Juan Carlos Boyaratov was born of a Russian mobster (back when the Communist party was the Russian mob) and a Mexican peasant woman (who the hid books that kept her sane under a Mother Mary statue).
Ivan Boyaratov had a misunderstanding that lead to the slaughter of the Soviet Premier’s family and several neighbors. Ivan fled Russia and found himself hiding in a pinata to escape the killers who were pretty sure he was dead, if not completely certain.
Ignatia read when the other girls prayed. Ignatia danced as she read, dreaming of the day she would flee for the wonders beyond.
The kids cracked open the pinata as Ivan slept, exhausted from his escape and too much candy. He fell out and was beaten by angry children who did not get candy.
Ignatia fell in love as she tended to her fallen angel.
They stayed hidden in her village.
In time they had a son.
Ivan taught their son to hunt, to fight and to kill. Ignatia taught their son how to think, how to wait, how to dream, and most important how to see.
Ivan and Ignatia died in their sleep, a single bullet to the head of each as they lay together, arms and legs entwined.
Juan Carlos was paid well for the contract killing. The Communists who became capitalists who became oil gods had held a grudge and wanted vengeance and didn’t care about Ignatia. Juan Carlos killed her to save her the pain of losing her soul.
Juan Carlos was good at killing. It was in fact what he was born to do. He was a white blood cell, an antibody of society. He was the best. No virus could escape him. No cancer could thrive.
Juan Carlos could see deeper than most. His mother had taught him that. His father had taught him to use that gift.
Juan Carlos could see into his own heart and knew he destruction would destroy him. He was drawn to creation, had no talent for it. Destruction was his only skill and this understanding plagued him for years until he found himself in a jungle surrounded by a small army, helping a madman, a cook, search for the most rare flower, a legend, that did not exist.