by Daniel Mason
After half an hour, Alin made a yawning motion, and Isabel looked back toward the door. They slipped out, bought sodas and watched the people in the street.
On the television, she watched Alexandre kiss Cindy on the lips. She thought gleefully, If Alin kissed me, I would let him, at least for a little while.
Alone, she practiced the steps to the dances for couples. She collected petals from the coral tree and wreathed them with a loose thread from the curtain. She arranged the crown on Hugo, whose cheeks glowed as if he were blushing.
Then she waited a week, and Alin didn’t return. She sat on the edge of her bed, her hands on her lap, ready to rise when he came. She tried to distract herself with the magazine or the baby. By the end of the week, she began to pace with worry. He learned who I really am, she thought, he learned I’m not the kind of person people visit, that I haven’t seen the world, that before I came here, I hadn’t even seen an apple. On television, she watched Cindy’s kind boss, once abandoned by her husband, find new love on a moonlit shore. She remembered her mother’s words: A man is like the rain, he’s worth nothing unless he stays. She considered what she would say if he came back: You broke a promise, You said you’d come and you didn’t, I waited for you, I thought I’d lost someone else, I could have been out looking for my brother, but I waited for you. I made a mistake, I trusted someone I didn’t know.
When another week passed and he didn’t come, she accepted Josiane’s invitation to go dancing. ‘The election is coming soon,’ said her friend. ‘After that it will be harder to see each other.’
Outside the banners of the campaign office, Isabel called the pay phone by Junior’s store. ‘Do you want me to get Manuela?’ asked his cousin. ‘No, just give her a message. Tell her that I am with a friend tonight, a girlfriend. Give a kiss to Hugo. I’ll stay with my friend. I’ll be home tomorrow.’ Josiane took her hand and led her to the bus. From her stop, they walked down a long dirt street lined with container siding.
In Josiane’s house, a man slept on a floor crowded with thin mattresses. On the wall were taped magazine photographs of a snowy mountain lake and a woman on a bicycle. A curled figure lay on a single bed with a baby.
‘This is my little monster,’ said Josiane, scooping up the baby. ‘And that’s my mother on the bed. She’s sleeping. She has water on the heart so she always sleeps. When she doesn’t sleep she coughs and scratches her legs. It drives me crazy. All night she coughs. The one on the floor is my uncle—he works a night shift as a guard, only now he’s also sick. I sleep in the bed with my mother.’ Isabel held the baby. Her head lolled. She slipped her finger into her hand, but her grip was weak. ‘And the other mattresses?’
Josiane shrugged. ‘Half the time I can’t keep track. One cousin or another. People coming and going from the north.
‘Come,’ she said, and tucked the baby back into the shelter of her mother’s arms. Her mother didn’t wake. Stacked in the corner was a pile of brightly colored clothes. She pulled off the Candidate’s shirt and chose an orange top that stopped above her waist and was open between her breasts. She wriggled into it. Isabel chose the most modest top she could find, a bright yellow shirt with a high collar. Josiane gave her a miniskirt and a pair of heels. The shoes were too large, so they stuffed the toes with toilet paper. Isabel tugged at the skirt as she walked.
Josiane led her by the hand to a house where a pair of twins in black skirts and matching tops of aquamarine was dancing to a blaring radio. Their bodies seemed to overflow from their clothing. Above them, torn kites fluttered from a line. They danced to another song. Then they slipped off their sandals and slid into black boots that stopped below their knees. They sprayed each other’s hair until it hung in thick wet ringlets, and layered their mouths with maroon lipstick.
Isabel relented to their hands and sprays. Her curls swung heavily, the lipstick smelled faintly of perfume. She thought briefly of her brother. He would be angry, she knew. So would Alin. She looked for a mirror.
At midnight, they descended the hill. It had been raining and the ground was slick. They took a night bus, wobbling on their heels and tossing their hair as the bus shuddered through the streets. They got off on a block thick with discotheques. The traffic was slow, the lights of the clubs glittered in the street, the tires left prints like silvery tracks of snails. Isabel followed the girls’ rank of swaying hips up a staircase, past a group of boys in sleeveless shirts who stood by the door.
Inside, music blasted from a pair of giant speakers. The beat was furious, an electrified version of music that Isabel knew from home. Couples swirled with their thighs interlaced, hips pressed together. The twins were already ahead, dancing across the dark floor. Other girls emerged from the mass of dancers to greet them. A heavy haze of cigarette smoke hung in the room. Josiane beckoned Isabel forward and danced on.
They sat at a table off the dance floor, and a pair of older men brought glasses of warm cane liquor. Isabel hesitated. ‘Go!’ said one of the twins, kissing her cheek, and threw the drink back in a single gulp. Isabel followed, grimacing as it burned her throat. Everyone laughed. One of the men leaned to Josiane and whispered something. His eyes didn’t leave Isabel, and a bemused smile passed over his mouth. He passed her his drink. ‘To the backlands!’ he toasted, and with everyone’s eyes on her, Isabel drank again. ‘That’s our girl!’ they cheered.
The men escorted the twins off into the swirling crowds. Isabel stayed with Josiane until other men came. When they asked her to dance, she shook her head. She felt naked in Josiane’s clothes and didn’t want to stand.
The twins returned. Josiane left. Josiane returned. All three girls disappeared, dancing, into the crowd. A pair of shot glasses were left with a thick meniscus of liquor, which Isabel drank. She felt herself beginning to sway with the pounding of the music.
Josiane returned, leading a man in a white shirt. She introduced him, but his name was drowned by the noise. When he greeted Isabel, he kissed her cheek, close to her mouth. ‘He was asking about you,’ shouted Josiane into her ear. ‘Other men, too, they all want to know who my new friend is.’ She winked. She shouted something else, but it, too, was lost. ‘I’ll leave you two alone,’ she said. The light shimmered on her lips.
The man pulled his chair next to Isabel. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck. It smelled sweet, antiseptic. He passed her a glass of beer and she drank it quickly. He smiled. ‘Do you dance?’ ‘A little … back home … not fast like this.’ She moved away from him. He was silhouetted by the dance lights, and she couldn’t see his eyes. He whispered again, but she couldn’t hear him. He took her hand from her lap.
She danced with him. She could feel his fingers glide to the bare space of the small of her back. A chain around his chest pressed into her shoulder. Light glinted from the dancers’ hair and the sweat on their shoulders. Her head spun. She felt his erection against her belly, said she wasn’t feeling well and went to sit. Now the table held a dozen empty glasses. She couldn’t remember how much she had drunk.
She excused herself and stumbled to the bathroom. A line of girls preened before a long mirror. She sought shelter in a stall and pressed her forehead against the door, trying to stop the spinning. She listened to fragments of conversation, My God, girl, you’ve got gold feet … Girl yourself, you see who’s here? You see that little whore he’s with? … Shit, he is looking for trouble … He says Little Bird’s coming … Little Bird scares me … Of course he scares you—Little Bird would scare the dead … She had forgotten how much time had passed when there was banging on the door and a voice shouted, ‘Hey, are you touching yourself?’ and she slunk out. She briefly stopped before the mirror, wobbling, and pushed past the girls to the floor.
Now the room was packed. She looked for a familiar face, but it was as if she had entered a door to a different discotheque. She spied what she thought was her table and wove toward it, no longer bothering to excuse herself as she c
ollided into dancers. She was at the edge of the tables when she sensed someone weaving through the spinning crowd.
She froze. Her eyes searched the dance floor. There was only light and movement now, but beyond it all she sensed a new presence. Isaias. Like that day on the hill. ‘My God,’ she said aloud. She closed her eyes and the sensation vanished. ‘I’m drunk,’ she mumbled. A man bumped against her, spilling his drink, which splashed on her knee and ran down her calf. She turned away. A girl spun past in a man’s arms. Where is everyone? she thought frantically. The room seemed impossibly vast.
She felt a hand on her elbow and turned. The man with the white shirt trapped her fingers in his. Fearing she would fall, she clung to him. He led her smoothly, floating her with his hand. At the edge of the dance floor, she turned, trying to see. ‘What’s wrong?’ he said, so close his forehead touched hers. ‘Nothing,’ she said, but she sensed it again, moving through the crowd.
She untangled her hand.
He grabbed her waist and pulled her closer. ‘One more dance.’ ‘No … I have to go.’ She twisted out of his grip with a force that surprised her. He lifted his hands. ‘Take it easy,’ he began, but she had turned away.
Retreating now. She shouldered her way toward the entrance, trying to steady herself. Halfway across the room, she felt another hand on her arm. She spun angrily. ‘Hey, Isabel,’ said Josiane, laughing. ‘It’s just me. I saw that you stopped dancing. I … Isabel, what’s wrong? What are you looking at? What’s going on?’ Moving along the far edge of the wall. ‘I have to go.’ ‘Now? Cool it. I want to dance some more.’ ‘No, it’s not that—’ At the door now. ‘I have to go.’ ‘Isabel, you can’t go by yourself. It’s not safe. It’s not … Hey!’ Josiane caught her. ‘You’re acting crazy—what’s happening?’ She wasn’t laughing now. ‘My brother,’ said Isabel. ‘What?’ ‘My brother, Isaias.’ ‘You saw him.’ ‘No, but he’s here, outside now. I have to get to him. Wait for me.’
She broke free and pushed her way to the stairs. It was cold outside. Her ears rang with the sudden quiet of the street. Above her the balcony was full of people, and the light of the bar blued the ceiling. A drunken girl leaned on a man as they descended behind her. Down the street she could see a pair of boys coming up the road. They were backlit by the colored neon of a distant club and the reflections in the wet sidewalk. She waited for the feeling to return, but now she doubted herself. ‘I’m drunk,’ she said. ‘I’m going to be sick.’ The heels were unsteady. She thought of the day on the hill and how she had lost him because she had hesitated.
The music dropped off swiftly behind her. The street bifurcated and then split again. Uncertainly, she bore right, her skin prickling in a sudden wind. The road was empty.
A pair of girls wobbled toward her. She ran to them. ‘Did you see a man?’ ‘A man!’ They laughed. ‘We wish!’ Isabel wavered uncertainly. ‘No!’ she said. ‘Really, did you see anyone?’ One of the girls stared. ‘You’re serious … Yeah, sure, we passed a man just a second ago. He went into the tall building on the corner. Didn’t get a good look at him, though—’ ‘Which building?’ ‘Gray one, that one there, with the metal fence.’ ‘He went inside?’ ‘Yes, but I didn’t get a look at him. Maybe it’s not your man …
‘You alone?’ she asked, and Isabel ran on.
The gate was topped with iron spades, and open. She pushed through and crossed a concrete yard, past an empty sentry box and a cracked fountain. The door handle was broken off, the lobby empty except for a fan of glass blown in from a window. A trail led through the debris to a rumbling elevator shaft. She watched the numbers rise until the 12 shimmered and the lift began to come down. It was on the second floor when she realized that someone might be inside. She pressed herself against the wall. The door opened. Empty. Without pausing, she slipped inside, squinted in the darkness and found the 12. As the lift rose, she waited for another sign of Isaias, but now she sensed nothing. It was dark in the elevator. Distant shouting began to get louder.
The door opened. For a moment, she hesitated. Go down, an instinct told her, get away, but blindly she stepped into the hallway. She had enough time to register two men, the glowing scribble of a lightbulb, chipped plaster and an open door, before she heard a hiss and rumbling, the elevator door scraping closed behind her. ‘Who the hell?’ she heard, and turned to hit the elevator button, but the carriage was gone. Without waiting, she turned from them and began to walk away down a long corridor, quickly, straining to hear footsteps following. She rounded a corner, and another, the hallway snaking past open doors until at the end she arrived at a stairwell. She didn’t stop. As her foot touched the top step, she heard the distant ring of the lift.
She ran. She threw herself forward, almost falling, her legs breaking her descent in tiny, thudding steps. She descended through a strange gray light that seemed to emanate from nowhere, glinting on broken bottles, cigarettes, discarded clothes, a shoe, a dead pigeon, a corncob, twelve flights and then she reached the landing and slammed through the door.
A man was waiting in the lobby as the elevator door closed behind him. He followed her out into the street and walked calmly alongside her. ‘Where you going, angel?’ She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He had a narrow face like a goat’s and he grinned.
His hand was suddenly on her shoulder. She lurched. For a second he held on, but then his fingers slipped and she pulled away. She ran, turned an ankle and shook off the heels. She sprinted across a street with a flashing yellow light, her arms pumping madly, her skirt riding up her thighs, her lungs burning. She could see a figure on a doorstep in the distance and ran toward it. As she came close, it stirred and sat up. ‘Get her!’ it shouted, falling over drunkenly, laughing. She turned a corner onto another empty street, this one longer. Behind, she heard the man gaining. She saw the mouth of an alleyway breaking a line of shuttered stores.
She dashed into it, stumbling over spilled trash to a jumble of garbage bins. Her hands felt their way through them to a chain-link fence, but it was too dark to see anything beyond. Something stirred. A dog backed away through a sliver of light, growling, the greasy hair of its haunches bristling. At the entrance she could see the man, staring into the dark, clenching and unclenching his fists, rocking lightly on his feet like a boxer warming up before a match. He began to speak, to taunt her. She pressed herself up against the wall and closed her eyes, terrified of the sound of her heart pounding. She began to mouth prayers, Mother of God, Saint Michael, Saint George, Isaias, please. She tried to remember the words of invocations, but her memory failed. Isaias, she whispered, Isaias, now. ‘Come out,’ said the man.
She felt around for a stick, a pipe, anything to fight with. Her hand found the splintered slatting of a broken fruit crate, and she lifted it, running her thumb over a cluster of nails at the broken end, letting it sway in her hand. More growling. In the street, the man hesitated at the edge of the darkness. His taunts trailed off. ‘Angel,’ he said again, and for the first time she heard uncertainty in his voice. Her breathing slowed. She choked up on the crate, tears running down her cheeks, suddenly terrified less by her fear than by her own anger. ‘If you’re coming in, come now, coward,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll crush your face, coward, I’ll crush your head.’ At her side, the shadows stirred. She saw the dog retreat and slip behind the trash bins. Now that her eyes had accustomed themselves to the darkness, she could see a narrow gap along the wall at the edge of the fence. Then the man was beside her. He lifted his arm, and she hurled the crate into him, bolted, heard the wood break, a gasp of pain, but she didn’t stop to turn. She squeezed through the gap, following the dog, the chain links catching on her shirt. The alley was long; at the end she could see a road, lights, the silhouette of the animal sprinting away.
In the street, a bus was leaving its stop. She banged on its door. It opened and she pulled herself in. It was empty. Wind whistled over a broken back window as it swung into the street.
‘Where are you goin
g?’ asked the driver, staring at her as he upshifted. ‘New Settlements,’ she said, her shoulders heaving. ‘This bus doesn’t go there.’ ‘I don’t care. It doesn’t matter.’ She began to cough. ‘Just go. Just until dawn, I promise, then I’ll go.’ He stared at her again. She looked down at her bare feet. Her knee was bleeding.
The driver nodded. He was nearly the age of her grandfather. He rummaged in the space beside his seat. ‘Here is my sweater,’ he said.
‘I can’t. I’m dirty.’
He shook his head. ‘You’ll be cold.’
She took it, trembling. The wool scratched her bare arms, and it smelled of cigars. Still shivering, she looked at her hand, where she had torn through a finger with the edge of the crate.
‘Sit close,’ said the driver. ‘It isn’t a good hour for someone like you to be out.’
She rode the bus until dawn. Somehow she slept. She lay on the seat with her hands together beneath her ear, her head pressed against the aluminum siding, the engine’s vibration thrumming through her skull.
Sometimes she heard voices, but mostly the bus was empty.
Once she sat up and saw a girl in a tight skirt standing in the center aisle. She sang and wobbled as if she were dancing. She wore a man’s white shirt, the top buttons open. It fell unevenly on her shoulders, and Isabel could see the pale edge of one of her breasts. Mascara was smeared back past her temple. She filled the bus with the smell of cigarettes. ‘The night is ours love ours love our love,’ she sang. She pumped her fist at the air. ‘What are you looking at?’ she asked, laughing, when she saw Isabel stare.
The sky turned cobalt blue, and the bus began to fill slowly. Isabel went to the driver and handed him the sweater. He shook his head. ‘You still need to get home,’ he said. She got off at a bus station near the Settlements to wait until she knew Manuela would be at church. Curling up in a corner, she slept again and awoke with someone pressing a coin into her hand and a pair of feet walking away. There was a direct bus home, but she got off early and followed a backstreet up the hill.