Page 38

I recalled how the doctors had refusedto treat my father because we didn’t have enough money. I’d only been six years old, but I remembered it clearly. The doctors closed the door on us, literallyslammedthe door. They weren’t medical professionals; they were monsters. Those fucking doctors saw money as more important than a human life. All my dad needed were antibiotics. My mom had already taken the bullet out of him, but he was bleeding too much. The herbs my grandma had used didn’t stop the bleeding, and he’d developed an infection. This was where western medicine could assist. East and West could co-exist.

The man with the red birthmark on his neck had shot my father while his two thugs laughed. Fucking assholes.

“No!” Mom screams.

My dad crumples to the floor of our house. Mom drops beside him, placing her hand on my dad’s stomach wound.

I join Mom and squeeze my dad’s hand. I’m trembling with fear and anger.

Who are these evil men? Why are they in my house? Why did they shoot my dad?

“You live on my turf. You follow my rules, fucker. You steal my drugs, you die. Simple.” Birthmark Man approaches, staring at me and my mom. “Those are the rules of the Anacondas. You got issues, you find me.”

My heart races at the name. I’ve heard about the gang terrorizing people in my village.

“He can’t move.” One man laughs and mocks my dad.

Dad faints, and blood pools on the ground, looking like a red monster.

I hate those men. Something snaps in me. I glare at them, memorizing their faces.

When they leave, Grandma returns from the market and wails when she sees Dad unconscious. Grandma and my mom remove the bullet and patch the wound with dry herbs, but the wound is so deep he needs more care.

I watch their every movement. It all happens so fast. There’s not much I can do except to help with little things whenever Mom or Grandma needs something. I’m so scared.

They rush him to a nearby clinic, but the two doctors ask us to pay first. They look like husband and wife. The male doctor has a mean face. Maybe he’s friends with the Anacondas.

“Please help us,” Mom begs. “We don’t have enough money, but I promise I’ll gather enough funds to pay you later. Please.”

My mom and grandma beg, but the man says no. Mom even goes on her knees, pleading, but they slam the door on her. I jump from the loud noise. I’ve never seen mom beg like that.

I’m angry, and I don’t understand. Doctors are supposed to help people, aren’t they? Mom and Grandma help the villagers all the time with free herbs and the bitter drinks. They even help people who don’t have money. Why are these doctors different?

My dad wakes that night, but he’s so pale. He’s not getting better. Mom and Grandma cry uncontrollably as they sit on the chairs watching me and Dad on the couch.

My hands are small in my dad’s palms. “Don’t cry. Go somewhere safe.” He grips my hands tight. “Take care of yourmãeandVó.”

Nodding, I promise to take care of Mom and Grandma.

He looks at me, and I can see the love in his eyes. “Seja um bom rapaz.”

My dad wants me to be a good man. But right now all I want is to kill those men who had hurt him. I also want to hurt those doctors too. I don’t like to be mean. I don’t want to be mean, but I can’t help it.

The word “good” had so many meanings. Men had twisted that definition to suit their needs for centuries. Some wore a “good” mask to do “good” things for society, but when no one was around, they let the monster inside loose. I had encountered this in both business and medicine. I was an adaptable man, so I’d learned the flexibility of the word “good.” A man had to protect himself and his assets.

But my deepest desire was to be the good person my dad had wanted. If he were watching me from above, he’d know I’d skated on the thin line between good and bad. Those liminal spaces were necessary to get shit done while protecting myself.

Why were these old memories surfacing now? Maybe it was the visit to my grandma, or the photo shoot in the woods that triggered it all.

As a child, I’d spent a lot of time in the forest behind my home, learning about plants and fungi from my parents and my grandma. We had a little vegetable garden and often shared what we grew with our neighbors. Mom and Dad also worked in this cottage by the stream. Being out in nature had made me feel comfortable, congruent, and secure.

Now, as an adult, money and power provided those things. In some way, I had lost touch with that connection to nature I once had as a child. Though I had several businesses involving nature, I didn’t feel its powerful pull until this shoot with Kiera. She brought something back to me, and she didn’t even know it.

I pulled into my parking spot at my hotel and sat there for a moment, trying to collect myself. My life changed the day my dad died. I’d never forget it. My dad had been at the wrong place at the wrong time. A rival gang member had stolen drugs from the Anacondas and hid them in my dad’s groceries.

The past had a way of driving a man’s ambitions. I let the dark memories flow like magma in my blood, igniting all the reasons I strived for success. With money and power, I could do so much.

The air of freedom smelled different when your life had been polluted with fear andblood. No one would leave their homes unless their lives depended on it. To start over in a foreign country had been hard for my mom, Grandma, and me. We had to adapt to a new way of living, a new culture, and new rules. That hardship shaped me. It allowed me to empathize with the diverse community I served.