“Just a minute,” Miguel called to Paulo. “Gotta get the key.” He turned to Sara and said softly, “Get your shoes on. I’m gonna open the door. When it’s clear, I want ya to slip away and run as fast as the wind. Don’t stop for nothin’. Promise?”
She shook her head, and when she spoke her voice trembled, “I ain’t goin’ alone. Come with me.”
“I’ll come when I can.” He slipped on his own shoes to prove it to her.
When she still hesitated, he reached inside his sweaters, removed his mother’s gold chain, and put it around her neck out of sight.
“That’s Octávia’s! I saw her wearin’ it.”
“No. It was Mamãe’s. Octávia was holdin’ it for us.”
“But how—”
“I’ll ’splain later.” He also pushed the wallet he’d stolen on the ferry into her hands. It held only a little money, but there was no time to include the stash from under the mattress. “Now will ya run like I said?”
She nodded. “I’ll go to the water spigot.”
“They’ll see ya there. Run to that place in the woods. Where we sleep sometimes.”
“But I’ll be scared. It’s so dark!”
He looked at her sternly. “Sara, you gotta be brave. I’ll be there soon. Take Lucky—he’ll protect you. Take the blanket, too. Keep it around you. Promise?”
Tears slid down her cheeks, and when she spoke, her voice squeaked. “Promise.”
Miguel led her near the door, stepping in front of her. For once he was glad the light from the lantern was so dim. “I’m openin’ it!” he called to Paulo. Lucky whined and pawed at the wood.
Miguel had barely turned the key in the padlock when the door burst open and a group of teens pushed their way in. Lucky jumped out of the way, uttering a deep growl.
“What’s goin’ on?” Miguel demanded. “Better get out or I’ll tell my aunt.” He turned slightly as they entered, hoping to keep Sara from sight. There were four boys and two girls, besides Paulo, all much older. Miguel recognized some of them as being part of the teen gang he’d seen hanging around the shack community. Lucky growled in his throat.
A thin, mean-looking boy Miguel had never seen sneered in his face. “We heard she’s dead, and that this here shack’s up for grabs.”
“Ain’t true,” Miguel said.
“Paulo said it was.”
Paulo smirked at Miguel’s glare. “I told Miguel about her dyin’ myself.”
“She ain’t dead!” Miguel yelled. “It was someone else. You never did see her.”
Paulo paled visibly, but the older boy shrugged. “We’ll just look for ourselves.” They were all inside now, eyes searching the dim recesses. The shack was small, but large enough that they would have to move the lantern to thoroughly investigate the corners. Miguel pushed Sara toward the door and tried to cover her departure with his body. She fled as if she were chased by devils, and Lucky bounded after her, yipping furiously at the ends of the blanket.
“Carlos!” One of the faceless girls raised the cry.
The mean-looking boy strode up to Miguel and grabbed his neck, choking him. “Who was it that left?”
Miguel shrugged, lips tightly clenched. The relief he felt for Sara’s escape gave him the will to resist.
“We’ll see what you got to say later,” Carlos gritted, releasing him with a shove. He turned to the girl. “See he don’t leave.” She nodded, shutting the door and placing herself in front of it.
Miguel swiveled his head toward Paulo. “I’ll kill ya for this, Paulo. Just wait and see!” Paulo shifted his weight and retreated, looking suddenly ill.
In less than a minute, it became clear Octávia was not in the shack. Even if she had been Miguel didn’t know that it would have made a difference. “She’ll be comin’ along soon.” His words were devoid of hope.
“I don’t think so,” Carlos said. “As the new leader of this group, I claim this place as ours.”
“It’s mine!”
Carlos shook his head and smirked at Miguel. “I don’t much care if ya wanna stay. You gotta pay rent, of course.” His voice lowered. “Startin’ right now.”
Miguel’s heart hammered and his blood pumped rapidly through his veins, giving strength to his limbs. He backed slowly away, biding his time.
“Frisk him, boys,” Carlos commanded. At once the teenagers were all over Miguel, rough fingers searching. He fought gallantly, but he was no match for the strangers.
“He ain’t got no money on him,” someone said. “Just an old identity card and this metal ship.”
His treasures! Miguel felt sick.
“That’s okay,” another teen announced. “I think we just found his stash under this mattress.” Miguel wished he were alone so he could cry.
The teens took everything to Carlos, who smiled when he saw the money. He eyed the picture on his mother’s identity card with interest. “Who’s this?”
Miguel gazed at him defiantly. “Nobody.” It hurt him somewhere deep in his gut to see his mother’s picture in that creep’s hand.
Carlos passed it around. “Looks sort of like his sister,” one of the boys put in. His family lived in a nearby shack and Miguel knew him by sight. “She’s a cute little thing, a real doll. She’d fetch a pretty price for us.”
“Give it to me!” Miguel shouted.
The boy holding the picture tossed it over his head to the girl behind Miguel. It fell short, and Miguel scrambled after it over the hard-packed dirt. One of the boys stepped on his arm, forcing him to be still.
“Let him up.” Grinning, Carlos took the card and set it on Octávia’s shelf. He tossed Miguel’s painted metal ship into the air, caught it, and then placed it in his own pocket. “I got a brother, and this’ll make a good present for him.” He motioned for Miguel to come closer. “Your sister, hmm. Was it her that run away?”
Miguel said nothing.
“She could stay here with us, too,” Carlos said, his voice deceptively soft. “Where is she?”
Miguel turned his face away. If he told them where she was, not only would they find his mother’s necklace, but they might hurt Sara. Or do something to her that was much worse. A child of the streets, he knew exactly what that meant.
Carlos grew red and he nearly choked on his anger. “You will answer me!” he shouted. Drawing back his fist, he punched Miguel in the stomach. Miguel curled with pain but still refused to speak. “Well, I guess we’ll wait for her to come back and invite her ourselves,” Carlos said.
That shook him. “She won’t come back, not ever!” he yelled. “And I ain’t gonna tell ya where she is!”
Carlos hit him in the stomach again, and then in the left eye. Miguel reeled with the impact. The next blow hit the crown of his head where he’d been wounded in the cobbler’s shop. Pain exploded within him, plunging his awareness into a dark abyss.
* * * * *
Miguel dreamed of Octávia. He dreamed of going to the woods and peering under the blanket to see if it was really her. When he approached the still figure, a sudden wind came, blowing the blanket back. It wasn’t Octávia at all, but his own mother, her sweet face motionless. He moved closer, tears coursing down his cheeks. One step, two, and then another. Oh, how he missed her! Why did she have to die? Her eyes snapped opened, and he tumbled back in fear. The light-flecked eyes seemed lost in the olive face—no, white. The figure wasn’t his mother anymore, but little Sara, crying and calling to him. Her arms were extended, reaching out for comfort. He tried to go to her, but his frozen legs wouldn’t move despite his great efforts. The cold spread through his body, and he felt himself pulled away from his sister.
Breathing heavily, Miguel jerked awake. With the awareness came the onslaught of terrible pain. He lay facedown on the worn and dirty carpet, his body trembling with cold. He could hear voices—coarse language and sudden gusts of laughter. Holding as still as possible, he tried to see where he was. One eye hurt too much to open, but with the other he saw that he was
in his own shack on the floor near where Octávia had slept. In the opposite corner, he could make out the silhouettes of the six teenagers who’d come earlier with Paulo. They crowded around a fire, drinking Sara’s milk mixed with their beer. Anger swept over him, but he didn’t let it control him. He remembered the dream and that Sara was waiting for him. Somehow, he needed to escape.
“Don’t I get my money?” Paulo stood hesitantly outside the circle of older teens. “I got ya a place to stay like I promised.”
Carlos glanced at the others. “What do you think, guys? Shall we give it to him?”
“A thousand escudos. You promised.” Paulo’s voice sounded thin and scared, but Miguel’s heart held no pity for his betrayer.
“I think that was a little too much.” His voice slurred with drink, Carlos reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. “I think two hundred will be enough. If you continue to be our good little boy, we might have other jobs for ya.” He scattered the coins over the ground, and Paulo fell to his hands and knees, grubbing for the money.
One of the girls stood, mumbling something about the shack not having a bathroom. “I ain’t usin’ that smelly old pot in the corner, neither,” she added. The boys laughed and someone said something Miguel couldn’t hear. The girl walked unsteadily to the door and tripped backwards as she released the latch. At that moment, Miguel sprang to his feet, bolted to the door, and hurdled into the night, curses filling the air behind him. His shoes beat a steady rhythm over the bare ground as he dodged among the disordered array of shacks, not slowing to see if anyone followed. A few dogs barked as he passed.
Only at the edge of the forest did he glance around. Seeing that he was alone, he continued more slowly. The cooler air of the woods hit the sheen of sweat on his face and neck, making him shiver violently. Uncaring, he pushed on, past the shacks and lean-tos in the woods to the great tree where he and Sara sometimes slept in summer. He’d placed several flat boards between two of the larger branches and pounded in rusty nails with a rock to secure a makeshift bed.
He heard a growl come from the dark.
“Sara, you here?” he called, searching frantically with his good eye.
“Miguel!” Her voice called from above him, somewhere in the tree. Lucky’s growls turned into yips of welcome.
Relief made his knees weak and he nearly sagged to the ground. “How’d you get up there?” Before he’d always helped her.
“I found a log and climbed up. I was scared of the dogs.”
“You did good.” A pack of wild dogs occasionally roamed the neighborhood, and if they couldn’t find food, they’d been known to attack animals and small children. Moving forward, his foot hit Sara’s log. He stepped onto it and climbed up the tree. It wasn’t easy, but both he and Sara were strong.
She peered at him and gasped. “What happened to your eye?”
Miguel sighed. They’d chosen this particular limb for the tree bed because of the break in the leaves above where they could see the moon and count the stars. No doubt she could see his face as clearly as he could see hers. “It’s nothin’,” he said, though it hurt terribly. “But them boys took our house. We can’t go back there.”
“When Octávia comes back she’ll—” Her voice cut off. “But she ain’t comin’ back, is she? That boy said she was dead. Is she, Miguel? Did they kill her?”
He studied her, but she wasn’t crying. “No one killed her,” he said. “She just died. She got old, or drank too much. I’m sorry, Sara. I shoulda told ya, but I didn’t want ya to be scared.”
“I think I guessed anyway.” Her lower lip trembled and large teardrops splashed onto her red cheeks. “She was never gone so long before.”
Miguel hugged her, wincing at the pain in his bruised ribs. For a long time they said nothing. Then, “Don’t worry, I’m gonna find us a better home,” he promised. “One that’s warmer.” He shivered and Sara opened her blanket to let him share. Miguel was thankful for their extra sweaters, and for the fact that they didn’t live in a country where it snowed during winter.
“You still got Mamãe’s necklace?” he asked.
“Yes. Want it back? I was scared I was gonna lose it.” Sara slipped it off and gave it to him.
“It’s both of ours,” he said, dropping it over his head. The gold was still warm from his sister’s skin and it comforted him. “I’ll save enough money to get a jeweler to cut it into two necklaces, one for each of us. It’s plenty long.”
“It has a ship. Like your other one only smaller.”
“They stole it from me.” He felt like crying. “And her picture.”
“Oh, no!” She began to cry.
“Don’t, Sara. We’ll remember what she looks like.” Indeed, he only had to glance at his sister to recall the most important details of his mother’s face.
Sara wiped her eyes on the edge of the blanket and moved closer to him. “Did Octávia go to heaven?”
“I don’t know.”
“We can say a prayer for her. Like them church ladies taught us. We never did write to that one, did we? And now we lost the address to them boys.”
That made Miguel feel almost as bad as losing his mother’s card. Maybe he should have asked Senhor Fitas to help him write a letter, but he hadn’t wanted to admit to the old man or to Sara that he needed help. Now it was too late.
They bowed their heads and moved their lips in a silent prayer for their aunt. Afterwards, they sat close together, with Lucky scrunched blissfully between them. Miguel’s head, face, and ribs ached where Carlos had hit him, and he felt cold. But at some point, his exhaustion overcame the discomfort, and he slept.
Chapter Twelve
In the morning, dark clouds billowed threateningly, and Sara began to cough. Miguel felt achy himself and knew they needed to find someplace warm to stay. To make matters worse, his head and ribs still throbbed and the left side of his face was even more swollen than it had been the night before, leaving him temporarily without sight in that eye.
“Come on,” he said.
“We could go see Senhor Fitas. He’d help.”
Miguel turned Sara to face him. “We can’t, Sara. If he knows about Octávia, he’s got to turn us in. I think it’s the law or somethin’. Just give me a little time to think. I’ll come up with somethin’.”
Sara put her hand trustingly in his and followed him from the woods. It warmed them up some to be moving, but rain soon sprinkled the streets. They held the blanket above their heads and ran. People passed by, a bobbing sea of umbrellas, every color of the rainbow. The sight lifted Miguel’s spirit and gave him energy.
On and on they went through the wet streets, with Lucky at their heels, stopping only to buy some bread, milk, and cheese from the money in the wallet Miguel had given Sara the night he sent her from the shack. They ate in the subway, where they were free from the rain and wind. Miguel spread their damp blanket on the cold marble and they settled onto it.
He set out teaching Lucky how to beg for scraps while Sara sang. Her normally high voice had a hoarse twinge, but it still warmed Miguel’s soul. Coins fell to the blanket.
What should they do next? Miguel knew some people slept in the train station but were always kicked out when discovered. As orphaned children, they would be taken to the authorities, and he couldn’t risk that. His stomach churned with the intensity of his thoughts.
Sara’s voice stopped abruptly in mid-song, eyes growing wide and frightened. He looked in the direction she stared. Paulo! And he was alone.
Miguel pushed off from the wall, jumping in his direction. He grabbed the taller boy by the neck of his coat and dragged him to the side, ignoring protests from the passing commuters.
Paulo gagged, his eyes twisting in fear. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I shouldn’ta done it! But my brother owed some money. They was goin’ to take him to jail. I had to help him. Please, don’t hurt me!” He cringed against the yellow ceramic tiles on the wall, holding his hands over his face
.
“You owe me,” Miguel growled through gritted teeth.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry! But look here! I got somethin’ for ya.” Paulo put a shaky hand into his coat pocket. Miguel wondered if the boy believed the meager change he carried would save him from the beating he deserved. But Paulo didn’t bring out money. “Here.” He shoved something at him. Miguel stared. His mother’s picture! The laminated identity card had been bent, but the small photo remained untouched. He grasped it so tightly his fingers hurt.
Paulo relaxed slightly. “I got it for ya. To show I was sorry.”
“You just wanted to save your own skin.”
“No, honest. I’ve got a warnin’ for ya, too. Them boys is out lookin’, and when they find ya, they’re gonna beat you good and take Sara. You ain’t safe here.”
Miguel’s fists went limp. “Where can I go?” He hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but he was more frightened than he’d ever been before. Afraid enough to wish Octávia was still around to tell him what to do.
Paulo straightened to his normal height. “I’d go across the Tejo if I was you. I got cousins that live in some shacks there. Maybe you could find a place. Some of ’em got farms and animals, and lots of grape vines. Maybe if ya worked, they’d let ya sleep there.”
“Oh?” Miguel encouraged, though he had no intention of going to a place Paulo recommended.
“Sure. My cousin told me ’bout it, in case I wanted to visit. You gotta go ’cross the river, past Almada and some place called the Cova da Piedade. There’s more cities after those—I can’t remember the names, but get off at the Cruz de Pau. After that it’s a long walk, but someone can probably give ya directions.”
“Get outta here,” Miguel said. Paulo didn’t wait for a second invitation. He dashed away and disappeared into the crowd.
Miguel faced Sara’s wide eyes. “Come on, we gotta go.”
“Where?”
“Across the river. We’ll find somethin’.” Now that he knew the boys were looking for him, he wanted to get away as fast as possible. He eyed the coins on the blankets. With what he still had in his wallet and what Sara had earned singing, there would be enough for ferry tickets, and they could pick up a few more coins on the way over. With luck, they would find a place soon, far away from their old life.
A Greater Love Page 9
