Chapter 12 #2
He wasn’t dead!
“Open the door, please. It’s locked.”
I looked up at the handle. I willed it to open itself.
“Open the door!”
I lifted my right arm into the air. It stayed elevated. How strange , commented my subconscious, still working.
“ DEE !”
I heard a great thud, then a splintering, and then Adrián was in the bathroom standing over me.
“What happened?” he asked, falling to his knees.
“Nothing,” I said, my lungs having resumed their regular functions. “Well, probably a panic attack. Do you have any Xanax?”
He shook his head. “Why are you on the floor? And why are you covered in dirt?” He put an arm behind my back and helped me up.
“Why are you here?” I tested out my legs. “I told you to distract them.”
“I did. I already ‘checked on you’ twice. Then Dona Paula insisted on checking on you. I thought I heard you come back a few minutes ago so I figured it was okay. But then I got worried something happened.”
I looked over his shoulder past the broken bathroom door to make sure no one was listening, and then I shut it as best I could. I turned to Adrián. “They use child labor. I talked with one of them and they confirmed it.”
“I hate to tell you this, but lots of farms use child labor.”
“That doesn’t make it right. And they would lose their Ethical Coffee International certification if it got out. Manuel’s not going to let me waltz out of here with information that could sink his business.”
“He’s not going to know,” he said. “Let me do the talking.” Adrián helped dust me off, which even in my panicky state was not unpleasant, then led me to the veranda. Paula and Manuel stared at me.
“Where’s the closest hospital?” asked Adrián.
“Liberia,” said Manuel. “But we could call a doctor to come here.”
“That’s okay,” said Adrián. “I’ll take her to Liberia.” He put his arm around my waist and guided me down the steps.
Manuel waved. “I’m sorry you’re sick.” Did he buy it? Or was he playing along? “Feel free to come back when you’re better.”
There was zero chance of that. I didn’t fancy learning more about his shotgun collection.
As we walked down the dirt road, all I could think about was the little girl with the curly hair.
She would probably be in the fifth grade, like my cousin Naomi.
Naomi didn’t have to pick coffee cherries in the hot sun for hours.
She didn’t even have to do her own laundry.
When we got to the Jeep, I flopped into my seat and Adrián turned on the radio. We were quiet for a few minutes while I tried to regain my composure.
“So much for cooperation,” he said, finally. “What did the kids say to you?”
I turned the radio off and put my head on the dashboard. It was throbbing. “I only spoke to one. He said their mother went looking for their real dad and foisted them off on Manuel.”
“That’s terrible. It sounds like a telenovela.” He looked uncharacteristically pensive. “I wish we could do something.”
I was surprised. Free market Adrián wanted to intervene? Was this growth? Or had I not really understood him in the first place? We drove in silence. Adrián was chewing on the nail of his pinkie finger, which I had never seen him do. He had perfectly manicured nails.
“Hey,” said Adrián. “Look.” Sixty meters down the highway, two forms were flagging us down. As we got closer, I recognized them. The teenagers . Adrián pulled up alongside them and I unrolled my window.
Tomás came up to me. “Thanks for stopping.” He leaned in through the car window, his forearm resting on the ledge. “I wanted to ask you for a favor. Could you give us a ride to San José?”
I was speechless. This boy had the balls of a mafioso.
“Now?” asked Adrián.
“Yes. If you take us to the city, Mario and I can make a report to an inspector.” He gave me a sly smile. “Or to you . If you’re an inspector.”
“And then we’d take you back?”
“Well...” He looked at his brother. “Maybe we’d hitch another ride back.”
There was no way they were returning to Café Alegre if they left. And they weren’t going to the city to make a report, either. I turned to Adrián and spoke very softly. “Wouldn’t that be kidnapping?”
Adrián looked at Tomás. “Are you eighteen? Answer carefully.”
“I’m eighteen,” said Tomás. “As is my brother.”
Adrián turned to me. “To the best of our knowledge, this is not kidnapping.”
“Please take us,” said Tomás in rapid Spanish. “We need to find our mom. We’re trapped here.”
Adrián turned to me. “Let’s do it.”
“But...” Mixed emotions flooded me. What if Tomás had been exaggerating and only occasionally helped with the harvest? Wouldn’t he be worse off penniless and unconnected in the city? I turned to Adrián. “What good is it going to do them to be on the streets?”
“These kids are here against their will,” said Adrián. “And didn’t you say yourself that they’re illegal labor? I’m surprised by your hesitation, Dee. I thought your thing was justice.”
Ouch. Dee . Not Preciosa .
“Look,” said Tomás. “If you just happen to be driving, and we just happen to be walking down the road, and you just happen to give us a lift... where’s the problem? That’s not kidnapping. It’s ridesharing.”
“What about your younger brother and sister?” I asked.
“We’ll come back for them when we have enough money.”
Adrián unlocked the doors and the boys climbed in.
Before I could protest again, Adrián hit the gas.
The boys peppered Adrián with questions about the city until, high with excitement, they crashed like balloons with the helium sucked out.
I looked in the rearview mirror. They were slumped together.
Mario was snoring, and Tomás’s eyes were flitting in REM.
I tried to sleep, too, but all I could do was imagine Tomás and Mario passed out on a dirty heap of rags with track marks running down their arms in an hourly motel in San José. Adrián noticed my tortured expression. He patted my stomach.
“Are you feeling better?” He put the back of his palm on my forehead. “Your temperature is normal.” He put two fingers on my neck and felt for my pulse. I took his hand and squeezed it. Even if Adrián was a neoconservative, he was a really nice neoconservative.
“Thank you,” I said.
“For what?”
“For coming to the bathroom to find me. For saving me.”
“I didn’t save you. You can take care of yourself.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. Completely exhausted, I put my head against the glass and passed out.
A few hours later, I awoke with a rude jolt at a traffic signal in downtown San José, near the Coca-Cola bus terminal. Young men and women in tight skirts and fishnets solicited men in cars. I turned to Adrián. “What are we doing here?”
“Dropping off the boys.”
“Here? Are you out of your mind?!” A shirtless man came up to my window and knocked on it. The Jeep lurched forward, and Adrián looked at me in genuine bewilderment.
“Where else am I going to leave them?” he asked.
“You should’ve thought of this before!” The traffic light changed, and Adrián drove through the intersection. Dozens of young men were lounging on the corners, waiting for work. “What are they going to do if you leave them here?”
“I don’t know,” said Adrián. “Work.”
“Don’t worry,” said Tomás. “I don’t want you guys to fight about us. We’ll be fine, just drop us off here.” Adrián nodded and pulled the Jeep to the side of the road.
“We can’t leave them here!” I said, trying to lock the doors.
“Thanks!” the boys said, jumping out of the Jeep. “Bye!” They hit the pavement and ran around a corner.
“Adrián! Do something!”
“Do what?” He put the Jeep back in first and checked his side mirror. “They’re gone.”
“They’re going to die! Starve! Turn into prostitutes!”
“They’ll be fine.” He made a U-turn, conscience completely unruffled.
Face pressed flat against the window, I searched for the boys as Adrián wound through the labyrinthine streets behind the bus station. “There they are!” I cried, pointing to a drug dealer surrounded by several teenagers.
Adrián peered over my shoulder. “That’s not them.”
“Oh.”
Adrián continued to drive through downtown. “ Tranquila, Preciosa . They’ll find jobs.”
“I guess,” I said, glumly. Having sex with strangers.
“You know, Dee, it’s not your job to fix every single problem.”
He was right. The thing was—I wasn’t sure if I could fix any of them.