A few seconds later, David saw her appear again, opening the door to let him in.
“Shh. If Maria catches us, she’ll kill us,” she said, imitating him, waggling a scolding finger. Then she smiled.
She pulled her brother into the kitchen. In the basket that served as a pantry and that David had carried so many times, there sat a rotten potato, which the two of them stared at.
“You see?” David said, yawning with boredom. “There’s nothing else. We already took everything.”
The girl continued to check the space for food, her hands clenched into little fists. Her breathing came faster and faster, her small body shaking with slight shudders, as if some tiny animal were biting her all over.
David looked distractedly at the room he already knew by heart, until his eyes stopped on a photo tacked to the wall. It was Doña Yeni, chasing chickens in a pen.
“Who’s that?” asked Manuela.
David didn’t answer. His eyes were absorbed by the image. Doña Yeni’s hand was about to grab a red hen that ran with wings outspread and eyes wide. Hair almost completely covered the woman’s face, and on her wide-stretched lips there was a grin that seemed to be tasting the animal’s flesh already. Next to the foot that was on the ground, another chicken was fleeing, calmer and safe. David swallowed and felt his sister’s glazed stare.
“Chickens eat, right?” Manuela asked, and a shiver racked her body.
“All animals eat,” David answered. A new glow brightened his eyes, staring into the void, unseeing, until another shudder shot through his sister, making him react at last.
“Come on, Manue. The cold’s going to make you sick again.”
THE PARK WAS empty and Hector sat on a bench in its center. From time to time he looked toward the four streets that led to the park, waiting for some familiar face to appear. After a while he got up and with determined steps, headed down one of them.
As he advanced, he saw the evening star appear in the dark blue sky. He remembered that if he was the first to see it, he could make a wish. He closed his eyes, clenched his fists, and silently—in front of the business where his steps had led him—wished with all his might that everything that was happening would finally end. Then he entered and walked up to the counter. Behind it, as always, stood the woman. She smiled at him.
“Hey there, buddy. Merry Christmas,” she said. “When’re you going to get a job?”
Hector looked down. He noticed that the tip of his sneakers had been ripped open by the growth of his toes. The wood of the counter glowed deeper than it ever had on his previous visits.
“You hungry?” asked the woman, still smiling.
“Yes,” Hector whispered. “Has Julio come by?”
“You need to stop looking for him,” the woman said.
“I got to give him something back,” said Hector.
“That guy ain’t coming back,” she insisted, beginning to straighten things up behind the counter.
“Maybe I can leave it with you?” asked Hector, taking the revolver out of his pocket. “I don’t want to carry this thing anymore. I mean, what if it curses my hand or something?”
The metal caught the eye of the woman. She opened her mouth as if trying to say something she couldn’t. Instead she just shook her head.
Hector, without saying a word, put the weapon away and lowered his eyes, embarrassed.
“Look, I don’t take care of those things. That’s between you two. Don’t get me involved,” she said, shaking her head a bit as if trying to dislodge the image of the gun stamped on her brain. Then she proposed, “Have some soup instead.”
The woman ladled a steaming plate and moved to set it on one of the tables.
“Besides, Julio probably got his ass beat for acting like a big shit, pretending he was some tough punk from Ciudad Bolívar. You got to know how to eat your fill nice and quiet. Especially here, where everyone is trying to screw everyone else just to save themselves.” She continued in a whisper. “But eat, kid. No worries. We’ll settle up later. I’m not so heartless I can’t spare a little bowl of soup.”
Hector sat down and looked at the soup. He stirred it with the spoon, but did not dare to try it.
“What? Is it that bad?”
“No.” Hector gave a weak smile. “It’s that my brothers and sisters . . .”
“Jesus. Why don’t you let each one go their own way?” She looked at him as if she already knew the answer. “If you want, I can take you in. But just you.”
Hector pushed away the bowl, swallowed heavily, and stood.
“I promised my dad . . .” he murmured softly.
“What’s that?” The woman could not hear him.
“Thanks for the soup. But I can’t . . .”
“Wait, you’re just going to leave it sitting there?”
“Sorry. If Julio comes, tell him I’ve got to give this back to him.” Hector touched his pocket where he had put the gun and took a few steps toward the door. “Forgive me.”
When he stepped into the street, he heard that year’s first Christmas firework.
HE THOUGHT IT wouldn’t be too hard to get into the school, just a matter of a few minutes and he could run off with his prize. The problem was that he’d always jumped the wall from the inside, never from the outside. The change of direction created several complications, the most important of which was how to keep security guards from seeing him. Fortunately, the two who were on duty that day were on the street, keeping an eye on people’s preparations for the Christmas celebration already beginning to take place. The air filled little by little with the explosions of fireworks and the loud music from neighboring houses. The sun had already dipped completely below the horizon, but the warm remains of the day’s harsh heat still hung in the air.
Getting over the wall was not as difficult as he imagined. Once inside the schoolyard, he looked at the sky and was struck by the expanse of dark blue, not a single cloud to veil its depths. But he couldn’t stop and stare. He knew he was acting like a criminal.
He advanced with his back against the wall and his ear attentive to the movements of the guards. The gloom, which thickened fast, wouldn’t let him see whether the shapes that crossed his path were shadows or solid bodies. He rubbed his eyes, trying to force them to get used to the darkness, and continued to head toward the back of the school, to the playground. Soon all that was left was to round the last corner and he would be very close. He looked back and saw the figures of the security guards, leaning over a grill. In the light of the embers, they seemed red devils.
Struck by a sudden blow of terror, he decided to run the last leg. When he slammed against the chain-link fence run right up to the corner, he cursed himself for hurrying and not looking well. Before, the mesh hadn’t been flush against the building. This was an unplanned obstacle, but it was already too late. Not only had the fence kept him from continuing on his planned path, but his impact had made a massive ringing noise that had alerted the guards.
Fast as a rat, he slipped into a metal barrel. The bottom was full of dry cement and there were a few rags and newspapers that smelled strongly of chemicals. He curled his small body in the bottom of the cylinder and covered himself as best as he could with the rags and paper. He prayed he could put up as long as necessary with the smell that was burning his nostrils. He shifted a couple of times, looking for the best position in order to stay completely still. When he was about to adjust his arm, which had begun to tingle, he heard the steps of one of the guards approaching.
“What was it?” the other shouted from outside.
“Nothing,” replied the one searching in the darkness, waving the beam of his flashlight everywhere, with no rhyme or reason. “Probably just the wind.”
He ran his light over the place in the fence where David had hit moments before. Then he briefly illuminated the remains of the construction work that had moved the fence out of place. He breathed in the mountain air and saw his companion still struggling with the coals.<
br />
A stream of light licked the edge of the barrel. David squeezed his eyes and body tight, forcing himself once again not to move. The man kicked a random bucket, moved a wheelbarrow, shone his flashlight on the walls, and insisted once again on looking behind the fence, toward the football field.
“Look close!” ordered the one who had stayed outside, after blowing hard into the coals.
“I did,” insisted the one with the flashlight. “It had to be the wind.”
The guard turned, heading back to the blazing grill.
When he heard those receding steps, David let the air out of his lungs in relief. But when he inhaled again, the chemical-laden air made him cough.
The beam once more played over the top of the barrel, but without stopping to look inside, the guard switched off his flashlight and continued walking away, leaving the body of the boy among the mass of shadows that had taken over.
“Must have been the wind,” David heard him mutter as he passed by. “Had to be the wind.”
After a while, as stealthy as he could, David uncoiled from the bottom of the barrel. He poked his head up to confirm what he already knew and, once he was sure of being alone, he slowly pulled his numb body free. He gulped anxiously at the clean air, feeling that the chemical smell had permeated his entire body.
To continue, David would have to go back and circle around the building on the other side. That meant passing just a few yards away from where the guards were stoking the fire for their barbecue. It had been a good try, but he didn’t want to be caught. He was afraid of doing something illegal. They could take him to the police, take away his slot at the school for next year, or maybe even take him alone to Social Services. He had to get out of there and far away without anyone noticing. Maybe one of his siblings would have found something to eat.
David had to lean against the wall to keep from falling. He didn’t know whether to blame the dizziness on the smell that wouldn’t leave his body or the hunger that gnawed at his stomach. He slid down the wall until his butt hit the floor, and he hugged his knees. At least here no one would see him.
The boy closed his eyes and thought that things should be easier. He had misbehaved sometimes, of course, but he had always tried to do everything the right way. He wasn’t a bad kid, and when he thought about the unfairness of it all, he wanted to cry. As soon as he felt the tears dripping down his cheeks, however, he thought about how useless and foolish he was being. Not only could he still be discovered, but he had also completely abandoned his mission. He took a breath, remembered the chubby hands of his sister, and stood up, determined to get to the puddle.
Once he was on his way, things were easier than he’d expected. The guards were so caught up in keeping the fire going and drinking their beers, they barely noticed the shadow of his body passing over them. However, after crossing the football field, he realized he had no idea where to start looking. Wanting to slap himself for not thinking it through earlier, he curled up on the ground, growing still and silent so he could hear the frogs croaking.
Whenever he had played in that part of the schoolyard, it had been during the day. Again and again, the ball had wound up in a puddle that never seemed to dry up. Someone told him it was a spring, another boy claimed it was a cursed puddle, and still another laughed at them, saying it must be a broken water pipe.
None of that mattered. Spring or not, if there was water in the puddle, David had to find what he had come looking for. But the night, which blurred all details, complicated things. Determined not to leave without at least trying, the boy crawled a few yards toward the end of the field. He dragged himself through the grass and dirt, imagining how fun it would be to tell Manuela his adventure.
Then his elbow sank into a frigid, wet spot. The puddle! He took the plastic bag from his pocket and dipped it to the bottom of the water. Moving it from side to side, he filled it with liquid and lifted it before his face. Excited, he saw that two large-eyed, long-tailed creatures fluttered in the bag, terrified of their sudden confinement. He took out another bag and carefully transferred the animals to their prison. He repeated the process until, in the dim light of a distant streetlamp, he confirmed the bag was filled with tadpoles.
THE 7:00 P.M. MASS HAD ENDED, and the church was empty. No one but an old woman, who seemed unable to move, remained on the wooden pews. It had been a long time since he’d entered the church. He glanced at the image of Christ and averted his eyes from the expression of intense pain on the figure’s face. He remembered that he should feel Him rather than look at Him. He approached the atrium, crossed himself for the second time, kneeling, and closed his eyes with the vague hope of dissolving into the cold, calm air of the church.
The glow of the candles lit to Santa María del Socorro wormed its way through his right eyelid, filling it with red light. He prayed silently, asking for comfort and forgiveness. He explained his reasons, and they seemed even clearer. This was the only escape.
The faces of his brothers and sisters passed before his closed eyes. He explained everything to each of them.
When he finished his prayers, he wanted to remain there in silence for a while, hoping to hear some voice that might give him comfort. But the silence of the church was suddenly filled with the sound of dragging steps: the old woman was leaving. Hector stayed on his knees another moment with his eyes closed until he was filled with the sad certainty that he was alone.
Still, he kept his eyes squeezed tight, and waited a few moments more.
A voice finally spoke.
“We’re going to close,” it said.
With an unbearable weight in his front pocket, Hector left the church.
Outside, the cold air lit up with the sudden glow of the fireworks.
HER PINNED-UP HAIR made her seem older. She was holding Manuela’s hand, and behind them came Robert, hitting stones with a stick. When they arrived at the store they looked at one another briefly before entering. Maria pursed her lips and paused for a moment, then dragged her two siblings into its illuminated interior.
At the only table a man was sleeping, muttering some incomprehensible song. Doña Carmen lifted her eyes from her sewing when she saw them come in, staring for a moment, then motioned for them to quietly follow her to the back of the house. The three obeyed, trying not to disturb the sleeper. Once they were all in the outdoor washing area, the woman turned on a small light that covered them with a green glow.
“You’re so skinny,” said Doña Carmen, immediately covering her mouth as if she had said something wrong.
“And our dad?” Robert asked without preamble, and the woman again gestured for him to speak more softly.
“Is our dad coming with presents?” Manuela finished.
Without a word, the woman struggled into a crouch next to the little girl and ran her hand through her hair.
Maria watched her carefully, waiting for her response. Robert instead used his stick to play with the water of the pool. Manuela dodged the woman’s attempted caresses.
Doña Carmen opened her mouth, but only a low moan came from her tightened throat. Instead, a slow, dense tear ran down her tanned cheek. In the sky, fireworks exploded, their sparks falling.
With a flash of anger, Maria grabbed her sister and brother and, almost lifting them bodily into the air, rushed out of the store with them, making a great deal of noise.
The drunk, however, didn’t even stir.
Doña Carmen looked out the door of her shop, her ample form shuddering as she wiped away the tear that was still running down her neck. She tried to make out the figures of the three children running down the street in the dim light.
All she heard was the din of more fireworks and the loud music thudding from a car going up the street.
She sighed, crossed herself, and went back inside.
HIS STEPS LED him back to the park. Although he had already made his decision and knew what to do, he wanted to tempt fortune and give rise to one last hope of discarding his plan. He sa
t waiting for several minutes, who knew how many.
It was fear that made him finally get up and run. A police van stopped in front of the basketball court, and although they were far away, the mere idea that they might stop and frisk him as they usually did made him very nervous. He had to try to avoid getting arrested at all costs.
At first he walked away, pretending to be unconcerned, but as soon as he felt the walls blocking the cops’ view, he took off running. His path led him to one of the abandoned lots in the highest part of the neighborhood. Terrified still, he threw himself to the grass, letting the stars get into his head and fill him with little points of light.
Gradually his breathing returned to normal. He brushed his fingers against the weight of the gun pressed against his leg in his pants pocket and decided to change his mind. He convinced himself it was crazy. No one would ever forgive him. Social Services might not be so bad. It would be temporary. Their dad would have to return one day.
Hector got up and walked to one of the trees in the middle of the empty lot. He acted like he was urinating and carefully pulled the gun from his pocket. Once he had it in his hand, he wondered if he should simply drop it or fling it away, then run off as fast as possible.
He stood there for God knows how long, contemplating the decision. The metal grew warm in his hand. His whole body throbbed against it, though he barely registered this. Just when he was thinking of letting the gun pour from his fingers like water onto the ground, not caring anymore about hiding the thing, he was surprised by an arm squeezed around his neck.
“Like pissing on the grass, huh?” snorted the guy, and Hector almost retched at the horrible stench of alcohol. As quick as he could, he slipped the revolver in his pocket.
“Raul?” Hector tried to look back. The hold on his neck loosened, and he turned around.
“Who’re you?” the other guy asked, breathing a dozen rancid beers into his face.
“Dude, it’s me, Hector. ’Sup?” he said, smiling. “You’re so drunk you don’t remember.”
The Immortal Boy Page 7