Disappeared

by Francisco X. Stork

  Sara is still shaking her head as she unlocks the bottom drawer and opens it. The taxi vouchers are right next to a bottle of rum, which Sara knows Juana pours into a Coke at the end of a hard day. She removes a taxi voucher from the pad and is about to close the drawer when something makes her stop and look at a cigar box partially hidden under a notebook. It feels almost like a voice asking her to look inside. She takes out the cigar box and opens it.

  There is only one item inside: a small manila envelope with an H on it. Sara picks it up, her hand trembling. The manila envelope is not sealed. She opens it and takes out the white envelope with her name on it. She can feel the cell phone inside.

  At that moment, her mind goes blank. It clicks off. She can’t think or feel anything, but she reacts instinctively: She takes the envelope with the cell phone and drops it in her backpack. Then she puts the manila envelope back in the cigar box, closes the drawer, locks it, and puts the key under the lamp.

  Sara stands. She’s not sure her legs will hold her up, but they do, barely. Lupita winks at her as she leaves Juana’s office and her heart jumps, but then she remembers the wink is for the taxi voucher in her hand. Sara even manages to wink back.

  She walks ever so slowly to the elevator and waits for it to inch its way up from the first floor. Why? What could Juana possibly gain by helping Hinojosa? She tries as best she can to remember the conversation she had with Juana at the quinceañera. Something about finding the money to save El Sol. Perhaps Juana is working under his protection and funding. Does that make her less evil? She doesn’t have time to answer that question for herself because just then the elevator door opens and Elias steps out, black silk jacket and all.

  “Going out?”

  “Yeah,” she mutters. “Home. Not feeling well today.”

  “You don’t look good. I can drive you. My car is down the street.”

  Is he being kind or is he working with Juana and Hinojosa? Who is good and who is bad? She can no longer tell.

  “Taxi,” Sara says, waving the voucher as she steps onto the elevator. The doors close between them.

  God, my God, she prays. Please help me. Help all of us.

  “Emiliano!” Javier says when he sees Emiliano at the door.

  “Come in, come in!” Javier’s mother says.

  Everyone turns when Emiliano enters. The room is full of an energy that feels like happiness. Marta stands so Emiliano can take her chair. Nieves grabs his hand. Mrs. Robles goes to the red cooler to fill a glass with water. Rosario rises from the couch and turns the fan on. Emiliano notices that she has a beauty that reveals itself only slowly.

  “I don’t have any more piñatas,” Javier says. “We had to take Marta to the emergency room yesterday.”

  Marta looks as if she will crumple to the floor any second. “Thank you,” Emiliano says to her. “You sit. I can’t stay. I need to talk to Javier for a few minutes.” Then to Javier, “You want to take a walk?”

  “All right,” Javier says, with slight apprehension.

  Javier is the most mature of all the Jiparis. Even at fourteen, he has lived more, seen more, and felt more than most adults. Emiliano has always felt close to him because they share a special bond: They both want nothing to do with their fathers. Javier’s father is in Mexico City, maybe alive and maybe dead, no one knows. One day, while he was out on a binge, Mrs. Robles put everyone on a bus and came to Juárez, where she heard the assembly plants were hiring. The family lives in fear that one day he will find them.

  Emiliano blinks a few times when they step outside.

  “I know, it’s like a cave in there,” Javier says, laughing.

  “How do you do your homework? How do you work on those piñatas with so little light?”

  “You grow raccoon eyes after a while.” Javier makes circles around his eyes with his thumbs and index fingers. Then, turning serious, he says, “That was a lot of money you left us yesterday. More than three piñatas’ worth. Thanks.”

  Emiliano nods. They walk side by side toward the bus stop half a mile down the hill, then pause to sit on the rusty hood of an abandoned car. A squealing pig with two barefoot kids behind it runs on the dirt road in front of them. Javier watches with delight while Emiliano wonders how to say what he wants to say. He had a speech along the lines of Mr. Esmeralda’s, but right there and then, with the smell of raw sewage making it hard to breathe, telling Javier that there’s no way to be successful without getting a little dirty seems inappropriate for some reason.

  “So what is it?” Javier asks. In the distance, it sounds as if the pig has been caught.

  Emiliano takes a deep breath, which he immediately regrets. He searches for a source of the smell more specific than the whole neighborhood and notices a stream of water flowing down the hill behind them.

  “Wouldn’t it be good if you could get out of this place?” Emiliano asks.

  Javier shrugs. “There’s worse places.”

  Is he serious? Javier is smiling, but Emiliano can tell that he also meant what he said.

  He decides to launch into it. “After I picked up your piñatas yesterday, I ran into some people who want to do business with me. With us, if you’re interested.”

  “Yeah?”

  “We wouldn’t be working for them, like their employees or anything. We would have our own operation, but they would supply us with the product.”

  “Product? You mean they also make handicrafts?”

  “No. We would continue to make the handicrafts. I mean, you would continue to make the piñatas and other papier-mâché animals.”

  “Along with the other Jiparis.”

  “Actually, this particular operation, this part of the business, would be just you and me.”

  Javier looks confused. “I don’t understand. Why do we need these other guys?”

  “They would supply the product to put inside the piñatas. Then the piñatas would be taken across the border to the United States, pretty much the way they’re being shipped now, except they would go to shops controlled by our business associates.”

  Javier stares at Emiliano with open-eyed amazement for a long time and then laughs. “ ‘Product.’ You mean cocaine, heroin, things like that.”

  “Yes. I think we could decide what kind, if we preferred one kind of product over another.”

  Javier shakes his head. He and Emiliano watch the barefoot boys, who have now caught the pig. One boy holds its front legs and the other the back legs. The pig is breathing heavily and making tiny baby sounds. They carry the pig back toward the houses.

  Emiliano continues, after the boys and the pig have gone by, “We would be in control of the operation. We would always keep it small. The same number of piñatas you’re making now. No more. You stay in school. I stay in school. Nothing really changes. Let’s say we do six piñatas a week. As I understand it, that amount will get us, after we pay everyone, around fifteen thousand pesos. Eight thousand for you and seven thousand for me. Or more for you, if you want, since you’re doing most of the work.”

  Javier whistles. “That’s a lot.”

  “Yeah, it is. That’s just for six piñatas. The guy I talked to suggested twelve a week, but I think fewer is better.”

  “Eight thousand a week.”

  “Your mother and Rosario together don’t make that much in a year.”

  “Gosh.” Javier scratches his head. Then, “And if we’re caught? I’ve been in a Juárez jail. You think this place stinks …”

  “I thought about that a lot,” Emiliano says. “If we do this, I want to make sure that no one knows who you are. You’ll never have any contact with anyone but me. Not with the suppliers, not with the shop owners. No one. If something happens, they will only be able to trace the piñatas to me. I’ll even start making some in my house so they believe me when I tell them it’s just me.”

  “You’re not afraid?”

  “The main thing is to keep it small, not get greedy. If we can do that, we’ll be okay. I�
�ll continue selling other kids’ handicrafts. Our operation will blend in unnoticed. Once I make enough to take care of my mother and sister, and you make enough to take care of your mother and sisters, we stop. I’m thinking maybe one year, two years at the most.”

  “Is that why you want to do this? So we can help our families?”

  Emiliano swallows. Is that the only reason? Is it necessary to tell Javier all of the reasons? He exhales. He will answer truthfully. That’s what he decided to do last night. “I guess there’s another reason.” He stares for a few moments at a puddle in the middle of the road. Where did that puddle come from? It hasn’t rained in two months. “I … I like this girl at school. Her name is Perla Rubi. She’s … Her family is very wealthy. Her father knows the people that we would be doing business with. Anyway, Perla Rubi’s father talked to me and explained to me how things are, business-wise, here in Juárez, and maybe all of Mexico, how you can’t really get ahead unless you’re willing to do things you don’t like.”

  “And Perla Rubi? She wants you to do it too?”

  He remembers the promise of Perla Rubi’s kiss. “I’m not sure she knows the details of what I’d be doing, but she’s happy that her father likes me. It would be impossible for her to have me as a boyfriend if her family did not accept me. And from what her father said to me, they would not accept me unless I could take care of her. They want someone who will do all it takes—make all the sacrifices that are needed—for their daughter.” He shakes his head. “Right now, how am I ever going to do that? I mean, look at me. I’m going to graduate from high school next year, and what will I do? I’m not smart enough to go to college. I’m good at soccer, but not good enough to make a living out of it. I want to own my own store, but how will I get the money for that? So what will I do? Work in an assembly plant?” Emiliano slides down from the hood.

  Javier slides down too and stands next to him. They both lean on the car, looking at a little girl returning home from the water spigot with a plastic bucket. After she goes past them, Javier says, “It’s okay with me. If you want to do it, I’ll do it too.”

  Emiliano pushes himself away from the car. Javier looks as if he’s holding something back. “Tell me,” Emiliano says. “If we’re going to be partners, we need to be honest with each other.”

  “ ‘I will be honest with myself and others,’ ” Javier says, remembering the Jipari pledge.

  “I know. I feel bad about our Jipari pledge too.” Emiliano and Javier both stare at the ground for a few moments. “Maybe it’s not realistic—that part of the pledge. We’ll be faithful to the rest of the pledge. We’ll abstain from all intoxicants and we will be doing something for the benefit of others.”

  “Others? You mean like the people who end up using the product?” Javier looks at Emiliano for a moment.

  There’s nothing Emiliano can say in response. Javier’s right. He thought about that too last night. The only thing he can think of is that helping some people inevitably hurts others.

  Javier speaks. “You’re new at this. But I’ve been on the streets since I was eight, doing business with the kind of people we’re going to be doing business with. Some of them were nice. Every one of them for sure was a lot nicer than my father. They treated me like a son, you know, and I liked that. But I found out after a while that they weren’t all that nice deep down.”

  “You don’t want to do this, then?”

  “I’ll do it if you want me to. God knows we can use the money. We can get Marta her medicine, find a good doctor, maybe even live in a place that doesn’t make her sick. But I’m not fooling myself and you shouldn’t either. These people we’re going to do business with, the father of the girl you’re in love with and all the others—they’re not good people.”

  Emiliano nods. He respects what Javier is telling him, but he doesn’t agree. Maybe Armando and Alfredo Reyes are shady, but Mr. Esmeralda is just doing what he has to do to be successful, to take care of his family. That doesn’t make him a bad person, does it?

  Javier continues, “And the other thing I know as an addict is that once you get that hunger inside of you, you can’t control it. It’s impossible.”

  “We’re not going to use the product.” Then it hits him. Unbelievably, it’s the one thing he hadn’t considered in all the meticulous thinking he did in the endless night. Javier is an addict. Once an addict, always an addict, even if you stop using. Isn’t that what Brother Patricio says? How did Emiliano manage to overlook that small detail—how dangerous it would be for a recovering addict to handle drugs? “You probably shouldn’t do this, then,” he says.

  Javier shrugs. “I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you. You say we won’t get greedy, that we’ll stay small. But money is like heroin. Once you get it, you want more. It’s just something you need to know.”

  Emiliano thinks. “Okay. I hear you. But since we know that, can’t we guard against it? We can keep an eye on each other. You stop me if you see me start to want more. And … we need to figure out a way for me to work with you on the piñatas. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be around the stuff alone. Tell me if this will be a problem for you. Do you want to do this or not? Do you think it’s possible to keep it under control? The truth.”

  “Yes,” Javier says. “I trust you, Emiliano. I’ll do it if you want to do it.”

  “But do you want to?”

  “If I said ‘I’ll do it,’ it’s because I want to. We’ll help each other, like you say.” Emiliano can feel Javier’s affection for him in the gentle firmness of his voice. “You better go. It gets bad when people come home from the midnight shift. They usually stop for a few drinks before.” He digs in his back pocket. “Take this for a taxi. It’s going to take you two hours if you take a bus.”

  “I got money.” Emiliano bumps fists with Javier. “We’ll help each other.” He wants to say something that will convey how like a brother Javier is to him, but men don’t talk that way to each other. “So, I’ll see you next Saturday. The overnight hike.”

  “I hope I can go. I think we’ll need to take Marta to the hospital again. The doctor says it was this dust.” Javier runs a finger on the hood of the car and shows Emiliano the white chalky substance that covers everything. “Can you come by this week? You can pick up Rosario’s doll, and I might have some piñatas for you. Unstuffed.”

  “Sure. I’ll come by on Tuesday. Later.” Emiliano starts walking.

  “See you,” Javier calls after him.

  He waves his hand in the air without looking back. He recognizes in his chest the same hollow sensation he felt last night, like something has been carved out of him, and now he feels the empty space.

  He must learn to live with it. It is unavoidable.

  Sara sits in the back of a taxi, staring out the window, ignoring the driver’s attempts at conversation. She feels something she has never felt before: like she will never again see what she is seeing. The man on the street selling mangoes on a stick, the woman in a pink dress walking and talking on her phone, the old man sitting on the sidewalk with one leg stretched out and one leg missing, begging for money. All the life around her she took for granted, before her life was threatened.

  Now and again she sticks her hand in her backpack and touches the white envelope. It’s true. Juana, her Juana, her mentor and supporter in her fight for the Desaparecidas, is corrupt. Corrupt. The word sounds like what is happening in Sara’s heart: COR-RUPT. A ripping, a rupturing, a rending. How could Juana be a bad person? When did it happen? Was associating with bad people the only possible way to save El Sol? The bad times for El Sol started before Sara become a permanent employee. So she’s been corrupt all the time Sara has known her? What about all those meetings with mothers of missing girls that they attended, all those articles denouncing government indifference and malfeasance—was that just a show on Juana’s part? It all feels so personal, as if Juana’s betrayal is a rejection of Sara specifically. She’s okay with Sara being
threatened, even killed. And that hurts.

  “Everything okay, miss?”

  She moves her head so the driver can’t see her eyes in the rearview mirror.

  “Things are never as bad as they seem,” the man says when she doesn’t answer.

  No, actually, sometimes things are a lot worse than they seem. She glances at her cell phone. No text from Emiliano. It’s irrational, she knows, but her fear now extends like a ripple in a pond out to Emiliano and Mami. She wants to be home with them, in the safety of the love they have for each other.

  “You can drop me off at the next corner,” Sara says. They are two blocks away from the bakery where Mami works. She’ll wait until Mami’s shift ends and then go home with her. Mami’s friend Luisa will give them a ride.

  She writes down the fare on the taxi voucher, signs it, and gives it to the driver. She adds a twenty-percent tip even though ten percent is the maximum El Sol employees are allowed to tip, per one of Felipe’s memos. “Sorry, I don’t have any cash,” she says as he studies the voucher. “Your company always takes them.”

  “That’s all right,” he says. She has a feeling he’s going to toss the voucher out the window as soon as he’s out of sight.

  “Thank you.”

  “Remember …”

  “Things are never as bad as they seem.” Sara fills in the blank for him.

  “Correct.”

  Sara watches the driver make a U-turn and head in the opposite direction. He gives her a thumbs-up as he speeds away. There are so many people who are good in this country. Kind people like that taxi driver. She feels a guilty pang about Elias. Maybe he didn’t deserve her mean thoughts about him today. She stops in front of a shoe store and stares without looking at the shoes in the window display. It is suddenly clear to her why, in the taxi, she was saying good-bye to everything. It is impossible to ever go back to El Sol. She cannot go back with Juana there. She has no job. She is no longer a reporter.