Taken

by Edward Bloor

  We parked behind a big oak tree. Mickie and her crew led the way out. They were followed by Mr. Patterson, the butlers, Mrs. Veck, the students, and the maids. The first thing I noticed was a large vidscreen, about four meters high, set up in front and to the left of the stage. The audience members would have close-up views of Mickie on that. Her rectangular red glasses would appear to be ten times their normal size; so would her mole.

  Up on the stage, Mickie, Lena, Mr. Patterson, and the mayor of Mangrove had resumed an argument begun the previous year. It was like no time had elapsed. The mayor, a thin old man in a black suit, wanted to talk to Mr. Patterson on-air about starting new businesses in Mangrove. Mickie told him, “That’s dead airtime, Mr. Mayor. Nobody wants to listen to that.”

  We students were supposed to mingle with kids from Mangrove in a loose circle in front of the stage. Our security guards and butlers flanked us on one side; several men with Town of Mangrove police uniforms flanked us on the other. Just as in the previous year, though, none of the kids really interacted, and that was too bad. I would have liked to.

  Also as in the previous year, the Mangrove kids gravitated to Victoria like she was a movie star. I pointed that out to Patience: “Mickie never lets Victoria get near the camera because she’s so attractive. You know? She makes Mickie look like a monkey. No offense to monkeys.”

  Patience smiled slightly, so I guess I was finally forgiven for mocking Hopewell. She joined me as we unloaded the bags of clothing and started passing them out to the Mangrove kids.

  Kurt set up his camera to shoot the scene. Lena told the Highlands kids to “smile” and the Mangrove kids to “sonreir.” We had soon passed out all sixteen bags of clothes. Then Lena and Mrs. Veck distributed the books—dozens and dozens of them—all describing the bilingual adventures of Ramiro Fortunato.

  After that, Kurt changed position to vid the locals presenting their gifts—the homemade tornada dolls—to the visitors. Some of us said “Gracias” to the Mangrove kids. Some of us (I don’t need to tell you who) laughed at them.

  Maureen Dugan held her doll up and cried, “Gross! Its ears look like Hopewell’s.”

  Pauline added, “It’d be even grosser if it looked like Sterling Johnston.”

  I don’t think the Mangrove kids understood their comments, which was good for everyone involved.

  Mrs. Veck herded us to the right side of the stage. The local kids, along with a few adults, congregated on the left side. Mickie then walked out carrying a wireless microphone. Lena pulled out a bilingual sign that read APPLAUSE/APLAUSOS and pumped it up and down until members of the audience, mostly from the Mangrove side, applauded.

  Mickie gave the crowd a big smile that was almost frightening on the four-meter vidscreen. “Welcome! Welcome, all of you, to the third annual Kid-to-Kid Day. We are in the town of Mangrove, Florida. As always, I am joined by the mayor, the Honorable Samuel Ortiz. Welcome, Mr. Mayor.”

  Samuel Ortiz walked out slowly and stood next to her. He leaned into the microphone. “Welcome to you, Mickie. This is actually our home, so I should be welcoming you.”

  “Thank you. Did you see that scene earlier with all those kids giving to other kids?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “It was very touching, and, of course, it is the essence of Kid-to-Kid Day. You have some really needy kids here, don’t you?”

  “Some, sure. But most have what they need.”

  “I think all of us can use a prayer now and again, Mr. Mayor. And my trips to Mangrove and other towns always make me think of this one: ‘There but for the grace of God go I.’”

  He answered defiantly: “It’s not so bad being us, you know.”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “There are a lot of good people here.”

  “There are. Let’s do some good for one of them right now, shall we? Let’s change one young woman’s life for the better.” She looked at the audience. “What do you say?”

  Lena held up the APPLAUSE/APLAUSOS sign. The Mangrove side of the crowd applauded obediently.

  Mickie said, “She’s an RDS cook at a large estate in Palm Beach County, and I have had the pleasure of tasting her delicious cooking firsthand. Please welcome Isabella. Isabella!”

  Lena helped a young woman climb up from the crowd and stand next to Mickie. The woman looked to be about twenty-five years old. She stared hard at her own feet as Mickie continued: “I happen to know that she’s a big fan of the Manor House Cookbook series, those collections of recipes from the great manor houses of England. What are some of your favorite recipes, Isabella?”

  Mickie thrust the microphone under the woman’s chin, forcing her to look up. She was attractive, with long features and a reddish derma, as if she were part Indian. She muttered, “Beef Wellington. Chicken cordon bleu.”

  “Yum. Well, the people at SatPub have heard about your cooking, and they liked what they heard. They want you to have the complete series of Manor House Cookbooks, hardbound, and here they are.”

  Mr. Patterson walked out, all smiles, carrying a wooden display case stocked with books. Isabella looked very excited to see it.

  Mickie asked, “What do you think of that, Isabella?”

  The woman could only utter, “Thank you. Gracias.”

  Mickie continued, “But, Isabella, that’s not the real reason I asked you up here today. Do you remember what you told me in the kitchen that night when I came in to pay my compliments to the chef?”

  Isabella looked confused.

  “Do you remember what you said?”

  “No. Sorry. I am sorry.”

  “When I asked you what you planned to do after you retired from RDS?”

  “Oh. Oh yes!”

  “You said your goal was to become a professional dietitian; to work for Social Services or for the school board, helping people to be healthier by eating better.”

  “Yes.”

  Lena held up her sign again; the audience applauded enthusiastically.

  “That career requires a four-year college degree, doesn’t it, Isabella?”

  “Yes.”

  “What must you study to get that degree?”

  “Anatomy. Nutrition. A lot of science. A lot of math.”

  “The tough stuff, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “No Water Skiing 101 for you.”

  “No.”

  “And you’ve been saving your RDS money to help you pursue this goal.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me, Isabella. What kind of grades did you get in high school? And don’t fib to me, because Lena has already looked them up.”

  The embarrassed woman answered reluctantly, “I got all A’s.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  The audience applauded again, on its own.

  Mickie pressed her: “And what about your CCs? Your College Comprehensives?”

  Isabella answered, “All tens.”

  “That’s ten out of a possible ten, ladies and gentlemen!”

  More applause.

  “Well, I am authorized to tell you that, because of your great work and your dedication, you will be receiving a full scholarship to Nova Southeastern University from the Martin County Realtors Association.”

  Isabella’s hands flew to her mouth, and her eyes filled with tears. Mr. Patterson handed her a rolled-up piece of paper with a gold seal on it as the Mangrove side of the audience applauded and cheered for several seconds.

  When the clamor died down, Mickie gave the “cut” sign to Kurt, and Lena escorted Isabella from the stage.

  As Mickie and her crew prepared for the next segment, Patience and I decided to try to mingle with the Mangrove kids. I used the Spanish I’d learned from Victoria, smiling at friendly-looking kids and saying, “Como está?”

  When they would reply, I would answer “Bien,” like Victoria had taught me.

  Patience giggled at my efforts.

  Pauline watched us and commented, “Look at the hors. They’re preten
ding they can speak Spanish.”

  Patience replied, “So? You pretend you can speak English.”

  Pauline sneered. “I can.”

  Patience muttered to me, “It’s sad when they can’t even fight back.”

  Pauline turned to Sierra. “You must know Spanish. Right?”

  “Not right. I don’t know any.”

  “Then does your dad?”

  “No. Why would he?”

  “Well, isn’t your last name Vasquez or something?”

  “Yeah. So what? Why would I want to know Spanish? You get the servants to translate for you. That’s their job.”

  I squeezed Patience’s arm secretly as I confided to them, “Personally, I would want to know what the servants were saying about me.”

  Sierra looked quickly at her maid. “What? What are they saying about me?”

  Patience took over from there. “We heard all the maids talking about you just now, over by the van.”

  “What? They’re not allowed to do that.”

  “They didn’t know we were listening.”

  Sierra believed her. She demanded to know what they said.

  Patience leaned forward. “I’m not sure. I don’t know a lot of vocabulary. They either said you were miedosa or mierda.”

  “What do those mean?”

  “One means ‘scared’ the other means ‘excrement.’”

  As Sierra stood and contemplated that, Patience and I turned and hurried into the crowd, laughing uncontrollably.

  I was still chuckling about Sierra when I got pulled back to my ambulance prison by a loud sound, the sound of the dark boy’s seat snapping shut.

  I said, “Hey! Are you going to the bathroom?”

  He ignored me, so I added, “Because I need to go to the bathroom. That’s your job, right? Helping me go to the bathroom?”

  He answered angrily, “No. That is not my job. I’ll get Dr. Reyes.”

  “No! No, please. Do me a favor, one small favor. All you have to do is take me there and bring me back.”

  His face twisted in disbelief. “What? Do you think I’m stupid?”

  “No. Not at all. You’ll be right with me, right outside the door. Come on, where am I going to go? You have me surrounded.”

  “No. I have to get the doctor.”

  “Please. Please.”

  He opened the ambulance door, but I called after him, “Come on! This is a better way. I know it is.”

  He jumped down. But then he turned around and said, “I’ll talk to the doctor. Wait here for his answer.”

  When the door opened a minute later, I found out the answer, and it was no. Dr. Reyes himself climbed in, placed the bedpan on the stretcher, and left. All in silence.

  Then he returned two minutes later to fetch it.

  It was humiliating and disgusting, once again. But there was one small consolation—the dark boy had at least talked to Dr. Reyes for me.

  He had done me a small favor.

  Once the dark boy was back inside and seated, I asked, “How are things going?” I quickly answered myself: “They’re going smoothly, I hope. Ten hours left to go. Is the ransom plan moving forward?”

  I waited for a full minute for him to respond. It frightened me that he wouldn’t even make eye contact. I hoped it wasn’t because the plan had hit a snag. I finally looked over at my vidscreen. The red light was on. Who was watching? Was it my father? Were they in contact with my father? Were they showing him that I was still alive? For now?

  Good, I thought. Let him see that I was holding up my end of the deal and that I was waiting for him to hold up his. Let him see that I was using my training. With a last look at the red light, I composed myself, closed my eyes, and concentrated…

  The Mangrove kids and the Highlands kids returned to their respective sides of the stage as Mickie appeared again with a microphone. She leaned over and held the mike out to some brown-skinned kids. “Tell me about the tornada dolls. What is the story behind those?”

  A tall girl—preselected, I’m sure—volunteered to answer. “You give it to someone you hope you will see again someday.”

  Mickie said, “That’s nice.” She pointed to another girl. “Wait a minute. You still have yours! Can I take a look at it?”

  The girl looked away, frightened. She clearly did not want to give her doll up, but after some wrangling in Spanish with the other kids, she handed it over.

  “Now, what’s this carved on here? Is it the letter L?”

  The tall girl answered for her: “It’s usually the letter of a person’s name. But they told us to do ours with the letter H.”

  “To stand for The Highlands?”

  “That’s right.”

  Mickie handed the doll back to the frightened girl. “Thank you, honey.”

  I could see on the big screen that the girl had a thin carved line across her top lip. I whispered to Patience, “Look at her mouth.”

  Patience knew what I meant right away. She explained, “That line is a surgical scar. She must have had a cleft palate. That’s when your teeth show all the time.”

  “Your top lip is deformed, right?”

  “Something like that. It’s a birth defect. But it looks like she had hers operated on.”

  The segment wrapped quickly, after which the girl with the scar walked right over to us and stopped in front of Albert. Albert looked at her, then swiftly turned on his heels and slipped away. The girl seemed confused. But then she turned to Patience and me and smiled. The surgical line disappeared entirely, leaving only white teeth and brown derma. She pointed to where Albert had been standing. “Please. La tornada, for him.”

  I took it from her. “Okay. Why for him? Por qué?”

  The girl smiled even wider. “Por gracias.”

  “Gracias? That’s it?”

  She threw up her hands. “That’s it.”

  “Okay. I’ll give it to him.”

  Right after that, Maureen Dugan saw a Mangrove girl holding up a pair of jeans. She shouted out angrily, “Those are mine! I still wear those!” She stalked toward the bewildered girl and snatched them back. Then she spotted another pair in another girl’s hand. “Those, too! Give them back!”

  Pauline heard this and scanned the crowd, coming to a halt at a young girl’s feet. “Who gave my flip-flops away? Those are my favorite flip-flops. I wear them every day.” She rounded on her maid, a dark-haired, sharp-featured woman from Romania. “Colette! Who gave those away? Was it you?”

  “No, Miss Pauline. It was your mother.”

  “My mother? What is she, stupid?”

  Colette didn’t answer, so Pauline prodded her. “Well?”

  “I…I don’t know, Miss.”

  Other Mangrove kids gathered quickly behind the young girl. Two groups were now facing off.

  Another Mangrove girl stepped forward and flung a white shirt at Maureen Dugan’s face. “Here. Keep this. It’s got pit stains anyway.”

  Maureen pulled the shirt away from her face and shook her head back and forth, totally flustered. But Pauline was not flustered. She stepped up and flung her wooden doll at the girl, catching her right on the cheek. “Here! You can keep this! It was going in the garbage anyway.”

  I looked over at the group of adults posing in front of Kurt the cameraman. Mickie was speaking to the mayor while Mr. Patterson, Mrs. Veck, and a group of people from the town looked on. They were completely unaware that the whole “kid-to-kid” scene, just ten meters away from them, was unraveling in a very ugly way.

  A boy started yelling at Sterling Johnston, “Get away from my sister, you sick freak!” Sterling backed away slowly, which only drew more attention to him.

  Another group of boys started in on Hopewell, haranguing him in Spanish and making little slapping motions at his face. Hopewell tried to backpedal, but he lost his balance and fell on the asphalt, skinning his elbow.

  Patience and I hurried over to help him up, but Albert and James got there first. The Mangrove boys backed
away as soon as the men intervened. Albert shouted at me, “Miss Charity! All of you! Get in the security van. Right now!”

  Patience and I made a quick about-face and hurried toward the van. I watched one Highlands guard jump into the driver’s seat while the other pulled the machine gun out of its rack. I turned and saw that James had pulled Hopewell to his feet and was fast-walking him toward us.

  Suddenly all of the butlers were involved. Albert, William, and Edward formed a line behind Hopewell. Each had a can of biorepellent out and was brandishing it at the Mangrove kids. This just seemed to make the kids angrier.

  Patience and I hurried up the van steps, followed by Sierra, the Dugans, the four maids, and Sterling Johnston. Hopewell and the four butlers climbed on right after. The guards closed the steel doors and glared at the mob through the tinted windows.

  The Mangrove kids retreated behind a tree. They started talking among themselves in an animated way and making violent gestures.

  About one minute later, Mickie Meyers wrapped up her shoot and returned to the van with Mrs. Veck, Mr. Patterson, Lena, and Kurt, walking right past the roiling mob.

  They had no idea what had just happened. They had no idea, that is, until the van pulled away and we all heard the thuds. Objects started crashing against the windows. I pressed my face against a tinted window and saw what the objects were—Ramiro Fortunato novels, dozens and dozens of them—all hurled at us angrily by the children of Mangrove.

  Mickie finally looked up and inquired, of no one in particular, “Why are they doing that?” No one volunteered an answer, so she let the matter drop.

  The van roared away as fast as the driver could go, not stopping until we reached a turnpike rest area. The driver swerved into it and pulled to a halt in front of the food court. Both guards then stepped outside. One held the machine gun at a downward angle while the other circumnavigated the van, looking for damage.

  Albert took a seat next to Hopewell and examined his bleeding elbow. He pulled out a small first-aid kit and started to clean the wound.

  As she watched Albert in action, Patience said, “Remember the girl with the cleft palate?”