“Darwin?” Kathy echoed.
Alejandro raised an eyebrow. “She wanted to be a scientist when we were kids. Read every book in school about science.”
“But of all the scientists . . . Darwin?” Kathy asked. She was interrupted when a fight broke out in the kitchen. She rushed off to break it up.
When she returned, Rául was asking Sister Juana, “How many are there under the age of three?”
“Nine,” Sister Juana replied. If you include four-year-olds the number jumps to thirteen.”
“We’re not taking thirteen, we’re taking five. And no four-year-olds. They talk too much, especially girls.” He pointed to a group of little girls jabbering in a corner of the kitchen.
“Let’s go pick them out, Sister,” Kathy said. “And you’re right about Darwin. We have to identify our strongest children, the ones that have demonstrated excellent health, endurance, brains, something.”
“If we’re taking them to Puerto Rico, then they should look Puerto Rican,” Rául said. “Even better if they’re white, like the boy with the gray eyes.” He shrugged. “I’m just saying. They should look like they’re part of a family or a community. Not a hodge-podge of Dominican orphans.”
“What’s wrong with Dominican orphans?” Sister Juana shot back.
“Out there? In the world of jankees and blancos? Are you kidding me? You haven’t been out there, hermana. You don’t know.”
“Neither have you,” Sister Juana snapped. “I bet you’ve never even been off the island.”
Rául said, “I’ve been to Nuevayol,” he declared. “I know.”
“You were three,” Alejandro said.
“Everyone knows that the police on the mainland don’t like Latinos or prietos,” he said. “And we’re both. So pick the ones who can blend in.”
Sister Juana narrowed her eyes, deep in thought. She turned without saying anything, and they followed her into the nursery.
That night, Sister Juana became judge, talent scout, behavioral scientist, God. She tapped the headboard of a crib where a tiny boy was asleep. “Miguel has the soul of a musician,” she said. “When I play the piano he listens, enraptured. He consistently becomes excited anytime he hears music.” She lifted his shirt, revealing a half-dozen round, knotted scars on his chest and belly. Juana said, “His mother’s boyfriend did that to him. The boy is lucky to be alive.” She kissed him on the forehead.
Rául narrowed his eyes. “But what qualifies him, Sister?”
“Passion,” Juana said. “He loves something already and that’s a rare gift. Besides, there is a certain natural intelligence needed to appreciate music.” Next, she signaled the crib of a sleeping baby girl. The crib was covered with a crude frame topped with chicken wire. “Rosita is a master escape artist. A genius at self-preservation. There was a mentally ill girl, a cousin, I believe, living in her house. The girl was twelve, and she doused herself with gasoline and set herself on fire. Rosita saw it.” Sister Juana shook her head and turned to Rául. “She goes. She’s also beautiful, and that will serve her well.”
During this part of the story, Taina gasped audibly and pressed a hand to her chest. Kathy and Adrian thought she might be choking, but she said that she was fine, and so they ordered a glass of water for her, but she looked shaken for a good while. Adrian asked how Holly and Ray had been chosen for the voyage.
Alejandro followed Sister Juana to the crib of a scrawny brown girl. “Emely is smart, loving, obedient, and motivated to learn. She watches over younger children like a little hen and she potty-trained when she was two. She goes.” Next, Sister Juana pointed to a chubby boy with a headful of curls. “Rafael has a good soul. He laughs at everything and always offers what he has to the others. Plus he’s fat and healthy; just look at those pink cheeks. That’s four.”
Lastly, she lifted a small boy, who was still awake in his crib, “This hombrecito is Javier, Miguel’s half-brother. He has two strengths. First, he’s curious about everything, and that’s a sign of intelligence. He loves to explore things. He looks, he touches, he smells, he tastes. I found him tipping back a bottle of colonia Mennen just because he wanted to know what cologne tastes like. This gets him into trouble too. Before he came to us, he was living with his grandmother. At least he wasn’t being abused like Miguel, but she was old and couldn’t keep up with him and so he got into a bag of rat poison. He ate some of it and almost died. He was in the hospital for months. That’s how he ended up here. Since he’s recovered, he’s never so much as had a sniffle. We’ve had break-outs of dengue, malaria, meningitis, whooping cough, but Javier is the strongest and healthiest one.”
“But Juana, he’s almost four and he can’t talk. Are you sure he’s a contender for adoption?” Alejandro asked.
“He’s mute because of his trauma, but he can hear perfectly. See?” She clicked her nails on the side of the bed, and the boy’s eyes drifted over to the source of the noise. “He’s intelligent and his will to survive is phenomenal. His grandmother said that he was vocalizing before the poisoning, so there’s nothing wrong with him. He’ll speak when he’s ready. If he has survived his life so far, he can survive anything. He will do well.” Sister Juana held the boy close. She pushed the little boy’s head down onto her shoulder and closed her eyes. She swayed left and right. Kathy had never seen this kind of open tenderness from the nun. She began to sing, “Arrurú mi niño . . .” Keeping her hand on the back of the boy’s head she swept around, turning her back to the adults.
“Oh, Sister, I think you fell a little in love with that one,” Kathy said.
Sister Juana had looked at Kathy over the boy’s shoulder. “This is the one who will find us. He’s the one who will lead them all back to me someday. He’s the explorer. El curioso.”
Alejandro turned to Kathy and said, “Javier and Miguel’s mother tried to make it over to Puerto Rico in a yola six months ago. Neither she nor the thirty people on that boat were ever heard from again.”
A single sob escaped out of Sister Juana’s throat, and Kathy didn’t know if it was because of what Alejandro had said or because she was just sad about the kids, or both. Suddenly the nun straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, and gave the boy to Alejandro.
With his hand around her waist, Alejandro swept his sister away, speaking close to her ear, in a hushed voice. They were saying their good-byes, and Kathy lowered her eyes and walked out of the room. Rául came in. “Everything is ready.”
“Did I give you sedatives for the children?” Sister Juana asked.
“I have them,” Kathy said, patting the canvas bag slung on her shoulder. “Along with the powdered milk, the bottles, the cereal, and the bread.”
“Wait,” Juana said. “You have to take one more thing with you. Come with me, Kathy.”
Kathy followed Juana to the closet where she kept the children’s clothes. “The clothes you brought the children from the United States,” she said, handing Kathy outfits hanging on padded satin hangers. “We’ve never used them because they’re so fancy. But they’re perfect for the trip. Except for the fact that they didn’t come with shoes. Their worn-looking rubber sandals will give them away, so we’ll leave them barefoot. No one will notice.”
Kathy shook her head. She didn’t understand. “Dress them up, why?”
“So they look like they belong on that fancy boat. It’s important that they not look like poor children.”
Kathy nodded. These were clothes that Jared’s mother, Lilly, had sent upon Kathy’s arrival as a gift for the orphanage. There were ten girl and ten boy outfits, ranging from size two to size seven. They were hand stitched and designed by Lilly’s company, Lilly Pad Designs. They even came with little matching accessories and headbands, but not shoes.
“This is a wonderful use of Lilly’s outfits. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself,” Kathy said.
“Nice, well-to-do Cristianitos,” Sister Juana said. “Here’s a balloon. Blow it up and tie it to the boat, so t
he police can spot it after you make the call.”
Kathy exhaled and closed her eyes for a second. “I feel like I’m breaking up a family,” she said. “This is awful.”
When she picked up Javier, Sister Juana spoke to him in the firm voice one would use to address another adult. “Remember this, my boy: Don’t be afraid. Everything that has happened to you will help you. You will succeed.” She held him for a long, long time. Kathy had to pry him out of her arms.
Twenty minutes later, Juana handed the last child to Kathy, who was waiting in the backseat of a borrowed car. Rául’s other contribution was his brother, who drove the “getaway” truck to the anchorage down the coast.
Sister Juana went back inside. She collapsed in her bed. Sleep took possession of her body like an illness. When she woke up, she had no idea how much time had passed. The sun was already high in the sky. She could hear the high pitch of the children’s voices, the sound of their small hands banging on the door. She fell back asleep, and saw, in her mind’s eye, the vastness of the sea, the choppy waters of the passage, and the shining, walled city of San Juan, port of riches. She didn’t pray for the journey of Alejandro, Kathy, Rául, and the children. Her confession to Kathy that she didn’t admire God was incomplete and mildly put. The status of her soul was even more precarious than that. She had lost her grip on faith in a single moment, years before.
Sister Juana hoped that she had begun a silent chain of benevolent guardianship, a network that would carry the five children across the sea, and over every obstacle, until they arrived at the place where they had everything they deserved: parents, homes, siblings, toys, pets, friends, educations, professions, spouses, and eventually, children of their own. Perhaps their paths might lead them back to their island, but, she hoped, not for a long, long time. She knew that she had sentenced herself to a certain kind of unresolved grief. She would wonder, every day, perhaps for her whole life—if she had made the right decision.
After Kathy and Alejandro left with the children, a strange thing happened. A thin and distant rip appeared in the thick cloud cover that had hovered over the region for ten days straight. Maybe, just maybe, she thought, God was showing Himself. Maybe He was doing what little He could. She comforted herself with the knowledge that her orphans were on a sturdy vessel in the care of three responsible adults, and that each child was equipped with special gifts that would give them a foothold on happiness. It seemed impossible, after everything they’d been through, but there it was: someone banging at the gate, a stranger holding five new children to fill the five empty beds.
When they reached Puerto Rico, Kathy had placed the call directly to the desk of a Mayagüez police officer, who, according to Rául’s contact, was reputedly sympathetic to the plight of Dominicans. She waited on the roof of the construction site until the two officers arrived. She watched them through the boat’s binoculars, which she regretted having to steal, but she needed to make sure the children made it into police custody. She saw Officer Castillo toss the can of dry milk in the water, chastising herself for being so careless. But she knew by that small but deliberate act, that the children were in good hands.
When she was nineteen, shortly after she had taken her vows, Sister Juana was visiting her parents and her brother in Santo Domingo. Her father owned an off-road vehicle, a real luxury back then. They loved to take it up to her uncle’s farm high up in the hills. Sister Juana was a tomboy at heart, and she loved to drive fast. It had rained a great deal that month, and the ground was soft. She was at the wheel, and she took a sharp turn too widely. Her vehicle almost collided with a rickety, short bus. The bus swerved, perilously close to the shoulder of the road. Then the soft ground under the shoulder of the road crumbled and the bus rolled down the mountain, front to rear, with fifteen tobacco pickers inside. “It rolled, and it rolled, and Sister Juana won’t say more.” Kathy’s voice cracked and her eyes welled up as she looked into Taina’s and Adrian’s eyes. “We recognized in each other a drive to undo a colossal mistake. She has spent her whole life trying to make up for what happened that day. And you being here, in the United States, happy, healthy, thriving—is the flowering of that grief.”
Adrian’s shoulders had been rising slowly, throughout the whole telling of the story, as if someone was lifting a burden off him. But his eyes seemed to contain the shadow of skepticism. Taina had lifted her sunglasses and appeared serene, her eyes wide and moist. Kathy said, “Now that I’m a mother, I think that I was crazy to do what we did. It was too risky.” She shook her head, and she looked down to one side, her face clouded with images of what could have gone wrong.
“What happened to the men?” Adrian asked.
“Both Alejandro and Rául became legal citizens and still live in Puerto Rico, Alejandro owns his own restaurant in San Juan, and is able to help Sister Juana financially. He has a wife and five children, who all work in the restaurant. Alejandro is fond of saying that he is blessed because he has the favor of Saint Jerome Emiliani, the patron saint of orphans. Anyway, Alejandro did some recon for us over the years, and when we learned that you had all been adopted into families, Sister Juana was so relieved. She’s in her seventies now, retired and living in a convent in Santo Domingo.”
The waiter brought the bill and Kathy reached into her bag, suddenly remembering that she had some old photographs of Casa Azul to show them. But first, she leaned forward and made an impassioned plea for them to embrace the orphanage, told them what it could mean to the orphanage to have ambassadors such as them. She took each of their hands in hers. “Always remember that with privilege comes responsibility. You must go to Casa Azul and see the place you came from. Only then will you be able to understand how far you’ve come.”
Chapter 43
David
It’s barely necessary to discuss it. We have to go. Even Julia, who is making a deliberate effort to withdraw from me now that I’ve had nine months of clean scans, knew she had to figure out a way to see the orphanage. So we all agree on the February school break. I’m paying for Ray’s airfare, although the poor guy will have to do without the week’s income. We’ve been talking about him making a career change into rehab nursing after I pointed out to him how great he was when I was hungover. But he knows he has to get his own house in order before he can help anyone else. Going to see the orphanage is part of that process for all of us, and so it will be the five of us plus Julia. Making the trip isn’t a small deal for me either—staying cancer-free without being over-medicated is a very complex, finely calibrated process. So with my oncologist’s approval, and pending a round of tests, we confirmed plans to fly to the Dominican Republic, with a detour to Puerto Rico tacked on at the end.
I’m sure Taina is freaking out about being with Adrian and Julia again but we all know that this trip holds too much significance to let our personal conflicts stop us. I give her credit though; she didn’t try to exclude Julia. Adrian and I have spoken five times since he called with the news about Kathy. It was very hard, but I apologized, and told him that I love him. We’ve never spoken about the Julia thing, but I know that they are in contact. So now I’m nervous about them being together again, but I want her at my side thoughout this journey. I haven’t given up on us. The day I willingly let her go is the day I stop fighting for life itself. I know that I’ve arrived at the heart of my own selfishness, but I just can’t let go of Julia, who I still think of as my future wife.
We agree to spend a day in Santo Domingo taking in the capital city before heading to Casa Azul. Adrian is our translator and we hire a driver with a minivan to give us the grand tour of Santo Domingo, its suburbs, and the outskirts. I had no idea that so much affluence could exist so close to poverty. We see new construction and a tree-lined neighborhood of stately, walled-in homes. As we drive by, a maid dressed in a traditional black-and-white uniform rings the front gate, her arms full of groceries.
“Why couldn’t we be from this part of town?” Taina whines, as she tugs at the ti
es of a long silk scarf she has wrapped around her head. In the DR, everyone assumes she’s a Dominicana. There’s always this shocked look when they find out she doesn’t even speak Spanish. All three girls have been attracting a lot of attention, but the only one who enjoys the catcalls is Holly. I swear, I’m ready to throw burqas on all three of them, it’s so annoying. Next, we pass a slick financial district. We get off at the Zona Colonial, to do a little shopping and have some lunch. Just as we get situated at an outdoor restaurant, a movie house empties. They must have been playing a chick-flick because out spills a crowd of young women. They are the most jaw-droppingly beautiful women I have ever seen in my life. I kick Ray under the table.
“Smokin’ . . .” he says.
We both turn to Adrian, our leader in the fine sport of girl watching. But Adrian doesn’t seem to care. He pans the faces for a second or two and just keeps talking, maintaining eye contact with Julia, who’s sitting across from him, her back to the crowd. He asks her if she would like to switch seats, because her chair is in the partial sun and the skin on one of her arms is turning red. Since the fire, we’re are all sensitive to heat and light now, like a bunch of vampires. She says yes, and they switch seats, and he sits with his good arm in the sun, his back to the eye-candy, like nothing. Like he didn’t just give up the equivalent of first-row seats at the Super Bowl. Ray gives me a worried look but doesn’t say anything, he just picks at his plantains.
Taina is sitting across from me, and I admire the necklace I bought for her this morning as a gift. It’s a thick gold chain with twenty tears of the ubiquitous Dominican amber. Amber is fossilized tree resin. The color of the stones vary a great deal, from a near-clear, light honey, to chunks of burnt orange, glowing with bright yellow sparks inside. Taina doesn’t see me admiring my purchase; she’s lost in thought, twisted around to watch the women in the exact, unabashed way I had expected Adrian to do. “Those women are goddesses,” I say. “You fit right in there, Tai. As long as you don’t open your mouth.” She turns and looks at me like it’s the single most fascinating thing she’s ever heard me say. “Go stand over there,” I say, and she rises and steps into the crowd, lingering among the flock of tawny, hourglass-shaped women. I take my camera out and follow her. I snap a bunch of pictures of her posing, draping a hand across a rail, or sitting next to a coral stone fountain. I get a shot of her looking up at me, arms open, with a secret Mona Lisa smile pulling at her lips. I’m not sure if I’ve witnessed something significant here or not, but I get the feeling that Taina is enjoying this new side to her identity. If this doesn’t make her creative juices flow, I don’t know what will.
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