by Jaime Cortez
“Dios santo,” says Ma.
“I felt my heart drop down to my feet when the army officer said that. Because everybody has heard the story of girls, sometimes only thirteen years old, getting kidnapped and …” I hear a spoon stirring coffee in a cup. I hear a goat in the field up the hill. She doesn’t say nothing more, so you know it must be something really bad. “Then we started seeing cars with suspicious men parked on the street near our house. It was so frightening.”
“So you had to run away,” says my ma. “Ay, Delia. How terrible. Do you have family nearby?”
“No. Not in California. No one came with me,” says Delia. “It’s bad back home, but they didn’t want to leave. Almost my entire family is back there. The grandparents. The uncles and aunts, the cousins. We have little businesses. A corner store. A guava orchard. My uncle fixes cars. They didn’t want to leave that behind. My mother said she wanted to live and die in her own country.” I hear somebody sigh, but I don’t know who it is. Then I hear someone crying.
“It’s okay, Chiquita, it’s okay. Don’t cry,” Alex is saying.
“This is so sad,” my ma replies. “No family near you. You had to escape all by yourself. Nobody should be without a family to help them.”
“Esperanza, I’m sorry,” says Delia. “I’ve known you for five minutes and already I’m telling you all these terrible things.”
“It’s okay, Delia. Tell your story or it’ll drown you. And I’m glad you escaped, but how did you do it?” asks Ma.
“My mother and father pulled together the money. My uncle drove me across the border to Guatemala City. From there I took buses across the border into Mexico, all the way to Tijuana. I got robbed on the bus by a man with a knife the second night. But I was ready. I gave him some money, cried like a baby for show, but most of my money was in a secret pocket my tia had sewn inside of my blouse. The next day, I met a family on the bus, and we pretended I was part of the family so people wouldn’t know I was traveling alone. When I got to Tijuana, I walked up to the border and asked the border guard for asylum. They filled out my papers and told me it would take three or four weeks. I started crying, because I didn’t know what I’d do by myself for a month.
“The border office lady told me I could stay at the Sweet Name of Mary church in Tijuana. ‘Walk toward the tall spire with the cross,’ she said. I did and arrived at the church. Father Ignacio and the sisters were saints. I stayed for almost three weeks, along with other families trying to get asylum.
“Before I left, Sister Sarita connected me with the Roques, a host family that was ready to take in someone like me. I got to talk to them on the phone. They were Salvadoreans too. When I got permission to cross to the United States, Sister Sarita walked me across the border and put me on a bus to Salinas. She even gave me fifty-five dollars. Imagine that. The church was so poor, so many people to help, and she gave me money. Saints. I got on the bus and in one day, I arrived. The Roque family was a good family, even though the wife was a Jehovah’s Witness.”
“You go through all that suffering and then end up with Jehovah’s Witnesses?”
“They’re just like anyone else,” says Delia.
“No they’re not,” says my ma. “They don’t like Catholicism and want to bring down our church. Did she try to convert you?”
“From the first day, she tried to convert me. Can you imagine? Saint Christopher and the Virgin guide me to California without a scratch, and she wants me to change religion? No thank you, señora. I like my faith. Besides, their mass takes half a day.”
“Eternities,” says my ma. “You feel like a soul trapped in purgatory. Terrible.” Everyone in the kitchen starts laughing. I cover my mouth with my fist and laugh too.
“So how did you meet Alex?” asks my ma.
“The host family helped me get a job at the mushroom plant, thank the Lord,” says Delia. “That’s where I met Alex, and we became friends. Very good friends. Now here we are. Starting a new life.”
“A new start together,” says Alex.
“I’m glad for you, muchacha,” says Ma. “You’re a good person, I can tell. So young, so pretty, and you’ve gone through all this. But God is great, and now you’re here on Hudson Street. You’re safe. You can have a better life and help your family over there.”
“That’s what matters,” says Delia.
“We all matter,” says Alex. “They matter. I matter too. Just like your family.”
“Señora Esperanza,” says Delia. “I kept hearing such nice things about you, and I see now that all the nice things Alejandra said about you were true.”
Alejandra. Alex’s real name is Alejandra.
“Señora,” says Delia. “I want to ask a favor. When I need advice, can I come to you?”
“No, Delia,” says Alex before Ma can answer. “Don’t bother Señora Esperanza. She is very busy with her family and working.”
“You can always come to me for help, Delia,” says Ma.
“Thank you,” says Delia.
“We’ll see,” says Alex. “Oh, look at the time. Thank you for the coffee. We should get going now, señora.” I hear them pushing back their chairs as they leave the table. I walk into the kitchen to wave goodbye. Delia waves goodbye at us and says thank you three times before they go out the door.
They killed her brothers. She had to run away from home. Someone robbed her. Some people have to walk around with so many sad stories. They have to get up, brush their teeth, wash their face, go to work like everybody else, but they’re not like everyone else.
For days, I think about the things Alex and Delia said, and I decide that Alex is not a creepy weirdo. She dresses up like a guy, but she helped Delia escape. She’s one of the good guys.
Sometimes on Sundays, I see Delia and Alex get all dressed up to go to church. Alex wears a guayabera shirt with a sharp crease down the front, khakis, and a nice hat with a little red feather in it. To tell the truth, Alex is not very pretty. But ever since Delia arrived, Alex looks good on Sundays. I never seen her dressed up so nice. One Sunday, she wore a blue guayabera shirt with matching shoes the color of a bluebird egg. For church, Delia always wears a dress down to her knees and lets her hair down.
If you saw them all dressed in Easter colors on a Sunday, you’d probably think they look pretty happy. But I know they’re not, because sometimes I hear the bad sounds coming from their house. I know the bad sounds from when Pa returns home drunk and angry. From Alex’s house, I hear shouting. Things breaking. Scared screams. Somebody making noises like an angry animal. I once heard Delia begging Alex not to hit her, but of course she didn’t stop. It never works when you ask someone to stop hitting you.
A few weeks later, I’m hanging clothes on the clothesline, and I hear my name. It’s soft at first, so I don’t really notice it, but it gets louder.
“gordo.”
“Gordo.”
“GORDO.”
I can’t figure out where the voice is coming from, till I notice it’s coming from the ivy fence between our house and Alex’s.
“It’s me, Delia,” says the ivy.
“Hi Delia,” I say. “I didn’t see you.”
“Gordo, I’m wondering, do you know how to fix this?” I hear the sounds of ivy leaves and vines getting pushed aside. Then I see Delia’s hand holding a transistor radio with a suitcase handle on top. She pushes it through a hole in the fence over to our side. I walk toward the hand and take the radio.
“Your radio is broken?” I ask.
“Yes. No. I don’t know. Maybe.” I take the radio from her hand.
“Turn it on,” says Delia. I find the on/off button and push it. The radio starts playing “When I Need You.” I change the station and it’s Cornelio Reyna’s “Barrio Pobre.” I change it again and it’s a football game. Boring. I change it one more time and it’s “Rock the Boat.” That’s my song! I turn up the volume, and it sounds good.
“Your radio sounds okay to me, Delia.”
&nb
sp; “I know the sound is good, but it’s broken. It’s different. I brought this radio from El Salvador. I wanted to know what was happening back in my country, but when I turn it on here, it mostly talks in English. I can’t hear the radio voices from home. I turn the dial to where the news should be, and all I hear is rock and roll in English. What happened to the voices from home?”
I’m not sure how to explain it, but I try.
“The radio, it’s different in every place,” I say. “When we go visit family in San Jose, the radio is different. Different music, different news. You can’t hear the voices from back home in your country. They’re too far away.”
“Oh,” says Delia. I can tell from her “oh” that this is sad news.
“I really wanted to hear the voices from home,” says Delia. “I miss them so much. It makes me feel lonely. I thought the voices from home lived inside the radio, and I could bring them to Watsonville.”
“You can’t.”
“I’m so stupid,” she says. “I’m a burra.”
“No you’re not, Delia. You just didn’t know how the radio works. Here, let me give you back your radio.” Delia pushes back some ivy like a curtain on her end. Through the hole, I see a corner of her face. She has a puffy eye. It is black with purple. I don’t say nothing. I push the radio through the ivy, and she takes it.
“Thanks, Gordo,” she says. She sounds so sad.
I hear her walking away. I hear her back door open and then shut. I finish hanging the clothes. I’m not sure what to do. Ma is always telling me to mind my own business. Says I’m like some nosy old lady. Black eyes are top secret. Two times Ma got a black eye from Pa, and nobody said nothing about it. I guess you’re supposed to shut up like nothing happened and swallow the story. But Delia needs help, so what should I do? I look up at the sky, close my eyes, and I ask God to tell me what to do. I wait and wait, hanging clothes, and he don’t say nothing. Every time I ask for help, he never says nothing. I finish hanging the clothes and go back into the house. Sylvie is doing homework at the kitchen table. Ma is cleaning the living room windows. I open my sock drawer and grab my Magic 8-Ball. I know it’s stupid to ask a toy what to do, but I’m stuck. I hold the black ball close to my mouth and I whisper, “Should I tell Ma about Delia’s black eye?”
I shake the ball and stare at the little round window with the blue water. My answer floats up to the window.
“ASK AGAIN LATER.” Stupid ball. I shake the ball hard and ask again. “SIGNS POINT TO YES,” says the ball. Okay, that’s it. I’ve decided. I’m gonna tell.
* * *
When I tell her, my ma looks worried and asks me to show her where I talked to Delia through the fence. We go there, and Ma begins calling out to Delia. At first, we don’t hear nothing from Delia’s place. She probably can’t hear Ma. But Choco starts barking at us. Ma calls her name again. Finally, we hear Delia’s back door open.
“Delia, is that you?” says Ma.
“Hola, Esperanza,” says Delia.
“Hola, hija,” says Ma. “Come have a little coffee with me?”
“Thanks. But I can’t go right now,” says Delia.
“Can you visit later?” says Ma.
“I can’t.”
“Just for a few minutes, please visit for coffee. I want to see you.” Delia is quiet for a moment.
“I can’t,” she says again. She sounds like she wants to cry. “I want to visit, but my front fence is locked. Alex locks me in when she leaves for work in the morning. Wraps the chain around the front gate and locks it. She wears the key around her neck.”
“Dios mio,” says Ma. “What’s happening here? What if there’s an emergency and you need to leave? What if firemen need to get in?”
“She’s getting so jealous,” Delia says. “We go to church, we go to the groceries, and she comes back mad, accusing me of making eyes at men and trying to get them to look at me.”
“Oh my God,” says Ma. “You’re like a prisoner, Delia.”
“I don’t know what to do,” says Delia.
“I want to see your face,” asks Ma.
“Okay,” says Delia.
Ma pushes her hands into the ivy and spreads it open. Delia does the same thing on the other side. I see Ma pressing her lips together and her face is red.
“She did this to you?” asks Ma. “Cabrona.”
“I don’t know what to do,” says Delia. Ma puts her face right up to the hole in the ivy. “Don’t cry, hija. You have to listen to me. You have to fight back. Nobody likes to fight, but you have to fight back. Scratch. Bite. Kick. Throw things. Fight like an animal. Make her pay every time she tries to hit you. That’s what I had to do with Antonio. It makes them angry at first, and sometimes they get even more violent, but sometimes they learn, and then they think twice. Antonio stopped it eventually. I was scared, but I kept fighting back. You fight back too.”
“I’m afraid, Esperanza.”
“Of course you are. But Delia, think of how brave you are. You escaped your country, and you got here. All by yourself. Tell me something. Did your father hit you when you were growing up?” asks my ma.
“He could be mean. He never hit us.”
“Think about that. Your own father never hit you, and now you’re going to let Alex hit you? Alex isn’t even blood to you. Why should she get to hit you?”
“I don’t know. She gets so angry,” says Delia.
“Then you get angry too. Fight back. Make her pay. Every time. It’s the only thing they understand. My god. Alex is just like a man.”
“Worse,” says Delia. “I had two boyfriends before Alex, and they never hit me.”
“That is because they were still boyfriends, señorita. They were trying to win you. At first, it’s all kisses and roses and velvet boxes with ugly earrings they pick out. As soon as you get married, POW! That sweet lover disappears and gets replaced by a husband, and let me tell you, things change.” Delia laughs and Ma joins in.
“Oh they change all right. At first they don’t even want to fart in front of you. They leave the room to fart. So delicate. Then later, they’ve got you, and they really don’t care anymore, and they fire away. Like a machine gun. Help me, Saint Jude of the lost causes.” They are laughing hard now. I pretend to rake, but look the other way so Ma doesn’t see me laughing too.
“Ay, Esperanza,” says Delia, “the things you say. I just realized I hadn’t laughed in days. It feels so good.”
* * *
Ma and Delia begin talking through the fence every day. Even when it rains, they’re out there with their umbrellas, talking. Delia says talking in person is safer, because Alex always checks the phone bill and makes Delia explain every call. A few weeks later, Alex hits Delia again. Of course I got as close as I could to listen when they talked.
“Why’d it happen?” asks Ma.
“I asked if I could start working again at the mushroom plant, and Alex asked if I had some secret lover I wanted to meet at the plant, and from there she got angrier and angrier, and I got angry too and told her she was crazy, and she slapped me and punched my face and stomach.”
“Did you fight back?” Delia don’t say nothing.
“I didn’t fight back,” says Delia. “But I told her afterward that I wanted to leave her.”
“What did she say?”
“Alex got very calm. The quiet, it was scarier than shouting and hitting. She said I would never leave her. She says she helped me by letting me stay with her, and now I owe her my life, and I have to stay with her. She said she had ways of watching me, even when she isn’t there. She told me she has an invisible eye that never sleeps. It follows me. I can’t escape.”
“She sounds crazy.”
“Alex said the invisible eye will lead her to me, and she’ll find me and drag me back home by the hair. She told me she has been slowly gathering everything she needs to destroy my life if I ever leave her. My hair from a hairbrush. My fingernail clippings. My underwear. My picture.”
“You’re saying Alex is a witch?” asks Ma.
“I never used to believe in that witch stuff,” says Delia, “but now I don’t know what to think. I only know I’m scared.”
“If Alex is doing brujería against you, you need protection,” says Ma. “I know a curandera. She is really good. Good prices too. I can bring her, and she can do works that will protect you.”
“I don’t know, señora. I can’t understand Alex. Sometimes she really is sweet. Most of the time, she is normal. But then she gets angry, and it’s like she gets possessed. Lately she has been saying she doesn’t want to be alone, but if I don’t do as she says, she is going to call the migra and tell them I’ve been selling drugs, and they will send me back to El Salvador. I told her she couldn’t lie that way to the migra. She said the migra will always believe a citizen over an immigrant. Do you think it’s true, about me being deported back to my country if she tells them that lie about the drugs?”
“No,” says my ma. “It’s probably not true. You’re not illegal. You have the right papers, the permission to stay here. She’s trying to scare you.”
“I don’t need a magic spell. I need to escape,” says Delia. “I have a cousin. He moved to Chicago a few months ago. When I arrived in Watsonville, I sent him a letter telling him I was okay, and I gave him the phone number. He calls once in a while. Last time he called, I told him everything. He was mad and said he’d come and beat up Alex if I wanted him to, or he can send me a bus ticket to Chicago, and I could go there and live with him. He works in a big hotel, in the laundry room, and he says I could work there or cleaning rooms.”
