Toward the Light

by Bonnar Spring

  Gone was the flamboyant quetzal. This morning Alicia, in a tight-fitting sheath of brown, gold, and black, resembled a terciopelo, the gorgeous—but deadly—pit viper of the Central American highlands. The first time Luz spotted one, she reached out to stroke the shiny black diamonds on its brown skin. Her father rushed in faster than she’d ever seen him move and scooped her away before the snake could strike.

  Alicia’s toothy smile, Cheshire Cat–like, was at odds with her jutting chin. Luz sensed an ambush. “Where’re you from?” Alicia asked, without preamble.

  “Santa Clarita.” Luz pressed the call button. Get me away from her.

  “Where’s that?” As Alicia continued to smile, her lips drew tight like a terciopelo readying to strike.

  “It’s near Puerto Barrios.” Luz and Richard had argued about Luz’s fictitious background. He insisted she not divulge she’d lived in the mountains. That, he said, would scream “rebel sympathizer.” He wanted her to be an expat city girl—Guatemala City born-and-raised—but Luz convinced him she knew nothing of the city and could get tripped up too easily. They compromised: She was from a small coastal town, far from the mountains and also far enough from the city that no one would know much about it.

  “But you’ve been living in the U.S.?” The question came too sharply to be conversational and with a distinct furrow of Alicia’s brow. Not casual chitchat.

  Luz could have been back in the girls’ locker room changing before tenth-grade gym class, her bony body and brown skin on display to every curvaceous milk-and-honey upperclassman. Of course, they mainly ignored her, preferring to talk among themselves. When they didn’t, it was fake camaraderie. “Luz, who ya going to prom with?” She’d swallow, ashamed to admit no one had asked her, knowing a lie would make the rounds of the school in five minutes. So she’d shrug or turn away. Someone would mutter “loser”—their favorite play on her name—and everyone would laugh.

  At Luz’s nod of agreement, Alicia pressed, “How did you hear about this job? The former nanny didn’t give notice. She simply called in last week to say she’d taken a new position.”

  Luz smiled, grateful once again for Richard’s persistent coaching. “But she’d told her cousin weeks ago she was unhappy being so far from her family in Santiago Atitlan. When she found a position there, she grabbed it, and her cousin told me.” At Alicia’s uplifted eyebrow, Luz added, “Her cousin lives in my neighborhood, my old neighborhood in Miami, and she knew I was looking for a change.”

  The cousin story was a total Richard fabrication. “I’m not asking, Luz—I’m telling you this part,” he’d said.

  It was one of the first things they’d thrashed out the day Richard met her at Miami International and drove her to the hotel. Once he showed her around the suite, he took a couple of bottles of water from the fridge and sat her down at the little dinette table. Then he pulled out his list—Richard always had a list. This one was longer than usual and didn’t cover the old stuff: once it had been report cards, summer camp, driving lessons. More recently, he’d scheduled her mother’s chemotherapy and made sure Luz paid the bills on time.

  “They can and they will check. We have people in Miami to vouch for you.” He leaned back in his chair and smiled his super-pleased-with-himself grin. “Also, we have someone else inside at the Benavides’, someone who can smooth your way, but who we have, let’s say, other plans for.”

  Luz opened her mouth, but before she could ask who it was, Richard waggled his index finger so hard his bushy eyebrows, now faded from auburn to a distinguished silver, also vibrated. “Don’t ask,” he said. “To protect both of you, I don’t want you to know anything else about what’s going on, nothing a new girl wouldn’t know.”

  The elevator doors swooshed open. Alicia stepped inside. Isolated with Alicia in that tiny box? Uh-unh. Luz would rather drape a terciopelo around her neck and dance the tango. But Alicia hip-checked the door when it began to close. “You going to work or not?”

  Yeah, just like gym class. And Luz, seeing nothing else she could do, stepped into the elevator. Although she claimed the opposite corner from Alicia, the other woman immediately crowded into her space and shot out rapid-fire questions. “What was the name of the cousin who told you about the job?—You lived in Miami?—For how long?—Who’d you work for?”

  Luz stumbled over dates and the name of the fictitious cousin. Heat built up. She rubbed her forehead, her cheeks. This was the interrogation Luz had anticipated at her interview with de la Vega, not a week later stuck in an elevator with Alicia.

  “Why are you asking me all this? Don’t you work for Señor de la Vega?” Luz asked.

  “Me? Heavens, no.” Alicia compressed her lips and muzzled laughter bubbled up from the back of her throat. “I’m Señor Benavides’ personal assistant. I’m in charge of his calendar and all his scheduling.”

  In charge of fetching visitors and announcing them to the real senior staff, Luz concluded. Clearly, Alicia—like those other taller, whiter girls who once taunted her—was one of those people Luz had spent a lifetime muttering at under her breath. Still, it wouldn’t do to alienate this woman in her first week on the job—a woman whose barely disguised hostility had morphed into faux-friendliness.

  “The older Señor Benavides or … ?” Luz asked, unsure how the staff distinguished between the two adult men of the household—her target, Martin, and his son Roberto, Cesar’s father.

  “Señor Martin.” Alicia stretched her neck and favored Luz with a predatory smile, the pecking order—big boss’s assistant condescending to child care worker—clearly established. Not much of an attempt at Miss Congeniality.

  The elevator dinged to announce their arrival on the residence floor. When the doors opened, Alicia hurried away, her high heels working small divots into the thick carpet. In a flash, Martin Benavides’ personal assistant had rounded the corner and disappeared.

  Shortly thereafter, Luz met Delores. Unlike Alicia, Delores professed delight at making Luz’s acquaintance. She was also short and dark-haired, like Luz, though considerably rounder. Delores had managed to turn the housekeepers’ uniform into an art form: An aqua T-shirt peeked out from under the prim white shirt, and colorful woven belts circled the ample waist of her black skirt. She wore a headscarf of dancing hippopotamuses over tight, coiled braids, and her cheeks bulged like those of a mischievous kewpie doll. She ruffled Cesar’s hair and produced a small bag of cookies, which she slid under a pile of papers with a sideways grin at Luz, all the while emptying wastebaskets and wiping the woodwork. Delores was the housekeeper in the family wing.

  “That means,” she said, with a swipe of dust rag at Cesar’s desk that turned into a caress of his cheek, “whatever this boy messes up, I make neat and clean again. And I make sure he gets a little love from time to time.”

  “Do you clean the entire house?” Luz asked as she followed Delores around the living room.

  “Oh, no.” Also unlike Alicia, Delores dispensed with the honorifics. Martin and his wife, Dominga, were the “old folks,” and Delores wasn’t allowed into their wing of the house. When she progressed to mopping the bathroom, she looked around to ascertain Cesar was out of earshot before continuing, “Ever since Paulina left, the old man has become a recluse.”

  Luz ventured into the bathroom behind Delores and held up a finger—wait. “Paulina?” she whispered.

  Delores inclined her head toward the room where Cesar sat. “His sister,” she said, barely audible.

  The girl who was sent to Spain. De la Vega’s cryptic warning at her interview had left Luz dying to ask about her. “What happened?” mouthed Luz.

  “A problem. I don’t know what.” Delores gazed into her open hands as though she held a crystal ball. “And, believe me, I asked. One morning everything’s fine. Then, all of a sudden, Señor Roberto’s yelling at his father, and the old man’s screaming back. People are crying, and I’m packing Paulina’s clothes, and the car takes her to the airport, to some fancy sc
hool in Europe.” Delores crossed herself. “The old man was very fond of Paulina. Now he never goes out. And almost no one is allowed in.”

  “What about her father?”

  Luz meant to ask how Cesar and Paulina’s father was coping with the absence of his daughter, but Delores answered a different question, or at least one not directly relevant. “Señor Roberto, he’s the only one who goes anywhere. He travels all the time now.”

  “You clean for him, too?”

  Delores’ hands swept a large circle. “Oh, yes—sweep, dust, mop—his entire suite.” She jangled the key ring hanging from the broad cloth loop around her skirt. “Señor Roberto is in Miami—” Delores hesitated, took a step back, bumping into the tub.

  Oh, shit. She must be aware of the nanny-girlfriend connection. Too bad. Delores, with her ready supply of gossip, was the person who held—literally—the key Luz needed.

  Delores leaned on her mop and regarded Luz with a speculative smile. “You might be coming from Miami, but I don’t think you have anything to do with Señor Roberto’s business there.”

  “Me? Business?” The words burst out with total confusion before Luz could censor herself.

  Delores’ eyes crinkled, and her smile widened. “No, I didn’t think so.” She hoisted her mop and moved past Luz into Cesar’s bedroom.

  Luz had—naively—assumed she’d stay in Portsmouth while she transitioned to her new identity. That was logistically unworkable, Richard told her, because of the other people involved. So then she figured he’d take her to D.C. with him. But no—it had to be Miami. It had to be the fancy residence hotel on North Beach where the other female guests spent their days at the spa and their evenings decorating the arms of well-dressed older men.

  It was beginning to sound like Richard’s team was actively promoting this nonexistent connection between her and Cesar’s father. A headache blossomed in her temple.

  The second envelope in the newspaper swap had described an extra task Richard wanted her to complete. This last-minute addition to their plan, he said, was an insurance policy that he now believed necessary to absolutely ensure Roberto Benavides’ political ruin after the death of his father. He’d underlined absolutely twice. She was to gain access to Roberto Benavides’ study and substitute the thumb drive in the envelope for an identical one in his briefcase.

  Luz sank onto the couch as Delores called out “hasta mañana” and left her alone in the spotless apartment with Cesar and her thoughts. Gain access to Roberto’s quarters. Richard’s little by-the-way errand suddenly struck her as being a lot more complicated.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Then there was Cesar. He’d said he liked football, but that was the understatement of the century. Cesar lived for football. The first afternoon, as soon as he accepted Luz’s denial of involvement with his father, he dragged her into his room and showed off posters of Álvaro Hurtarte, caught mid-stride with the black-and-white ball, and Carlos Figueroa, fists clenched aloft in triumph. He diagrammed plays when he should have been graphing his math assignment. He did everything except go outside and kick the ball around.

  Outside of football, Cesar had few interests. He preferred television—football, if possible, even videos of long-ago games—to engaging her, which suited Luz fine. She was determined to be perfunctory with him. She helped with homework, they ate, watched television, and she made sure he was clean and ready for bed on time.

  Yet sometimes when Cesar tilted his head, squinting and chewing on a pencil, Luz saw her friend Hector sitting cross-legged on the ground under the camouflaged tarpaulin that served as a makeshift school where her mother taught the children who had been rendered homeless by the latest attacks. And dried their eyes, found them clothes that fit and grown-ups to watch over them.

  Hector, like Cesar, was all arms and legs and elbows. Sharp angles. He was a year younger than Luz—and lucky, everyone said, because he arrived at the camp with a backpack of belongings and both parents, unlike the children whose families had been slaughtered, so many of whom were found wandering alone in the forest.

  Hector also loved football. Although not one of the oldest, his enthusiasm and intensity soon molded the ragtag group of children into a sort of after-school football club. They met in the clearing behind the school tarp. Hector began by showing them different ways to flick the ball with their feet. Soon they were doing carioca drills, practicing passes, and kicking goals. When they played games, it was never girls against boys or big kids versus little kids. They played together. They played to forget the war around them and to be, simply, kids.

  Hector, if he hadn’t perished that night in the forest, was probably dead by now.

  Whenever Luz caught herself floundering, one foot in the dark past, like that, she’d jump up and organize a drill of her own. “Vente,” she’d say to Cesar. “Vamos a explorar.”

  And off they’d go exploring. Paulina’s room, locked. Cesar scuffed the door with his foot, almost a kick. “Paulina used to let me play with her puppy.” Three guest rooms where cousins who were coming for Christmas would stay. “Victor’s okay,” Cesar said, “but Rosa whines if we don’t do everything her way, and Benny cheats all the time.”

  Down one floor was Cesar’s father’s suite, locked and empty. Roberto Benavides had not yet returned from Miami. “Papá says maybe I can go back to school with my friends next year.”

  From an assortment of these outbursts, Luz pieced together the recent upheaval: After whatever led to Paulina’s being shipped off to Spain—and Cesar was as much in the dark about specifics as Delores—Cesar was pulled out of his school and confined to the house with Father Espinosa engaged as a tutor. Once, a boy from school had come to visit. The way Cesar told the story, it sounded as though, despite the thrill of a helicopter ride, the presence of armed guards at such close quarters had intimidated the child, and he never came back.

  As they wandered, their footfalls fell inaudible on thick carpet; subdued lighting blurred their shadows. Occasionally, Luz caught a whiff of furniture polish. Otherwise, it was sterile air-conditioning, all hints of the vibrant Guatemalan life flowing in other city neighborhoods filtered out. And in the week she’d spent with him, the poor kid hadn’t seen a soul who wasn’t paid to be there: the tutor, the nanny, the maid.

  They reached the hall where Alicia had disappeared after their confrontation in the elevator. “Is that where your grandfather lives?” Luz guessed, pointing.

  Cesar nodded, then turned his back on the hall and busied himself running his fingers along the nubbly wall covering.

  As Luz stared down the passage, a bubble of tension rose from her gut. Martin Benavides was right there. Using Cesar—Luz mentally rephrased—having Cesar smooth her path into his grandfather’s wing of the house was the obvious way forward. She’d ensure Cesar was safely away the day of the bombing, but the boy was her ticket to becoming an inconspicuous regular.

  A deep inhale for strength, long exhale for calmness. Luz asked, “Can we go visit him?”

  Cesar hung his head. “Papi doesn’t feel good. He said I was a big boy, and I had to learn to wait.”

  Wait. Cesar infused the word with a frustration Luz shared. Richard might consider her impatience unprofessional, but it’s not like she had any experience in his clandestine world. She did not sign up for this in order to play babysitter. Luz smiled to herself. Actually, of course, she had, but her mind condensed the day-care part to a few brief interactions—meet kid/locate grandfather/ka-POW.

  She hadn’t bargained on the downtime, the delays, the waiting. Obviously, she had to take care of the Roberto flash drive stuff before the shit hit the fan, but her real job required paving the way to Martin’s lair. Luz thought for a minute, trying to come up with an innocent way to ask about the information she needed. “Can’t we go down the hall and knock on his door, ask if he’s feeling better?”

  Another desultory headshake. “You have to call, and then they send somebody to let you in. One of his stupid guard
s.”

  Call ahead, let you in. Luz filed the information. Her gut settled. She’d have to make it happen.

  As Father Espinosa prepared to leave the next afternoon, he indicated a stack of papers on the desk. “Cesar has fallen behind in mathematics,” he said.

  The boy puffed into his tough-guy stance but didn’t speak.

  “These exercises must be done,” said the priest as he exited, “by tomorrow morning.”

  Cesar deflated instantly when they were left alone. His head sank, bony arms twining around his chest, possibly the only hug he’d get all day.

  “It’s not fair,” Cesar cried. “I do everything I’m supposed to do, but it takes me a really long time.” The boy ran across the room and sank onto his perch by the window.

  Luz riffled through the assignments the priest had flagged. “That’s a lot of work.” She pursed her lips.

  Cesar hunched at his window seat, his head cradled in his arms like an abandoned puppy at the pound. And she saw herself, the little girl who hadn’t yet learned English, crouching at the window of their brand-new apartment in Portsmouth to spy on kids playing in the park across the street. Day after silent day, Luz watched those children with whom she had no way of communicating play the game she knew so well. One day, as she walked home from school, an errant ball came her way. And she kicked it, hard and true. From then on, she was part of the neighborhood.

  Cesar had stopped snuffling and was eyeing her through a shock of dark curly hair. He might be manipulating her, but it didn’t matter. Her resolve to remain distant crumbled. Luz knew what she wanted to do and to hell with the stuffy priest. “Bueno, Cesar,” she said. “I’ll make a deal with you.”

  By three o’clock, with Luz’s encouragement and a bowl of ice cream smuggled from the kitchen by a sympathetic Delores, Cesar had finished half his work—his part of the deal—and they were outside on a makeshift soccer field. Cesar brought his ball. Luz enlisted a couple of the younger gardeners to provide stakes to mark boundaries. Taking the ball from Cesar, she kicked it to test the goal they’d fashioned from green rubber netting.