A Greater Love (18 page)

“That’s not the same,” he ground out.

“Yes, it is.”

He drew himself up to his full height and stared at her. “My mother’s alone because my father died of a broken heart. My brother’s drug overdose caused that. You could say that if they hadn’t had children, he would be alive and well.”

She snorted. “That’s selfish! And completely beside the point. I think Miguel pegged you exactly right today when he said that you don’t want children because of yourself. Yourself. That’s it, isn’t it? Only I don’t think it’s because you’re lazy. I think you’re afraid of losing what you love.”

“You’re wrong.” But self-doubt consumed him. “The world is too evil already. I won’t add to its problems.”

“By having and loving children? That will add to the world’s problems?” Her voice was incredulous. “You’re just like Miguel, you know—observing the world and making judgments. But where he sees the good and worthwhile, you see only pain and suffering. That’s funny, given your circumstances. Shame on you!” She shook with rage.

“I can’t be anything to those kids!” Daniel snapped. “Isn’t that what this is all about? I should have seen it coming. I should have taken them in yesterday before you had the chance to become attached.”

“What’s wrong with becoming attached? No one else seems to care about them. Why can’t we?”

He understood what she was asking. “We just can’t, that’s all.”

“Then you’ll always be alone.”

“Only if you leave me.”

“I already have.” She sprang from the couch and opened the door. “You do what you want, but I’m going to help those children. I can make a difference in their lives!”

She disappeared, her footfalls fading in the direction of the guest bedroom. Now she would take Miguel and Sara, probably to wherever she was staying. For some undefinable reason, the thought seared him. “I don’t care,” he said aloud, but he knew it was a lie.

Cristina’s steps were coming back, faster than before. She stopped in the doorway, eyes frantic. “They’re gone!”

Chapter Fifteen

The first night after leaving Daniel’s, Miguel and Sara slept in the back yard of a house, protected by a clump of trees and overgrown brush. During their outing with Daniel and Cristina the day before, Miguel had spotted a nearby street where small white houses lined the road instead of the towering apartments. He heard Daniel mention that several of the stone-fenced houses belonged to acquaintances who had recently moved to their apartment building, leaving their houses temporarily vacant. Who knew how long he and Sara might be able to stay there without being discovered? He hoped for a long time.

“I wish we coulda stayed with Cristina,” Sara told Miguel as she snuggled in the mound of warm quilts they had taken from the Andrade’s apartment.

“I know. But you heard ’em talkin’ when we left. They was gonna turn us in.”

“Not Cristina, I don’t think. She really likes us.”

“It don’t got nothin’ to do with if she likes us or not. Daniel don’t want kids, and especially not me. He’d rather I’d not been borned.”

“He liked Lucky, and he was nice to me. I thought he was nice to both of us.”

“He was still gonna turn us in. Or at least me. One way or the other, we wouldn’t get to stay together.” They were silent for a while and then he asked just to be sure, “You okay?”

“I ain’t much cold.”

“I
amn’t
much cold,” Miguel corrected. At least he had learned something from Daniel Andrade.

That night it was colder than Miguel ever remembered. Even the leaves on the evergreen bushes seemed to gain a brown, lifeless cast. All night both he and Sara shivered, despite their warm coats and blankets, and in the morning his body felt shaky, with alternating chills and fever. Sara’s cough had returned.

They had a plastic sack of food they had taken from Daniel’s, but Miguel knew it wouldn’t last long. He couldn’t let a day go by without trying to earn money. They headed for a place outside a busy grocery store but found that people wouldn’t give them the smallest coin.

“Go home to your parents,” a lady jeered. She turned to her companion. “Imagine, two children dressed so fine begging like urchins! I’d paddle their bottoms if they were mine.”

Miguel glanced down at the clothing Cristina had bought for him. For the first time in his memory, the clothes fit: the pants didn’t drag around his hips, the shoes didn’t pinch, the sweater reached only to his waist, the warm coat sleeves hung clear to his wrists. But if he couldn’t find food, they were utterly useless to him. Sara, he saw, rubbed at her exposed calves; the pretty new dress and thin tights didn’t warm her legs like the heavy black skirt had. Already she limped where the shiny new shoes rubbed at her heel. Miguel blinked hard.

“We gotta get dirty,” he said.

Sara nodded and said nothing, but her eyes were full of tears.

“I’ll do it,” he added quickly. He settled Sara and Lucky on a nearby bench, nestled in his coat as well as Sara’s. Still, his sister trembled and coughed.

Miguel found dirt in the gutter and began rubbing it methodically into his clothes and onto his face. When he finished, he started his begging routine, careful to keep an eye on Sara. He’d earned nearly a hundred escudos when he saw a policeman approach his sister. Miguel beckoned furiously. She scooped up Lucky and ran to meet him. They disappeared into the crowd.

Sara returned Miguel’s coat and he put it on, feeling a bit of warmth seep into his frozen limbs. They made their way slowly back to the deserted house. To their dismay, lights filled the once-dark house. Peering over the stone wall, they saw a man and two police officers in the corner of the back yard, holding their blankets.

“They’ve found our stuff,” Miguel said hoarsely.

“Oh, no!”

“Sh, they’ll hear.”

They ran without stopping until they reached the park with the nativity exhibit. Exhausted, they settled on a bench in front of the playground and watched the people pass. Dark stole quietly over the city, and still they sat. Miguel didn’t know where to go, and he found it hard to concentrate on anything other than staying awake. At long last, ice-cold drops of rain pierced his awareness. He heaved himself up. “Come on, Sara, we gotta go.”

They paused near the nativity scene where Sara dropped his hand and slipped over the short fence and into the display before he could stop her. A few people passing with their umbrellas paused on the cobblestone pathway to watch her disapprovingly.

“I’ll get her,” Miguel muttered.

When he reached Sara, she was kneeling next to the manger, leaning over to kiss the Baby Jesus on each cheek. Then she unwound her red scarf and laid it over Him. Miguel tried to stop her.

“He’s cold,” she insisted. “I don’t want the rain to get Him.”

The manger was only partly protected by the backdrop and the overhang where the bright star gleamed. From where he stood, Miguel could feel the rain on his face.

“He’s got a light here to keep Him warm.” Miguel pointed behind the manger at the light that made the Baby the brilliant focus of the exhibit.

“It don’t keep off the rain.”

Sara was right. He let her leave the scarf and again took her hand. They wandered on through the park and down a narrow cobblestone road on the far side where they had never investigated before. Near the beginning of the road stood a restaurant with a wide awning over the sidewalk, protecting a line of people from the rain. In front of them, a man with a huge belly turned plucked chickens on a hot grill, occasionally painting a heavy sauce over the cooking flesh. The glowing coals sizzled with the dropping juice. Miguel and Sara stopped, sniffing the mouth-watering aroma.

A hefty man with a black moustache was the next in line for the food. “On the other hand, throw in another chicken,” he boomed. “Dog’s gotta eat, too. If three’s too many for my wife and kid and me, he’ll get a treat.” The people in line behind him strained to look over his shoulder, as though to check the supply of chickens.

“Your son’s growing big, isn’t he?” the chef asked. “He needs more food. He’s gotta be about seven, right?”

“Yeah,” the large man replied, rubbing his stomach with a hairy hand. “He can just about eat a whole chicken now. Takes after his dad.” He chuckled loudly. The chef stuffed the chickens in a plastic bag as the man reached for his wallet.

Sara coughed repeatedly, and Miguel knew his own face glistened with fever. “Do we got enough money to get some bread?” she asked, gesturing to the see-through bin of bread behind the chef.

“Yes. Let’s get in line.”

Miguel didn’t feel like eating, but he did out of habit, hunched under a corner of the awning to keep Sara out of the rain. When they finished their meal, more than half the loaf remained. Even Lucky seemed to have lost his appetite, though he stared with longing at the frying chickens.

“I amn’t much hungry after all,” Sara said, stuffing several crispy chunks of bread into her pocket. “But that chicken smells good.”

Miguel pulled Sara onward. The buildings on one side of the street were old and not more than a few stories. On the other side, they glimpsed sprawling houses between the high iron and stone fences. One was white stucco with green trim and from it came voices singing Christmas music.

Sara stopped to listen. “Must be a church.” She didn’t sing along, but swallowed gingerly, as if it hurt to do so. “What about stayin’ here? We can listen to the music.”

They went up the walkway. When they were sure no one was watching, they hid behind the main building. The singing continued, sounding like a chorus of angels. Miguel dozed. When the music ended, he barely noticed.

“Miguel, you okay?” Sara crouched by him, coughing into her arm as Cristina had taught her.

He tried to open his eyes. “I just needed to rest a bit.”

“The people are gone now, and there’s a porch. It’s out of the rain.” With effort, Miguel lurched to his feet. Lucky whined, but he snuggled up beside them and a little warmth penetrated Miguel’s freezing body. They were so lucky to have him.

Thoughts of Daniel and Cristina came to Miguel’s mind. Especially Daniel. At times during the past two days, he’d thought Daniel actually liked him. He was probably the smartest man Miguel had ever known. He had so many stories and things he could teach them. For a moment, Miguel let himself dream that …

No. He shook his head clear of the thoughts and let sleep take him.

For several more days they wandered the streets, returning each night to the white stucco church with the green trim. Sometimes people were there, but they managed to avoid discovery. Sara’s cough sounded congested now and painful. Miguel himself couldn’t remember what day it was.

He passed that night in a series of disjointed dreams. In the morning when he tried to wake Sara, she opened her eyes briefly, then shut them again. Her head burned with fever, and panic filled him. “Sara! Oh, Sara! Wake up!”

The desperation in his voice made her open her eyes. She struggled to sit up. “Octávia? I thought you was dead. Are you an angel like Mamãe?”

“It’s me, Miguel.”

Sara nodded but didn’t speak again.

“I shouldn’t have taken ya out in the cold,” Miguel said with a keen sense of failure. “Sara, oh, Sara, please be okay.”

Lucky sniffed at his pocket, obviously hungry, but Miguel had only a little bread. “I can’t give ya any, boy. I gotta save it for Sara.”A wave of dizziness rolled over him, and he lay on the church porch beside his sister until it passed.

“How can I help her?” It had been a long time since he had prayed alone, but Miguel knew he had to pray now. As he did, he pretended he was talking to the Baby Jesus in the display. He told Him everything. “I just don’t know what to do next,” he finished. Only one answer came to his weak mind, and he rebelled against it, but in the end he knew what he had to do.

He slipped their mother’s gold necklace from his neck and settled it over Sara’s head. Then he reached into his new coat pocket where he now kept the identity card with their mother’s picture. Drawing it out, he kissed the beloved face, then zipped the picture into Sara’s coat pocket.

“Come on, Sara,” he said.

“I’m too tired, Miguel.”

“It’s just a little further. You’re gonna be warm soon.” As she sighed and stumbled to her feet, he added. “You know I love ya, don’t ya? No matter what.”

“I know, Miguel.”

When they arrived at the place, he made Sara lie down on the cobblestones, then with his lip between his teeth, he left her there. She didn’t notice his departure. Lucky did and came scampering after him.

“No! Stay, boy!”

The puppy looked up at him inquisitively, one ear erect, the other drooping.

“I don’t want ya with me,” Miguel lied, raising a hand toward him. Lucky didn’t flinch. “Just stay with Sara until …” He choked on the words.

He faced the dog for a full minute before Lucky turned and trotted back to Sara. Feeling relieved but utterly alone, Miguel left them and stumbled across the street.

Chapter Sixteen

Everywhere Daniel turned, guilt assaulted him. He didn’t need the accusing glare in Cristina’s eyes to tell him he was at fault. He’d done everything he could—searched the city, notified the police, and even prayed. On Monday, after being out all Sunday night searching with Cristina, he didn’t go to work, but continued to roam the streets. The police reported seeing a girl fitting Sara’s description near the open market, and a house owner found Daniel’s missing blankets in his yard, but nothing led to finding the children. Daniel’s anxiety increased.

Early Tuesday morning, Daniel was out looking again. His steps led him to the nativity scene in the park, remembering how much the children had enjoyed the display. What he found severed the remaining threads of his composure.

A bright red scarf, one he recognized as Sara’s, had been carefully arranged over the Baby Jesus. Tears wet his face, mingling with the cold rain, as he glanced anxiously around to catch sight of the missing children. His heart ached for them, more than it had at his brother’s and father’s deaths. His brother and father had been adults, had made their own choices. But through no fault of their own, these children had been tossed into life’s storm without anything to guide them or prevent them from drowning—and Daniel had done nothing to help.