A Greater Love (3 page)

He grinned. “This is the best time. In fact, Manuel and I used to say that this was the only season to sail. An open sea with only us and the most hardy fishermen.”

Nostalgia fell over him like a clear blue wave. His friend Manuel Silva had helped him build
No Name
that last summer on the days they had off from the fishing boat. Not that there were many days off. Still, they made good use of all the long hours together, on and off the fishing boat. Manuel had an agile mind and continually amazed Daniel with how fast he could learn what Daniel taught him from his years in college. Often on the calm nights on the fishing boat, they would read old classics far into the night. Manuel stopped using the uneducated Portuguese that most of the fishing hands spoke and copied Daniel’s speech. Several times Daniel had suggested that his friend go to college himself, but Manuel wouldn’t hear of leaving the sea—except to spend time with his family. Life had been good in those days, full of laughter and discovery.

That was before Daniel learned the promises of the future were mostly lies.

“You haven’t talked about him for a long time,” Cristina said. “When we were first married, I loved to listen to your stories. Remember how we’d sleep out on deck at night and talk? I especially like the story about how you and Manuel could catch more fish together than any other mates on board your ship. I used to wonder why you didn’t go into the fishing industry. With your brains and Manuel’s knowledge of the sea, I bet you could have made it a success.”

He sighed. “Politics is safer, if not cleaner. But those were good days. I miss them.”

“It’s too bad he died. I’d like to hear his side of all the stories. Did you really invent a new kind of net?”

“Yes,” Daniel replied shortly. It always surprised him that the memory brought back so much pain. “Just before Manuel was killed. Why he had to die instead of that ungrateful fool he saved from drowning, I’ll never know.”

 Cristina put an arm around him. “I’m sorry.”

He let out a long sigh. “So am I. But it’s in the past. It has nothing to do with us now.” He arose and strode to the entrance of the cabin, grabbing the fishing pole from a hook by the door. “What do you say we go catch some fish?”

She laughed. “I thought you’d never ask. But you go on. I’m going start the stove so the coals are ready by the time we catch one. I’m starved.”

“You just want to stay out of the cold.”

A grin lit her face, making her even more beautiful. “Hey, it’s your boat. You do the work.”

Daniel dropped the pole and returned to his wife’s side, taking her into his arms. “The smartest thing I ever did was to marry you,” he murmured into her hair. “I’ll do anything to make you happy.”

“I wonder,” she said. The words held a haunting melancholy that made Daniel feel uneasy. He looked at her closely but her smile was bright; when he hugged her, she didn’t pull away. Daniel gave her a quick kiss and put the incident from his mind. Their lunch was out there swimming in that wide, icy expanse, and he was going to find it.

Chapter Three

On his way home from the wharf, Miguel whistled the tune to Sara’s favorite song, the one Sister Perrault had taught them about Jesus and the lamb lying down with the lion. He remembered vividly sitting on the packed earth outside one of the shacks, practising the phrases with the other children. It amazed him that the lion wouldn’t gobble up the lamb. What stopped him? Could it be Jesus? Miguel hoped he would be around to see it happen.

The tune had little to do with the thoughts of revenge entering his head. Soon he would have to pass the group of boys who lived in the fancy new apartment buildings near his shack community. They were about his age, but seemed to have no other purpose in life except to make him miserable. Almost every day for the past month they’d hidden among the buildings, springing out on him just as he began to hope that this time they would leave him alone. He could outrun them all, so usually the mud and sticks they threw missed him completely, but several times in the last week he’d been carrying fruit and vegetables from Senhor Fitas’s store and they had caught up to him and destroyed the food, laughing as they did. Octávia hadn’t been at all understanding when he had arrived home empty-handed.

“You’re gonna be a man someday,” she’d said brusquely, twitching her hooked nose. “You gotta learn to deal with them boys. Now stop complainin’ and get to bed.” There’d been anger and impatience in her face, and he’d obeyed, going without supper to the pile of worn blankets where he and Sara slept on the floor. He hadn’t cried, not even after Octávia’s drunken snores filled the one-room shack. He knew his aunt was right.

Miguel frowned. He’d still not found a way to resolve his problems with the bullies. They were no doubt waiting for him even now. He could try to sneak past them after dark, but sometimes even that didn’t work. And he would also be carrying groceries tonight—if Senhor Fitas had any for him.

 “You’re a little early today, Miguel,” Senhor Fitas told him when he arrived at the back door of the vegetable store. He was thin and taller than most Portuguese men and his hair was nearly all white.

“Guess I am,” Miguel said, having no real idea what time it might be. The sun sank so fast in the sky during the winter months that most of his guesses were off. “Got anythin’ for me today?”

“Your aunt already came by with that sister of yours. Sara’s sure getting to be a cute little thing. How old is she now? Five?”

“Six. She had her birthday when the kids went back to school.”

“What about you, Miguel? Don’t you go to school?”

“Yeah,” he lied smoothly. “Only today I don’t got afternoon classes. Octávia didn’t tell me she was comin’ here.”

“She mentioned something about some boys bothering you.”

“She did?” Miguel couldn’t contain his surprise. Was his aunt actually worried about him? Then he remembered the food he’d lost the past week. “She musta wanted to make sure the food got home okay.”

Senhor Fitas grunted. “I’m sure your aunt was looking out for your best interests.” Miguel must not have appeared convinced because the old man continued, “Do you remember the first time I met you folks a couple years ago?”

Miguel’s eyes flashed to the huge garbage bin in the alley. “Course I do. We was goin’ through your trash for your bruised fruits and stuff. We’d been doin’ it for weeks before ya caught us. I like it better now that ya leave ’em out in a box for us.”

“So do I,” Senhor Fitas said. “I kept worrying you’d break a leg or something. But the point is, it’s not an easy thing to raise two children alone, but she’s kept you fed, one way or another. I know she can be a mean old bat sometimes, but mostly that’s the alcohol talking.” He thumped his chest. “In her heart, she’s doing the best she knows how.”

“I don’t like her much.” Miguel couldn’t believe he dared admit it aloud.

Senhor Fitas didn’t seem to hate him for saying it. “I don’t expect that she likes herself much either. But you’re getting old enough to understand that sometimes liking doesn’t have much to do with love, or the reasons we do things at all. Why don’t you ask Octávia sometime about the gold necklace she wears inside her sweater?”

Miguel nodded politely, wondering if the man hadn’t gone senile. Octávia didn’t own a gold necklace, and if she did, she would have sold it like the rest of the jewelry he stole for her.

“Do it,” the old man urged. “When you get the chance. You never know how … Well, Octávia wasn’t looking good today. I wish she’d lay off the alcohol. It’s just not …”

While Senhor Fitas talked on, Miguel eyed a cardboard box outside the door. It was full of odd pieces of completely rotten fruit and mushy garbage that wasn’t fit for human consumption, not even for poor people.

“What’s that?” Miguel asked a long time later during a lull in Senhor Fitas’ dialogue. He pointed at the mushy fruit.

Senhor Fitas appeared surprised. “That’s nothing you’d be interested in, Miguel. I already picked out what was edible for your aunt.”

“It ain’t for us,” Miguel said. “Me and a friend, we’re gonna raise us a pig and try to get some meat. We got a place out in the woods where we keep him.” Miguel felt proud of the story. It might be the best lie he’d ever come up with.

“A pig, eh?” Senhor Fitas said doubtfully. “Well, I guess you can have it. Pig slop is about what it’s good for, if it has any value at all.”

“Thanks!” Miguel dived for the box before the man could change his mind. “My pig thanks you, too. Maybe I’ll bring him to meet ya one day.”

Senhor Fitas gave him a strange look. “Yeah, sure. That’d be fine. We’ll see you in a couple days, Miguel.”

“See ya later.” Miguel ran down the street for a good block before the weight of the box made him slow. His breath came rapidly, but he continued to hurry as fast as he could. By the sun’s fading light, he knew it had grown late. As usual, Senhor Fitas had talked too long. Would Paulo be waiting as planned?

It was a long way home, and as the darkness stole over the city, Miguel shivered and coughed more often. He hoped Sara was already at the shack and that she’d kept warm in her black wool skirt and sweater. Underneath the wide weave sweater, he always made her wear his outgrown T-shirt and another old sweater, a dull green color.

“Boo!”

Miguel started and nearly dropped the box. “Shoot, Paulo. Don’t do that.”

“About time you showed up,” Paulo said, emerging from the shadows near an apartment building where the day before he had agreed to meet Miguel. Paulo was a lanky ten-year-old who lived near Miguel in the shacks. They had played together since Miguel was four.

“I was gettin’ the stuff,” Miguel grunted, setting down his heavy box.

“I was about to leave. Ma’s problee got dinner waitin’.” The older boy approached, nose twitching. “I hope ya got somethin’ good. I’m hungry.” His hand reached for the spoiled fruit, then drew back in disgust. “Yuck. I thought you was gonna get some food and wanted me to help ya get it home while you distracted them rich kids. This ain’t food. It stinks.”

“I’ve decided to teach them boys a lesson instead of runnin’ away. I’m tired of their hasslin’ me. Ain’t you? Come on. You gonna help or not?”

Paulo thought a moment. “I guess so. But what’s in it for me?”

Miguel rolled his eyes. Paulo didn’t get it. Nothing made sense to him unless it had money attached. “I got some cash,” he coaxed. “I’ll give ya fifty escudos.”

“That ain’t much,” whined Paulo, wiping his runny nose on the sleeve of his coat. “You was gonna give me some fruit
and
fifty escudos to help ya with the food.”

“But after tonight, them boys ain’t gonna bother you again. Think of it as an adventure. We’re like two old sea pirates plannin’ to teach the natives a lesson!”

Paulo’s watery brown eyes took on an uncharacteristic glow. “They’ve picked on us one too many times,” he offered enthusiastically, and for a moment Miguel was proud of his friend.

“Here’s what we’ll do,” Miguel began. Paulo leaned close, sniffing vigorously. He ran his nose over the sleeve of his coat.

With a rock they squished the fruit and garbage bits into a thick liquid pulp. Miguel didn’t think it looked like enough ammunition, so he found a puddle of mud and scooped handfuls into the box, mixing it with the fruit. His fingers felt frozen, but he told himself it would be worth it later. Paulo dabbed at the mess with a long stick, occasionally laughing aloud. Next, Miguel found a worn plastic sack in the mud on the road and loaded handfuls of the muddy fruit mess inside. The sack already had holes, but he poked in a few more for good measure. Then he added water to make it run more freely.

“Here, Paulo. When them boys come, wave it around your head like this. And that stuff’ll leak out all over ’em. I’ll take care of throwing the box. And don’t go soft on me,” Miguel warned. “Remember, I got the escudos, and I won’t give ’em to ya if you don’t do it.”

“I ain’t scared.” But Paulo’s voice wavered.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be scared of,” Miguel insisted. “Them boys can’t run faster than a baby. They’re weak. Now come on.”

Darkness was falling quickly, and it grew colder by the minute, but Miguel knew the boys would be waiting in their thick coats. His heart pounded. What if Paulo ran before they played their trick? What if the boys caught him? Resolutely, Miguel clenched his jaw.

“They musta gave up,” Paulo whispered. “They’re home eatin’ dinner.”

“Naw. Just a bit further.”

Paulo jumped at every sound, making it hard for Miguel to concentrate. At last he heard the low giggles that always prefaced the attacks. “Grab the bag,” he murmured urgently to Paulo. “But don’t lift it out of the box till ya see ’em.” No use in letting their hard work drip uselessly onto the sidewalk.

Paulo’s eyes widened, and Miguel felt his own breath come more rapidly as their attackers slid into view. “What’s this?” one drawled. “Does the dirty little boy have groceries for Mamãe?”

“Yeah, why don’t you take a bath, anyhow?” another put in. “You stink.”

“We’re tired of your kind,” a third said. “One of these days our fathers are going to burn your shacks to the ground. We’re sick of supporting you lazy idiots.” Several other boys murmured in agreement.

Paulo looked ready to bolt, but Miguel rested the box on his hip and grabbed Paulo’s hand. The box was getting soggy and threatened to disintegrate. “So, I got groceries. What’s it to ya?” Miguel taunted. He counted six boys in all. “There’s only sweet apples and grapes and melons. Nothin’ you boys’d want.”

“I like fruit,” said the leader. “Now you just put that box down and run away, and we won’t beat you up—this time.”

“Not a chance,” Miguel sneered. “If ya want it, come get it.”

The boys leapt forward at the challenge. “Now!” Miguel yelled to Paulo, who lifted the sack from the box, but otherwise stood frozen. Miguel had no time to scare him into motion. Grunting, he hurled the contents of the box toward the leader and the two boys nearest him.

“What!” the boy growled. “Oh, gross!” He and his friends started dancing on the sidewalk, trying to shake the smelly mixture from their coats, hands, and faces. “Yuck. Get this off!”