by Brock Booher
After his attempt at housecleaning, he pulled the bag of fries and bread from his backpack and laid them on a plastic tray between the foam mats. He felt the cold concrete floor seep through the thin foam as he stretched out to wait for Raúl. The strange events of the night bounced around in his head. His satisfied stomach encouraged him to go see Isak, but deeper in his gut he felt an impulse to stay away.
He reached for the small metal box at the head of his bed and popped open the lid. First he retrieved a photograph, held it up to the candlelight, and studied the face of Mamá until he was certain he wouldn’t forget what she looked like for one more day. Then he returned the photograph to the box and pulled out the small Bible. Instead of thumbing through the ancient verses, he turned to Mamá’s handwritten notes of wisdom in the back of the book. When he reviewed her bits of homespun wisdom and sayings, he swore he could almost hear her voice.
He thought about the night she died. She had pulled him close and made him promise to take care of Raúl. “You have the power to make a difference in the world,” she told him. When Raúl finally showed up with a drunken Doctor Barilla, it was too late. Now all he had was this small metal box of memorabilia. He thumbed through the small Bible and pondered his promise.
After a few minutes he heard the metal door at the bottom of the stairs scrape against the concrete, and Raúl’s whistling echoed up the empty stairwell. He tucked the Bible back into the metal box, returned the lid, and secured it at the head of his bed.
Raúl burst through the door. “Everybody on your feet for Raúl el Puma Camino, the new striker for Alianza Lima!”
Raúl was an exact copy of Julio—a mop of shaggy black hair, caramel-colored skin, a prominent nose, and deep-set eyes the color of coal. A broad, guileless grin of milky-white teeth contrasted against his dark lips. The only noticeable difference was the small scar above Raúl’s left eye. Only a handful of friends could tell the twins apart.
Julio sat up and scowled. “Where have you been? The game was over two hours ago.”
Raúl ignored the question, pulled a bag of treats from behind his back, and paraded around the room emptying the bag as if he were tossing goodies to make-believe children around the room. “I have been out playing Robin Hood with los mALditos. Would you care for some of the spoils?”
Julio rolled his eyes. “Spoils? You mean the things you stole? I thought los mALditos was a soccer fan club, not a gang. Don’t the capital A and capital L stand for Alianza Lima, a soccer club?” He sat up and frowned. “Don’t you remember what Mamá used to say? Tell me who your friends are and I will tell you who you are.” He shook his head. “Sergio and los mALditos live up to their name—the evil ones. Mamá would not approve.”
Raúl put his hands on his hips. “Technically we call ourselves the damned, since every member has been damned to a life without hope and without parents.” He looked down at the bags on the plastic tray. “What did you bring home, brother? Cold fries and stale bread? Now that is just evil.”
Julio sprang to his feet and grabbed Raúl by his jacket. Using his own weight for momentum, he pulled his brother to the ground and rolled on top of him. He tried to grab his arms, but Raúl twisted and stood up, dumping Julio onto the floor. Julio rolled and swept Raúl’s legs from under him before Raúl could regain his balance, and the twin brothers tumbled together in an awkward pile of thrashing limbs and grunts across the unfinished concrete floor until they stopped against the wall with Julio on top.
Julio shook Raúl and shouted, “I am your older brother. Mamá told me to take care of you. Stay away from los mALditos!”
Raúl laughed. “You are older by fifteen minutes. I can take care of myself. You are not my mother.”
“She left me in charge when she died. You know that.”
Raúl sighed. “I know. I know. You’ve told me a hundred times. With her last breath she made you promise to take care of your poor younger brother.” He shook his head and frowned. “Mamá always favored you, but she died a long time ago.”
“She died four years ago today.”
“What difference does it make? I don’t need you, or anyone, to take care of me anymore. Besides, you can’t even take care of yourself.” He raised his hands to illustrate their living arrangements. “Some job you’ve done for providing for us, eh, hermano?”
Julio wanted to pound Raúl for his insubordinate attitude, but the scar over his left eye stopped him. Julio gave him that scar the night Mamá died and he’d felt guilty about it ever since. He didn’t need any more guilt. He released his grip and rolled off his brother. He lay there on the concrete floor staring at the ceiling. He’s right. I can barely take care of myself. I’ll never be able to keep my promise to Mamá. I wish he had been pulled from the womb before me.
“I know you mean well, hermano.” Raúl stood and collected the small packages of picaras and coronita cookies. He whistled the Alianza anthem and danced around the room. He stacked the stolen goodies on the tray and pulled out a cold fry. “Did you get these from the dumpster behind Roky’s?”
Julio continued to stare at the ceiling. “No. I charmed a waitress into giving them to me.”
“How did you get past the security guard?”
“I didn’t. I whistled at her as she was crossing the plaza on her way to work. She brought them out to me.”
“Ha! I’ve never seen you even look at a woman. When did you get to be a ladies’ man?”
“Okay, okay, I waited out back and the busboy let me have the fries before he threw them away. Then I begged for the bread as well. You know Roky’s slogan—We always give you more.”
Raúl shoved a handful of fries into his mouth. “Too bad. Some of the chicas that work at Roky’s are hot. You could use a girlfriend.”
Julio remembered the waitress in her tight-fitting shirt and laughed. “If I could get a girlfriend that worked at Roky’s I wouldn’t care what she looked like as long as she gave me free chicken and fries every night.”
Raúl laughed through a mouthful of fries. “You say that now, but if she was ugly you might be tempted to put one of those bags over her head when you were done eating.”
Julio laughed with his brother. “Remember what Mamá used to say? Love is not found in words, but in deeds. I could fall in love with an ugly girl, if she kept me fed every night.”
“Not me. I would rather go hungry with some hot mamacita on my arm than grow fat while I had to look at the face of some cow.”
Julio shook his head. Raúl had cared mostly about himself for as long as he could remember, and he didn’t expect him to change anytime soon. “Too bad you weren’t there to sweet-talk a pretty waitress at Roky’s tonight. She could have kept us both fed, and you would be happy to be seen with her on your arm.”
Raúl offered Julio his hand and he lifted him to his feet. “I don’t want some woman to take care of me. Besides, nobody can replace Mamá.”
Only a glance was exchanged between them and they began getting ready for bed. Julio kicked off his ratty shoes before he blew out the candle closest to him and slid under his blanket. Raúl closed up the bag of fries and blew out the other candle before he slid under his own blanket. The glow of the city peeked through the ripped plastic on the windows as they curled up and tried to stay warm.
“Do you ever dream of Mamá?” asked Julio.
“Not very often,” replied Raúl. “I sometimes dream about things we did together, but that’s about it.”
“She comes to me in my dreams all the time. She is always reminding me to watch out for you,” said Julio. “Why did she make me promise to take care of you? It doesn’t seem fair.”
“She always said—Life isn’t fair, but God is merciful.” Raúl shifted in the dark. “She’s gone, Julio, and God is too busy to be merciful to us,” he said with a yawn. “We have to watch out for ourselves.”
Julio kissed the pendant of Saint Michael and prayed that God would be merciful to him and his brother. He drifted off to sl
eep pondering Isak’s offer.
CHAPTER FOUR
Caritas
With a full stomach from the night before and an overcast sky, Julio slept in the next morning. Raúl was still sleeping when he slipped through the door and headed down the stairwell to the bathroom on the first floor. Doctor Barilla let them use the bathroom in the back of his office as long as they kept it clean and didn’t interfere with any of his patients, not that he got many.
Despite the fact that Doctor Barilla was drunk the night Mamá died, Julio pitied him more than blamed him. Julio had been angry at first, but the doctor’s charity and his lighthearted good nature made it difficult to hold a grudge against him. The doctor seemed incapable of any real malice. He was simply a slave to his own addiction, and he was the only semi-capable adult left in Julio’s life.
Julio took care of his morning business and washed his face and hands. On his way back up the stairwell, he popped his head in Doctor Barilla’s back door and peeked into the kitchen. “Buenos días,” said Julio.
Doctor Barilla was sitting at the small table with a pot of coffee. “Buenos días,” mumbled the doctor in return.
Julio slipped in through the kitchen door. The countertops were covered in dirty dishes, and a greasy film of discolored food particles decorated the backsplash behind the two-burner stove. A fountain of garbage overflowed from the small plastic trash can and cast a stench over the room.
Doctor Barilla sat with his feet propped up on the kitchen table, nursing a chipped coffee cup and a hangover, looking as neglected as the kitchen. Puffy dark bags of skin hung under his bloodshot eyes, and his salt-and-pepper hair was disheveled and greasy. Several days of stubble covered his double chin, and his breath reeked as it passed over his yellowing teeth.
“Have you ever heard of Caritas?” asked Julio.
Doctor Barilla took a sip from his cup and set it on the table. “Caritas?” He lowered his head and rubbed his temples. “That sounds like a Latin name. What is it?”
“It’s some sort of aid organization, I guess,” said Julio with a shrug. “They fed me last night.”
Doctor Barilla took a long drink from his mug. “Free food is good.”
“But you’ve never heard of them before?”
“No. Should I have?”
Julio hesitated and bit his lip. “Can you keep a secret, especially from Raúl?”
Doctor Barilla gave him a funny look and then made an exaggerated motion of sealing his lips and crossing his heart.
“I met someone last night,” began Julio.
“A girl?” said the doctor with a wink.
“No, nothing like that.”
“What a pity. You could use a girlfriend to lighten you up a bit.” He took another sip of his coffee.
Julio looked at his feet. “I got caught stealing.”
Doctor Barilla removed his feet from the table and sat up. “Oh! Why didn’t they throw you in jail or send you to one of those government barrios?”
Julio took a seat. “That’s what I figured they would do, but before the policeman hauled me off, this foreigner showed up and paid him off.”
Doctor Barilla made a spitting sound. “Foreigners! Ever since the currency collapse, they have poured into the country with more money than God. Those parasites come here with their euros and dollars and think they can buy whatever they want, including the right to terrorize our streets.” Doctor Barilla took another sip from his dirty coffee cup and leaned forward. “Did he hurt you?”
“No, I’m fine,” said Julio. “He just bought me dinner at Roky’s.”
“That’s how those sinvergüenzas start.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Did he take you to one of the shiny new expat barrios? What did he want after dinner?”
Julio was glad to see that someone cared enough for him to get angry about how he was treated. He had never seen Doctor Barilla this agitated while he was sober. “Nothing. He gave me his card and told me to come visit him at his office on Monday and he would see if he could get me into some sort of aid program.”
The doctor topped off his coffee and stood up. “Vamos. Let’s go downstairs to my office and see if we can find out about this Caritas.” He took a sip from the cup and started for the stairwell door.
“I’ll get the card,” said Julio, and he took the stairs two at a time up to his shelter while Doctor Barilla meandered down the stairs to his office trying not to spill his coffee. Raúl was sitting on his sleeping mat eating the bread when Julio burst through the tarp door.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?” asked Raúl.
“Save a couple of pieces for me,” said Julio as he rummaged through his backpack and dug out Isak’s card. He ignored the question.
Raúl held up the bag. “Better grab some now if you want any.”
Julio grabbed a piece of bread and headed for the door before he had to explain where he was going. He devoured the bread as he hurried down the stairs and caught up with Doctor Barilla just as he grabbed the key from the bathroom medicine cabinet and unlocked his office door.
The doctor took a seat at his cluttered desk and set his coffee cup on top of a stack of medical files. Behind the desk was a large bookshelf of reference books and various medical props gathering dust. A supply cabinet sat half empty at one end of the bookshelf with a small refrigerator tucked in beside it. A rusty filing cabinet sat at the other end with an overflowing basket of papers and files on top. A rickety examination table was centered in the front half of the room. Several faded posters hung on the walls advertising medications, government vaccination programs, or demonstrating the elements of human anatomy to any patients who took the time to notice them. He opened his old laptop and slipped on his reading glasses.
Julio pulled up beside the doctor and handed him the card. Doctor Barilla extended his arm so he could see it and typed Caritas into the search engine. “It may take a few moments,” said Doctor Barilla. “The neighbor’s Wi-Fi is a bit slow, but beggars can’t be choosers.”
Julio moved the doctor’s coffee cup. “Do you want me to do some filing while we wait?” asked Julio.
“If you’d like,” answered Doctor Barilla with a shrug.
Julio grabbed the stack of medical files and began returning them to the cabinet where they belonged. “It’s my way of paying rent.”
“Por favor,” said Doctor Barilla with a wave of his hand. “Ah, here we go,” said Doctor Barilla after several minutes of searching. “I found a news article about Caritas.”
Julio set the remaining files on the floor and slid in behind Doctor Barilla.
“It says here,” continued Doctor Barilla, “that the program is the brainchild of Isak Blixt, and Peru is the prototype. If it succeeds here—”
Someone pounded on the front door. “Doctor! Doctor! Are you there?”
Julio hurried over and unlocked the door. When he flung it open, a dark-skinned chola woman walked in cradling a young girl with a dirty rag wrapped around her left foot. Julio could see the blood seeping through the rag as the woman came to a stop in front of the examination table. The woman’s hair was pulled back, exposing the deep creases of worry in her forehead and around her eyes.
“Doctor Barilla,” she began, “my daughter stepped on something while playing in the street.” She leaned forward and offered up the girl.
Doctor Barilla motioned toward the examination table with his hand as he stood. “Cálmese, señora, I’m sure she’ll be fine. Lay her down on the table.” He moved around his desk and approached the examination table as the worried mother put the injured girl onto the table. The doctor stopped and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. “Uh, give me a moment to clean up,” he said and darted for the bathroom.
Julio watched as the mother held her daughter’s hand and wiped the tears from her cheek with the back of her fingers. The mother’s display of tenderness reminded him of Mamá, and he felt a stab of bitterness.
Doctor Barilla hurried back into the room with his ha
ir wet and combed back. He still sported the stubble and yellowing teeth, but his face and hands were clean, and he had slipped on his white smock. “Bueno, what have we here?” asked Doctor Barilla as he gently unraveled the bloody rag from the girl’s foot. “What did you step on?”
The girl squeezed her mother’s hand but didn’t cry out. “A broken bottle,” she said with a wavering voice.
“Hmm . . . I see.” Doctor Barilla adjusted his glasses and bent over her foot for a better look. “Julio, bring me the bottle of peroxide, some alcohol wipes, and my suture kit from the cabinet, please.”
Julio hurried over to the supply cabinet. He opened up the cabinet and pulled out the small brown bottle of peroxide. He had to rummage around for the alcohol wipes, but the suture kit was tucked neatly in the top drawer next to a large bottle of ipecac syrup. He scooped up the suture kit and peroxide and rounded the desk.
He approached the examination table and could see Doctor Barilla inspecting the wound. The side of the girl’s left foot had a large ragged gash near the heel, but the bleeding had stopped. He set the supplies on the end of the table and passed behind the doctor.
Julio smiled at the girl to reassure her. Her long dark hair fell in clumps across the head of the table. Her eyes sat like two large milky gems against a chocolate background and her tears had left dirty tracks on her brown cheeks. She smiled back without showing her teeth.
“Come here, Julio. I want you to see this,” said Doctor Barilla. Julio slid around the doctor so he could see. “Notice the ragged edge of this cut? See how deep it is? The only way it will heal properly is if we sew it up. Go scrub your hands so you can help while I irrigate the wound.”