A Greater Love (17 page)

“What do ya do there?” asked Sara.

“I help people buy tickets to visit other places.”

“That sounds fun!”

“It is. Mostly.”

Sara and Cristina chattered on about a variety of topics, often drawing Daniel into the conversation. Miguel kept silent, though from his expression, he seemed happy enough. Only when the subject of his family was broached did his face shut down and his lower lip protrude with displeasure. His reaction was so severe that both Daniel and Cristina began to avoid all mention of his parents.

“How about some lunch in one of these little restaurants?” Daniel suggested. “I’m starving.”

“Can we bring somethin’ back for Lucky?” Sara asked.

Cristina smiled. “Of course you can. He’s been a good dog. He deserves it. We’d better let him out first, though, to use the bathroom.”

Near the end of their outing, Cristina drove to the dock where they kept their boat. Lucky scampered at their side as they walked along the strip of pavement that paralleled the water. Only one ship had left its berth and now headed for the open sea.

“I’m gonna be a sailor one day.” Miguel’s eyes fixed hungrily on the lone ship.

Daniel remembered well how powerfully the ocean had beckoned to him as a young man. “You know, the sea has long been an important part of Portugal’s history. Though many of us have turned to other professions, the sea is still in our blood and will always call to us. It reminds us of the heroic feats of our past, when Portugal sailed the oceans and discovered many new worlds.”

“Heroic feats?” The boy cocked his head, listening intently. There was eagerness in his expression, a thirst for knowledge.

“I’m sure you’ve learned about them in school.” But Daniel wondered if the children had ever been to school at all. Though the law demanded their attendance, that didn’t guarantee anything. “I was a sailor once,” Daniel said to cover the sudden silence.

Miguel’s mouth opened slightly. “You was?”

“Yes. After my mandatory time in the army, I went to college. I grew bored of studying and decided to try the sea. I worked on a shipping boat for a few years, one of the larger ones that were springing up at the time. Many fishermen still went out on small boats that held only one or two men, but that didn’t appeal to me. I liked the feel of the larger ships. It was a hard job, but satisfying. You make good friends.”

“Why’d ya quit?” asked Sara.

Because I saw too much pain,
he thought.
I became disillusioned. But mostly I stayed away because I saw a good man give up his life for a worthless fool.
But, no, he couldn’t say those things to a child.

“It was time,” he said. “I had to think of my career. I returned to school, got a job with the city, met Cristina …” Daniel shrugged. Miguel watched him intently, and Daniel had the feeling the child could see into his soul, that he glimpsed the terrible truth Daniel wanted to hide.

“Miguel and me’s goin’ on a boat one day,” Sara said. “Not just a ferry, but a big one. We’re gonna sleep on it and everythin’.”

“Miguel and I,” Daniel corrected.

“Miguel and I,” Sara repeated. She coughed without covering her mouth.

“Maybe we can—” Cristina began, but Daniel shook his head. He didn’t want to show the children his boat. It held too many sad memories, and they would be sure to ask questions that would bring back the pain of Manuel’s death. It was a good thing that on Monday Miguel and Sara would be removed from his life forever.

“Let’s go,” he said.

Cristina blinked. “But—”

“Sara’s sick. She shouldn’t be out here.”

His wife didn’t look convinced, but Sara chose that moment to begin coughing again. “Sara, your cough doesn’t like this cold.” Cristina fastened the top button on the little girl’s new coat.

“I ain’t likin’ it so much, either,” Sara said. “But Miguel and me is usta cold.”

Daniel didn’t bother to correct her again.

They led the reluctant children away from the boats and took them home for a generous dinner. Afterwards, he and Cristina sat on the couch in front of the television, with Sara between them and Miguel sprawled on the floor gingerly, as if favoring his right side. Daniel resisted asking why, knowing his question would only threaten the boy. The children watched the show with an absorbed fascination he felt must be abnormal for children that age, no matter how interesting the film. Of course, he hadn’t been around children much, so his guess could be off.

As Daniel pondered over the life they must have led and the problems they would yet have to brave, emotion stirred in his heart—pity? sorrow? compassion?—but he pushed it away. He couldn’t resolve the problems of the world. He couldn’t even resolve his and Cristina’s.

“Why don’t ya got any kids?” Sara asked.

Daniel wondered how she could be so cute when she asked such difficult questions. “I don’t want them to have to suffer,” he replied, looking at Cristina.

Silence fell over the room, broken only by the sounds from the television. Everyone stared at Daniel, but Miguel’s gaze was particularly intense. At last he spoke. “I’m glad my Mamãe didn’t think that or we wouldn’t be here.” He patted Lucky absently. “It probably woulda been easier for her if we didn’t get born. It’s hard to take care of kids.” From the way he clamped his mouth shut and from how Sara gaped at him, Daniel knew Miguel must have broken his own rule.

“Would you like to tell us about your mother?” Cristina asked. Miguel shook his head and focused stubbornly on the television.

“I’m not much hard to take care of.” Sara turned a penetrating gaze to Daniel. “Is Miguel right? Is that why ya don’t got kids? ’Cause it’s too hard?”

“I told you why.” Yet Daniel wondered if the child’s words held a grain of truth. Awkward silence dominated the small room.

After the movie was over, they walked the children into their room. When Daniel tucked Sara into bed, her arms went up around his neck, and she kissed him on either cheek in the Portuguese custom.

“I still like you,” she whispered. “That’s okay if ya don’t want kids.” He felt her acceptance, her unconditional love—the two things he wanted most from his wife. He returned Sara’s hug.

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!”