Posts
We occasionally caught a glimpse of other customers. They were usually tourists passing through. But a number of times I saw women in tight, revealing outfits passing by either with a man, or going to a door and knocking. Diego Jr. liked to stare and I turned his face away from it. Some nights we could hear them in the neighboring rooms. I turned up the sound on the TV. But I couldn't cover up the pounding on the walls. Mario asked me what it was. I told him it was someone hammering.
“But why are they moaning?” he asked.
Tino gave a better answer than I could. “Because they're ghosts, stupid!”
Food was brought to us by my family. Usually Claudia. Sometimes by my mother, who made the thirty minute trek from Rosarito to see me. When questioned, they all explained that I had gone to cross the border into America with the children. And they didn’t know if I had made it or not.
I wondered about Father. Why had he not come? But I didn't ask. I was angry that he wouldn't visit me. And I didn't want him to know I missed him. In my better days, I imagined that he was staying at home to fool the police while my mother and sisters sneaked food and information to me.
Weeks passed. I sometimes felt like a prisoner. But I had my children. And nothing was more important than that. I was frustrated. But I was also grateful to my sister and her husband for taking care of me.
At first the children were very patient about hiding away. To them it was like an adventure. Diego Jr. continued his role as Little Daddy, leading the others in tales of imaginary explorations. His guidance led them to wide open spaces in distant lands so the confined space wasn't even noticeable. It was a miracle that this kept them occupied for several weeks. But after a while even a child's imagination dries up. They need real space. I told them that if we were seen we would be separated. That kept them from going outside. But it also made them cry. Something had to be done.
Then came the fateful day that changed everything.
I opened the door wide for Claudia, anxiously awaiting the food she was bringing. She wore a grave expression on her face. And Berta stood behind her.
“Can Diego take care of his brothers?” Berta said.
“Why?” I asked.
“We need to talk.”
“You'll be able to go home soon,” Claudia told me. I brightened at that.
Berta never cracked a smile. “We need to talk first,” she said.
I told Diego to take care of the others while the three of us walked outside. I made sure the door was locked, and walked outside with them.
“Daddy's in the hospital,” Berta told me in the car. We were driving somewhere in downtown Tijuana. I didn't know where. Claudia was driving. Her eyes fixed as though frightened of something.
“Oh my god!” I exclaimed. “How can I help?”
“By not being a financial burden,” Berta answered. “You need to find a job, Marisela.”
“If you do, we can help you go home,” Claudia said. She was trying to see the bright side.
Berta was unmoved. She continued to speak in that monotone voice. Eyes always forward while Claudia drove. “We found a job that pays well for someone with your experience.”
“My experience?” I asked. What kind of experience did I have? “What is it?”
Claudia stopped in front of a building. As Berta stepped out of the car, I looked at the front door. It was a red curtain with several men sitting on stools in front. I craned my neck to get a look at the sign overhead. Chicas. I knew this place. A whorehouse. Berta opened my door. “No!” I screamed, pulling back from her.
“Marisela,” Claudia said, trying to sound comforting. Berta only reached in at me.
“I won't go!”
“Marisela, calm down,” Berta said as she continued to reach at me while my legs kicked at her.
“We're not making you do anything,” Claudia told me. She was trying to be reassuring with her voice, but I could hardly be tamed while Berta was grasping at me.
“Do you know what they do in there?” I shouted at them.
“Yes,” Berta said sternly. “They do what they have to do.”
“I'll find something else!”
“What else?” Berta demanded. “What are you trained to do? You barely graduated high school!”
I looked away, unable to breathe. I let my guard down and didn't notice Berta reaching in for me again until she had my arm and was pulling me out. I grasped at Claudia's seat, begging her not to make me go. I screamed and I cried. Claudia looked away, holding back the tears.
“Think of your kids!” Berta said as she pulled me out. “How are they going to eat?”
“I'll find something!” I cried.
“It's too late!” she said, and finally yanked me out of the car. She stood in front of the open doorway and pointed into the club. “Go make money for your children!”
People were staring now, but I didn't notice. Berta jumped back into the passenger seat and I leaped at the door. Clawed at the window. Begged to be let in. “Drive,” Berta told Claudia. But Claudia couldn't move. She was crying almost as much as I was. But her tears were silent.
Mine were howls as I scratched, trying to get in. “Don't leave me here!”
“Drive!” Berta insisted, and Claudia threw it into gear. They drove away down the road. Past the line of strip clubs and brothels. I chased. I ran past the beggars. The prostitutes. The vendors. The street peddlers. I ran into the middle of the street and chased her car for a couple blocks until they disappeared around a corner. I crumpled onto the side of the road and cried. My eyes were too filled with tears to notice how many people were staring at me.
Berta and Claudia had abandoned me. They were my sisters no more.
When I was eleven my Uncle Pablo showed me that no one can be trusted. Not even family. I learned it first from him. And finally from my sisters.
I stumbled back to the hotel room. I would find something. Anything but what they were suggesting.
I returned ragged and exhausted. Diego Jr. was there serving food to his brothers and sister. He had concocted a sort of dip using beans, a couple kinds of meat and blue cheese dressing. The others dipped their favorite chips into this, from corn chips to Fritos. Many of these had landed on the floor. My eyes grew large and though I thought my legs wouldn't carry me another step, I found the strength to run to Diego Jr. and yank the bowl away from him. “What the hell are you doing!” I shouted. “Why are you using so much food for one meal! That's not even healthy! Mario! Fritos inside bean dip? What are you thinking?”
Tears welled up in Diego Jr.'s nine-year-old little eyes. “I tried my best, Mommy.” He ran and locked himself in the bathroom and I heard the heartbreaking sobs for an hour. It was weeks of pent-up frustration. I felt like crying myself, but when I looked into the eyes of the others I knew I couldn't. I pulled myself together and handed the dip back to them. I picked up Mona and gave her her baby formula.
Over the next few days the situation got worse. I tried to give less food to make it last longer. But the less I gave, the more impatient they grew. And the more they wanted to escape and wander the town where they would be picked up, and I would lose them. So I gave more food and it got used up.
I thought for certain there would be a restaurant that could take me. I had all of that experience in Rosarito. And here in Tijuana there were plenty of restaurants serving hungry tourists. In Rosarito we only had one busy week a year. Here the tourists traveled through every day. There was only one place I went that could actually use someone. But there was a stack of applicants two inches high, and most of them could provide addresses and references. All I could give was a hotel room.
Claudia didn't come anymore with food. No one came. I began mixing food in strange assortments. We all gave them new names. Sometimes the kids liked the newness of it, sometimes they didn't and I had to listen to endless complaints. These complaints grew louder. And I was afraid someone would hear.
We had to get more food. It was as simple as that. I walked out to try for a job again. Maybe I could get work at a market where I could get discounts. As I stepped out the front door, I was stopped by the hotel manager. “When is your sister coming back?”
“I don't know.”
“Well your rent for the week is past due by several days. I've got to get that soon or we've got to clear you out.”
“Okay,” I said.
“And don't try to sneak out without paying. I know you don't want police trouble, but that's just who I'll call if you try anything.”
It was worse than I thought. Not only did I need money to eat in the future, I needed to pay for shelter for the past or we'd be arrested. I was more frightened than I had ever been in my life as I walked down the uneven sidewalks of downtown Tijuana. The women stood along the walls holding their bare shoulders as the wind pelted them. They were cold, but they couldn't put on their jackets or else the bare shoulders of the girl standing next to them would attract the next customer. Their teeth chattered as they clicked their tongues at passing men. Their shivering legs stuck out, almost tripping passers to get their attention.
I stepped past a couple of these ladies into a market. I asked the manager if they were hiring. He barely looked at me as he told me they weren't. His shoulder was as cold to me as the wind outside. I thanked him and walked further into the store. His eyes never lifted toward me. The cans of food and shelves of meat stood invitingly before me. It was there for the taking. The man wasn't looking at me. He had been rude. He was careless. He deserved to be robbed.
I looked around me and only noticed a concave mirror near the ceiling. It doesn't do much good when the manager isn't watching it. I couldn't believe what I was doing when I lifted a can from the shelf. My hand shook as I stared at it. Better work fast. I looked at the manager again. He was lost in... something below the counter. His eyes weren't on me. The door was just past him. I could pick up some meat, throw it all in my jacket pockets and be out before he knew what happened.
Then a noise raised behind me. Apparently just another customer talking to the person he was with, but it was enough to cause me to jump. I dropped the can and hurried out the front door.
Outside I caught my breath, pulling myself together. Maybe this was just a trial run. I could try a different store.
“You all right?” came a voice from the doorway. I looked up to see one of the prostitutes standing there. She was older. At least she looked older. It could have been the cigarette she was rolling in her fingers. Her breasts were like giant pairs squeezed behind a tight black corset until they were ready to burst. Her body was thin, but not frail. Her eyes spoke a world weariness and wisdom I recognized, but could not place my finger on.
“Yeah,” I said. “I'll be fine.” Then I realized why I recognized her. “I know you from the hotel.”
“Oh yeah, you've got four kids, right?”
“Yes!” I said, beaming.
“Yeah, they're cute.” She looked away and sucked on her cigarette. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. “Can I ask you a question?” I said.
“Shoot.”
“How much do you get paid?”
She blew out smoke. “Twenty dollars American. That's to start. But I always offer them more once they've seen my tits. More services, more money. They don't even know they're spending it.”
“Oh,” I replied.
“Needing more money for your kids?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“I've got a daughter that needs braces.”
“Aren't you afraid she'll see you out here?”
“She isn't allowed to come anywhere near here. I'm making sure she gets an education so she won't have to. You looking to join the line?”
A police car passed by at that moment. I turned away from it. Then back to her. She looked straight at me. She knew. “You'll be wanting to work inside then. Try one of the massage parlors. You can start out light. You have to split the money with the owner, but they'll bring in the customers. Best of all, you're inside.” She held herself, shivering. I could see the goose bumps all over.
I went right away to the line of brothels where my sisters had dropped me off. One of them said 'Massage Parlor' over the door in red neon. While every other building had a marquee overhead, this was just a cement front with a door and stairs beyond.
“But why are they moaning?” he asked.
Tino gave a better answer than I could. “Because they're ghosts, stupid!”
Food was brought to us by my family. Usually Claudia. Sometimes by my mother, who made the thirty minute trek from Rosarito to see me. When questioned, they all explained that I had gone to cross the border into America with the children. And they didn’t know if I had made it or not.
I wondered about Father. Why had he not come? But I didn't ask. I was angry that he wouldn't visit me. And I didn't want him to know I missed him. In my better days, I imagined that he was staying at home to fool the police while my mother and sisters sneaked food and information to me.
Weeks passed. I sometimes felt like a prisoner. But I had my children. And nothing was more important than that. I was frustrated. But I was also grateful to my sister and her husband for taking care of me.
At first the children were very patient about hiding away. To them it was like an adventure. Diego Jr. continued his role as Little Daddy, leading the others in tales of imaginary explorations. His guidance led them to wide open spaces in distant lands so the confined space wasn't even noticeable. It was a miracle that this kept them occupied for several weeks. But after a while even a child's imagination dries up. They need real space. I told them that if we were seen we would be separated. That kept them from going outside. But it also made them cry. Something had to be done.
Then came the fateful day that changed everything.
I opened the door wide for Claudia, anxiously awaiting the food she was bringing. She wore a grave expression on her face. And Berta stood behind her.
“Can Diego take care of his brothers?” Berta said.
“Why?” I asked.
“We need to talk.”
“You'll be able to go home soon,” Claudia told me. I brightened at that.
Berta never cracked a smile. “We need to talk first,” she said.
I told Diego to take care of the others while the three of us walked outside. I made sure the door was locked, and walked outside with them.
“Daddy's in the hospital,” Berta told me in the car. We were driving somewhere in downtown Tijuana. I didn't know where. Claudia was driving. Her eyes fixed as though frightened of something.
“Oh my god!” I exclaimed. “How can I help?”
“By not being a financial burden,” Berta answered. “You need to find a job, Marisela.”
“If you do, we can help you go home,” Claudia said. She was trying to see the bright side.
Berta was unmoved. She continued to speak in that monotone voice. Eyes always forward while Claudia drove. “We found a job that pays well for someone with your experience.”
“My experience?” I asked. What kind of experience did I have? “What is it?”
Claudia stopped in front of a building. As Berta stepped out of the car, I looked at the front door. It was a red curtain with several men sitting on stools in front. I craned my neck to get a look at the sign overhead. Chicas. I knew this place. A whorehouse. Berta opened my door. “No!” I screamed, pulling back from her.
“Marisela,” Claudia said, trying to sound comforting. Berta only reached in at me.
“I won't go!”
“Marisela, calm down,” Berta said as she continued to reach at me while my legs kicked at her.
“We're not making you do anything,” Claudia told me. She was trying to be reassuring with her voice, but I could hardly be tamed while Berta was grasping at me.
“Do you know what they do in there?” I shouted at them.
“Yes,” Berta said sternly. “They do what they have to do.”
“I'll find something else!”
“What else?” Berta demanded. “What are you trained to do? You barely graduated high school!”
I looked away, unable to breathe. I let my guard down and didn't notice Berta reaching in for me again until she had my arm and was pulling me out. I grasped at Claudia's seat, begging her not to make me go. I screamed and I cried. Claudia looked away, holding back the tears.
“Think of your kids!” Berta said as she pulled me out. “How are they going to eat?”
“I'll find something!” I cried.
“It's too late!” she said, and finally yanked me out of the car. She stood in front of the open doorway and pointed into the club. “Go make money for your children!”
People were staring now, but I didn't notice. Berta jumped back into the passenger seat and I leaped at the door. Clawed at the window. Begged to be let in. “Drive,” Berta told Claudia. But Claudia couldn't move. She was crying almost as much as I was. But her tears were silent.
Mine were howls as I scratched, trying to get in. “Don't leave me here!”
“Drive!” Berta insisted, and Claudia threw it into gear. They drove away down the road. Past the line of strip clubs and brothels. I chased. I ran past the beggars. The prostitutes. The vendors. The street peddlers. I ran into the middle of the street and chased her car for a couple blocks until they disappeared around a corner. I crumpled onto the side of the road and cried. My eyes were too filled with tears to notice how many people were staring at me.
Berta and Claudia had abandoned me. They were my sisters no more.
When I was eleven my Uncle Pablo showed me that no one can be trusted. Not even family. I learned it first from him. And finally from my sisters.
I stumbled back to the hotel room. I would find something. Anything but what they were suggesting.
I returned ragged and exhausted. Diego Jr. was there serving food to his brothers and sister. He had concocted a sort of dip using beans, a couple kinds of meat and blue cheese dressing. The others dipped their favorite chips into this, from corn chips to Fritos. Many of these had landed on the floor. My eyes grew large and though I thought my legs wouldn't carry me another step, I found the strength to run to Diego Jr. and yank the bowl away from him. “What the hell are you doing!” I shouted. “Why are you using so much food for one meal! That's not even healthy! Mario! Fritos inside bean dip? What are you thinking?”
Tears welled up in Diego Jr.'s nine-year-old little eyes. “I tried my best, Mommy.” He ran and locked himself in the bathroom and I heard the heartbreaking sobs for an hour. It was weeks of pent-up frustration. I felt like crying myself, but when I looked into the eyes of the others I knew I couldn't. I pulled myself together and handed the dip back to them. I picked up Mona and gave her her baby formula.
Over the next few days the situation got worse. I tried to give less food to make it last longer. But the less I gave, the more impatient they grew. And the more they wanted to escape and wander the town where they would be picked up, and I would lose them. So I gave more food and it got used up.
I thought for certain there would be a restaurant that could take me. I had all of that experience in Rosarito. And here in Tijuana there were plenty of restaurants serving hungry tourists. In Rosarito we only had one busy week a year. Here the tourists traveled through every day. There was only one place I went that could actually use someone. But there was a stack of applicants two inches high, and most of them could provide addresses and references. All I could give was a hotel room.
Claudia didn't come anymore with food. No one came. I began mixing food in strange assortments. We all gave them new names. Sometimes the kids liked the newness of it, sometimes they didn't and I had to listen to endless complaints. These complaints grew louder. And I was afraid someone would hear.
We had to get more food. It was as simple as that. I walked out to try for a job again. Maybe I could get work at a market where I could get discounts. As I stepped out the front door, I was stopped by the hotel manager. “When is your sister coming back?”
“I don't know.”
“Well your rent for the week is past due by several days. I've got to get that soon or we've got to clear you out.”
“Okay,” I said.
“And don't try to sneak out without paying. I know you don't want police trouble, but that's just who I'll call if you try anything.”
It was worse than I thought. Not only did I need money to eat in the future, I needed to pay for shelter for the past or we'd be arrested. I was more frightened than I had ever been in my life as I walked down the uneven sidewalks of downtown Tijuana. The women stood along the walls holding their bare shoulders as the wind pelted them. They were cold, but they couldn't put on their jackets or else the bare shoulders of the girl standing next to them would attract the next customer. Their teeth chattered as they clicked their tongues at passing men. Their shivering legs stuck out, almost tripping passers to get their attention.
I stepped past a couple of these ladies into a market. I asked the manager if they were hiring. He barely looked at me as he told me they weren't. His shoulder was as cold to me as the wind outside. I thanked him and walked further into the store. His eyes never lifted toward me. The cans of food and shelves of meat stood invitingly before me. It was there for the taking. The man wasn't looking at me. He had been rude. He was careless. He deserved to be robbed.
I looked around me and only noticed a concave mirror near the ceiling. It doesn't do much good when the manager isn't watching it. I couldn't believe what I was doing when I lifted a can from the shelf. My hand shook as I stared at it. Better work fast. I looked at the manager again. He was lost in... something below the counter. His eyes weren't on me. The door was just past him. I could pick up some meat, throw it all in my jacket pockets and be out before he knew what happened.
Then a noise raised behind me. Apparently just another customer talking to the person he was with, but it was enough to cause me to jump. I dropped the can and hurried out the front door.
Outside I caught my breath, pulling myself together. Maybe this was just a trial run. I could try a different store.
“You all right?” came a voice from the doorway. I looked up to see one of the prostitutes standing there. She was older. At least she looked older. It could have been the cigarette she was rolling in her fingers. Her breasts were like giant pairs squeezed behind a tight black corset until they were ready to burst. Her body was thin, but not frail. Her eyes spoke a world weariness and wisdom I recognized, but could not place my finger on.
“Yeah,” I said. “I'll be fine.” Then I realized why I recognized her. “I know you from the hotel.”
“Oh yeah, you've got four kids, right?”
“Yes!” I said, beaming.
“Yeah, they're cute.” She looked away and sucked on her cigarette. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. “Can I ask you a question?” I said.
“Shoot.”
“How much do you get paid?”
She blew out smoke. “Twenty dollars American. That's to start. But I always offer them more once they've seen my tits. More services, more money. They don't even know they're spending it.”
“Oh,” I replied.
“Needing more money for your kids?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“I've got a daughter that needs braces.”
“Aren't you afraid she'll see you out here?”
“She isn't allowed to come anywhere near here. I'm making sure she gets an education so she won't have to. You looking to join the line?”
A police car passed by at that moment. I turned away from it. Then back to her. She looked straight at me. She knew. “You'll be wanting to work inside then. Try one of the massage parlors. You can start out light. You have to split the money with the owner, but they'll bring in the customers. Best of all, you're inside.” She held herself, shivering. I could see the goose bumps all over.
I went right away to the line of brothels where my sisters had dropped me off. One of them said 'Massage Parlor' over the door in red neon. While every other building had a marquee overhead, this was just a cement front with a door and stairs beyond.
No comments:
Post a Comment