Fruit of the Drunken Tree

by Ingrid Rojas Contreras

  The only time Cassandra and I went outside was with Mamá, inside the school bus, or across the street from our neighborhood to buy candy in the shops. Cassandra had memorized our school bus route, so she knew all the streets around us, but we never went further. Who knew what we might encounter? I looked across the street to the great beyond that was the city—past the wide gray of the street, there was a hardware store, a phone booth, a rickety building in need of new paint, the green tops of trees, the tops of more buildings. I stood by a pine and played at running the branch through my fingers. The guard was still watching us when our bus pulled up.

  “Okay, stay close,” Cassandra said. We went to the back of the line, and the moment the first students from our school started boarding, we retreated and ran near the back end of the bus. There, as we crouched, Cassandra looked into my eyes. “This is it, ready?”

  I nodded. The sky was still dim. I was jacked up with anticipation.

  “Now!” We ran away from the bus, just then beginning to pull away, and dove behind a city trash can. We waited bundled against the ground. We heard the rumble of the bus travel up the street. Cassandra peeked around the trash can. Then she looked back at me over her shoulder. Her lids lowered and she smirked. “He’s reading his newspaper again.” We high-fived each other and then I followed Cassandra. We trotted along, staying low, ducking behind a parked car, a lamppost. We ran in a crouch behind a boy pulling trash in a makeshift horse carriage, and then we were able to run across the street. We went beyond the stores we were allowed to go to—the candy store, the liquor store—and panted behind a bakery. I looked at the invisible border that had been the first row of stores. From where we crouched, I could really take in how big our neighborhood was. The row of pines and tall iron fence that enclosed the neighborhood went on for about five blocks.

  Cassandra said that we needed a convincing story in case an adult asked us why we weren’t in school. We decided to say there had been a bombing. Yes, a car bomb. We had been sent home early. Also, we were traumatized. We had seen a boy’s head come cleanly off his shoulders and roll on the ground while his neck sprayed the walls with blood. Cassandra showed the whites of her eyes. “Always one step too far with you.” She told me not to say the last part.

  Cassandra stood up and dusted her skirt and pulled up her socks. “Now what?” Cassandra said most likely Petrona would arrive at eleven, her usual time, but we needed to keep watch starting at nine. Once Petrona arrived, we would find a way to follow a few steps behind. Mamá would interrogate Petrona right away, so we needed to sneak into our house quickly but quietly and eavesdrop on as much of their conversation as possible. I nodded, wondering just how I would manage to protect Petrona without giving her secrets away and without announcing we were listening behind the door.

  Cassandra said, “The only problem is, that’s three hours away. It’s six in the morning now, the mall doesn’t open until seven and the arcade doesn’t open until eight, so we have an hour to kill.”

  “What should we do?”

  “Let’s just buy a pastry and coffee here,” Cassandra said.

  “Are you sure? We don’t even know who runs this bakery,” I said.

  “It’s a bakery, Chula.”

  Cassandra looked down at her wristwatch and pushed open the door, bells jingling above. I exhaled in relief once I saw an old woman behind the counter. She wore a black apron and was kneading some dough. “Buenos días,” she called, then returned her eyes to her labor. In the corner, a couple held hands over the counter. I was adjusting the straps of my backpack ready to take it off, when I saw that the couple was Petrona and her boyfriend. Cassandra put her hand in front of me and we froze. My relief at seeing Petrona unharmed was overshadowed by my alarm at seeing her boyfriend. Why was he here again, so close to our house? We took a step back. If we were leaving, we would have to open the door again. The bells would sound again. I turned to Cassandra to see what we should do, but she was staring at Petrona.

  Petrona wore a tweed coat that probably belonged to her boyfriend. I shrank. He was bigger than I remembered. Just his neck was more muscular than my leg. As he held Petrona’s hands, however, he seemed sweet. He drank up her face with that kind of boy thirst I had seen before on a man who whistled at me in the street and Mamá had yelled, “Pedophile!”

  We needed to get out of there. Cassandra didn’t know this was Petrona’s boyfriend, and she didn’t know he had pointed his hand like a gun at Petrona and me. I reached for the door. I pushed on the handle. The bells jingling made Petrona look up; she twirled out of her stool, gasping, and her boyfriend fell out of his seat too. Cassandra stepped in front of me, blocking me from view. “Who’s he?” He shifted from Petrona to us like he was in a boxing match. Everything was going terribly. “There was a bombing in our school,” I called. Cassandra elbowed me.

  Petrona inclined her head, a question forming on her face, then coming out of her mouth as she advanced toward us: “Are you skipping school?”

  I snuck a look past Cassandra’s side and saw Petrona’s boyfriend hold in a laugh and look away. “Who’s he?” Cassandra repeated.

  “His name is Gorrión,” Petrona said. She righted her head. “He’s a friend.” She placed her hands on the hips of the tweed coat, her arms bunching up with the material. The shoulders of the coat marked the difference between her and Gorrión’s body—the coat jutted out in space past the curve of Petrona’s shoulders, and the coat sleeves bunched up at her wrists and hid her hands.

  “He’s Petrona’s boyfriend,” I corrected.

  Gorrión was stern for a moment, but then he broke into a brief cackle. He jumped on his toes. He cackled once more, unable to contain himself. “I’m calling the driver.” He planted a kiss on Petrona’s cheek and pushed past us and left. The bells jingled at the door. Petrona fell back one step and her face drained and for a second I thought she would faint. I stepped forward to steady her. “Are you okay?” Petrona rubbed her face, then gripped her hand over her mouth. “Who’s the driver?” Cassandra asked.

  Petrona relaxed her hand. The skin on her face where she had squeezed was red. She put her arms behind us, composed. “Gorrión’s ride to work. Come, I’ll buy you some coffee and sweets.”

  At the counter, there was a display of all kinds of sweets: classic croissants, tartlets, scones, but there were also empanadas, pan de bono, pan de queso. The air smelled of vanilla and meat. The old woman behind the counter smiled at me. There was a white hair curling from her chin and her silver hair was gathered in dark netting. I ordered café con leche and pan de bono. The old woman’s apron had flour fingerprints marked all over it. I smiled at her, then Cassandra found my hand and held on fast to my wrist. “Why are you here so early, Petrona?”

  Petrona picked up the cup of coffee sitting in front of her. She set it down again. She tried to smile. She did smile. Her eyes remained downcast. “Why did you girls decide to skip school—today of all days?”

  The tone in her voice, official, and just beneath, pleading, scared me. “You won’t let anything bad happen to us, right? Petrona?” I asked. I saw Petrona’s eyes pool with tears, but she turned away almost immediately, and then the old woman behind the counter was placing in front of Cassandra and me two big cups of café con leche, saying, “Never be afraid of consequences, niñitas. They’re the great teachers, don’t you know.” She placed a plate with a single pan de bono in front of me and winked. “Your parents will find out, you’ll be grounded, you’ll learn your lesson, and you’ll never skip school again—see? Nothing terrible about that.” She took up her knife and started dicing carrots.

  I nodded at the old woman and turned to Petrona, but before I could say anything more, the bells sounded and Gorrión rushed in, panting.

  “Petrona,” Cassandra urged. “What is going on?”

  Gorrión put an arm around Petrona. “She’s having coffee with me.”
He smiled widely, revealing straight white teeth. Petrona was tense under the weight of his arm. She stared at the woman.

  Cassandra glared at Gorrión. “Excuse me, but who are you again?”

  “I’m Petrona’s boyfriend.” He glanced at me. “Like the little imp said.”

  I stood. “I am not an imp.”

  “Young man, haven’t you heard—you don’t touch a woman, not even with the petal of a flower?” The old woman paused her cutting, and was waving the knife at Gorrión as she talked. “If you don’t want to be kicked out of my store, you will adhere to common decency.”

  Gorrión smiled quickly. “As you say, Señora. We were just getting together to talk about their father. He just passed away, you see. That’s why everyone is so tense. We should probably get them home, poor devils.” Gorrión took out from his front jeans pocket a collection of wrinkled bills. He scattered some change on top, and the sound of the coins landing on the wooden counter, one of them wobbling around and around, seemed to echo back and forth in my ears. What did Papá have to do with anything? My chin trembled and Cassandra squeezed my wrist. I could feel my blood pulsing against her fingers.

  The old woman put the knife down. “You said they were skipping school, now their father’s dead.” She picked up the telephone. “Which story is it? I’m calling the police. I want you two gone. The girls stay.”

  The old woman said, “Policia—”

  Gorrión stood up without hurry. He was smiling. He grabbed Cassandra by the neck of her jacket. Cassandra lifted off the ground.

  “Policia, policia! Come quick, there’s a robbery—”

  I rammed into Gorrión and Cassandra kicked him in the shin and Cassandra took off running and I ran after her. The bells above the door were jingling and I heard Petrona say, “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s get out of here!” As I pushed past the door onto the wide sidewalk, I heard behind me the bells jingling, plates breaking, the old woman screaming, a smacking sound. I didn’t dare look back. Cassandra sprinted toward the street. My backpack was heavy, jingling with all the loose change. I looked behind and there was no one and when I turned back, Cassandra was gone. I scanned the perimeter. The streets were empty. Had Cassandra taken a right or a left? I turned left, panting up an alley. I leapt behind a building and kept running, across a street, crying, still running. I was sure that Petrona or Gorrión would appear behind me at any moment. I glanced all around, searching the horizon for the pines and gate of my neighborhood. Never be afraid of consequences, niñitas, the old woman had said. How could I get lost at a time like this? I crouched behind a dumpster. I was inhaling but not breathing out.

  I bit my arm and tried to think. I had only run for about three minutes from the bakery, and it had taken Cassandra and me five minutes to get there, which meant the neighborhood was within eight minutes of where I currently was. Around me there were tall looming buildings, and streets empty of cars. The sidewalks were deserted.

  Maybe if I stayed hidden and waited for someone, then I could ask for help. I looked to the sky. I was panting again. The sun was rising and the clouds were golden. If I stayed in the same spot, so close to the bakery, they would find me. I got up. I started running again. I needed to get further away, then I would hide. I wished I knew my way around like Cassandra. I looked at my feet as I ran, my stomach knotting together, trying to concentrate on running far, fast, ignoring my wheezing breath. I needed to remember the school bus route, then I would be able to find my way back home. I watched, blurry-eyed, the tight butterfly knots of my shoes. First the bus picked us up. Then it went down the street and took a left. The bus went straight for three blocks and took a right, where it stopped by another gated neighborhood. There was a patch of grass and rainbow-colored monkey bars I could see from the bus window. But what happened after that? I always fished out a book at that point and didn’t look up until we had arrived an hour later, at our school. I looked around as I ran. If I found the rainbow-colored monkey bars, then I could find my way back. I broke into a cough. I couldn’t run any further. I searched the horizon for anything remotely familiar.

  I saw the aqueduct. The aqueduct ran four meters deep, in between streets to drain the rainwater. Here and there as I rode the school bus, I would catch glimpses of the city aqueduct. I knew there was a place where it ran close to my house. But which way was the right way? Close to my house someone had spray-painted on the slants of the aqueduct Cuando te violen, relajate y disfruta. I remembered, because when I saw it out of the school bus window and then Mamá’s car, I asked her about it. The thing that struck me about it was the implied, not if but when they rape you, and the way Mamá’s head hurled back with laughter when I told her the second part—relax and enjoy it—and how after she was done laughing Mamá’s eyes fixed on me and she said, “That happens to you, you kick and run.” If only I could find the one graffiti, then I would know which way was home.

  I got on my knees and searched along the open-air slants of the aqueduct. I read Tomás waz here. Down the street it read, Galán Asesinos. I was about to run back in the other direction, when a car screeched to a stop next to me, Petrona in the passenger seat and a man I did not recognize at the wheel. The man sprinted out of his seat. I saw his sweat pants, his black beard, and I dropped my bag and ran. I neared the avenue, a sharp feeling in my right lung, I would throw myself in front of a car, I would make someone stop and help me. There were no cars. I was crying again. I glanced back and saw Petrona sitting in the passenger seat of the idling car like she was waiting at a red light. Her head was in her hands. Was she really doing this?

  The bearded man was gaining on me. I cried, running again, the graze of his fingers on my back, the pavement bouncing in my vision, the sharp feeling in my lung digging. There was a taxi in the distance, the white amber light above its hood. I screamed for this taxi, I waved my arms to get the attention of the taxi driver. He looked in my direction, then turned away, the left blinker on. The bearded man yanked me back and I fell and hit my head. My ears were ringing, but I was still conscious. I tried to wriggle free. I saw the blinking amber light of the taxi disappearing at the corner of the road, and then the bearded man twisted my arm behind me and I went limp and shrieked from the pain.

  Everything broke inside me and I understood that Petrona really was going to betray me.

  The man dragged me by my leg all the way back to the car. My skin burned against the cement, but I was yelling not from the pain, but at Petrona, “How can you do this? How can you do this?” Petrona standing now, out of the car, her arms gripped against her stomach, her face turned to the horizon, her heaving and crying and shaking and looking away. I tried to hang on to the cracks of the street, I gripped on to blades of grass and stones, but it was no use. The man lifted my body and then I was in the trunk of the idling car. He shut the trunk door and all the light was sucked out and then we were moving and loud cumbia drowned out my screaming.

  I remembered, the sky dark, Cassandra standing in profile. I remembered Cassandra’s singsong voice, saying, I can’t hear you, Chula, what is that you said? Everything burned: my skin and my lungs and throat and behind my eyes. The darkness with my eyes closed was the same as with my eyes open. Petrona was riding in the passenger seat in the front of this same car that was now leading me away. I felt like I was running out of air.

  The car turned left then; we had gone twenty seconds straight. If I could remember the turns I could find my way back when I escaped. I felt alone, like a lost, undiscovered galaxy. There was a flashing crack of light at the right side of the trunk. We turned left again. Then just barely audible over the sound of cumbia, I heard another car beside us—the hint of the sound of brakes, the hint of the sound of an engine. I kicked as hard as I could on the trunk, I screamed into the crack of light.

  I put everything into my screaming. The more I put into my screaming, the more things became unhinged—I gave sound to the thing
s that had no language: the tense groove above Mamá’s lips, the snail shell in my palm, Petrona’s swollen mutant skin swallowing her eye and the points of her lashes, Abuela’s porcupine back. I started to lose track of myself, until there was someone else yelling. Then I heard one loud, long honk. Then another. Then another.

  We screeched hard right, then left. I nailed my head against the trunk. We were speeding up an incline, away from the honking. I couldn’t breathe. I needed to focus. I had been wrong about Petrona, I needed to get back to Mamá. I pawed around by the edge of the trunk door. I would find a way out.

  I wiped tears from my face. I would be who Mamá had raised me to be. I felt around for a weapon. There was nothing. I let my fingers crawl over everything. I found tucked behind the lip of steel a long, skinny cable. It led right up to the lock. It did something, but what? I dug my fingers into the little crevice trying to get ahold of it. I grabbed it and when we took another hard right, somehow the trunk door clicked open. I drew in a sharp breath, and held the door down so neither Petrona nor the driver would see. I laughed. I would be able to get away.

  The darkness in the trunk deepened. We were in a tunnel. When the car braked, I pushed the trunk door open and jumped out. I skinned my knee, then I was on my feet again, running. I heard wheels screeching, Petrona yelling, the driver yelling, I was running away. I ran along the tunnel, up some stairs, in the light of the street now. I was out of breath. Everything blurred in front of me and I continued to run.