by Aya De León
Slowly, Dulce began to feel more grounded, not quite as dazed. She felt an awkward bulge under her arm. The water wallet. She didn’t try to lift her head, but she pressed it with her fingers to make sure everything was still there. The top was slightly open. Had she left it like that?
Running her hands over the outside of it, she felt the phone, the charger, the passport. But where was the cash? She opened it all the way and felt inside in the dusky room. Her fingers touched the crumpled bills in the bottom, the few coins. But where were the five crisp hundreds? Her life savings. She slid her entire hand into the wallet. They were nowhere. She pulled out the wallet and held it in front of her face. No hundred-dollar bills.
Had she spent them somehow? No. Someone must have robbed her. She had been asleep here in the shelter. Did someone say she had also been in a hospital? As Dulce tried to make sense of the muddle in her brain, she fell asleep again.
When she woke back up, the woman with the water was sitting next to her with a dim lantern.
Dulce blinked and looked over at the lady with the little boy. The woman’s back was facing her, curled up. Finally, he had fallen asleep.
The woman with the water fed her two dropperfuls. In the darkness, Dulce couldn’t quite read her expression. She looked more solemn than before. Dulce whispered to her: “How’s the little boy?” she asked. “Better? He’s quiet now.”
The woman shook her head: “That little boy is with God, now.” She crossed herself and was swallowed by the blackness.
Dulce felt nauseous. The mother’s curled back was invisible in the darkness now, but the image burned into Dulce’s mind. She couldn’t stop seeing it, even though she didn’t know if her eyes were open or closed. But eventually she fell back asleep. Or unconscious. So her eyes must have been closed.
* * *
She woke in the night to a candle blazing in her face. The woman’s hand hovered above her nose. It took a moment to realize that she was checking to see if Dulce was still breathing.
“Can I get some more water?” Dulce croaked.
The woman shook her head. “It’s all gone.”
From behind the woman, Dulce could hear the drone of a priest in Latin. Last rites. He was praying over the mother.
Dulce tried to focus on the light, a white seven-day candle, like her cousin Josefina used to use in Cuba. She could feel her eyes getting moist. “For the little boy?” she asked the woman.
“For both of them,” the woman replied, and moved away with the candle.
Chapter 18
When Dulce opened her eyes again, it was morning. She felt leaden and heavy. Someone had told her she had a concussion. Con-cu-ción. The word rattled around in between the Spanish and English-speaking parts of her brain, until it was just percussive sound that made no sense.
Con-cú—con-cush—con-con-con-cu-ción.
Through the garble of sound in her mind, Dulce looked up to see that the woman was offering her a cup of water. An actual cup. Plastic, with a small handle. The kind you get in a cafeteria. It was a little less than half full.
The water was tepid, but she could feel it flow like a river over her cracked lips, her parched throat, her dehydrated interior.
“Sip it slowly,” the woman cautioned.
Dulce longed to inhale it. She had the thought that she would give all the money she had for a gallon jug of water all to herself. Then she realized someone had taken all the money she had. Or nearly all.
Her heart sank, and she sipped the small cup of water.
* * *
That same morning, a young girl banged on the door of the neighbor’s house where Nidia and her family were staying. Nidia, Zara, and the baby were sleeping on a double bed mattress on the living room floor. The banging woke the baby and he started to cry.
“FEMA!” the girl yelled through the window. Apparently, the family who lived at the corner had gotten the Federal Emergency Management Agency on the phone, the part of the US government that is supposed to help when there’s a disaster.
Zara sat up, blinking at the bright morning. “Somebody’s cell phone works?” she asked in a groggy voice.
Nidia could barely hear her over the screaming baby. “Looks like it,” she said, stepping into a pair of shorts and putting on a bra.
The girl ran off to share the news with the next house.
Nidia took the baby so Zara could empty her bladder.
She shushed him gently: “yes, mi amor. La vecinita woke you up. But it was good news! Good news! We can talk to FEMA. They’re going to help us.”
Zara came back. “I barely peed at all,” she said. “I’m scared my milk is gonna dry up.”
Nidia inspected her daughter’s arm. Zara had a vein exactly in the center of the crook of her elbow. It was usually raised. But today, it was flat, almost concave.
Nidia nodded. “I’ll try to get some water,” she said.
She handed Zara the baby, and hugged them both before she headed out.
* * *
The neighbor’s house wasn’t really at a corner anymore. There was no corner. The ground everywhere was muddy and covered with debris. The difference between street, sidewalk, driveway, ground, lawn, and garden had been obliterated. Landmarks like “the blue house” or “the pair of tall palm trees” no longer existed. But Nidia knew that the platform with the tangle of debris and sodden items was formerly their blue house and underneath where the pair of tall palms had fallen, they would eventually find their driveway. She picked her way down the long road to where the corner had been. As she got closer, she heard animated voices.
The neighbor’s house had roof damage, but no major holes, and all four walls were still standing. A line of people spilled out the door and onto the porch.
She waded up and hugged several neighbors. “They have cell phone service?”
“Landline,” said a young teacher who lived down the street.
Nidia nodded and inquired about how everyone was doing.
“We buried abuelito yesterday,” the teacher said.
“I’m so sorry,” Nidia said.
“He didn’t want to evacuate,” the teacher said. “We warned him that he might not survive the stress of the hurricane, but he said that if he died he wanted to die at home. So fucking stubborn.”
Nidia hugged him again. He blinked back tears. “We didn’t even have time for a proper wake. It was so hot and . . .” He collapsed into the hug and cried for a minute, then he straightened up.
“We can have a memorial for him later,” Nidia said.
He nodded, wiping his eyes.
* * *
While she waited to get her turn on the phone, Nidia got updates from everyone. The car battery was working for the neighbor’s insulin refrigerator. Three people had tried to go to the emergency shelter, but couldn’t get through. Someone’s nephew in the town nearby had gotten electrocuted by one of the downed wires. They weren’t sure if he had died or not. Nobody had any water. She asked if anyone had news of the town where her aunt lived, but nobody did.
A couple hours later, the crowd had thinned a bit, and Nidia had finally gotten into the living room.
“But what about the five hundred dollars?” the middle aged man from across the street was asking in English.
Nidia could hear the FEMA operator’s voice, sharp and tight. “The Federal Emergency Management Agency is not an ATM.”
“Tell her it’s the grant for when your food spoils in the refrigerator,” another neighbor said. “Because the power went out.”
The man on the phone repeated the information. “No,” he said. “We haven’t gotten any emergency boxes. Nobody from FEMA has been here. We’re not in San Juan. Not so much as a single package dropped by a helicopter.”
“I heard they’re not getting much food in the capital, either,” the man’s wife said. “But at least they might be getting some water.”
“My daughter is breastfeeding,” Nidia said. “I’m worried she’s getting dehydra
ted.”
The woman nodded. “We have almost none left,” she said. “But we might still have a can of chicken broth. I’ll get it for you after my husband gets off the phone.”
Finally, the FEMA operator had gotten to the correct screen on her computer, and was taking down his information.
* * *
Word had traveled that they had FEMA on the line, and a few more neighbors had come. Nidia sat in the living room with the can of chicken broth in her lap for another two hours. She had talked to FEMA, but needed to wait til everyone else spoke to the operator before they could hang up and she could make another call.
One of the elders in the town was worried about her granddaughter. She lived a couple of towns away, and her husband’s alcoholism had been escalating. He was a mean drunk, and had begun to get abusive. The grandmother had begged her to come sit out the storm with her in Las Palmas, but the granddaughter said she would stay with her husband. “He promised not to drink,” she had said. “He needs me at home.”
When the grandmother had sent some neighbors to check on them, they’d found the husband, drunk on the porch. No sign of the wife. He wouldn’t let them in the house.
“He’s a monster when he drinks,” the grandmother said to Nidia. “He could have done anything during the storm. He could have killed her.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Nidia said. “If he got rough with her, she’s most likely in the house hiding her bruises. It’ll be okay. We need to pray for her.”
* * *
When the last neighbor had finally finished their FEMA business, Nidia tried her aunt’s landline, but couldn’t get through. Then she got the neighbor’s permission to call New York.
She dialed the 347 number several times before she stopped getting a recording that all the circuits were busy. It rang twice before Marisol answered.
“Nidia?” Marisol asked. “Amor, are you okay? Is everyone okay?”
“We’re alright,” she said. “We don’t have water or power, but we’re all safe and sound.”
“And the house?” Marisol asked.
And that was when Nidia began to sob. For their house, which was now a roofless, half-walled disaster.
“We should have just fucking let the bank take it,” Nidia said. “After all the work you did to save it.”
“No,” Marisol said. She was crying too, now. “What matters is that you’re all okay.”
Nidia shook her head. “I don’t know how long we can hold out,” she said. “We need food and water. The hurricane destroyed all our supplies.”
“Can you get to the airport?” Marisol asked.
“Which one?” Nidia asked.
“Any of them?” Marisol asked.
“I don’t’ think so,” Nidia said. “I don’t think the smaller ones are open. And there’s no way we can get to San Juan. We can’t even get to the emergency shelter down the road.”
“Do you—” Marisol asked. “Do you think you could get to the harbor?”
Nidia considered this. If she stood up on a chair or something, she could look down the hill and see the harbor from her back yard. “I think so,” she said. “But there’s nothing going in and out on this end of the island. All the supplies come in through San Juan.”
“I know someone with a fishing boat,” Marisol said. “If I send him, can you get down to the harbor?”
“I think so,” Nidia said. “When I get back to the house, I’ll see what kind of shape the harbor is in.”
Before she left, she gave her aunt’s name to someone who was trying to get through to the radio station. The list would end up with the neighbor who had the radio. Names were written carefully on three pages of notebook paper, and today they added two new names to the list: Nidia’s aunt and the other neighbor’s granddaughter with the abusive, drinking husband.
On her way back to where she was staying, Nidia went by what was left of her own house. She stood on a felled tree in her backyard and peered down to the harbor.
The water was full of debris: tree branches, wrecked pieces of boats, garbage. But the docks had survived. A boat could probably tie up there if it wasn’t too big.
It was late afternoon by the time Nidia got back to the house where they were staying. Zara was drinking water from a cup and giving some to the baby.
“Where’d you find water?” Nidia asked.
“It was a blessing from God,” Zara said.
“What blessing?” Nidia asked. “And how do you know it’s safe to drink?”
“Don’t worry,” Zara said. “I cut a bottle open and used it to catch rainwater.”
“Without washing it out?” Nidia asked.
“What would I wash it out with?” Zara asked.
“It could be contaminated,” Nidia said.
“How could it be contaminated?” Zara asked. “It’s rainwater.”
“The bottle could have—” Nidia stopped mid-sentence and shook her head. “In future, let’s use some antibacterial wipes on anything we catch rainwater in, okay?”
Zara shrugged and agreed. “You’re not the only one who can have an idea around here, you know,” she muttered.
By the middle of the night, they were all on the back porch. Zara was vomiting into the yard, and Nidia was holding the baby, who was vomiting all over her.
The baby’s screaming woke their neighbor, and she came outside, a lantern in her hand.
“What happened?” the neighbor asked, groggy but alarmed.
“I think they drank contaminated water,” Nidia said.
“We need Mrs. Talamantez,” the neighbor said.
Nidia nodded. Mrs. Talamantez was the former nurse who lived around the corner.
“Go ahead,” the neighbor said. “I’ll take care of them.”
“Are you sure?” Nidia asked.
The neighbor nodded, taking the baby from Nidia, and handing her the lantern.
* * *
Mrs. Talamantez’s house had been just around the corner, but nothing was simple now. The floodwaters were up to her knees in some places. Nidia had to be careful of downed wires not to electrocute herself, like that one neighbor’s nephew. She had to make sure not to trip and fall in, filling her own mouth with contaminated water. Not to mention ruining the lantern.
The lantern only gave her light for a few feet out, so she had to estimate where things would be. It took her twenty minutes in the dark to travel the two blocks.
By the time she got to Mrs. Talamantez’s house, she was frantic.
Mrs. Talamantez woke up and quickly put on her clothes. She was a thickly-built, gray-haired woman with glasses.
Then Nidia retraced her steps to take the nurse back to the neighbor’s house.
Mrs. Talamantez examined both mother and baby.
“Don’t drink any more of the water you had,” she said. “Nurse the baby. Nothing for him but mother’s milk.”
“She’s nearly dry,” Nidia said.
Mrs. Talamantez nodded. “It’ll be easier for her to recover than him. A baby that small can get dehydrated so easily.”
Nidia nodded.
“Is there anything you can give us for it?”
The nurse shook her head. “It’ll have to work its way out. Since the toilets don’t flush, make sure they have a place to go. As contained as possible. We don’t want everyone in town to get infected.”
* * *
In the middle of the night, Dulce woke to the sound of arguing voices in the shelter. It was totally surreal to hear them, whispering urgently, utterly disembodied in the total darkness.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” a woman’s voice asked.
“I just needed to know that the kids were all right,” a man’s voice this time.
“We’re fine,” the woman said. “You need to go, Pedro.”
“Just let me see the kids,” he said.
“With what light?” she asked. “We’re using every bit of power for basic needs.”
“Well, I need t
o see my kids,” he insisted.
“They’re fine,” she insisted.
“Then I need to spend the night,” he pressed. “So I can check on them in the morning.”
“You can’t take my word for it?” she asked. “The kids are okay.”
“All three of them?” he asked.
“What? You think I’d lie to you about that?” she asked. “That if something was wrong with one of our kids, I’d just be sitting here talking to you and not doing anything about it?”
“You’ve lied about other things before,” he said, his voice moving from a whisper to a low grumble. “I need to see for myself.”
“Can you all quiet down?” another voice asked from across the room.
“Pedro,” the original woman’s voice said. “You need to leave.”
“Not til I see my kids.”
“According to the restraining order, you’re committing a crime right now,” the woman said.
“Then call the police you fucking bitch,” Pedro’s voice was a tense growl. “Pick up your phone and call the fucking police. Oh that’s right. You got no power and no phone service and the cops are busy with this disaster, so I guess I can stay as long as I fucking want.”
“Is there a problem here?” A man’s voice spoke. Full volume and hard edged.
“Yeah, my wife won’t let me see my fucking kids.”
“Soon to be ex-wife,” the woman said.
“Did I hear there’s a restraining order?” the new guy asked.
“None of your fucking business, you nosy cabron,” Pedro said.
Suddenly, there was a strong flashlight beam shining on them from across the room. The man and the woman froze. Dulce saw that the woman looked about her age, but much more petite. Wide-eyed but weary, her hair was tied up in a ratty ponytail. Pedro was huge compared to her. It reminded Dulce of her size difference with Jerry. All he had to do was stand over her and it terrified her.
“Papi?” a tiny voice asked.
“Your papi is leaving mi amor,” the voice behind the flashlight said from across the room. A woman’s voice.
“Your papi was worried about you,” the mother said soothingly. “Because of the storm. He just came to check that we were okay.”
