Santiago's Road Home Read online

  Santiago nodded his thanks as he turned away. He could try other food vendors, but if this truck, the one with the best smells coming from it, didn’t have much business, others wouldn’t either. Most people here didn’t have spare money to buy lunch.

  “Oye, chico. C’mere and share this plate.” The woman at the table beckoned him with her plastic fork.

  Santiago hesitated long enough for her to roll her eyes at him.

  “Look,” she continued, scooting her plate in his direction across the table. “There’s too much food here. Either sit down and help eat it, or wait to pick the remains from the trash.” She scooped a huge forkful into her mouth and, while still chewing, turned to the vendor. “Now this is GOOD food.”

  Still not sure what she might do to him or what she would expect in return, Santiago gave in to his stomach pains and pulled up a chair beside her. She looked young, maybe nineteen or twenty. Her eyes, almost black yet bright, looked straight into his, hiding nothing. His tía never looked him in the eye, and la malvada hit him when he tried to look into hers. This lady, though, smiled and encouraged eye contact. She handed him one of the two tortillas as a scoop to help himself from the plate.

  Pork and pinto beans, rice with lime and chile, tomatoes and zucchini with cilantro and olive oil. Tía had been a mediocre cook, and la malvada never gave him any food other people might eat; as he took a bite, he couldn’t remember a meal that tasted so good.

  “Right? I told you, good stuff, huh?” The woman took another forkful and shifted to address the vendor. “Can we get another Coke here?”

  But Santiago stopped, the sky-high-piled tortilla resting in his hand. Two eyes, dark and bright with extra-long eyelashes, appeared from under the table. Santiago gulped. He could blame the table and bright sun, his empty stomach, or anything else, but that didn’t change that he had done exactly what he hated his relatives for doing—thought only of himself.

  “I can’t eat your food,” he said, setting down the tortilla platter after only one bite. “There’re two of you.”

  The woman waved her hand as if he’d said the stupidest thing in the world. “There’s enough on this plate for all of us. Alegría, God help her skinny genes, won’t eat any more.”

  The little girl, about four or five, straightened up and continued to stare at him through her long eyelashes while she gnawed a pork bone. Mouth and hands covered in meat juice, she offered the remaining bone to Santiago.

  A lump rose in his throat as he insisted the girl finish the bone herself. Jesús, Apolo, and Artemisa never shared with anyone. If anything, they stole food from one another’s plates and had learned to eat as fast as they could or be left with nothing.

  “Please, eat,” the woman insisted.

  The vendor came over with the Coke and exchanged it for the coin the woman had left on the table. Still eating with one hand, the woman used the other to push the bottle across to Santiago.

  “Gracias.” The word caught in Santiago’s throat. Thanking someone because he wanted to, because he felt truly thankful, that had not happened in a long time.

  The woman shrugged off his word like nothing. “So, do you have a name?”

  He finished swallowing before answering. “Santiago.”

  “Only Santiago? ¿Sin apellidos?” she teased.

  “Santiago García Reyes.” He added his two last names. The one from his father, whom he’d never met, and his mother’s. Everyone he knew had two last names, but sometimes people would skip mentioning one of them. If he ever skipped one, it’d be García, his father’s, but never Reyes. He’d never skip Mami’s.

  “Hey, we’re cousins! I’m María Dolores Piedra Reyes.” Her eyes widened more as she kissed her daughter’s head. “And this is Alegría García Piedra. We’re definitely related.”

  She meant it as a joke, as people often did when they met someone with the same last name. Santiago stared at her to make sure they weren’t really primos. Surrounding her face were full cheeks, so ready to smile. Her hair fell loose, midnight black from her scalp to her ears and then bleached blond until her shoulders. And of course her eyes, her happy, kind eyes. On her and her daughter. No one in his family had happy eyes. Not anymore at least.

  “Are you from around here?” he asked, just to be sure.

  “No, from Culiacán, near the coast. Can’t you tell from my voice?” Her accent wasn’t one he’d heard before. She kept on talking without pause. “We’re just passing through. Going to el otro lado, where my sister lives. She and her husband own a restaurant and asked if I could help them out.”

  “Sounds nice.” He tried to hide the bitterness in his voice. That they had a place to go, that people wanted her and her daughter there. From the table he picked up a piece of zucchini that had fallen from his tortilla. He squashed it between two fingers then ate it. He couldn’t waste food now when later his stomach would once again audition for the orchestra.

  María Dolores continued, not worrying about speaking with her mouth full. “If you think this food’s good, you should try my sister’s cooking. I swear, she talks to her ingredients, and they return the favor by turning into meals that sing back. I don’t have that talent. Instead, I excel at taste testing.”

  Santiago forced a smile at her joke and shoved the last of the piled tortilla into his mouth. The little girl, Alegría, once again offered him her bone, which still had a few bits of meat clinging to it, and once again he shook his head.

  “You eat it, chiquitina.” He smiled and nodded to her. “I’m getting full,” he lied, but his thoughts turned in a new direction.

  El otro lado. He could get a job there. According to rumors, even the lowest-paid jobs earned more per hour than the daily wage here in México; food was so plentiful, grocery stores threw items away when they got old. And best of all, it was far away from here.

  He wiped his mouth with his hand and ran his tongue over his teeth to make sure no food stuck to them. Shoulders back and sitting up straight in the plastic chair to make a good impression, Santiago looked directly into María Dolores’s eyes.

  “I want to go with you two. To el otro lado.”

  CHAPTER 4

  For the first time in the fifteen minutes Santiago had known her, María Dolores sat mute.

  “I want to go with you,” Santiago repeated. “I’m strong and fast. I can be useful.”

  “I’m sure you could, but I don’t know you.” She shook her head, sad and apologetic, but sincere just the same. “You don’t know me.”

  “I know you’re the nicest person I’ve met in a long time.”

  “Doesn’t sound like you know many nice people.”

  He looked at her without blinking. “No, I don’t.”

  “Obviously, seeing no one feeds you. Here, finish the rest of this.” She pushed her plate forward. Santiago looked from the plate to María Dolores, not sure what action would let him pass the test. A piece of tortilla remained. He mopped up all the juices before pushing the few beans, rice grains, and a tomato onto it and handing it to the little girl. She dropped her finished rib on the plate and took a bite of the loaded tortilla remains before returning it to Santiago.

  He finished the leftovers in one bite and threw the Styrofoam plate in the trash. He returned the empty glass Coke bottles to the food vendor and asked the man for a couple of wet paper towels before returning to the table.

  “Do you want to wipe her face and hands?” He gestured to the little girl covered in pork juice.

  María Dolores nodded. “Good thinking.”

  He used the other paper towel to wipe the table clean of dirt and food stains that hadn’t come from them. His arm stretched across the surface to rub a stubborn spot clean.

  “What’s that?” María Dolores pointed to his side, right above his hip, where his shirt had ridden up.

  “It’s nothing.” He tugged the hem of his shirt down. “Are you done with the wipe?”

  María Dolores dabbed the corners of her own mouth before ha
nding the paper towel back to Santiago. He walked the trash to the can, careful not to let his shirt ride up again.

  “Why do you want to go to el otro lado? Do you have family there?” she asked.

  No, but I don’t have any here, either, he wanted to say. Instead, he grabbed for the first story that came to his head.

  “Sí, my uncle. He needs my help running his shop. He’s a good man, hard working, but he doesn’t have any kids and he’s getting old, so—”

  “Really? Your uncle?” Her happy eyes narrowed, and she shook her head slightly. “Let me tell you something, boy. I’ll put up with a lot of things, but being lied to, to my face, is not one of them.”

  Even with her narrowed eyes, she maintained contact with his. He didn’t break it. The more the idea whirled in his mind to accompany her to el otro lado, the more he wanted to find a way to make her agree to it. Or he’d have to go on his own.

  “You’re right. I don’t know anyone over there. But the people I know here are not ones I’ll miss.” His hand fell again near his hip, then dropped quickly when María Dolores noticed. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know what I’ll do once I get there, but I guess I’ll be able to take care of myself better over there than here.”

  The woman continued to stare at him. Her eyes saddened as if he reminded her of someone. “I believe you, and I’m sorry that’s the case. How old are you?”

  “Cator—” He started to lie out of habit and say “fourteen” but then corrected himself. “I mean twelve. But I’m tall, so people think I’m older.”

  María Dolores brushed a lock of black hair from her daughter’s face. “I was taking care of myself by thirteen, but everyone thought I was sixteen. I know what it’s like.”

  He said nothing. Silence hung between them until she broke it.

  “Are you a criminal?” She stared at him with her intense eyes, waiting to catch him lying again.

  “No.”

  “Are the police or anyone looking for you?”

  “I haven’t done anything illegal, and no one will notice or even care that I’m gone.”

  She made a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat. He could see her caving, fighting the rational part of her brain that said it’d be crazy to travel with a strange boy to a strange country.

  “Did I tell you I’m strong?” Once again he grasped for any quality that might convince her. “I can carry extra water and food, whatever you need, and I’m used to surviving on little. I won’t eat much.”

  “More like you’ve never been given enough. Here.” She dug into her purse, pulled out a small chocolate bar, and handed it to him. He broke it in three and let the little girl pick her piece first. She picked the biggest, as most kids would, and he grabbed the smallest before María Dolores could.

  He sat on the plastic chair, straight and attentive as he savored the chocolate, letting its sweet richness melt in his mouth. It had been years since his last taste of chocolate. Probably someone’s birthday piñata, though not his. His birthday was never celebrated.

  María Dolores finished her chocolate and then turned to her daughter. “What do you think? Should Santiago travel with us?”

  By way of responding, the girl slid off her chair and walked to Santiago’s, stopping with her right sneaker posed forward. “Can you tie my shoe, Santi?”

  “Sure, with bunny ears?” He made two loops with the laces and recited the poem Mami had taught him about the bunny hopping along but then needing to hide in his hole to escape the coyote.

  El conejo corre

  En su hueco se esconde

  Así el coyote

  No se lo come

  Once her shoe was retied, Alegría climbed onto her mamá’s lap and stared at Santiago with her wide eyes. “I like Santi, Mami. Is he my new brother?”

  Darkness clouded María Dolores’s eyes before she turned away. Two deep breaths later, she lifted her gaze with a forced smile.

  “We’ll see,” she said, kissing her daughter on the cheek. “So, Santiago.” María Dolores pushed herself up from the table. She reached down between her feet and pulled out a plastic bag, its handles threatening to break from the weight of its contents. “We need some things from the market before we get on the bus. Do you know a good place?”

  “Definitely!”

  He had no idea whether she meant to include him in the “we” getting on the bus. She hadn’t said no or sent him on his way, either. Good enough for now.

  Santiago led them past the church and through a narrow alley where the skeletal dogs gave them hungry looks. They arrived at a market square a few minutes away that bustled with vendors shouting prices and holding out items for sale. Walking three abreast became impossible in the crowded and narrow passageways.

  “Look, why don’t you get us some groceries?” María Dolores eased them into a vacant corner after they’d been bumped and jostled a few times. “Big jugs of water, and food that won’t spoil quickly. Bread for sure. Maybe some nuts if they’re not too expensive. Some more Carlos V chocolate for me. Alegría likes the Haribo bears, so if they have a small packet. And something for yourself. We’ll meet you there.”

  She pointed to the vendors selling cheap clothing, shoes, and handbags, and handed him two fifty-peso notes from her pocket. His fingers rubbed the paper, certain they were real, but still shocked. It wasn’t really a lot money, but he’d never been entrusted to hold so much in his hand. If he wanted, he could run straight to the bus station and go far away with that kind of money. Far enough that no one would ever find him, at least.

  But María Dolores trusted him. Or the money was another test. Either way, he wasn’t going to let her down.

  First stop, nuts. Being heavy, and sold by the gram, they got expensive quickly. Three stands side by side all sold nuts and dried fruit.

  “How much for the shelled peanuts?” he asked each person, and all three answered the same price.

  “But if you buy half a kilo, I’ll give you ten grams extra.” The man in the middle nodded to his scale.

  “Or if you get them from me, I’ll throw in twenty grams of raisins as well.” The lady scooped her raisins to show him how they glistened in the sun.

  The remaining vendor shook his head no.

  “Bueno, the half a kilo of peanuts and twenty grams of raisins,” Santiago agreed.

  At the grocery store he calculated that four bottles each holding one and a half liters of water would be easier to carry than one giant bottle for almost the same price. He also got sandwich bread, brown, because he heard that was healthier than white, and found some cans of Spam and sardines on sale. He’d never tasted sardines, but the price was too cheap to pass up. The goodies for María Dolores and Alegría was inexpensive, so he treated himself to three pieces of his favorite caramelos.

  He returned to the market square, arms aching from everything he carried. He found the mother and daughter trying on sneakers and set the goods near their feet. From his pocket he dug out the remaining coins: sixty centavos. No, that wasn’t right. He rechecked his pocket and found the extra ten centavos in a corner. He wanted to make sure María Dolores knew he hadn’t shortchanged her.

  “You got all of that with cien pesos?” She looked up from where she pinched Alegría’s shoe, making sure it fit.

  “Yes. There’s half a kilo of peanuts, which cost—”

  “I don’t need the tally. I’m just impressed.” She pointed to a stand straining with every kind of footwear imaginable. “Now, take off your shoes.”

  “Mine?” Santiago took a step back, suddenly feeling vulnerable and scared. She couldn’t take his shoes. He’d had them for almost a year; they’d belonged to a cousin before him. Not that he liked his shoes, or his cousin, but they were his and had been with him for a while. Besides, he didn’t want her to see all the holes in his socks. Or gasp from the smell.

  She ignored his question and held up a pair of brand-new white sneakers with orange interiors. “Do you like thes
e?”

  Of course he liked them. He’d never had new shoes. But this was too much. He didn’t deserve this. And from his experience, gifts never came free.

  “I don’t need new shoes.”

  “Really? Your soles are coming off like they’ve grown mouths.”

  He looked at the shoes he put on every morning without ever noticing them. Sure enough, both shoes displayed his dirty socks like sickly tongues poking through. Maybe new shoes would be a good idea.

  He sat on the bench and removed his mouth-shoes, trying to hide the state of his socks by keeping his feet tucked under the bench. But in a second, María Dolores pulled a fresh pair of socks off the stand and handed them to him. He disposed of the old, smelly socks without argument, pulled on the new ones, and slid his feet into the white and orange sneakers. His toes wiggled comfortably. The insole cushion molded to his feet.

  “Do they pinch or anything?”

  He wiggled his feet some more. “They’re perfect.”

  “Good.” María Dolores handed the vendor the old shoes to throw away or mend and resell at his pleasure. Santiago rocked his feet back and forth, overwhelmed by the comfort.

  Along with the sneakers, María Dolores also bought (three!) new backpacks. When the vendor gave her the total cost, Santiago almost fainted. He opened his mouth to haggle down the price, but María Dolores spoke first.

  “You forgot to charge me for his socks.”

  The man waved his hand to say that the socks were on him, except María Dolores insisted on paying him the full amount. What a strange woman. Santiago had never met anyone who didn’t try to bargain. She didn’t seem particularly wealthy—none of her clothes screamed brand names, and she didn’t have that rich-person haircut. But she certainly didn’t seem worried about money either. Very strange.

  Maybe that’s why they got along. His mother had been strange too.

  CHAPTER 5

  María Dolores insisted on buying him a new hat, T-shirt, and pair of jeans as well as the shoes. “You can’t go around with your ankles exposed like that,” she said in reference to his too-small jeans, and even he had to admit his original T-shirt was filthy; between the mud party he’d attended with his cousins and sleeping in the abandoned shack for several nights, its original color had long since disappeared.