"There you are, you little punta!" Marisol yelled, running over and linking arms with Chicha, "You sneak! So, what do you think of him?"
"Who?" she asked, blushing and smiling.
"You like him!" Marisol giggled, patting her arm, "Oh, my little girl is growing up so fast! Look at her, going off and finding a gringo sugar daddy!"
Chicha giggled, feeling her age again. She was only 17 for Christ's sake. She should giggle and peek at men and blush. Her giggles stopped in her throat at the sight of her husband lumbering back to their shanty.
"I have to go," she said, disentangling her arm from Marisol's. Marisol grabbed her arm, staring at her hard.
"Chicha," she said firmly, "You don't live in Peru anymore. You can be whatever you want." She smiled weakly at her friend, shrugging.
"Mari..."
"Don't you Mari me!" she scolded, releasing Chicha's arm, "He likes you, he really does. He asked me about you."
"Really?" she asked, blinking hard.
"Would I lie to my favorite person?" she asked, slapping her arm gently. There was a loud crash from the house, drawing both women's attention.
"It's going to be bad tonight," Chicha said, looking tired.
"You can come to my place," Marisol replied, patting her shoulder, "If it gets too bad, you come over. Okay?"
"Okay," she said softly, looking at the suddenly foreboding house. Marisol kissed her cheek, skipping over to her own home just down the way. Chicha crept into the house, trying to be as quiet as possible.
Creeeak.
Not quiet enough.
"Where have you been?" Pacha demanded, looking at her irritatedly. She shrugged.
"Marisol and I were talking out front," she replied, slipping her shoes off, "We don't get to talk during the day." She shuffled past him towards the kitchen, pulling out pots and pans to make dinner.
"You had plenty of time for talking today," he said, his voice taking a strange tone.
"What do you mean?" she asked, feeling a cold drop in her stomach. Had he seen her? He came at her, pinning her to the wall with his beefy arms on either side holding her in.
"I want to know his name!" he yelled in her face, making her flinch. She stared at him, her face blank and impassive.
"I don't know it," she replied, looking at him firmly, "I asked him to stop driving past and staring at us. It was bothering the Abuelas." He moved as if to slap her, but decided better of it, closing his fist and punching the wall. He grabbed the crown of her head, shaking her hard.
"Don't lie to me!" He yelled.
"She's not lying, you son of a pig!"
They both turned to see Marisol standing in the doorway, a two by four gripped tightly in her fists. Pacha released his grip on Chicha, shoving her towards Marisol.
"Get out," he told her, "Don't come back either, you whore!" Marisol whipped the board at him before dragging Chicha out of the house. Chicha shoved her hair out of her face, shaking her head. Every other day, it was leave, then begging her to come home. They stumbled through the door, and Marisol shoved her down into a chair before turning to fill a cup.
"I don't know why you put up with it," Marisol said, handing her a cup of water, "You're not going back there. Ever." Abuela Martinez hobbled into the room, tsking as she went.
"Chicha, Chicha, Chicha," she sighed, "Again?"
"Yes, Abuela," she said quietly. For some reason, any time Abuela even sniffed trouble in Chicha's marriage, she managed to make her feel terribly guilty about it. She stared at the unswept floorboards under her bare feet, suddenly intensely interested in dust particles. Marisol shrugged, stirring a large pot on the stove.
"Abuela, give her a break," she admonished her grandmother, "If I remember, Papi was like this too."
"But I don't want either of mi amors dealing with that life. I scold because I love."
Chicha and Marisol exchanged a knowing look. When Chicha left home with Pacha, the first person she saw after being in a tiny, lightless truck for 16 hours was Marisol. Marisol was the one who welcomed all the new workers, and Marisol had taken a shine to her much younger charge. As she taught Chicha the ropes, they became increasingly close. Marisol was the first person to ever know about Pacha's mean streak. Abuela Martinez was Marisol's grandmother, but seemed to be everyone's grandmother. The other elderly women were mean from all the years of hard work, but Abuela Martinez was not. She was beloved by almost everyone at the farm, even the foremen. She no longer worked in the fields, but stayed in their little shanty town and cared for the children too small to work or go to school.
Abuela Martinez had been working on this farm since 1952, when she escaped her husband in Mexico City and came to California, looking for a better life. Marisol's mother had grown up and worked there as well, but she had run off with some gringo man when she was 16. A year later, Marisol was on Abuela's porch in a basket with a note. Abuela never complained or denied her beloved Marisol, teaching her industrious and eager granddaughter everything her lazy daughter had not wanted to learn. Marisol was now a foreman's assistant, and she used her power to help all the workers.
Chicha found a comfort in Abuela and Marisol that she had never known- a solidarity between hardworking women. They'd all known pain, sweat and dirt; and so they understood each other. The only thing Marisol and Chicha did not agree on was men. Marisol considered men hurdles to be passed, sleeping with several foremen for better conditions, gringos for money, and fellow workers for the hell of it. Chicha on the other hand had never slept with a man.
Never.
And she planned on keeping it that way.
Jack Sparrow scared her. He was a man that could make her forget. He could make her give it to him. He wouldn't even have to push. All he'd have to do was ask.
She was an idiot. An idiot with a plan.