by Leylah Attar
Ban turned to Eban.
And Eban turned to Teban.
And Teban turned to Esteban.
Esteban had started coming for MaMaLu, but now he came for Skye. As the years passed, their friendship grew. He taught her how to make kites out of newspaper and broomsticks, and she introduced him to the CDs her father got for her when he went to the States. When they listened to “Drops of Jupiter”, the sun was shining in Skye’s hair and Esteban thought Jupiter must be made of the palest gold. Sometimes he imagined whole galaxies fitting inside the necklace she wore.
When Esteban watched Warren Sedgewick with Skye, he wondered what it would be like to have a father. He hoped MaMaLu did not marry Victor Madera, who sneaked in when they thought he had gone to sleep. Those nights, MaMaLu pulled the makeshift partition in their room. He couldn’t see through the heavy fabric, but he could hear them, and he hated the greedy, heavy sounds that Victor made. Esteban always knew when Victor was going to visit, because MaMaLu did not sing that whole day.
One night, MaMaLu and Victor had a fight, and MaMaLu threw him out. He showed up the next night with white lilies in a terracotta pot.
“Marry me, Maria Luisa,” he said. He insisted on calling her Maria Luisa because he couldn’t stand the thought of her being Esteban’s MaMaLu, or of another man touching her.
MaMaLu didn’t reply. She started closing the door on his face.
“So this is what it’s come to?” He jammed his foot in the door. “Have you forgotten who rescued you from Fernando, who got you this job and a place for you and your son?”
“That was years ago, Victor. I’ve been paying my dues ever since. I’m done. I want nothing more to do with you.”
Victor forced the door open and flung the flowers away. MaMaLu stumbled back, stepping on mud and fallen lilies.
“You think you’re too good for me, don’t you?” Victor sneered. “Have you told your son that he’s a bastard?”
MaMaLu gasped.
“You think I didn’t know? Oh yes. Fernando told me. Esteban’s father didn’t die in a fishing accident. He took off while you were planning your little wedding. He wanted nothing to do with you or your bastard baby. I’m giving you a chance to reclaim your honor. You should be grateful I’m willing to give the boy my name.”
“He doesn’t need your name. And neither do I. I’d rather live with no honor than take the name of a man who trades lives for money.”
“I’m a bodyguard. I defend people.”
“Then where were you when Adriana Sedgewick was shot? You were supposed to be with her. It seems rather convenient that you got called away when you did. In fact, I would bet—”
“Shut up!” Victor grabbed MaMaLu by the neck and shook her until she was gasping.
Esteban shot out of bed and launched at him. He rammed his head into Victor’s stomach and knocked the wind out of him. “Let her go!”
But Victor was much stronger. He let go of MaMaLu as he held Esteban at bay. Esteban kicked and punched in the air before Victor tossed him to the floor.
“You’re going to regret this.” Victor pointed his finger at MaMaLu. His voice was cold and hard.
“Get out,” said MaMaLu. “Get out before I call Señor Sedgewick.”
Victor spat at her feet and turned on his heel. MaMaLu stood tall and straight until he was gone. Then she rushed to Esteban’s side. “Are you all right, cariño?”
Esteban swallowed the lump in his throat. “Is it true what he said? My father didn’t die? He just . . . left? He never wanted me.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Esteban. It was mine. I was young and foolish. I thought he loved me.”
For as long as Esteban could remember, MaMaLu had been a fighter. She was proud and strong, and she never cried. But now big, fat tears quivered on the brink of her lashes. She held them back as long as she could, but when she blinked, they left wet trails down her cheeks.
And then MaMaLu wept—odd, stilted sobs that tore Esteban to pieces. He hadn’t been able to defend her. He didn’t know how to comfort her. So Esteban did the only thing that comforted him. He put her head on his lap and he sang to her.
Ay, yai, yai, yai,
Sing and do not cry . . .
ESTEBAN GOT INTO A LOT of trouble after that. He stayed late at the village, watching good guys fight bad guys in the first of the many western movies that he grew to love. He was Blondie, the professional gunslinger in The Good, The Bad and The Ugly, except he wasn’t out to earn a few dollars. He was the hard-ass who would come to MaMaLu’s defense. There was just one problem. When he got home, he was the one that needed defending. From MaMaLu.
“Estebandido!” She only called him that when she was pissed. And when MaMaLu was pissed, she came after him with a broom.
Every time Esteban felt the stiff fibers scratching up against the back of his legs, he ran faster, until MaMaLu gave up. She would head back in, but leave the broom by the door. Esteban would wait a while before returning.
“MaMaLu, it’s me.” He would shuffle his feet at the entrance. “Your Estebandido is home.”
MaMaLu would open the door and stare him down. When he was sufficiently shriveled up under her death glare, she’d turn away and get back into bed. She always left him a plate of tostadas and a glass of horchata. He would eat in the dark and smile, dreaming of the day he would kick Victor’s ass.
When Esteban saw his first martial arts movie, he painted Victor’s face on a fence and kicked it in. That earned him a year’s worth of chores. MaMaLu did not believe in going easy. Of course, it didn’t help that Victor was always picking on him. It was a sure-fire way to get to MaMaLu, and Victor took great pleasure in tormenting her for having rejected him. When Esteban punched one of the kids at Skye’s birthday party, Victor could barely conceal his glee. He dragged Esteban out by the collar, hoping MaMaLu would follow, pleading for him to go easy, but she was too proud for that.
Ultimately, it didn’t turn out as satisfying as Victor had thought it would. Cutting the rough, weed-infested grass with a pair of scissors should have broken Esteban, but the boy didn’t complain. The satisfaction of knocking Gideon Benedict St. John’s tooth out made it worthwhile. That, plus the fact that Warren had invited him to attend classes with Skye had Esteban smiling, even though his knees and elbows were red and raw by the time he was done.
Victor wanted nothing more than to wipe the infuriating grin off Esteban’s face, but he had things to do. Big things. Warren was meeting with El Charro, the quasi-legendary drug lord who ran a profitable subsidiary of the Sinaloa cartel. This was Warren’s first face-to-face with the capo, and it was up to Victor to arrange for security.
El Charro traveled with his own bodyguards, but Victor had to ensure the grounds were swept clean that day, and that the staff steered clear of the main house. So far, no-one could attest to Warren’s connection with the cartel, and it was important to ensure there were no witnesses to the meeting.
On the day of the meeting, Victor had extra men stationed at the gate and around the perimeter. When it was almost time, he went inside and waited at the bottom of the stairs for Warren.
Warren took a deep breath as he peered at his reflection in the mirror. He’d waited six years for this day. He had to convince El Charro to release him from the organization, but it wasn’t going to be easy. No one got out squeaky clean, if at all. Warren picked up the photo of him and Adriana on their wedding day and traced his wife’s smile.
I miss you so much, babe.
He heard laughter from Skye’s room, and put the frame down.
I’ll get her out, Adriana. Whatever it takes. I promise.
“MaMaLu.” He knocked on Skye’s door. “I’m expecting an important guest,” he said when she opened the door. “Make sure you and Skye stay here until my meeting is done. We are not to be disturbed. Under any circumstances.”
“Yes, Señor Sedgewick.” MaMaLu watched as he made his way downstairs. He left with Victor to receive the car th
at had just pulled up.
She was about to shut the door when Esteban came in through the back door, carrying a notebook and pencil. She’d forgotten to tell him that his first class with Miss Edmonds had been canceled.
“Esteban!” She waved from upstairs. “Go home. There’s no class today. And make sure Señor Sedgewick does not see you. No one’s supposed to be here. You hear me?”
“Okay.” Esteban had no idea what all the fuss was about, but when MaMaLu used that tone, you listened.
MaMaLu went back into Skye’s room and shut the door. For a moment, Esteban debated if he should sneak upstairs, but the front door swung open and Warren entered with a group of men. Esteban didn’t want to get into any more trouble so he darted into the dining room. He crawled into his hiding space in the hutch, waiting for them to pass, but they entered the room and sat at the table. Victor shut the door and stood behind Warren. Esteban could not make out the other men. All he saw as he peeked through the crisscross lattice was their legs.
“This is a great honor,” said Warren. “I wasn’t expecting all of you.”
“We have been doing business for a long time. It was time we met,” said the man sitting next to Warren.
“Of course. May I offer you gentleman a drink?” Warren got up and walked over to the hutch. Esteban heard the tinkle of ice.
Just then, the door swung open and Skye ran in. “Esteban! I forgot to tell him—”
“Skye!” MaMaLu stumbled in after her, trying to restrain her. “I’m so sorry, Señor Sedgewick.”
There was a moment of complete silence. Warren turned around slowly to face her. MaMaLu looked around the table and quickly looked away. “Sorry to have disturbed you. Come on, Skye.” She started leading Skye out.
“But—” Skye turned around, trying to see past her father to the place Esteban usually hid.
“Get back upstairs, Skye.” Warren’s voice was dull and flat. “Gentleman, I apologize for the interruption,” he said, after MaMaLu and Skye had left.
It seemed to Esteban that the room was quiet for a long, long time.
“We’ve been compromised,” said the man who had spoken earlier.
“That was my daughter’s nanny. She’s been with us for many years. She can be trusted, El Charro. I give you my word,” Warren replied.
The man next to El Charro whispered something to him. The others spoke amongst themselves.
“We need more assurance than that, especially if you plan on leaving. We have your terms of release, but we can’t afford any loose ends. It’s not just us we’re worried about, you understand? You have a young daughter. I’m sure you wouldn’t want her to be caught up in all this.”
Warren started to say something, but thought the better of it. El Charro had him by the balls. If Warren didn’t do something about MaMaLu, Skye’s life was on the line. He also knew that the only reason El Charro was willing to let him leave was because his father-in-law, Adriana’s dad, had pulled some major strings to help him and Skye get out of the country, away from the cartel. “I understand,” he replied. “I’ll take care of it.”
“The sooner, the better,” said El Charro.
The meeting proceeded, but much of what was being said did not make sense to Esteban. He was glad when the men got up and shook hands.
After they left the room, Warren turned to Victor. “The situation with MaMaLu. Look after it. Nothing . . . permanent. You understand?”
Victor gave a curt nod and followed Warren out. Esteban watched them leave, not sure what was going on, but he knew he had to tell MaMaLu. He had never seen Warren look so worn and dejected.
Esteban waited until the house was quiet before coming out of his hiding spot. It was dark by the time he made it back to the staff wing. As he approached, he saw Victor exit their room. Esteban ducked behind a tree as he walked by. Victor had not been back since MaMaLu had turned him down. Something was going on and Esteban did not like it. He waited for MaMaLu, but fell asleep before she got in.
She drew the covers over him and kissed his cheek. Her heart pulled when she realized he’d probably gone to sleep hungry. “Mi chiquito. Mi Estebandido.”
MaMaLu set the alarm early. She was going to make him a big breakfast. Pan de yema, a soft sugarcoated bread made with lots of egg yolk, dipped in a bowl of thick, cinnamon-infused hot chocolate.
But Esteban never got his breakfast. He woke up to the harsh glare of flashlights in his face. It was the middle of the night, and the room was full of men in dark clothes.
“Esteban!” He heard MaMaLu yelling, but he was blinded.
“MaMaLu.” He stumbled after her voice, but they were dragging her away.
Someone grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. Esteban struggled to free himself, but all he could do was watch as they put her in a car and drove away.
“You’re coming with me.” It was Victor.
“Where are they taking MaMaLu?” Esteban shrugged out of his grasp and glared at him.
“If you want to see her again, you’ll do as I say. Entiendes?”
Esteban nodded. He knew this had something to do with what had happened that afternoon, so he followed Victor into the other car.
“I’m taking you to your uncle, Fernando. You’re to stay there until the situation with MaMaLu is resolved.”
“What situation?” Esteban shivered in his nightclothes as they drove past dense, dark trees to Paza del Mar. He’d left his shoes behind.
Victor did not answer.
When they got to Fernando’s, Victor instructed Esteban to wait outside. Esteban could hear the two men talking. Fernando staggered out. He smelled of piss and cheap liquor.
“Look at what Señor Sedgewick gave me to look after you.” He had a stack of cash in his hands. “Come, my little jackpot. Come hug your tío.”
Esteban walked past him. He hated everything about Fernando’s place—the dankness, the cold cement floors, the memories of him and MaMaLu cowering in their room. Why had Warren sent him here?
“Where’s MaMaLu?” he asked Victor.
“Your mother should have accepted my proposal, but she didn’t think I was good enough for her. And now she’s exactly where she deserves to be, with no one to protect her.” His smile gave Esteban the chills.
“Tell me where she is!” Esteban shouted after him as he drove off.
“Shut your mouth.” Fernando put his hands to his ears, nursing his perpetual hangover. He folded up the wad of cash Victor had given him and started heading out. “Go to sleep. Your mother has been taken to Valdemoros and there’s nothing you or I can do about it.”
Valdemoros.
Esteban was horrified. Valdemoros was a women’s prison, a few miles north of Paza del Mar. Esteban had no idea why they’d taken her there or how long it would be before she got out. He opened the door to the spare bedroom and sank into bed. The mattress was thin and the sheets were foul. He doubted if Fernando had washed them since he and MaMaLu had left for Casa Paloma. MaMaLu’s new job had seemed like a blessing at the time, but now Esteban felt like it had been the start of a disaster neither of them had seen coming.
VALDEMOROS WAS AN ENDLESS CONCRETE wall, topped by rolls of razor wire and punctuated by sentry towers. In the center was a heavy metal gate that opened to let armored cars in and out of the facility. At the far end was an adjoining structure—a sad, diminutive visitors’ entrance. It looked like a misplaced wheelbarrow trailing a giant gray train.
Esteban felt small and helpless as he stood in the shadow of the ominous wall. Correctional officers with sniper rifles manned the towers. At the main gate, armed guards patrolled the windowless barricade. MaMaLu was somewhere behind this impenetrable front and Esteban had to find a way to get her.
Esteban stood in a long line at the visitors’ gate. The guard overlooked him several times when it was his turn.
“Excuse me,” said Esteban, after he’d let yet another man through, “I’m here to see my mother.”
But the guard
pretended not to hear him. Esteban spent the whole day getting shuffled around, but he wouldn’t give up. When the guards changed, his hopes soared, but the next one ignored him too.
“Here.” A man who’d been waiting there almost as long as him gave him a paper cone filled with roasted peanuts. “They don’t let you in unless you pay them.”
Esteban looked at him blankly.
“Go home, boy.” The man dusted off his pants and got up. “You’re wasting your time.”
In the evening, when the lines dwindled, Esteban tried again. He was sure that if he waited long enough, one of the guards would let him in, but the next one was just as mean and chased him out with a baton.
Esteban returned the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. Finally, one of the guards acknowledged him.
“Name of inmate?”
“Maria Luisa Alvarez.”
“Your name?”
“Esteban Samuel Alvarez.”
“Did you bring me lunch?” asked the man.
“Lunch?”
The guard crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “I’ve seen you around. Haven’t you learned yet? Who’s going to pay for my lunch?”
Esteban suddenly understood how it worked. “How much is . . . your lunch?”
“Three hundred and fifty pesos, amigo. You can see your mother every day for a month.”
“How much for just one day?”
“Same.”
“Please. I don’t have any money. Just let me see her. Tomorrow I’ll come back with my uncle. I’ll bring your lunch and—” said Esteban.
“No money, no madre.” The guard shooed him away.
The next person in line replaced Esteban. He watched as she handed the guard something discreetly. Apparently, everyone knew the drill. Esteban thought of the big bundle of cash that Victor had handed Fernando.
When he got home, he found Fernando passed out in a pool of his own drool.
“Tío Fernando.” He tried to rouse him, but he knew there was no point. Esteban patted him down. He found a few coins in his pocket, but Fernando had drunk his way through whatever money he’d had.