The man plunged the knife forward and sliced through Cristóbal’s jacket. Cristóbal brought a hand to the wound in his arm, blood squeezing through his fingers. With a furious yell, Cristóbal lunged toward my assailant and tackled him to the ground. The knife flew out of the man’s hand, but I couldn’t see where it landed.

With my neck stinging, I went on a mad search for the knife, but the only thing I found was my husband’s spectacles. A raspy sound finally managed to emerge from my throat.

“Someone . . . help!”

The music and laughter inside the vessel were so loud nobody seemed to hear my pleas. The two of them were rolling on the ground again. Cristóbal’s body hit the railing.

I looked around for something I could use to hit the man. There was a lifeboat suspended by ropes not too far from us. I staggered toward it and climbed on the banister to reach the inside of the lifeboat. After another coughing spell, I grabbed an oar with both hands and hopped back to the deck.

Cristóbal now stood close to the edge of the ship. Something flipped inside my stomach when I saw him there, so close to falling into the immensity of the ocean. My assailant had somehow gotten a hold of the knife and stood in front of my husband, prodding at him with it. Only the handrail stood between the two of them. Cristóbal dodged the tip of the knife, holding on to the metal bar.

I lifted the oar to hit the man, but he was too close to Cristóbal and I didn’t want to hurt my husband. I pointed at an opening in the railing.

“Cristóbal! There!”

Cristóbal glanced at the opening but before he could inch toward it, the man dug the knife in my husband’s stomach.

“No!” I screamed, smashing the son of a bitch in the head with the oar.

The man folded over the banister, unconscious, and fell into the water, face first. Cristóbal brought his hands to the knife’s handle, now buried in the depths of his abdomen. His eyes opened so wide I could barely recognize his familiar face, engulfed in agony and fear.

“Cristóbal!” I darted toward him, reaching out my hand to him, but a wave hit the side of the hull, making Cristóbal lose his balance and tumble into the sea, right after the other man.

I screamed so loud my throat felt as though I’d torn a vocal cord. It would take a long time for me to be able to speak again without pain.

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 3

Guayas River
April 1920