"Yeah," I said. "I'd agree with that."

"No," she said. Her finger out, instructive. "An infection. A disease. We are leeches sucking the life force from this planet." She put her lips an inch from my ear. "A liver fluke. A brain parasite."

I did not turn. I stared at Isla del Sol. One by one the lights on the island went out. I wondered if Pitt really was over there. If he was looking back at us right now. If he felt the same way.

"Parasites," I said, and imagined myself as groin lice on an ugly wh.o.r.e.

She followed my gaze. "Yes. Parasites. We deserve to die."

"I suppose we do."

"All of us."

"Absolutely."

The memories flooded in. I could no longer hold back the images, the torn, shredded cries that lingered in my soul.

"This ends here." She stabbed my knee with her finger. "With me. I will not spread the infection any further."

"Is that why you're with him? With-" I forced the word out, like a tough t.u.r.d. "With Victor? Playing activist? Stopping a war?"

She rested her chin on her knees. "Wars are petty things. They do not interest me. I think only in the end of days, and the care of my soul."

"End of days. Care of your soul." I stared at her in profile, her forehead hard and white in the moonlight. "It's just a stupid f.u.c.king war. What is this talk of apocalypse? You expecting a pale horse?"

"No," she said, looking dreamily at the stars. "The apocalypse will be man-made. It will be an enormous, global orgy of self-destruction, a long asphyxiation on exhaust pipe fumes, and coal plant dust, and heavy metal poisoning. In our greed and ambition we will achieve only death."

I found myself in the unexpected role of devil's advocate to a cynic. "Is there no hope? Treaties, and all that. Stop global warming?"

"No," she said. "There is no hope. Man is an evil, base creature who deserves to die. Deep down we all know that. Understand that. We deserve to be punished. Can't you see?"

She turned to face me now, lips close enough to feel her hot breath on my cheek.

"And Gaia will punish us," I suggested, with a laugh that withered on my lips.

"She will." Kate looked at the stars again, nodded her head. "Oh, she will. All equally. And all just as fatally."

I remember holding Lili in my arms for the first time. How she howled! The sweetest sound I ever heard. Everything was new. Everything was different. We were pioneers in a world of delight. Diapers? What a wonderful surprise! Weeks without sleep? No problem! The world was young and we were in it and we were happy.

After a couple of months, we got restless. Twelve-hour days running the hostel followed by twelve-hour nights with the baby exhausted us both. And diapers soon lost their l.u.s.ter.

"Take a week off," Alex had shouted across a throng of backpackers. "h.e.l.l, take a month off. You've earned it."

So we did. We came to Lake t.i.ticaca. Stayed a week on Isla del Sol. Warm days, cold nights. Kate nursed. Slept. I hiked the island, admiring the never-ending views. One could live here, I thought, peaceful till the end of days.

It had been Kate's idea to visit the island. She had studied anthropology, and was fascinated by the Incan death cults. When she was strong enough, she'd traipse around the island in the afternoons, visiting archaeological sites and practicing her Quechua on the local llama herders.

The Incas, she told me breathlessly one night as we struggled toward o.r.g.a.s.m, had a deluge story, like in the Bible.

"You mean like Noah."

"Like that," she groaned. "Yes, like that. One day the volcanoes will erupt."

"Which volcanoes?"

"All of them. At the same time. Yes. Like that." She quivered, gasped, lay back on her pillow. "And it will herald the end of the world."

"Sounds deep," I said.

She giggled. Stretched her arms over her head. "Lake t.i.ticaca will evaporate, and the island will become a mountain in a dropless sea."

"What a seriously downer take on life," I said.

"Isn't it, though?"

That was when we got the email. From Greg and Luisa. Cross the border. Let's party!

Some party.

The hostel in La Paz. Lili asleep in the borrowed crib. I stroke her forehead. Turn back to Kate. "Just for a few hours. You need a break. She'll be fine."

"But are you sure?" She frowns at me, forehead crinkled.

Greg drains his beer and belches. "You lucked out, mate. Didn't even know he had a sister."

"If you say so," she says, and buries her nose in my neck.

"Couple hours," I say. "Back at ten." I put my arms around her waist. "What could go wrong?"

Chicken curry sparkles on my tongue, the best I've had in ages. Candle wax curls in swirls of multicolored bliss down the sides of a Chianti bottle. Kate lifts her gla.s.s in a toast to the world: to motherhood, Liliana, me.

"May you have many more!" Greg yells, already s.h.i.tfaced.

"Maybe we should have one, darling," Luisa says, fingers plucking at the back of Greg's thinning hair.

While they smooch, I lead Kate to the tiny dance floor. I'm not a fan of amplified pan pipe music, but right now I'm so happy I don't care. Her hand in mine, my palm cupping the curve of her spine, her lips at my throat, we sway to the music, the rhythm pulsing through us, making us one with the universe.

Back at the table, Greg and Luisa argue. He's drunk. No he's not.

"Don' wan' no water," he mumbles at the top of his lungs.

"I'm not cleaning up your puke tonight." Luisa pushes a gla.s.s of water toward him.

He huffs and frowns, head lolling on his shoulders. He reaches for the water gla.s.s, knocks it over. Kate shrieks as the cold water lands in her lap. We jump up, mopping the spill with a fistful of paper napkins.

"Sorry," Greg mutters, eyes glazed. "Sorry, sorry, I-"

"It's fine. Don't worry about it." Kate is unfazed. Nothing can ruin her night out. She is happy. "What's the time?"

Greg studies his watch, cogitation slowing to a crawl. "It is," he announces, lips parting carefully, readying the words, "almost two o'clock."

Later than we thought.

A rusty taxi with holes in the floor grinds up the cobblestone hill to the hostel. The night guard doesn't answer the bell. We shiver in the bitter air. What could have happened? What's going on?

"Relax," I say, as much to myself as to her.

Kate's grip tightens on my arm. Carlos comes to the gate, buckling his belt. Runs a fat finger under his nose, wipes away a ring of white powder, pops it in his mouth. From an upper window a woman peers out, clutching a blanket to her chest.

Kate has been holding her breath. "Oh thank goodness."

"Disculpeme, Don Gregorio," Carlos says, and scratches his crotch. "I sleep poorly. The baby."

Kate tenses at my side. "The baby? Whose baby. Our baby?"

"What a set of lungs, that kid. Finally shut his yap so I can sleep."

Kate surges up the stairs. Greg vomits in the toilet. Luisa lays a finger on my arm. "We had fun," she says. "We're glad you came."

"We're glad we came too," I say. A tired smile dimples my cheeks. "It was a good night."

A feral shriek above stiffens my spine. I scramble after Kate, taking the stairs two at a time, tripping, drunken, cracking my shins against the bare boards. Kate screams again.

"I'm coming!" I shout.

"What's the matter?" Luisa behind me.

I gasp for breath, stumble along the hallway, my hand on the wall. I lean into our room, shoulder on the door frame. Kate is bending over the crib.

"Baby, what's going on?" I ask.

A rat runs across my foot. Two more follow. They stagger down the hallway, skin stretched tight across their bloated bellies.

"What the h.e.l.l?" Luisa says.

Kate takes another breath, exhales a screech so sharp it hurts my ears.

"You'll wake the other guests," Greg grumbles drunkenly in the doorway, wiping vomit from his lips. "What are you-"

But I stand next to Kate now, looking down at the crib. Looking down at Liliana.

Or what is left of her.

We sat cross-legged on the sand. Kate stared across the lake, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. I wondered if she was thinking about that night, too.

It was freezing but she wasn't wearing gloves. I pulled off a mitten with my teeth, took her hand in mine. Squeezed. Her frozen claw crushed my fingers, as though unsure what to do with the sudden warmth. A drop of water splashed the back of my hand. Was it mine? No. Was it hers? Her dry cheeks reflected the merciless moonlight.

I opened my mouth, but the cold, thin air rasped in my throat. No words could do her sorrow justice. I pried my hand from hers. Put my arm around her and drew her down to my shoulder. Unable to cry. Unable to sob. Unable to grieve. She pressed herself into my chest. We two impotent monsters clung together in the cold and the dark, and waited for the light.

SEVENTEEN.

Across the lake on the island, a flame appeared, bulged bright in the midnight blackness. It paused, as though catching its breath in the thin mountain air, belched skyward at the stars.

Kate's cold nose dented my neck. She gasped, pulled away. The rumbling ba.s.s of the explosion reached us, a growling thumping of deep white noise. Another explosion ripped free of its earthly moorings, then a third. We tensed, waiting for the rest of the symphony to bounce across the waveless waters.

They've killed him.

"I hope not," Kate said, and I realized I'd spoken out loud.

I pushed myself up from the cold beach, my feet wallowing in the soft dry granules. I brushed my b.u.t.t clean. "Better get over there."

"I wouldn't," she said. And pulled me close.

"If they've killed Pitt-"

"Then he's dead. There's nothing you can do."

"But if we can catch the DSU, whoever did it-"

"They will likely kill you too."

I unhooked her fingers from my pants. "That's the point," I said.

"I'm sorry, what?" Her voice, wounded.

I sighed. "Look. I can't go back to Lima. The Americans want to deport me. This stupid wild-goose chase trying to find Pitt, and all I get is a bunch of ashram do-gooder mumbo-jumbo. 'End the guilt,' my a.s.s. And you." I turned away. "It was stupid," I said. "I know. You moved on. Of course you did."

"Horse," she said. "I-"

"Now let me have one of those AK-47s. Couple extra clips of ammunition, and I'll go over there, see how many of the f.u.c.kers I can take with me." I forced a grin. "Least I can do."

The sand spurted under my heels. I clumped in hulking strides to the safety of the driftwood and the high water line. Her light feet danced behind me.

She said, "Horse." She said, "Please."

I called over my shoulder, "If I died right now, who would miss me?"

She staggered in the sand, a ship in a squall. I held out my arm and she grabbed it. "I would miss you, Horse."

I avoided her gaze. "Nice of you to say," I said as roughly as I could. "Now why don't you go chant a mantra or something."