Monday 10
March 2003
FROM
INSIDE THE PRICKLY FENCE
By: Michael Jean
Nystrom-Schut
Sunday
morning. Early. It was an occasion to rise and shine. There
was work to do. “Get moving Michael! It’s time to move!”
I knew that voice; it was Duke.
I’d
dragged in from Nicaragua just hours before. But now it was
time to step to it again.
This
broke-the-mold guy is relentless. While we are raising money
for other streams of effort, I really wish a few souls would
shoot some colones his way. He has labored steadily,
full-time, for four-plus months, on behalf of all of us, and
all for next to nothing. I guarantee you that much of what we
now know came straight from his relentless energies.
That’s
why he lives now with me – it’s my own contribution.
He’s my hero, and my brother as well.
The
hiring of the “blue suit” this week by IBM-Jr. board
members broke an embarrassing logjam, and might prophetically
prove to be nothing but a fizzle…we shall see. Let’s be
real; it’s a plump payday for JMV, with still more to come;
now where’s the bang for that buck? And will we even need
his six-figure hammer after this coming week?
…Well,
I figure I had gone by the joint about a hundred times. But
never was I inside. When Duke said we needed to get our butts
over there, I was more than ready.
Duke
and I passed through a long line, and received three large,
purple stamps on our right forearms. They looked like tattoos.
Duke
said to be careful not to let them rub off. “You want to get
out after we’re done, don’t you?” So all the while I was
very conscious of not letting anything bump up against
the arm while I was in there, though he may have been just
having his fun with me again.
From
inside the prickly fence (the prison in the San Sebastian
“Hilton,” where Osvaldo, et al, are being detained) it was
not at all what I had been expecting. In some ways it was not
so bad as my mind imagined; more smiles than tears
predominated in this panorama of people.
Once
filtered into the great yard, all manner of activity was
taking place. It was amazing to see “hardened” criminals
and hordes of visitors intermingling. At first glance, you
couldn’t really tell who was who.
Having
walked past several ski-masked guards dressed fully in black,
each holding a loaded AK47, I admit to feeling a bit on edge.
It was a vulnerable feeling – and why the covering of the
face?
I
soon felt more and more at ease; it’s always the fear of the
unknown that eats away at us the most.
Just
getting in there is another story, but talking about it
isn’t in this story, and for a few sound reasons I
won’t mention. Primarily, you came to read about Osvaldo
anyway, and get an update on our “problem.” That’s what
I will share.
Before
we could find him among all those who mingled throughout the
place, we came across Michael Gonzalez (Savings Unlimited –
the Cuban). He and I talked for several minutes and after our
conversation, I have to now admit that I am not sure if he is
so guilty or not.
I
have to concede that he would make the perfect fall guy.
I
asked Michael, point-blank, whether he knew that the Cuban had
been running on empty, and he told me in no uncertain terms he
did not know. He said he’d been so busy the three months
prior to the office evacuation, that he never even had time to
catch his breath.
They’d
paid him to do grunt work.
Michael
also told me that he was just as surprised as anyone to find
the office closed on that Monday morning.
After
several minutes of talk, I stooped down and hugged him. He’d
never even stood to his feet. Gone are the days of his proud
strides through the offices in Paseo Colon, and regardless of
what I had thought about him after they’d closed up, I still
knew he was a gentle and loving man.
He
shared his heart with me. “My family is here. I was not
going anywhere. I have no reason to run, and no place to run
to.”
The
three of them, he, his wife and baby, all huddled on a blanket
together. She looked very sad.
Michael
was dressed casually, in sweats; I had never seen him like
this before. But there was life left in him. Even though
before leaving he told me he’d lost everything, and that his
life was now destroyed.
A
few minutes later we spotted José Poo, the one who’d
recently been arrested in Panama City. He was talking to an
attractive woman who’d obviously come to see him.
Duke
suggested I go up and give him a piece of my mind. I didn’t
really trust myself to do that. But when we did walk by, I
challenged him in a tough voice with, “Where does Luis have
my money?”
“I
have absolutely no idea?” Poo arrogantly rattled back to me
in perfect English and with a certain snide twang in his tone.
Rather
than turn and say more, I remembered that thugs were lingering
somewhere near, watching out for him, and I was planning to
leave in a while, tattoos un-besmirched, and everything else
as well.
So
I wasn’t buying Poo’s line, in spite of wavering in my
thoughts on Michael.
…Approaching
Don Osvaldo, I gave him a smile and a hug. He returned them
both.
He
was sporting a Harley-Davidson cap, and talking with three or
four men. His sons were there, and also one of his sisters sat
nearby having lunch.
None
of the family seems to have thought about assuming a low
profile. But couldn’t they find somewhere in the world to
settle down with all of our money?
It
appears that they have no intentions of leaving.
As
for Osvaldo, he was clearly in good spirits, something pretty
unusual under the circumstances, but common for him in here.
He is a man of strength.
Duke
piped right up, asking Osvaldo if we would be going out for a
pizza soon, to talk about all of this. Osvaldo said we should
all do that…and do it soon.
Later,
in a “Duke-like” manner again, he said he had dropped by
also to tell Osvaldo good-bye, because this might be the last
time he would ever see him.
He
was referring to the fact that if Osvaldo should be released
in the near future, he might decide to drop out, to run, and
that just might be the end of it for all of us.
But
the man laughed, assuring Duke that this would never come to
pass, and that the investors had nothing to worry about –
they would see their money again. He flat put it out there to
us that we would all see “me and my brother are not deshonesto’s”
(dishonest people).
He
told us that if the prickly bars can’t hold him, then
how are they ever going to keep his brother in? That of course
got us panting a bit.
Osvaldo
went on to say that he was thrilled the SUGEF superintendent
(Bernardo Alfaro) did not deviate in court one bit
from his testimony given in writing. This, he felt, delivered
a strong blow to the prosecutor (Espinoza), who had hoped for
something better.
Duke
and I both thought that Alfaro’s testimonial alone
might turn out to be worth six-figures to the creditors.
…Face
it, we must conclude that Osvaldo says things like that to us
from where he is, either out of fear or deceit or honest
communication. It’s not the first time, by far, that we have
received his reassurance.
We
each choose to believe him, and his brother, or we don’t.
Before
we left, I told Osvaldo that he was still better looking than
Enrique, and we all laughed about that. Even from behind the
prickly fence, his character and hope for a bright future is
shining through.
So
that “other Brother” remains hopeful, and optimistic
(maybe for good reason which we shall know soon!). He himself
is clearly of the conviction that things are moving ahead in
favor of all of us.
Can
we know for sure? Of course not, because in the current
climate, it seems we can know very little for sure. But if he
is right, we could all be closer to seeing things happen that
will be to our benefit, though, as they say, only time will
tell.
Early
this week, we hold our breath again, and hope for the break we
need to happen. While we remain “engaged,” we are
encouraged to also know that Osvaldo’s brother is in the
same frame of mind, having inquired about developments
recently, and on an ongoing basis.
…I
met a fellow Enrique friend and creditor (who is also a friend
of mine) these past few days in Managua. He is in
deteriorating health, and anxious to hear something good about
the case.
As
I updated him, I encouraged him to keep walking, stay busy,
and take care of himself, appreciating each day of life along
the way. To go on as much as he could with what makes for
fullness and meaning in life; what else do we really need?
What
could he do, he wanted to know? Just that, while those who are
able must stay ready to help, while waiting it out as
patiently as possible.
On
the way back into Costa Rica from the Nicaraguan side, and
right at the border crossing, two olive-colored helicopters
suddenly soared by, en route in a northerly direction heading
through the jungle lands to the east of Managua city.
I
waived up to Enrique, and smiled. “Stay hidden and safe!”
I said.
The
“stay safe” part goes for all the rest of you too.
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