And everywhere, there were monsters—the evil and greedy, like Amato.
He longed to stay under the rush of the water forever but he was afraid that they might get only so much warm water. He hurried out and dried himself with a large towel and balanced his way into the rough-denim fabric of the jeans he had been given along with a cotton work shirt. Guillermo’s clothing was a little big and baggy but he was grateful to be wearing it.
His own clothing was gone. Vera, he thought, had slipped in while the shower was running and taken it.
When he came out, he heard her humming in the kitchen. She was setting the table for the family dinner.
“May I help?” River asked.
She seemed to understand. But she turned, shaking her head, and indicated that he must sit—his ankle was still bad.
As he sat, Juan and Anna came in. Vera spoke to Juan and he began to put glasses on the table.
Anna was given the napkins to distribute.
A moment later Guillermo came in. River watched as he set his hands on his wife’s hips and kissed the top of her head. She turned with a smile.
They seemed so happy together. They had so little—but they were in tune with what mattered, he thought.
He looked away, oddly embarrassed to watch the emotional intimacy.
“You look good clean!” Juan told him.
“Thanks. Will you tell your parents for me how very grateful I am for all their help, please? And tell them that I have money—I can pay for my food.”
“Oh, I won’t tell my father that!” Juan said. “It would offend him. He has made you a guest. Guests don’t pay.”
“That’s nice, but—”
He didn’t finish. Guillermo spoke to his son, demanding to know what River was saying.
Juan replied quickly. Guillermo looked at him and grinned.
“What did you tell him?” River asked.
“I told him that you were in lo-ve,” Juan said, again extending the last word and rolling his eyes.
River flushed.
Guillermo spoke again. Juan listened to his father and turned to River.
“He says that the road is not far—and that Jorge Maestro goes by every day, bringing produce down to Rio. You may probably ride with him.”
River nodded. “Great!”
Vera put the food on the table, pointing out what she served. There was a big bowl of sopa, soup, and salsicha, sausage, and salada, salad. She brought bread to the table as well, and he thought he clearly understood her when she told him to eat up.
The dinner table—even with him there—seemed to be a lively and loving place. Conversation flowed across the table with Juan pausing now and then to tell him what was going on. Naturally, he told River, shuddering slightly, his parents wanted to know about his schoolwork. And they wanted to know if all his and Anna’s chores had been done correctly.
Anna, he said, dismissively, just wanted to know if there was sorvete—ice cream.
They made such a beautiful picture …
There was sorvete. When it was served and eaten, and Vera and the family had begun to clean up, River asked Juan to bring him his backpack.
Juan did so.
“What are you doing? What do you need?” the boy asked.
“If they won’t let me pay them, maybe I can leave you something,” he said.
He pulled out his sketchpad and pencils and set them on the table. He didn’t look at the family; he’d watched them all through dinner.
He drew the kitchen and the kitchen table. He drew them all smiling, Juan with a spoonful of soup, Anna leaning upon the table, and Guillermo and Vera smiling as they looked at one another and listened to their children. He hoped that he’d drawn the warmth of the kitchen—and all the love and goodness that seemed to thrive there.
He handed it to Guillermo. Vera came to look over her husband’s shoulder. Little Anna tugged at her mother’s skirt and Juan nudged between his parents.
Guillermo looked at River a long moment and then inclined his head and spoke.
“He says that he is humbled and you are a very good artist,” Juan said.
Vera spoke.
Juan grinned. “And my mother says thank you—you didn’t draw in all of her lines.”
“Tell them I drew what I saw,” River said.
The picture was done; there was no television and there were no computers. The children helped Vera with the dishes and then Juan suggested that he read one of the children’s books that their uncle had sent them from America so that the children could learn English. Juan was good, if he did say so himself, he told River, but Anna needed help.
And so River read to Anna. She sat on the couch by him, almost curled into his arms. He loved that she was there, and yet …
Something seemed to tease at him, to plague him. To hurt somewhere so deeply buried in his heart he couldn’t begin to understand.
It was a story about a stray cat. The cat was starving and the farmer took him in. There was an evil fox that was coming after the farmer’s chickens. The cat, though small, caught the fox in the barn and battled the fox. When the battle was over and the fox ran away, the cat was so wounded that he was afraid he wouldn’t live. But it didn’t matter; the farmer had been kind.
The farmer nursed the cat back to health and the story ended happily.
Anna worked on pointing to pictures and identifying the creatures in English. “Fox, cat, chicken, farmer.”
“Like Papa,” Juan said, pointing to Guillermo, who sat in a chair reading the paper.
“Kind, like your father,” River agreed.
Juan looked at him gravely. “You really think you will find your friend?” He laughed softly. “Your love?”
River nodded. “I will find her.”
Guillermo looked up. Juan translated.
Guillermo turned to watch his wife, who was mending a sock beneath a lamp.
He spoke softly.
Juan made a face for River. River asked him, “What did he say?”
“He said that you will find her. He knows. He would look for Mama everywhere—and not stop until he found her. Yucky.”
“No, very beautiful,” River told him.
The children were then sent off to bed. Vera produced a pillow and a blanket for River. The house became silent as everyone went to sleep for the night.
Sleep came easily for River; he’d been so worn and beaten and tired. Now his ankle felt better, and his belly was full, but he was still exhausted from the effort of moving through the day.
He feared sleep; hated sleep. He should have thanked Guillermo and his family and left—and slept somewhere along the way.
Sleep meant dreams.
They came so often now. More and more …
And he did dream. The dream seemed to pick up where the last dream had left off.
Earth, dirt, and powder filled the air. There was that mist—the dark mist made of the destroyed earth. But lying with his ears ringing and half blinded from the sting in his eyes, he could still see them.
The woman …
He couldn’t quite see her face.
And the child. The beautiful child … golden, laughing, so sweet as she moved. They came toward him as if there weren’t bombs everywhere, as if men weren’t screaming.
As if they weren’t dying.