The Table of Truth - Chapter Two, Part 7

Part 7

The Assignment


On my first assignment I sat in the back seat of the car while Gerard and Rosa drove us to the location. The car jolted as we rode cross-country to the Hernandez-Gonzalez home.
It was reported that Eduardo, the father, had taken his son out into the yard multiple times and whipped him. The first time, the neighbors, about 500 meters away, thought he was whipping him with his belt. Though they felt it was excessive, whipping with a belt could be considered acceptable. I cringed at the thought. On closer examination, however, they saw it was a real whip. Their children, who played with the Hernandez-Gonzalez boy, saw the marks on his back. The little girl in the family barely spoke. And it was believed that the sexual screaming noises didn’t come from the mother in the house as she was typically passed out from alcohol.
The house sat beside a dirt road. Most roads in the suburbs of Rosarito are dirt, or worse. This would probably have qualified as worse. The police cruiser pulled up next to us. It was still sometimes hard for me to see a police car. I was trying to get used to working with them rather than hiding from them.
Gerard got out of the car and Rosa turned back to me. “Wait for us to call you over and you will take care of the little ones. There are two. A boy and a girl.”
“I remember,” I told her. She exited the car.
I watched the two social workers and the two police officers near the house. It suddenly dawned on me how difficult this was going to be. To take children away from a family.
The door was opened. I could barely make out what was happening beyond the four bodies crowded around it. I saw heads bobbing slightly. Gerard was speaking with the person who answered the door. I caught a quick glimpse. It was the man. He was becoming more animated. More agitated.
I then saw the boy peaking out of the window. He was ten years old. Diego Jr.'s age. He had no idea what was happening, and he could barely see it from the angle he was standing. So he looked at me through the dirty window. His eyes questioned me about what was happening. I didn’t know what to say in return with my eyes.
I then saw a woman’s hand reach out to him, and he was led away. I got out of the car. I didn’t know what I should do. Should I tell the police? Should I warn Gerard and Rosa? Was the woman making a run for it? Or taking them to the doorway?
Then the police took care of it. They pushed the father. One of them held him down while Gerard and Rosa were led in by the second. The mother’s yelling was heard inside. “No! No!” And as the boy was rushed out by Rosa I could hear her scream, “Don’t take my babies!!!”
I ran forward to meet the boy. I knelt down to his height and looked into his eyes. He looked back at mine with the same questioning look he sent through that window. Then he looked back at the door.
The father was shouting threats from the floor. The mother’s words were no longer audible. The baby girl was screaming. Soon I saw them appear at the door. Gerard was wrestling the girl from the woman’s hands. The police officer was pushing the mother away. Rosa was trying to calm her as best she could by giving the woman her options. I over-heard her say something about leaving her husband and sobering up.
Gerard ran toward me with the girl in his arm and holding the boy's hand. “Get him into the car!” he said hastily.
I grasped the little boy’s hand and said, “Come on.” He resisted only once. But when I tugged slightly on his arm, he followed.
The little girl was placed into the back seat. I followed her in. The mother called out, “Hector!” and the boy stopped. He looked back at his mother. I noticed for the first time a scar on her face. It looked like it was from a knife or a whip.
Gerard was headed for the driver’s seat. But he stopped. He looked at the boy, ready to grab him to throw him into the back of the car if necessary.
I didn’t want to do it that way. I tightened my grip slightly on his hand and said, “Hector.” He looked at me. I gave him the best appearance of confidence and trustworthiness I could. “You need to come with me.”
He looked again at his mother. At the police officers. At what could happen if this got any more messy. He waved to her. Then entered the car with me. I saw silent tears running down his cheeks.
I looked at the mother. She looked back at me. I’ll never forget her saying one word to me. “Please.” I had to look away.
Gerard jumped into the car and drove.
“Wait!” I called. “What about Rosa?”
“She’ll come back with the police. She’s there to calm them down. She’s better at that than I am.”
He drove as quickly as he could along that bumpy ground. The little girl cried and shrieked. Rosa was doing what she was best at. Gerard was doing what he was best at. It was time I do what I was best at. I placed the little girl onto my lap and comforted her.
When we got to the paved road the little girl was shrieking less. I remembered my other charge, the little boy who sat silently staring out the window. I touched his knee. He looked up at me with a drenched face of tears. “We only want to do what’s best for you,” I told him.
“This isn’t what’s best for my momma,” he said. “He’ll kill her now that I’m not there to take the blame for things.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I only put my arm around him and he grasped on to me. “Nobody’s going to kill anybody.”
I don’t know what ever happened to the parents. But I followed the lives of every child we put in an orphanage. These children did okay. They had trouble adjusting. But when it became clear that no one would be torturing or raping them they accepted a new and better life for themselves. But they never stopped missing their parents. Or at least having parents.