When my Mamá died the world fell away. She had caught a fever and had lied sweltering in bed all day. That time was hard on all of us. I had to cover her jobs as well as mine—though it was terrible when she did die, I was relieved to be doing only my shifts again. Still, we lost the income, my father and I, and had to make do even with our grief.
I looked up from my sewing and studied my father. Papá was looking through some newspaper and documents while he absently unpeeled some plantains. I wonder where he got them. They look fairly new, the newspaper does at least. Suddenly, he looks up, peering over his glasses catching my glance. The ends up his lips turn up slightly.
"I see you brought work home with you again, mija," he said softly.
I nodded and turned my attention to the stitches again.
"My work was piling up. With Señor Vasquez as the new tailor, any of his anger I don't get is worth the extra work."
His face turned serious. "Is he cruel, Anita?"
I looked up, but only with my eyes.
"No," I lied. "I just do not think before I talk." At least that part was true.
He tried to hide a smile then. I had my mother's fire and my father's dry wit. Hardly a good combination.
"You look tired," he noted, setting the papers aside and putting his whole attention towards the food.
"You too," I said gently.
Silence and a sigh. I dried my sweaty palms against my clothes, struggling to grasp the needle. The heat is terrible, I can scarcely breathe. I try to take my mind off it by calculating our income…If I work the food stand all morning, clean Señora Mendez's house in the afternoon, and sew in the evening and night then I should get at least…
I pressed my hand against my perspiring forehead. Even thinking made my head hurt. When was the last time I slept a full night? I could not remember. Papá is suddenly next to me, stooped on the floor of broken tile. He hands me a piece of bread with half a plantain. I eat it without thinking, I've forgotten likes and dislikes in taste long ago. I am thirsty most of all—but know the warm stagnant water we have is neither healthy nor thirst-quenching. I will see if I can find some fresh water when I go out tonight.
Finally, the light begins to fade. Papá begins to clean up and I scramble to finish my work. I grab the rest of the pieces I had finished sewing and kiss Papá lightly against the cheek. He catches my hand before I can leave.
"Keep safe, mi vida," he murmurs, his eyes worried.
"I would not have it any other way," I reply, trying to seem cheerful. It is hard; I am so tired.
I walk out into the street, keeping close to the buildings and away from the roads—times are not safe. I imagine myself blending into shadows, small and quiet, but I know to those who prey in darkness I am like a beacon of light. I put my hands to my sides to keep my skirts from rustling as I dart around a corner. I hear footsteps and begin to grow nervous. I carry nothing of worth except my life, I remind myself, something my father said once. Nothing of worth…nothing of worth…
I gasp when the footsteps catch up to me and a hand grabs my shoulder, whirling me about to face the pursuer. It is Señor Vasquez, my employer. I fight the urge to tell him off for sneaking up on me.
"You are almost late, Señorita Torres," he remarks evenly, stepping closer. He puts a hand on my shoulder, a thumb tracing my collarbone. "Perhaps you and I should go through your schedule… I would hate to give you more work again. We should come to an agreement…" His other hand takes my arm.
I pull away, hands folded across my chest.
"I am sure you would hate for a lot of things to happen," I spat, throwing the clothes I had sewn that evening to him.
Angry, he stepped forwards and grabbed my arm again, more forcefully. In an instant, I jerked from his grasp and broke into a run, sprinting across the street, down a road, and into the shop. I halted next to the other girls, breathless.
"First time you make it in time, Anita," Consuelo, my beautiful yet immoral friend, said in a sing-song voice. She smiles as if she knows everything. That is her problem; knowing too much makes her over-confident.
"There's a first time for everything," I remind her, pulling up a stool to sit next to her.
We hold our breath as Señor Vasquez, sticks his head in the doorway, glances at each of us, and goes off again.
"Speaking of which," she said, handing me some work to do, "what did the tailor have to say?"
"Nothing important," I mumbled, threading a needle. "Something about not being late again."
Consuelo shot me a glance with her piercing eyes.
"You ran here with the devil at your heels," she said matter-of-factly. "Tell me."
"No," I said firmly. "That dog isn't worth gossiping about. Tell me something interesting."
"You needn't fear him," Consuelo replied, ever so sweetly. "You only need to know how to…talk his language."
"Ai," I scowled, "since when do I want your advice?"
"Then perhaps you do not want to know about the dance?" She teased, placing a tantalizing proposition before me.
"Fine," I said under my breath.
"There's a good Anita," Consuelo said with a laugh. "The dance is next weekend, at the church auditorium in Viejo San Juan."
"A bit of a walk," I noted.
"Not too far," she insisted, giving a sly smile. "I know a boy who has un coche, a car."
"Which boy is this?" I ask skeptically.
"His name is Bernardo," she said proudly. "My boyfriend, Indio's, new friend. He is very popular, has a big group of friends, you know. They all pitched in and stol—I mean, found a car." She paused, regaining her breath. "So?"
"So, what?"
"Do you want to come or not?"
I sighed and pushed my work away, unable to concentrate.
"I can't."
"Why not, querida?"
"Too tired, too much work. It would not be fair to my father."
"Ai, Anita, you're no fun anymore," she said with mock-sadness.
I take a hand and shove her shoulder gently.
"You're no good anymore," I shot back as she laughed. "I'll go with you. But it will not be easy."
"I know," she said quietly, suddenly serious. "But it will be worth it in the end."
"Quizás," I sigh. "Perhaps."
Now it is her turn to shove me before we settle into the thick silence and try to concentrate.
Four hours into the night Señor Vasquez allows us to leave. I take some work home with me again; payday is approaching and I do not want him docking me of a few pesos again. The heat and the dark is thicker now, it encompasses us and everything around us. Consuelo falls into step next to me.
"I am walking you home," she announces, seeing my curious look. She puts her hands on her hips like a stubborn mother. "I worry about you, Anita—so small and pretty, walking home at this hour!"
"I don't have to worry about you," I retort. "You ask for trouble!"
We laugh, but not too loud.
"Wait!" I say, suddenly remembering. "We need fresh water."
Consuelo nods. "Follow me; I know the way."
Silently, we cross the street, scarcely making a sound. It's a wonder to those who see us no doubt—girls so quiet and stealthy, wandering the streets so late at night for water—but it has become a way of life. We stay quiet because we want to live. Consuelo leads me down a dark street and, instantly, I grow nervous—a flickering light provided the only source of brightness for our eyes, and we wandered towards it like moths to a candle.
"Here it is," she breathed, stooping down to a rusted spigot. Taking a nearby pail, she proceeded to fill it to the brim. When she handed it to me, the rusted out handle dug painfully into my palm.
We hear a noise, a soft rustle, and stiffen, disobeying every instinct that tells us to run.
"Don't move," a voice says clearly, louder than I expected. "I have a weapon."
Consuelo draws a breath, standing taller. She automatically steps in front of me, protecting me.
"Señor Vasquez?" she asked, her voice sounding relieved. "It is us; Consuelo and Anita. We were just walking home."
"I know," he replies evenly. His voice is steady, unafraid.
I summon all my courage. "In that case we'll be leaving," I say, perhaps too confidently. "Buenas noches."
"I have a weapon!" he repeated. "Do not move."
I scowl. "Señor—"
Consuelo grabs my arm and shakes her head. Obviously this has happened before. Slowly, I place the pail on the ground. Better to have my hands free if I need to run.
"Consuelo," the towering man said, "you may leave. Señorita Torres was late this evening…we need to reach an agreement."
"Ai, Señor, you do not want her. She is—" Consuelo began quickly, her voice shaking slightly.
"Go home you whore," he snapped, waving the gun in her direction. "I know good women when I see them." He reached for me, but I draw back.
"Wait!" Consuelo cries out again, her voice trembling. "Let me tell her a few words before I leave, at least." Her gaze is intense and even.
He curses, but lowers the gun. Consuelo swallows and clenches her jaw before turning her eyes towards me. She comes close as to embrace me yet I here her warm breath on my ear. She whispers so quietly it seemed as if she were speaking in my head.
"We can outrun him, and yell for help," she said so softly and quickly that it all was in one exhale of her breath. "Now."
I do not even think; I do not have time to think. We run through the darkness. I inhale sharply as my heart hammers in my chest—I ran faster than I have ever run before and I could still hear the pounding footsteps of Señor Vasquez as he seemed to get closer and closer.
Consuelo began to scream for help once we ran out of the alley. Her voice was shrill and frightened, like I had never heard it before. Just as the cries escaped her lips there was a sickening bang and she falls to the hot pavement. I scream and stop in my tracks, turning back to Consuelo. In that one second of hesitation, Señor Vasquez came up behind me, pulling me to him by the waist and clasping a hand around my mouth. My mind spins with overwhelming fear; for myself, for Consuelo. Then I hear the sirens, the scuffling of footsteps towards us, and the bright lights of two automobiles with their screeching tires.
Señor Vasquez throws me to the ground and I tumble to regain my footing and crawl towards Consuelo. He tries to get away but is soon brought back by two rugged looking policemen. My eyes filled with tears as I reached Consuelo, clasping her hand while she gasped for breath. She winced and struggled to smile. An officer approached us.
"Please, señor!" I exclaimed desperately. "She is wounded…She needs a hospital!"
With a sigh, the officer beckoned one of his men to carry the bleeding Consuelo, her arms limp and hanging to her sides, into his police car, turning back on the sirens and driving away.
Relieved, I stand up shakily. I turn towards Señor Vasquez, happy that I can strike out now, but a policeman grabs me by my arm roughly.
"What happened?" the officer asked calmly, turning to Señor Vasquez.
He struggled against his captors.
"I paid good money for her and she ran off!" he snarled. "I have a right to what's mine."
I scoff angrily. "The only good money you've ever paid me was my salary for tailoring two weeks ago, you pig!"
The policeman pulls on my arm.
"Quiet, you," he growls.
I, however, am indignant.
"I will not be quiet!" I said angrily. "Don't you understand? We were the victims; not him!"
"Even if a prostitute were to run away from you," the officer continued to Señor Vasquez, "that gives you no right to shoot her. She will reimburse you for what you paid, but you will have to pay a fine."
"Fine," he drawls out, pushing away once the men released him.
"He attacked us!" I protested. "He tried to kill Consuelo and tried to…"
The officer held up a hand, massaging his temples.
"Enough," he said smartly. "You would do well not to wander the streets so late; not in this neighborhood. You should know better, it leads people to believe you are…" he breaks off, looking me over for once as if to decide if I was decent or not. "I cannot assume otherwise. Return the money to the señor or he may press charges. You, señor, will face some time in prison if you assault another person publicly. If you can come with me to the station house, we may settle the fine."
Señor Vasquez begins to follow the officer towards his car when, suddenly, his face came towards mine.
"Next time you will not be so lucky," he said in a deadly whisper, before turning and getting into the vehicle.
The cars swept past me, sirens blaring, until I was left alone. I stood silent and still for the longest time. Should I walk to the hospital, stand by Consuelo and make sure she is alright? Should I run home to my father and wait until the horrid realization of this night sinks in? I wrap my arms about myself, suddenly shivering. Panic overtakes me and I begin to run home.