Goddess of Gotham (8 page)

‘Why, you got a zit, girl! Ain’t nothing but a pimple.’

A titter ran round the salon. Kumari hung her head, shamefaced. Goddesses did
not
get such things as ‘pimples.’ Goddesses were perfect.

‘You been eating too many of those candy bars,’ scolded Ma. ‘That’s what’s given you them zits. You want to give it a rest girl or sure as I’m standing here
you’ll get more.’

Coming from Ma, this was a little harsh. Kumari stared morosely at the empty wrapper in her hand. It seemed a high price to pay for a few sweet treats.

‘Don’t go listening to her,’ whispered Mrs Brinkman. ‘All of us get zits some time.’

Not me,
thought Kumari. It was another disease of the World Beyond. Really, this was a most unhealthy place, what with wrinkles and now pimples. What next, she wondered. Hair that just
fell out by itself?

At that moment she glanced up and noticed the man standing by the counter. In the middle, where his hair should have been, the light bounced off shiny skin. Kumari stared so hard that the man
noticed and stared back.

‘Hey, you’re that girl,’ said the man, waving the newspaper in his hand.

Kumari dropped her gaze. She had no idea what he was talking about. The man continued, however, his voice rising in excitement.

‘It’s you, isn’t it? That there
Mysssterious
Person.’ He gave the ‘s’s such emphasis spittle sprayed from his mouth.

‘What you saying?’ demanded Ma, striding over to snatch his paper. She read the story once, twice, then looked up, mouth agape. Wordlessly, she held it up and everyone peered round
for a closer look. There it was, on page two. A fuzzy picture of Kumari.

‘Manhattan Mystery Girl,’
read out Ma.
‘Do you know where she comes from? Police admit they know little about the young girl they rescued from the Macy’s Parade
. . . ’

Ma’s eyes narrowed as she read on, her mind racing as the facts clicked into place.

‘Now residing in the northwest Bronx, the girl speaks very little English. She seems unfamiliar with American customs although she appears to like pizza.’

‘Sonny,’ muttered Ma. ‘This is Sonny’s doin.’’

She stabbed the page with her finger, barely able to contain her rage.

‘One clue to her identity may lie with her constant companion, a baby vulture, although the New York Department of Environmental Conservation confirms that they have no record of the
appropriate license.’

At this, Ma puffed out her cheeks and let out a long, low whistle. Her eyes sparkled dangerously as she glanced up at Kumari.

‘You gotta hide that bird, girl,’ she declared. ‘Else they gonna come take it from you an’ kill it.’

A flutter of consternation swept round the room. They all knew what Badmash meant to Kumari.

At that very moment, a white van drew up outside the salon. Mrs Brinkman spotted it first, raising one trembling finger.

‘It’s them!’ she shrieked. ‘They got here already’

Heads full of curlers turned to look. A man got out of the van. Painted on the side of it, the letters, ASPCA. The American Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, aka the animal Feds.

‘Qvick,’ said Mrs Kowalski, ‘you put him here darlink.’

Despite living in the Bronx now for forty years, her accent had never diminished. She was holding out her handbag, stuffed full of bits of wool.

‘Forget that,’ scoffed Mrs Martinez. ‘You put him in here,
mija.’

She, too, was holding out a bag, this one far more capacious. From the top, a pineapple protruded, next to it a box of cakes. Badmash licked his beak. As far as he was concerned, it was no
contest. In a trice, he had hopped in and the top was snapped shut.

By the time the ASPCA agent entered, all was calm in the salon. The ladies stared studiously at their magazines or inspected their nails.

‘Ms Hernandez?’ The man was polite, slightly nervous even.

‘Yeeeees?’ demanded Ma, looking him up and down.

The man shuffled his feet.

‘We’ve had a report that you are harbouring a dangerous wild animal at these premises.’

‘Say what? A
dangerous wild animal?
Y’all mean my clients?’ Ma looked round the salon for reaction. One or two tittered obligingly. Ma stuck her hands on her hips.
‘Don’t know ’bout you, but I ain’t scared of ’em. Now why don’t you run along, boy, before one of ’em bites!’

From her hiding place under the towels, Kumari could see only the man’s feet. He shuffled them again but still he stood firm.
Oh, please,
she thought.
Please just go before he
makes a noise.
A few feet away Badmash was hard at work, pecking open the box of cakes.

‘I just need to take a look, ma’am,’ insisted the agent, his face reddening slightly. They were all staring at him now and some of them looked pretty fierce. If they were
anything like his grandma, these ladies could sure pack a punch. The agent wished with all his heart they had sent someone else.

‘Take a look?’ repeated Ma. ‘Why, sure, you take a look, boy. Where you want to start, honey? Under this here dryer?’

She indicated the hood under which Lola Garcia sat in state. Lola had been quite a girl in her day. Now she leered at the agent. Faced with her gummy grin, the agent took a step backwards.

‘That won’t be necessary’ he stuttered. ‘I’ll just. . . take a look round.’

‘You do that,’ said Ma. ‘Tell me if you see a tiger over there by the towels. Or maybe a snake wrapped round those shower heads . . . Might be some kind of
killer mouse
hereabouts! Maybe even a giant roach!’

Kumari held her breath, stifling a nervous giggle. She saw the man shuffle his feet again. Finally, he cleared his throat.

‘Ah, actually, it’s a bird that we’re looking for.’

‘A bird? Now, why didn’t you say so? We got hundreds of birds, boy. Just you take a look outside. Darn things poop all over the place. I’d be glad if you got rid of ’em.
You want a bird, son, you come to the right place.’

The agent cleared his throat again. ‘Erm . . . it’s a vulture we’re after.’

‘A vulture?’ Ma paused for dramatic effect.

At that moment, Badmash squawked.

The whole place froze for a nanosecond. And then Ma doubled up.

‘Awk,’ she shrieked, clutching her gut. ‘Ark, ark,’ she moaned, sinking to the floor. Startled, the agent stared, not knowing what to do.

‘My pills,’ groaned Ma, gesturing. ‘Get me my pills, Lola.’

Lola gaped gummily for a moment then leaped from her chair.

‘Here you go, honey’ she crowed, cramming Sweetex into Ma’s mouth. The agent was already retreating, backing towards the door.

‘It’s my gut,’ Ma called after him. ‘I get gas reeeeeeeal bad.’

‘Ah, yes,’ muttered the agent, not knowing where to look.

‘You run along now,’ said Ma. ‘I’m going to be just fine. I can feel these pills working. Lola, you help me up.’

As she staggered to her feet, Ma let out a giant belch. It was one of her party tricks and, for the agent, the final straw. With one last gulp, he sped out the door and revved his van into
action. As the van disappeared towards the expressway, Ma collapsed in hysterics.

‘Did you see that boy’s face?’ she howled, tears of laughter flowing. ‘I swear, I thought he was about to faint.’ She hiccoughed uncontrollably.

Crawling out from under the towel rack, Kumari retrieved Badmash and clutched him in relief. They were safe, for the moment. She kissed his sticky beak. Mrs Martinez smiled benevolently, unaware
of the damage he had inflicted. In her bag lay the evidence – a small pile of crumbs.

Kumari felt tears prick her eyes. She had been so scared that they might take him. Badmash was her last link with home. She could not bear it if he were lost. Catching sight of her face, Ma
sobered instantly. Hauling her in for a hug, she held Kumari tight.

‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ she said. ‘That man, he’s gone now. Ain’t nobody going to take your bird. Ain’t no one going to take you.’

On the counter sat the newspaper, the picture grainy but distinct. Despite her words, Ma scented trouble.

This was not over yet.

‘Ms Hernandez?’

Ma looked up. In front of her stood a stranger. A stranger flanked by two policemen, gazing at her grim-faced.

The stranger waved a piece of paper.

‘I’m from ICE. Immigration and Customs Enforcement. This here is a warrant. It orders you to deliver up this child into my protective custody at once.’

Ma’s arms tightened around Kumari.

‘Over my dead body’

The stranger nodded to the policemen. They moved to Ma’s side.

‘You leave me no alternative, Ms Hernandez,’ said the stranger. ‘I am arresting you for the obstruction of justice.’

And with that, cold steel was clamped around Ma’s wrists as Kumari was torn from her grasp.

CHAPTER 6

‘T
he nerve of those people,’ said Lisa Anderson, swerving her car into the uptown traffic. Running alon gside, the reporter raised
his camera. Kumari barely registered its flash.

‘Don’t you worry, Kumari,’ said Lisa. ‘I’ll have you back home in no time.’

Kumari blinked back a lurking tear. If only it were possible.

It did feel strangely good though, to recognise Ma’s block. Better yet to see her face creased up in a big, welcoming smile. She didn’t even mind when Ma squeezed her too tight. It
had been a long, lonely night.

‘You’re OK,’ Kumari mumbled into Ma’s chest.

‘Of course I am, child,’ said Ma, patting her. ‘Ain’t no one going to hurt your Ma. I know my rights, Kumari.’

‘Your Ma.’ It sounded good. Even if it wasn’t strictly accurate. Kumari knew who her Mamma was. But Ma made for a good substitute.

‘Now, you sit yourself down, girl,’ said Ma. ‘I got ice cream for you after that pizza.’

Kumari’s stomach growled in delight. She’d refused to eat until they released her from yet another holding cell.

‘I’ll be going now,’ said Lisa Anderson. ‘You won’t forget what we talked about, Ms Hernandez?’

Kumari caught the look that passed between Lisa and Ma. She could almost hear the words before they were said: ‘It’s for your own good, Kumari.’ She’d heard those words
from Mamma and from her Ayah and now she could see them hovering on Ma’s lips. Except it never was all that good and sometimes downright terrible. And so she ploughed her way through several
pizza slices, waiting for the inevitable.

First, however, she could have some fun.

‘More ice cream please,’ said Kumari.

As Ma ladled out yet another helping of Double Trouble Choc Chip, Kumari smiled with satisfaction.

At the fourth bowl, Ma put her foot down.

‘That’s enough now, Kumari.’

Beside her, Badmash let out a belch. His feathers were suspiciously sticky. Kumari met Ma’s accusing glare with innocence and turned to stare at the TV. Oh goodie,
The
Weakest
Link.
She counted the seconds, ten, twenty, thirty. Heard Ma clear her throat. It was coming.

‘Kumari, honey . . . ’

Kumari pretended not to hear.

‘Kumari, listen to me for a second.’

Fixing Ma with her best wide-eyed look, Kumari let her lower lip tremble. A momentary falter but Ma was no fool.

‘Kumari, you gotta go to school.’ It was said with finality. ‘Ms Anderson and I, we promised those Child Protection people. We also had to give our word to the Immigration
Services to keep them off our backs. They’re not too happy you’ve been fostered. They’d rather stick you in some institution until they can “process” you, as they call
it. OK, I know school is an institution too, but it’s better than some prison.’

‘Really?’ Kumari could feel a rush of delight. ‘You mean it? Fab-flippin-tastic!’

‘Fab-flippin-tastic’ was her new favourite expression along with ‘checkitout’ and ‘hot.’ She did not even mind that her efforts reduced Ma’s girls to
fits of giggles. Kumari could hear them now, clattering through the door. She turned on them with a beaming smile.

‘I’m going to school just like you!’

CeeCee looked at LeeLee. As eldest twin, LeeLee tended to speak up. And speak up she did.

‘You crazy?’ she bellowed at Ma.

Ma’s eyes flashed danger. ‘Don’t you speak to me like that, girl.’

‘Someone’s got to,’ said LeeLee. ‘If you plan on sending her to that place. I guess you mean
Moreno.
They’ll eat her alive. Rita Moreno Middle School is the
worst around. You ask anyone in the ’hood.

‘Liliana! That’s enough!’ growled Ma. ‘You’re frightening Kumari.’

‘Frightening her?’ muttered LeeLee, slamming out of the room. ‘I’m doing her a favour.’

Two days later, Kumari found herself gazing up at a vast, redbrick building. A steady stream of people sauntered and slouched through its forbidding gates, most of them about
her age. Carved above a once-impressive porticoed entrance, the name of this institution.
The Rita Moreno Middle School,
it read.

Kumari glanced at LeeLee and CeeCee, standing protectively alongside her.

‘That’s it?’ she gulped, a sudden frog in her throat.

‘That’s it,’ they echoed.

Kumari shuffled her feet. Suddenly school didn’t seem so enticing. Tucked down the front of the new red sweat top she sported under a puffa jacket, she could feel Badmash’s heartbeat
getting faster. Her feet felt sore in unfamiliar shoes, her calves cold under her thin grey pants. Her legs trembled, itching to run. She had to get out of here.

Panic rose in Kumari’s throat. Automatically, she began to chant. She was doing her level best to access Power No 4, the Power to Become Invisible. That way she could hide amongst this
herd, this terrifying crowd of adolescents. Oblivious to LeeLee and CeeCee’s horrified looks, she chanted louder and louder. OK, so it had never worked before. There was always a first
time.

One or two in the crowd shifted their eyes and stared. The majority ignored her. Just another crazy chick. There was one on every corner.

‘Shhh!’ CeeCee grabbed her arm. ‘What are you doing?’

Kumari’s eyes snapped open. ‘I’m trying to become invisible,’ she mumbled.