A Greater Love (13 page)

The rain began again in a slow drizzle, and people wandered away to their homes. Someone tugged at his arm. “Miguel, I’m cold.” It was Sara. She stopped tugging when she saw the nativity. “Oh, it’s beautiful! It looks just the way I thought it would.” Lucky squeezed through the bars of the short wooden fence protecting the display and sniffed each of the statues.

Miguel slipped his hands out of his warm pockets and took Sara’s frozen ones in his. The cold brought him bitterly back to the problem at hand: a place to stay. “Come on, Sara. Let’s go. It’s startin’ to rain again.”

They walked in the streets, holding their blanket overhead, until they found a nearby mini-mall and supermarket that had underground parking.

“Is your stomach growlin’, Miguel?”

This was Sara’s way of telling him she was hungry. It was in her nature not to complain, but the food they’d eaten earlier was long gone. “Kinda.”

“Do we got any money left?”

“Not much.”

Inside the grocery store, Miguel made Sara drink milk in an aisle while he kept watch. She wasn’t happy about stealing the milk, but she was too hungry to resist. Lucky was even less happy about his hiding place inside their blanket, and he struggled to get out. Miguel held onto him tightly. After Sara finished the milk, they went to the checkout counter and bought bread. At the last minute, Miguel slipped in a small chocolate for Sara. The smile on her face was worth their last few escudos.

Miguel spread the blanket out to dry before settling on the floor in the underground parking lot to eat the bread. Cold emanated from the cement, but at least here it was dry. “How ’bout we sleep here tonight?” he said. Seeing her face fall, he added quickly, “Just till we find somethin’ better. It won’t be for long.”

She nodded and bit into her chocolate. “Want some?”

“No.” He did, but there was hardly enough for one person. He chewed his hunk of bread, torn from the loaf, watching the people come and go from their cars to the store. Instead of keeping people home, the rain had drawn more people than ever to this shopping mall with the covered parking. It gave him an idea.

Leaving Sara with the bread and Lucky, he crossed to the stairs that led to the upper mall entrance where the grocery store was located. There, he accosted a woman who carried two heavy sacks of groceries. “Please, Senhora, can ya spare a coin? Or a little food?” She grunted and pushed past him. Undaunted, Miguel turned to the next woman. “Please, Senhora, do ya got some food to spare?” She gave him a coin, which quickly disappeared into his stolen wallet. “May Jesus bless you,” he called after her. He continued his pleas, being rebuffed more times than not, but a few people took pity on him.

A young couple came down the stairs, holding hands. Each carried a plastic grocery sack. “Please, can ya spare some change?” he asked. Compassion filled their eyes as they saw his battered face, and they glanced at one another in dismay.

“Come,” the man said, “let’s get you something to eat.”

Miguel smiled. “Gee, thanks! But can my sister come? She’s just over there.” He pointed.

The couple nodded, and Miguel sprinted away, afraid they would leave. “Come quick, Sara,” he called. He scooped up the blanket and grabbed the small remaining piece of bread from her hand, hiding it out of sight under the damp cloth. She watched him curiously. “Hurry, they might leave.”

To his relief, they still waited. The woman’s brown eyes became pensive when she saw Sara. “Such a beautiful child,” she murmured. “Where is your mother?”

“She’s a little sick right now,” Miguel said hurriedly, “so we come to help her out.”

The couple glanced at each other. Miguel knew they thought his mother was a drunk, like Octávia had been. Resentment filled him, but he tried to keep it from his face; it didn’t matter what they thought, as long as they gave him something.

He and Sara trailed the couple into the mall, where they stopped at a counter selling pastries of all kinds. “What would you like?” the man asked. Sara’s eyes grew wider than Miguel ever remembered seeing them. She stared for a long moment before pointing out an oblong pastry with white and brown frosting swirled on top. Miguel nodded his agreement.

“Two mil folhas,” the man said. Thousand pages. Made of many thin layers of flaky dough and delicious dark-yellow filling, the name of the pastry was appropriate.

The woman handed them the pastries while the man paid. Sara bit into it immediately, sighing with pleasure, and Miguel followed suit. The couple smiled, and grasping hands again, they walked off. The woman glanced briefly over her shoulder at Sara, and Miguel stepped in front of his sister to hide her from view. People always seemed drawn to Sara, but he suspected their intentions. He could take care of her.

“They was nice,” Sara said, licking yellow cream off her lips with the tip of her pink tongue.

“Yeah.” The pastries were worth more than the few coins he’d been given.

They went back to the parking garage to beg for more money, but the security guard made them leave. A short time later, they sneaked back inside, but they had no success. Again, the guard found them and ordered them out into the rain, which now poured relentlessly from the gray sky. Sara coughed and shivered, and her wet hair hung in thick strings around her face. They ran back in a third time and stayed hidden between the cars. Huddling together, Miguel and Sara sat on the blanket. It was still wet, but better than the cold cement.

Sara fell asleep, coughing hoarsely, but Miguel fought his exhaustion. Several times, he had to wake Sara and move before the guard saw them. He wondered when the man would finally leave. The dark of night settled and the cars thinned as the stores closed. Soon there was no place to hide from the guard’s eyes.

“If I see you children here again, I’ll call the police,” the guard said gruffly. “Go on home and don’t come back. Your parents’ll be none too happy to go get you at the police station, I’ll bet. I’ll be on the lookout for you, so don’t bother to try your tricks again. Get out, now!”

Miguel hurried out meekly, unable to stop the desperation seeping into his heart. Where could they go so late? Tears mixed with the falling rain.
Oh, why did Octávia have to up and die?
He held the blanket over Sara and looked around. A white cloud billowed in front of his mouth where his warm breath hit the cold air.

A main road ran next to the mall. On the other side, Miguel saw a large field with trees in the distance. Perhaps they could find a place there to shelter from the rain, something more permanent than a parking garage. When there was a break in the four lanes of traffic, he hurried Sara across. The grass from the field wet the few parts of their bodies that were still dry. Miguel felt his teeth chatter and clamped them tight. Sara began to lag behind. He tried to carry her, but it wasn’t long before he slumped to the ground. “Can ya just make it to the trees?” he asked. She nodded, lower lip quivering.

Then he saw a building ahead, blending in with the night. “Look, Sara. Look!” With renewed energy, they pushed forward. When they arrived, they discovered a small, ancient wooden structure, roughly rectangular in shape. On one side there was a small glass window with a jagged crack running vertically up its stained center. Miguel peered inside and saw a tiny dark room. He could just make out a cot, an old black stove, and some tin pans strewn about haphazardly. No signs of life showed through the single window.

He rounded the side and found a larger window, higher up and this time without glass, and he stood on his toes to peek inside. By the smell, he knew it was a barn. His eyes strained to take in the contents in the dim light. Finally, he could see a cow chewing on her cud contentedly in a corner stall, as clucking chickens searched the ground for spare grain or settled in their nests on the far side. There was no loft, but a tall stack of bundled hay and another of straw stood in the corner. It looked warm inside.

The doors to both the barn and the room with the cot were secured with thick padlocks. Miguel peeked in the window at the cot again. The presence of the animals signaled that someone must come at least daily to visit, and he didn’t dare break into this room, no matter how he longed to use the stove. Who knew if someone might come back later in the night to claim his bed?

Sara coughed in her hand, and Miguel abruptly opted for the warm-looking barn. “Come on,” he said, leading her back to the barn window. “I’ll boost ya up.” He dropped the blanket inside, then hefted the small girl. She jumped down herself, with a little coaxing.

“You hurt?” he asked anxiously.

“No, not much. But it’s dark, Miguel.” Her voice trembled.

“Here’s Lucky.” Miguel knew the dog would immediately make his sister less afraid.

Miguel tried to climb inside, but his frozen limbs didn’t have the energy to pull himself up into the window. His sore ribs throbbed at the effort.

“Miguel?” asked Sara. Lucky began to bark.

“Look around and see if you can find an old crate or somethin’ to throw out here. I can’t get up.”

He heard her move about, searching. A chicken squawked suddenly. “What happened?” he called.

“Lucky’s chasin’ the hens. But I found a board.”

“Throw it out.”

Miguel moved aside, waiting until the board showed in the window, then leaped to catch it. Propping it against the barn, he walked up the board until he could pull himself to the window. He tumbled inside, landing on straw. Already he felt warmer.

“Let’s make a bed with the straw,” he suggested, walking over to one of the bales. They pulled the straw away from the window and nearer the cow.

Sara eyed the bovine. “Will it step on us, do ya think?”

“No, silly. It’s in that stall. It can’t get out.” He turned to the puppy who’d come from his pursuit of the chickens and was now looking for bigger, less agile prey. “Lucky, leave that cow alone. She might stomp ya.” The puppy yelped as the cow nosed him and Miguel laughed.

Sara joined in. “Funny dog!”

They spread the straw in a thick layer, then took more to cover themselves. It was warmer than the wet blanket, if a little scratchy. Both removed their wet shoes and rubbed heat into their cold feet. Miguel’s eyes drooped, and it was all he could do to spread out the blanket to dry before settling in the straw next to Sara.

She giggled faintly. “I feel like Baby Jesus,” she said. He grunted, and she fell silent. Then, “I’m still cold, Miguel. Do you think Baby Jesus is cold?”

“Statues don’t get cold.”

“Oh.” She didn’t sound convinced.

Miguel sat up and pushed more straw over her. He laid back down and snuggled close. “Now I’m warm,” she said with a sigh. “It smells funny in here, but I like this place—better than our house.”

With a final bark, Lucky gave up on the cow and settled next to them. His nearness reminded Miguel of the cobbler. Was the man okay? If not for this thought, he would have been completely content. He had shelter, Lucky, and, of course, Sara—everything he needed. Even his stomach was full from the pastry. The last thing Miguel remembered before falling asleep was Sara mumbling her prayers.

* * * * *

“What are you children doin’ in my barn!” The loud roar woke Miguel from a sound sleep. “Wake up! Wake up, I say. Or I’ll run you through!” A skinny old man with black hair waved a pitchfork in front of their faces.

Miguel sat up, heart pounding, eyes wide with fear. Beside him, Sara panted. He scrambled to his feet, pushing her back. The man approached menacingly, and the children retreated until their backs scaped against the side of the barn. “Tryin’ to steal my milk, are ya? Or is it my chickens?” The man’s tiny eyes squinted at his prisoners, his black eyebrows drawing tightly in anger.

“I’ll call the police, that’s what I’ll do. Or maybe I should just stick ya good. That’ll remember you never to come back. You kids got no respect!” He drew closer, and Miguel edged along the wall, pushing Sara before him. The old man followed. He jabbed Miguel’s sore ribs painfully with the point of the pitchfork.

The cow mooed, and the farmer looked her way. In that instant, Miguel shot out the door, dragging Sara along. As he dared to glance back, a flying shoe hit painfully where Carlos’ fist had met his eye, but he grabbed at it and the other three the farmer sent flying after. They ran over the wet field on cold bare feet, clutching the shoes. When they reached the main road, Miguel’s feet were numb and bleeding, pierced by the sharp ends of dead plants.

“Our blanket,” Sara said, sitting on the side of the road to thrust her feet into her worn shoes.

Miguel frowned. “We’ll get another one, I guess.” He pretended nonchalance to hide the sinking feeling in his stomach. “Don’t worry. Somethin’ else’ll turn up.”

He looked around. Today the sun was shining, but the air was sharp with cold now that the low covering of clouds was gone. The night would be near freezing, but at least there would be no rain.

They made their way to the open market to find their breakfast. The market was like many others they’d seen, with mainly gypsy vendors selling everything from vegetables to fish, and playing cards to bright-colored skirts and blouses.

As Sara begged for coins, Miguel managed to steal some food. When the market closed completely in the early afternoon, he’d eaten enough to stem the gnawing in his stomach. But Miguel worried about Sara. She was still coughing and the light in her eyes had dimmed.

They tried begging in apartment buildings whose outer doors were broken or left ajar. Some people were kind—one lady even offered them an oversized purple sweater—but some threatened to call the police.

After a weary afternoon, they sat on the cobblestone sidewalk outside an apartment building to rest. Miguel knew he should think about finding dinner, but he was more worried about where they would sleep, especially since they’d left their blanket at the barn. He wracked his brain for an idea, hands thrust deep in his pockets, brow scrunched. Then he remembered the wallet he’d stolen on the ferry more than a month earlier. According to Senhor Fitas, the wallet’s owner lived in the Cova da Piedade. Was it possible he might help? What if he told the man he’d found the wallet? That he had come such a long way to deliver it? Surely he would let them sleep at his place for one night.