A Greater Love (11 page)

“Don’t got no choice,” he had said.

She nodded gravely. “But one day you will have a choice, if you’re determined. Just like you’ll learn to read. Look, I’m going to write my address on this pamphlet and one day, you write to me in France and tell me I was right. Will you do it?”

Miguel had thought about it for a week before accepting. Now the pamphlet had been in the Bible at the shack for a long time and he was still no closer to writing. He grimaced. At least his conscience was working like she said it would. Maybe the other part would come true as well and he would learn to read and write. He hoped so.

As usual, they skirted around the street where the bombing occurred. It took them a good twenty minutes more walking, but it was safer. Miguel would give almost anything to know if the cobbler was alive and home from the hospital—anything except Lucky. He wouldn’t hand over his new best friend, so it was better not to know. Soon, he would sneak back there and nose around, but not with Lucky and Sara in tow.

Dinner went smoothly and Miguel was thinking how wonderful his life was when the banging on the shack door began. “Who is it?” he called, starting to his feet. Lucky ran to the door, tail wagging madly.

“Maybe it’s Octávia!” Sara cried, jumping to her feet.

“I don’t know.” An uneasy feeling formed in the pit of Miguel’s stomach. He knew it wasn’t Octávia, and no one with legitimate business visited this late. He kept his eyes fixed on the entrance. “Who is it?” he asked again. “Answer me!” Had someone found out about Octávia? Or had the cobbler discovered where he lived and come to collect Lucky?

The pounding outside came again. “Miguel, let me in. It’s Paulo.”

The door strained as the force from the other side grew. Miguel doubted the thin boy had the strength to make such an impact. Someone else must be with him. The shack had no windows, but Miguel pressed his face up against a crack in the boards. Outside, he saw a crowd of dark figures and the glow of cigarettes.

“Go away!” Miguel said uneasily. “We’re almost sleepin’ now.”

“I gotta talk to ya,” Paulo said. “Let me in or I’ll break down your door!”

The shack shook fearfully as Miguel hesitated. Sara pulled a blanket over her shoulders and hugged it around her body, her eyes large. A menacing feeling hung in the crisp air, like smoke around a fire. Miguel knew it was only a matter of time before Paulo and the shadows with him made good on his threat.

“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.