“Don’t be afraid. I’d like to show you my pictures.” He was acting friendly again. His cruel tone had only lasted a moment, but it didn’t fade in her ears. What would be worse—to go into his house or make him angry?
As soon as she stepped through the door, it closed behind her. She clenched her fists. It was a strange house for a man like him. Was it even his house? It didn’t look lived in. There was no furniture, but brightly colored paintings hung on all four walls of the front room. An entryway to what looked like a kitchen opened from the wall ahead of her, and another hallway opened to her left.
She didn’t know much about art, but it was easy to see that the paintings were all done by the same hand.
“Do you like the pictures? I painted them myself.”
There were six of them in that empty room. Each was a portrait of a woman. They wore brightly colored clothing against weirdly colorful backdrops. The clothing went up all the way to the women’s necks, and no lines made them look sensual or even really all that feminine. Though they were all clearly different women with different features, each of them looked strangely similar.
Her eyes were drawn away from the pictures on the walls as she realized that the man was looking at her, examining her.
“I would like to paint a picture of you. Would you like that?”
She would not like it but didn’t want to tell him so. She didn’t want to look like those women on the walls. They weren’t ugly; some of them even looked pretty. But something disturbed her about them. She tried not to look at the pictures, but neither could she look away.
“Look at yourself. A beautiful muñeca. You shouldn’t have to rot in these slums.”
She realized what it was. The girls in the pictures had no life. They looked dead. She almost thought he had dressed up and painted corpses. A chill ran up her spine.
“I want to offer you the chance at a better life.”
“I need to go.”
“Listen to me first. It’s not what you think. I’m offering you a new start, a chance to see the world, a glamorous career. Don’t you have dreams? A girl like you could choose where she wants to go. Just imagine it: New York, Los Angeles, Buenos Aires, Paris, Tokyo. I know you’d like to see those places.”
She did, but how did he know?
“Imagine yourself wearing lovely dresses every night, eating in nice restaurants . . . the feel of silk against your skin. You can have a beautiful life. Why would you refuse that?”
She felt his finger touching her hair without having seen his hand rise. Another chill passed through her. She reached for the door, but he was quicker. He wrapped an arm around her stomach, pulling her toward him as his other hand suddenly covered her mouth. She hadn’t planned to cry out, but now she wanted to.
“You’re a young and foolish girl. But you’re not naïve. You know what your mother was and that you have no choice but to follow in her profession. Do you know it was AIDS that killed her? Did the other women tell you that?”
Her eyes unwillingly returned to the portraits of the women with the dead faces.
“Do you want to die young in these slums like your mother, or will you embrace your beauty and live a glamorous life? I’m the man who can make that a reality for you.”
She writhed and struggled against his arms, but it was no use. He was too strong.
“It’s time for you to begin your training. The best start young.”
He moved his hand down between her legs and pressed it against her jeans so hard that it hurt. She forced herself to steady her breath. He seemed to believe that she was relaxing. His hand moved off of her mouth.
“Okay, patrón. Tell me what you like.”
His arms relaxed and she turned toward him, just in time to see his eager grin before her hand slashed it away, her nails scraping against his face so sharply that she drew blood.
He cried out in pain. She reached for the door and was through it in a flash. She ran to the street without looking back.
She made it to the street corner and turned. She was still running when a hand grabbed her wrist, whipping her out of her run. She gasped, as if the wind had been knocked out of her. He pushed her against the nearest wall, now with her arms crushed behind her and his knee in her crotch.
He smiled maliciously, then licked the blood she had drawn off of his lips.
He didn’t have to speak; his look said everything. She could run, but she couldn’t hide—not from him, not from her destiny. Her breath came in startled spurts. If he wanted to rape her or kill her, there was nothing she could do about it.
Instead, he let her go.
She ran again, desperately through the tight street, too stunned even to cry.
Why run when there was nowhere to go? She could never get far enough away. For her, there was no escape, no way out.
She wanted to get as far away from this place as she could, but already she knew she would have to go back. How could she stay alive somewhere else? Where would she sleep? How would she eat? More importantly, how would she avoid her awful fate? At least here she knew how to survive.
That was why Paulo had let her go. In a way, it was the most terrifying thing he could have done to her. He knew she had no choice but to come back.
All the dreams of her childhood, both the fanciful—seeing the world, wearing pretty clothes—and the practical—working in one of the big hotels—had been twisted and corrupted by this man. She wondered whether she would ever be able to indulge herself in dreams again.
She had known this day would come but thought she had a couple more years of childhood. There had not been time to come up with a plan, even to learn to speak better like Manny said. Her time was up.
Finally, she stopped running. She looked across the street at Manny’s house. There was a light on inside.
Trust felt lost, but she had to trust someone. It was too exhausting to be alone. Surely, if anyone could help her, it was Manny.
She knocked, and he opened the door. His expression told her that she had made the right choice. He seemed to understand what had happened.
“Was it Paulo?”
She nodded.
His face reddened with rage. “I won’t let him hurt you. If it costs me my life, I won’t let him do this.”
She almost asked how he knew, but it didn’t matter. Not right now.
Manny paced the room while she sat at his table. His expression was serious, thoughtful. She felt good being there, safe. He would think of something. But his first words were not at all what she’d expected.
“Listen, my friend.” He stopped his pacing and looked at her. “I’m going to be leaving soon.”
“Leaving this house?”
“Leaving Cartagena. Leaving Colombia.”
Her mouth fell open. Manny couldn’t leave! Then she truly would have no one. She felt like she would cry.
“That man Paulo has evil plans for me too. Just now, I was writing my acceptance letter for a job in the United States.”
“No! What am I supposed to do?”
“Well, I just thought of something. It’s a crazy idea, but it might work. I would give anything to protect you from Paulo, to give you a good life, with real opportunities. You deserve it.” Manny paused. “Maybe I could take you with me.”
She hopped up in her seat. “Could you? Really?”
“Maybe. Did I ever tell you about my daughter, who died as a baby?”
She nodded. Manny had told her about his own daughter several times.
“Her name was Leila. She would have been about your age now. I still have her birth certificate.”
Her heart beat faster, anticipating what he was going to suggest.
“Nobody in the United States knows that she died. You could take her place. I will tell the company that I can only accept the job on the condition that they also give a visa to my daughter. You and I will both start a new life in the United States.”
She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Was this
a dream? Yet her instincts told her to be cautious. Manny looked at her seriously.
“If you come with me, I need you to know that you can trust me completely. I will adopt you. You will truly become Leila del Sol, my daughter. I will protect you and care for you. I will never lay my hands on you or be anything other than a father to you. Tonight, you have seen how evil men can be. I hope you can also believe how good and honorable a man can be.”
She did believe it. Of all her dreams, having a father was one she had never dared.
She spent the night on his couch. It took her a long time to fall asleep as she dreamed about the future in the United States. What would it be like there? She had heard so many stories. What would she be like as this new person named Leila?
A loud knocking on the door woke her with a start. Disoriented for a moment, she remembered where she was and everything that had happened. She bolted off the couch and hid in Manny’s bedroom closet before he even rose from his bed. She caught his eye as she passed and saw that he was afraid too. She didn’t like seeing him afraid.
“Is she here?”
She recognized that voice all too well. Her heart was in her throat.
“What are you talking about?” Manny asked.
“The girl. I know she’s here.” Paulo’s voice was calm, steady, terrifying. “She’s hiding from me.”
“I’m here alone.”
“Let me look around.”
“No! Who do you think you are, the police? You’re a damn bully, and I won’t have you snooping around my home.”
“You better not be hiding the girl from me.”
She heard shoving in the next room followed by a string of curses. She shook as she cowered against the closet wall.
“Get the hell out of here.”
“This isn’t over, Manny. I’ll be back.”
The door closed. She dared to crack the closet door open. Manny sighed when he walked into the room.
“We need to leave. Today.”
Her fear turned into excitement. Her new father had already proved himself to her. The adventure was about to begin.
Manny wouldn’t let her go home to pick up her few possessions. It was too dangerous. Those were things of her old life anyway.
Leila. That is my name now, she told herself over and over as the bus took her through Cartagena toward the sparkling old city, with its fine hotels and fancy restaurants. She said the name again and again under her breath as she waited on a plush yellow couch in the lobby of the small inn Manny had chosen. Casa Azul, it was called. Everything looked so luxurious, even though Manny had said this was one of the simplest inns of the neighborhood.
Leila. She liked her new name. It sounded pretty, and she liked what it meant. It meant a history, a father—family. She would do the name proud.
Manny walked back to her from the hotel desk.
“I mailed my acceptance.”
She smiled brightly.
“I sent them Leila’s birth certificate too. Now, we have to wait, hopefully for two visas and two plane tickets.”
“How long does it take?”
“I don’t know. This is a new experience for both of us.”
He sat down on the chair across from her. “I rented two rooms here. It’s expensive in this part of town, but Paulo won’t think to look for us here. We have to stay as long as it takes because this is the address I gave.” He looked at her earnestly. “From now on, to everyone we meet, you are Leila, my daughter. The past is our secret. Nobody else can know.”
She nodded. “I want to be Leila. I am Leila.”
“Pray this works. There’s no going back now. I called my job and quit. I couldn’t risk going back. If Paulo came to find me there, after abandoning my house, he would know. I just hope my savings holds us out as long as this takes.”
“It will.” She had no idea what a place like this would cost, but she also couldn’t imagine someone like Manny not having enough money.
“Come. We need to buy you some things to make you comfortable here.”
Her eyes were wide with wonder as they walked through the colorful streets of Old Cartagena. She had only ventured past the colonial walls a couple of times before. The old stone buildings were painted in vibrant oranges, reds, and blues, with hanging baskets of flowers dotting the balconies. The hot air felt fresh here, closer to the sea, perfumed with the scents of wealth instead of the squalor of poverty. They had only gone a few miles, but she had stepped a world away from her old life. She wasn’t worried about the visa application, or whether Manny’s savings would run out, or even if Paulo was still looking for her. The old life was gone, and now she had a father to protect her. She could not be happier.
They stayed at the inn a month. Leila enjoyed her private little room, with a window looking out toward the pretty buildings of the old neighborhood. During those days, Manny began teaching her English and how to play the guitar. She learned the latter much quicker.
For the first time, she had everything she needed: enough food, clean water, clothes, shampoo, soap. Everything about this felt like a dream.
Finally, the response came from the United States: two plane tickets and two approved visa applications.
She kept waiting to wake up from this incredible dream. She didn’t deserve any of this. She felt lucky rather than blessed. She vowed to become worthy of this chance. She would work so hard to earn it, for Manny’s sake, who gave it to her, and for all the poor girls who would never get the chance at a new life.
21
FOR THE FIRST weeks, Leila tried to talk her mind out of what her heart already knew. She had felt life take hold inside her even before she saw that the condom was broken. It was impossible to know that fast. Anyone would have told her that. She couldn’t explain the sensation she felt. It was something she would cherish alone.
The unborn child she had dreamed of for so long was suddenly close, alive not only in her heart but in her body. A deeply spiritual shift had taken place within her, faster than the physical conception. The feeling was wonderful, even though it shocked and terrified her.
Soon, her missed period and the appearance of two horizontal lines on a paper strip confirmed it. Motherhood was her dream, but this wasn’t the right time. She wasn’t ready. What had become of all her carefully crafted plans? She couldn’t even begin to fathom the consequences.
She could tell that Ashford was worried, even though he was polite enough not to ask her about it. He called her almost every day after their night together, and while she took his calls, she wasn’t ready to see him again. It was too complicated. If they were together, they would be drawn to each other, but she couldn’t be intimate with him again yet. She couldn’t tell him what she felt. She doubted he would understand. She still didn’t know much of anything about him. How would he take the news? He had said all of the right things to her, but men had said the right things before. Words alone couldn’t be trusted. Would Ashford want to be a father at this age, before he had launched his career? Would he disappear like so many men did, committing to send a check each month in lieu of love?
Worse, he might pressure her to get an abortion. That would surely be Samantha’s advice if—when—she knew. But it was never an option for Leila. Ready or not, how could she destroy the child who had long been alive in her dreams, who she had already sung to on her quiet evenings at home?
She had to prepare to face motherhood alone. Maybe Ashford would prove himself, but she couldn’t be sure. She wasn’t even sure how much she liked him. She feared he would turn out to be the untested, self-centered boy she first expected. She wanted a man who could hold her in his strong arms and make all her fears go away.
This all happened too fast. She didn’t have time to find out if Ashford could be that kind of man.
She asked Samantha for a week off from work. Things were slow, and Samantha allowed it, even though vacations were always frowned upon. She asked Ashford not to call while she was gone, telling him they would
meet when she returned, and by then she would know. She disliked being dishonest with him, but she needed time to know how to tell him and be prepared for any response.
She packed warm clothes, a few books, and her guitar. She drove west, to the California coast, then north, beyond the vast tentacles of Los Angeles. She stopped in a quaint village along Highway 1 and rented a room in a beachside inn. The autumn air was cold and salty. She wore her sweater every day as she walked on the sand. Seagulls called out continuously as they flew low over the frigid surf.
Every night, she sang to the child who would soon begin to grow, cradling the guitar against her womb. Her life was on the verge of changing forever. There were so many practical considerations and not a lot of time to put things in order. She recalled the last time her life was turned upside down in a single moment—when she left her childhood in Colombia to become this new person. That day, she’d had no time for practicalities, but her past life had been simple, making it easy to walk away. This time, it was different. She had built a life through sweat and tears that she wasn’t willing to walk away from.
She didn’t want to worry about practicalities and plans yet. There wasn’t a lot of time for those things, but she hoped there was at least enough time. Instead, during those days by the ocean, she gave license to her dreams, imagining a happy life with Ashford and a child. Was it such a stretch to think this could turn out wonderfully?
When she returned home, she would take a hard look at her savings and find out where she stood. She needed to write up her resume and start looking at options. Ashford talked about wanting to become financially independent from Samantha. It was even more urgent for Leila to do so.
But losing her job was the least of her worries at Samantha’s hands. Worse was the fear that Samantha would turn Ashford against her, leaving her to raise the child on her own. When the moment came, how could Leila, who had spent a single night with Ashford, be sure he would choose her over his mother?
How much deeper might Samantha’s anger run? Samantha was cunning. What if she started digging and found out about Leila’s past—that she wasn’t really who she said she was?
The Exile Page 12