A Greater Love

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  The next day, Cristina took the children to church in their new clothes. Not wanting to be alone, Daniel tagged along. Afterward, they passed the park and the nativity display, where both children stared in reverence. Sara’s cough was almost better and the chilly air didn’t appear to bother her. “I like this better than the big statue,” Sara announced. It took a moment or two for them to understand that she meant the Monument to King Christ on top of the hill in Almada.

  “Have you ever been there?” Cristina asked. Sara shook her head, tossing the two thick braids Cristina had put into her hair that morning.

  “There’s an elevator inside that takes you to the top to walk around the statue’s feet,” Daniel said. “It’s open on Sunday. There’s even a chapel in the base of the structure.”

  “Can we go? Can we go? I wanna ride on the elevator!” Sara jumped up and down, cheeks red with anticipation, and even Miguel looked interested.

  Twenty minutes later they arrived at the open-armed statue. They rode up the elevator most of the way, but also had to climb a narrow circular stairway and walk through a gift store before reaching the top. Below, kilometers of red clay rooftops stretched under a cloudless blue sky. The children ran excitedly to the one edge where they stared out over the valley through the high metal fence. On the other side was the River Tejo and the two bridges that spanned it, the April Twenty-fifth Bridge and the larger Vasco da Gama in the distance. At last the children gazed up into the serene face of the Savior.

  Sara tugged on Daniel’s arm, pointing to the outstretched arms. “It’s like He wants to hug us. I wish I could come here every day.”

  At her words Daniel felt keen disappointment; there would be no other days for them, not together. He sighed heavily, seeing the cloud his warm breath made in front of his face. What does it matter? This little girl is nothing to me.

  “Look at that heart on his chest.” Sara indicated the postcard Cristina had bought for her in the gift store. The little girl turned her attention back to the real statue, craning her neck. “I can see the edge of it, but it’s better on the card. Why does the heart got a cross on it?”

  “To remind people of His sacrifice,” Cristina said.

  Sara nodded gravely. “The church ladies told me what they done to Him. But did God know they was gonna kill His Son?”

  This time it was Miguel who answered. “Sometimes ya gotta die to save those ya love. It’s what Mamãe told me once.” He turned abruptly and headed for the stairs that led to the gift store below. Sara dropped Daniel’s hand and followed her brother.

  Cristina stared at Daniel. “Did you hear that? His mother told him. Maybe we’re being too hasty about handing them over to the authorities.”

  “Then where is she now?” Daniel retorted. “These children have been with us for two days and there’s been not so much as a hint of anyone searching for them. Where’s their mother? Or their father, for that matter? Or any relative at all?”

  She stared after the children. “I wish I knew.”

  Cristina was quiet the rest of the day, and Daniel began to regret the way he’d spoken to her. Why couldn’t he control his temper where she was concerned?

  For dinner, Cristina made bacalhau à brás with the dried cod she’d soaked overnight. Unlike the baked cod they often had, this was cut into tiny strips and mixed with equally thin strips of potatoes. An egg mixture and olive oil added moisture and richness. Although he always enjoyed codfish, this dish was a particular favorite. That she had made it for him both pleased and saddened Daniel. If she had her way, tonight would be the last time.

  Miguel bit into the fish with gusto, but quickly an expression of distaste filled his face. “You don’t like it?” Cristina asked.

  “No.” Miguel’s reply lacked tact, but not honesty. “It’s nothin’ like I remember. I usta like it.”

  “You’ve eaten it before?” Daniel asked.

  His probing didn’t escape Miguel, but this time the boy replied shortly, “My mamãe made it.”

  How long ago? Daniel wanted to ask, but Miguel’s expression forbade further questions. He wondered if Miguel recalled the cod so fondly because of the memory of his mother. Could she be dead? Is that why the children were alone?

  “Some people make it differently.” Cristina’s voice showed she wasn’t offended. “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.”

  “I’ll eat it.” Miguel proceeded to do just that. Not a scrap of the fish remained when they finished the meal. Daniel thought perhaps both children were accustomed to eating whatever was available; assuredly, they knew how to store food in their stomachs.

  As they cleaned up the table, Sara began to sing. Her voice was rich and beautiful, the tune true. She sang Silent Night, one of the hymns they’d sung that day in church, though Daniel was sure it was the first time she’d ever heard the words. He’d noticed the same about Miguel; only once did he have to be shown or told how to do something. Was this a gift to make up for so much else that was lacking in their lives? Or a talent their way of life had forced them to develop?

  Even their language had improved, though having worked with Manuel, Daniel knew how difficult such a change could be. No matter how you looked at it, years of habit couldn’t be reversed overnight, not even by the most intelligent of men, and certainly not by two orphan children.

  Cristina set her load of dishes into the sink and crouched down to see Sara on her own level. “You have a beautiful voice.”

  Sara’s smile radiated light. She hugged Cristina and emotion filled her voice as she whispered, “I wish that you was our—” She glanced at her brother’s darkened face and broke off, wiping a tear.

  “Your what?”

  “Nothin’.” Sara drew away.

  They settled the children in bed before retiring to the sitting room with their favorite hot teas. Cristina shut the door behind them before stirring two spoons of sugar into her steaming mug. She sipped nervously, passing the cup back from one hand to the next. Her flushed face clearly showed her agitation, alerting Daniel’s suspicions. “Sara likes you,” she began. “And Miguel, too.”

  “They’re nice kids,” he replied warily.

  She hurried on. “Look, I know we have to notify the authorities, but why can’t we keep them until they find out who they are and where they belong? You could use your influence with the city. They’d let you keep them until relatives are found.”

  Daniel sighed. “And if they don’t belong anywhere?”

  “They have to. They say please and thank you—somebody has taught them manners.”

  “They’re also malnourished and covered with old scars and bruises. They’re ignorant about the most basic things. For heaven’s sake, Sara didn’t even know what a toilet or a bidet was! Practically every apartment and house in Portugal has those.”

  “All the more reason for us to get involved! You said on Friday night that they’re not your problem, but I feel responsible for them. I don’t want them to face these trials alone, especially if they’ve no proper family. We could at least keep them through the holidays.”

  Daniel stiffened. “Then what?”

  “Well . . .” She stopped and began again. “They’ve brought out a kindness in you that I’ve never seen. Don’t you feel something for them?” She paused, then added almost timidly, “You’d make a good father.”

  He stood, upsetting his tea. It dripped, unobstructed, over the polished surface of the coffee table and into the thick blue carpet. “You’re right,” he said. “I would be a good father, and that’s exactly why I won’t have children. I refuse to inflict this world upon my own flesh and blood.” Why did his words sound so hollow? Didn’t he believe them as strongly as he once had?

  “Can a world be so horrible where there is still love? Children are our last hope for the future; they can still right the wrongs we’ve created! And even if they can’t, at least we have their love. Can’t you feel that from them? Your mom has you—what if she hadn’t had
any children? Where would she be now? A lonely widow with no one!”

  “That’s not the same,” he ground out.

  “Yes, it is.”

  He drew himself up to his full height and stared at her. “My mother’s alone because my father died of a broken heart. My brother’s drug overdose caused that. You could say that if they hadn’t had children, he would be alive and well.”

  She snorted. “That’s selfish! And completely beside the point. I think Miguel pegged you exactly right today when he said that you don’t want children because of yourself. Yourself. That’s it, isn’t it? Only I don’t think it’s because you’re lazy. I think you’re afraid of losing what you love.”

  “You’re wrong.” But self-doubt consumed him. “The world is too evil already. I won’t add to its problems.”

  “By having and loving children? That will add to the world’s problems?” Her voice was incredulous. “You’re just like Miguel, you know—observing the world and making judgments. But where he sees the good and worthwhile, you see only pain and suffering. That’s funny, given your circumstances. Shame on you!” She shook with rage.

  “I can’t be anything to those kids!” Daniel snapped. “Isn’t that what this is all about? I should have seen it coming. I should have taken them in yesterday before you had the chance to become attached.”

  “What’s wrong with becoming attached? No one else seems to care about them. Why can’t we?”

  He understood what she was asking. “We just can’t, that’s all.”

  “Then you’ll always be alone.”

  “Only if you leave me.”

  “I already have.” She sprang from the couch and opened the door. “You do what you want, but I’m going to help those children. I can make a difference in their lives!”

  She disappeared, her footfalls fading in the direction of the guest bedroom. Now she would take Miguel and Sara, probably to wherever she was staying. For some undefinable reason, the thought seared him. “I don’t care,” he said aloud, but he knew it was a lie.

  Cristina’s steps were coming back, faster than before. She stopped in the doorway, eyes frantic. “They’re gone!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The first night after leaving Daniel’s, Miguel and Sara slept in the back yard of a house, protected by a clump of trees and overgrown brush. During their outing with Daniel and Cristina the day before, Miguel had spotted a nearby street where small white houses lined the road instead of the towering apartments. He heard Daniel mention that several of the stone-fenced houses belonged to acquaintances who had recently moved to their apartment building, leaving their houses temporarily vacant. Who knew how long he and Sara might be able to stay there without being discovered? He hoped for a long time.

  “I wish we coulda stayed with Cristina,” Sara told Miguel as she snuggled in the mound of warm quilts they had taken from the Andrade’s apartment.

  “I know. But you heard ’em talkin’ when we left. They was gonna turn us in.”

  “Not Cristina, I don’t think. She really likes us.”

  “It don’t got nothin’ to do with if she likes us or not. Daniel don’t want kids, and especially not me. He’d rather I’d not been borned.”

  “He liked Lucky, and he was nice to me. I thought he was nice to both of us.”

  “He was still gonna turn us in. Or at least me. One way or the other, we wouldn’t get to stay together.” They were silent for a while and then he asked just to be sure, “You okay?”

  “I ain’t much cold.”

  “I amn’t much cold,” Miguel corrected. At least he had learned something from Daniel Andrade.

  That night it was colder than Miguel ever remembered. Even the leaves on the evergreen bushes seemed to gain a brown, lifeless cast. All night both he and Sara shivered, despite their warm coats and blankets, and in the morning his body felt shaky, with alternating chills and fever. Sara’s cough had returned.

  They had a plastic sack of food they had taken from Daniel’s, but Miguel knew it wouldn’t last long. He couldn’t let a day go by without trying to earn money. They headed for a place outside a busy grocery store but found that people wouldn’t give them the smallest coin.

  “Go home to your parents,” a lady jeered. She turned to her companion. “Imagine, two children dressed so fine begging like urchins! I’d paddle their bottoms if they were mine.”

  Miguel glanced down at the clothing Cristina had bought for him. For the first time in his memory, the clothes fit: the pants didn’t drag around his hips, the shoes didn’t pinch, the sweater reached only to his waist, the warm coat sleeves hung clear to his wrists. But if he couldn’t find food, they were utterly useless to him. Sara, he saw, rubbed at her exposed calves; the pretty new dress and thin tights didn’t warm her legs like the heavy black skirt had. Already she limped where the shiny new shoes rubbed at her heel. Miguel blinked hard.

  “We gotta get dirty,” he said.

  Sara nodded and said nothing, but her eyes were full of tears.

  “I’ll do it,” he added quickly. He settled Sara and Lucky on a nearby bench, nestled in his coat as well as Sara’s. Still, his sister trembled and coughed.

  Miguel found dirt in the gutter and began rubbing it methodically into his clothes and onto his face. When he finished, he started his begging routine, careful to keep an eye on Sara. He’d earned nearly a hundred escudos when he saw a policeman approach his sister. Miguel beckoned furiously. She scooped up Lucky and ran to meet him. They disappeared into the crowd.

  Sara returned Miguel’s coat and he put it on, feeling a bit of warmth seep into his frozen limbs. They made their way slowly back to the deserted house. To their dismay, lights filled the once-dark house. Peering over the stone wall, they saw a man and two police officers in the corner of the back yard, holding their blankets.

  “They’ve found our stuff,” Miguel said hoarsely.

  “Oh, no!”

  “Sh, they’ll hear.”

  They ran without stopping until they reached the park with the nativity exhibit. Exhausted, they settled on a bench in front of the playground and watched the people pass. Dark stole quietly over the city, and still they sat. Miguel didn’t know where to go, and he found it hard to concentrate on anything other than staying awake. At long last, ice-cold drops of rain pierced his awareness. He heaved himself up. “Come on, Sara, we gotta go.”

  They paused near the nativity scene where Sara dropped his hand and slipped over the short fence and into the display before he could stop her. A few people passing with their umbrellas paused on the cobblestone pathway to watch her disapprovingly.

  “I’ll get her,” Miguel muttered.

  When he reached Sara, she was kneeling next to the manger, leaning over to kiss the Baby Jesus on each cheek. Then she unwound her red scarf and laid it over Him. Miguel tried to stop her.

  “He’s cold,” she insisted. “I don’t want the rain to get Him.”

  The manger was only partly protected by the backdrop and the overhang where the bright star gleamed. From where he stood, Miguel could feel the rain on his face.

  “He’s got a light here to keep Him warm.” Miguel pointed behind the manger at the light that made the Baby the brilliant focus of the exhibit.

  “It don’t keep off the rain.”

  Sara was right. He let her leave the scarf and again took her hand. They wandered on through the park and down a narrow cobblestone road on the far side where they had never investigated before. Near the beginning of the road stood a restaurant with a wide awning over the sidewalk, protecting a line of people from the rain. In front of them, a man with a huge belly turned plucked chickens on a hot grill, occasionally painting a heavy sauce over the cooking flesh. The glowing coals sizzled with the dropping juice. Miguel and Sara stopped, sniffing the mouth-watering aroma.

  A hefty man with a black moustache was the next in line for the food. “On the other hand, throw in another chicken,” he boomed. “Dog’s gotta eat, too
. If three’s too many for my wife and kid and me, he’ll get a treat.” The people in line behind him strained to look over his shoulder, as though to check the supply of chickens.

  “Your son’s growing big, isn’t he?” the chef asked. “He needs more food. He’s gotta be about seven, right?”

  “Yeah,” the large man replied, rubbing his stomach with a hairy hand. “He can just about eat a whole chicken now. Takes after his dad.” He chuckled loudly. The chef stuffed the chickens in a plastic bag as the man reached for his wallet.

  Sara coughed repeatedly, and Miguel knew his own face glistened with fever. “Do we got enough money to get some bread?” she asked, gesturing to the see-through bin of bread behind the chef.

  “Yes. Let’s get in line.”

  Miguel didn’t feel like eating, but he did out of habit, hunched under a corner of the awning to keep Sara out of the rain. When they finished their meal, more than half the loaf remained. Even Lucky seemed to have lost his appetite, though he stared with longing at the frying chickens.

  “I amn’t much hungry after all,” Sara said, stuffing several crispy chunks of bread into her pocket. “But that chicken smells good.”

  Miguel pulled Sara onward. The buildings on one side of the street were old and not more than a few stories. On the other side, they glimpsed sprawling houses between the high iron and stone fences. One was white stucco with green trim and from it came voices singing Christmas music.

  Sara stopped to listen. “Must be a church.” She didn’t sing along, but swallowed gingerly, as if it hurt to do so. “What about stayin’ here? We can listen to the music.”

  They went up the walkway. When they were sure no one was watching, they hid behind the main building. The singing continued, sounding like a chorus of angels. Miguel dozed. When the music ended, he barely noticed.

  “Miguel, you okay?” Sara crouched by him, coughing into her arm as Cristina had taught her.

  He tried to open his eyes. “I just needed to rest a bit.”

  “The people are gone now, and there’s a porch. It’s out of the rain.” With effort, Miguel lurched to his feet. Lucky whined, but he snuggled up beside them and a little warmth penetrated Miguel’s freezing body. They were so lucky to have him.