the stars were fading. As soundlessly as a stalking jungle cat. With the dawn, men armed to the teeth roughly awakened the villagers—including their priest.

The villagers—even the children—were ordered, pushed, clubbed into a single line and forced to remain motionless and silent while the officers toured the village. After their investigation, they reviewed the assembly. They noted with special interest the Yankee priest.

As far as Carleson could tell, everyone—captives and captors—was Catholic. All spoke Spanish. And that meant nothing.

He was only slightly fearful—not at all for himself. He viewed the invaders as a form of purgatory. No matter how nasty things got, it would be over and done with eventually. The Contras would have to move on sometime.

A man with the insignia of a colonel appeared to be the ranking officer. He addressed the assembled villagers. It was mostly badly memorized propaganda. After the canned lecture, he got down to reality. They would not stay long. They needed supplies. They would take whatever fitted their needs. During their stay, the villagers would be required to work for the Contras and not themselves. Their degree of cooperation would dictate the longevity of this occupation.

With that, the soldiers took over. The villagers were forced to begin gathering up everything this little town had.

The colonel, along with another officer with the insignia of major, took Carleson to the well. They showed much interest in it. They had been here before. They knew that the well raised the value of this land. They asked question after question. Carleson answered them all. It didn’t matter to him whether they dug their own well. Probably back at base camp there were women and children that could use the convenience of their own water supply. At one point, he simply gave them the book he’d used to bring water to Sandego. The colonel cursorily paged through the book and handed it to the major, who looked at it, shrugged, and tossed it aside. They were illiterate.

From time to time, Carleson would note the gratuitous cruelty of the soldiers. Twice he moved toward intervening. Each time, the colonel’s aides jabbed rifles into his ribs.

Finally, the day was done. The villagers were forced to prepare food and serve it to the invaders. The residents were allowed nothing. If any Sandegan dared smuggle a morsel for self, one of the old people or a child was beaten.

Carleson was excused from serving the dinner. He was even invited to eat. He refused. It made absolutely no difference to the Contras. He could starve for all they cared.

After the meal, the soldiers gave the scraps to the stock animals that they would take with them when they left. They had shot all the village dogs.

A young soldier walked across the firelit circle, knelt next to the major, and whispered something. The major whispered to the colonel. Both laughed heartily. The colonel waved his hand signifying permission.

The soldier, with four comrades, walked slowly around the circle of attending villagers. They stopped before a strikingly beautiful girl barely out of childhood.

Two grabbed her and dragged her screaming to the center of the circle near the fire. Her parents shrieked their pleas for her. They were clubbed back, as were the others who objected.

Slowing, savoringly, they stripped her. While four pinned her to the ground, the young soldier lowered his trousers and gleefully raped her, thrusting more brutally with each of her screams, which seemingly added to his enjoyment.

Villagers tried to look away, but the soldiers forced them to watch.

Carleson, seated near the two commanding officers, was not observed so carefully. He