The Charity Chip (6 page)

^B
y the time Julio got back upstairs he found two bags of
picaras.
Raúl had eaten everything else. He grabbed the cookies and shoved them into his backpack. He was glad he had taken the time to help Doctor Barilla, but now he felt anxious, like he was behind schedule. Two bags of cookies wouldn’t be enough food for the day. He needed to hit the streets.

He grabbed his backpack and skateboard and hurried down the stairs. The metal door scraped against the uneven concrete as he shoved open the door, and he was greeted by typical winter weather in Lima—a dull gray sky with lingering fog. He groaned.
A little sunshine would be nice once in a while.
He tightened his jacket.

He skated to the gas station located next to a tire shop a couple of streets over. “
Hola,
Zambo,” he said to the curly-haired attendant. He pulled out a package of cookies. “Can you give me a refill for a package of
picaras
?” Zambo nodded and held out his hand. Julio tossed him the cookies and dug a battered water bottle out of his backpack.

“Why don’t you get a job instead of wasting your time in the streets?” asked Zambo as he topped off the bottle with diesel fuel.

Julio grunted and said, “Who’s going to hire me?”

Zambo grinned and handed him the bottle. “
El Circo
. You could be a fire-juggling clown.”

“I don’t think there’s much of a future in that career.”

Zambo laughed. “Like you have a future?” He ripped open the package of
picaras
and popped one into his mouth. “Why don’t you move into one of the government barrios?”

Julio turned his head and spat. “I’d rather die before that.”

“
Bueno
, if you keep juggling when the
extranjeros
come roaring down the street on their motorcycles, you just might.”

Julio put one foot on his board. “You can hear them coming a mile away.”

A customer pulled up and Zambo stuffed the unfinished cookies into his pocket and ambled over to help them. “
Suerte
,” he said over his shoulder.

Julio skated off. Since today was Sunday, he would work Avenida 28 de Julio next to the cathedral. Julio’s system was simple, but a little dangerous. He knew the red light at that intersection would last about two minutes. That gave him barely enough time to light the batons on fire, juggle in between the rows of cars for thirty seconds, then spend the last minute asking for donations before running back to the curb to avoid being run over as traffic started moving again. It had kept him and Raúl fed and clothed for four years, but after the conversion to digital money it was getting harder every week. Almost nobody carried cash anymore, and it took too long to do a chip-to-chip transfer in the middle of a busy intersection.

A few of the usual beggars and street vendors lounged in the plaza like workers on break as Julio skated past the statue of Manco Cápac, the Incan ruler. Most of them were boys his age or younger. Girls working alone never seemed to last more than a few weeks before they disappeared. Several women in tattered and dirty clothes with babies strapped to their backs sold
caramelos
to the passing crowd. Everyone hustled for a handout.

Julio skated past the one-armed boy selling matches across from the church and stopped next to the busy intersection at the corner. A barefoot boy he had never seen before darted in and out of the cars stopped at the light and begged for money. He was shoeless with baggy pants that were too short and exposed his dirty ankles and feet. The bright colors of his sweater were subdued by dust and dirt.

Julio stuffed his skateboard into his backpack and began juggling the batons to warm up his act. He didn’t want to fumble the batons in the street while they were on fire. He juggled three batons in the standard pattern without any fancy moves. The fire and the traffic added enough drama.

After practicing his routine for several minutes, he wetted the batons with the diesel fuel from his bottle and waited for the light to change. Just before the light turned red, he pulled out his Saint Michael’s pendant and kissed it for luck. When the traffic stopped, he struck a flame with his lighter and walked out into the intersection juggling the burning batons. After an hour of playing with fire and dodging traffic, he had five soles to show for his effort, not even enough to buy lunch. He sighed and sat down on the grass.

“Where did you learn to juggle?” asked the barefoot boy he had seen earlier.

Julio shrugged. “I saw a street performer juggling downtown near the capitol building a few years ago. The tourists tossed money at him as they walked by. When I first started working the streets, I remembered that experience. So, I just learned.”

“Maybe that’s what I need, a performance or something.” The boy wiped his nose on his dirty sleeve. “Begging doesn’t seem to work.”

“It used to be easier, before they stopped making hard money.” Julio shook his head. “Now nothing seems to work.” He stood and began soaking the batons for another performance.

The boy looked out over the snarled traffic. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Four years.”

The boy’s face clouded over. “After four years of this, I think I would pray for death to take me.”

Julio remembered the first few weeks after Mamá died and how he and Raúl had struggled to survive. “What’s your name?”

“Emilio.”

Julio smiled. “Well, Emilio, Mamá used to tell me that hope springs eternal.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Julio.”

Emilio shook his hand and then stared at the gray sky and let out a sigh. “I can’t eat hope. I came from Villa El Salvador hoping for better luck in the city.”

“On the streets,” Julio said as he struck a flame with his lighter and lit the batons, “you make your own luck.” He hurried into the intersection and tossed the batons higher than normal hoping to impress his captive audience. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a black sedan about three cars back. When he finished juggling and started passing from car to car, the driver of the sedan made eye contact with Julio and smiled. He was young, and the woman sitting in the passenger’s seat next to him couldn’t have been much older than Julio. In the backseat he could see another young couple. All of them were smiling.

The young woman in the backseat rolled down the window and motioned for Julio. Her hair was perfect, and she wore sunglasses even though the sun was still struggling to penetrate the cloud layer that rested over the city. Julio’s heart jumped. He hurried over to the vehicle with his hand out. When he got close to the window, the young woman ducked and the young man behind her reached over her and squirted Julio with water from a water bottle. The cold water hit him in the face and soaked his jacket.

“I just wanted to make sure the fire was out,” scoffed the young man. Laughter erupted from the vehicle. The driver yelled, “Go to work!” Julio could still hear them laughing after they motored up the car window.

He was stunned for a moment, and then the sounds of blaring horns and shouting drivers snapped Julio out of his daze. The light had changed and he was in the middle of the street. Luckily, a delivery truck was slow to start moving and left a gap for him to escape to the sidewalk. He stripped off his backpack and wet jacket and threw them on the ground. He screamed and threw himself on the thin grass. He lay on the ground looking up through the smog and haze at the subdued sun and wondered if anyone in the universe cared about his miserable life. He closed his eyes and remembered Isak’s offer.

He hated the thought of getting a chip implanted, but he wondered if he was just being paranoid. All the rich people he begged from had embedded chips. It was their excuse for not having any money to give him. They made all their purchases using a small implanted chip with a DNA sensor that protected their money from theft. He had a free chip hidden in his Saint Michael’s pendant. Why not get an embedded chip?

“Sleeping on the job,
hermano
?” He opened his eyes and saw Raúl’s grinning face hovering over him.

“I’ve been working the street for over an hour. Where have you been?”

Raúl stood up straight and shrugged. “Playing
fútbol
with
los mALditos
.”

Julio sat up and saw several members of the gang riding their skateboards through the plaza. Sergio, the leader, was skating in circles around two young women in dresses walking to the cathedral. Turco, the natural centurion of the group because of his enormous size, had Emilio pinned to the ground while two of the gang members, Chancho and Esqueleto, searched his pockets.

Julio jumped to his feet and shouted, “Leave him alone!” Turco looked over his shoulder and laughed. Julio pushed past Raúl and hurried over to intervene. “I said leave him alone!”

Before he finished his sentence, several of
los mALditos,
including Sergio, skated up and surrounded Julio. “He’s new here,” said Turco. “He needs to pay tribute.”

Julio stepped forward and tried to help Emilio up, but Turco pushed him back with one arm. Before Julio could make another attempt, Esqueleto grabbed his arms. Julio kicked Esqueleto in the shin, jerked his arms free, and pushed Chancho away from Emilio. When he lunged forward to try to free Emilio, Turco shoved him to the ground again and
los mALditos
laughed.

Before Julio could get up and try again, Sergio stepped forward with his hands in his pockets. He was tall with his long black hair pulled back in a ponytail, and a tattoo of a snake curled around his right forearm. “Maybe you should just stay on the ground. It would be easier.”

“Maybe you should leave him alone,” answered Julio without getting up.

“He’s new here. He needs to learn the rules.” Sergio nodded at Turco and the lumbering thug took his foot off Emilio’s chest. Sergio offered Emilio a hand and pulled him up. “I’m Sergio, and these are
los mALditos
. The plaza is our territory. Who are you?”

Emilio brushed himself off. “Sorry, I didn’t know. My name is Emilio.”

Sergio put a hand on Emilio’s shoulder. “Hey, Puma, give the boy some of the goods.” Raúl unzipped his backpack and tossed a couple of packages of cookies to Emilio.

“Since you’re new here, I’ll cut you a break, but in the future you have two choices—join us or pay us tribute from time to time. Understand?” Emilio nodded. Sergio looked down at Julio. “And
you
need to show more respect to
los mALditos
.”

Sergio hopped on his skateboard and skated toward the statue of Manco Cápac in the center of the plaza. One by one
los mALditos
hopped on their boards and followed him. Raúl lingered a few yards away holding his skateboard. He motioned to Julio with nod of his head and waited until Julio was close before he warned him. “You should know better than to attack
los mALditos
,” he said in a low voice. “You could get hurt.”

Julio grabbed Raúl’s arm. “What would Mamá say if she saw you hanging out with these thugs?”

Raúl yanked his arm free. “Mamá isn’t here to say anything. She died and left us on the street. Remember?” He poked a finger into Julio’s chest. “At least I’ve got friends that watch out for me. That’s more than what my family does.” He scowled. “Mamá always favored you.” He dropped his board onto the sidewalk and skated after the gang.

Julio clenched his fists. He wanted to chase after Raúl and teach him a lesson, but realized it was no use. Raúl was right.

“Thanks for trying to help me,” said Emilio.

“Just try and avoid them.” The cathedral bells rang signaling the half hour. “In about thirty minutes or so, the Mass will be over. It’s usually a good time to collect a few handouts from people going home from church.”

Emilio nodded and walked away with sagging shoulders.

Julio picked up the batons and began juggling in an effort to calm down before working the intersection again. As he juggled, he remembered how Mamá struggled to provide after Papá was killed, and Julio took courage from her persistence. He soaked the tips of his batons and charged back into the intersection. He wasn’t sure if it was his renewed energy or luck, but in the first few minutes he collected twenty soles. In spite of his success, he listened for the cathedral bells.

Instead of bells he heard the roar of motorcycle engines. He stopped juggling and hurried over to the sidewalk in front of the cathedral. Gangs of foreigners rode through the city on oversized three-wheeled motorcycles for their weekend pastime, ignoring traffic signals as they weaved through traffic like a swarm of bees. It was a nuisance that was hated by the Peruvians but tolerated by the authorities because of the foreigner’s money. Avenida Iquitos seemed to be one of their favorite routes. Julio could see them coming and knew that in a few seconds they would pass through his intersection. Everyone who worked the streets of La Victoria knew to stay out of their way.

The approaching roar filled the plaza as shiny machines that looked like reverse tricycles swarmed through the first intersection and hurtled down Avenida Iquitos ignoring the traffic signals. All the riders were decked out in bright, color-coordinated riding outfits and full-face helmets with tinted visors that made them look like aliens. Relieved to be on the sidewalk, Julio watched them approach with a mix of admiration and disdain. He admired the beautiful new machines and the color-coordinated outfits, and wished that someday he could ride through the streets of Lima as they did, but he hated their arrogance.

Just then the church bells started to ring, and all the churchgoers in their bright Sunday clothes spilled out into the gray Lima day. Probably intent on following Julio’s advice and unfamiliar with the foreign motorcyclists, Emilio darted into the street.

Julio heard a sick thump when the first motorcycle hit Emilio. The bright machine with its alien-like riders didn’t even slow down as his body was tossed onto the asphalt. The front left tire of another bike, not far behind the first, went over his chest and something on the bottom of the machine hung on Emilio’s sweater and dragged him for a few feet before spitting him out in the middle of the street. The riders that followed swerved around the body and roared on. Even though it was only for a few seconds, to Julio the passing melee seemed to go on for hours. He forgot to breathe as the scene of color-coordinated mayhem unfolded in slow motion.