Stranger (13 page)

I can't go in? she said.

The guard shook his head and turned away to deal with someone else.

She walked then, alongside the wall, which was tall and imposing. There were shrubs planted at the top, very green and beautiful shrubs, and at the base of the shrubs there was razor wire. She returned to the entrance and stood on the far side of the road and watched cars come and go. Occasionally pedestrians approached the gate and were allowed entry. These pedestrians were usually women or girls, and they carried bags and they appeared to be familiar with the guards.

She caught the bus back downtown, tired out, a deep sadness in her chest.

The previous day she had discovered a street downtown that had been blocked off to traffic, and so in the evenings there were only people walking, and there were restaurants that spilled out onto the street, and it was boisterous and friendly, and even though she didn't talk to anyone she felt that she might be like everyone else. That evening she heard music and she came upon a man,
his trumpet case at his feet, playing for the crowd. There was a small gathering before him, at a bit of a distance, and the gathering emptied and filled, and then emptied again, but always as it emptied, there were a few souls in the crowd who stepped forward and threw coins or bills into the case at the man's feet. The man, upon noting the donation, would turn to the giver and nod and keep playing. Íso found a bench nearby and she sat and listened to the music, and as she listened she began to cry. She didn't understand where the tears came from, though the lonely sound of the trumpet made her heart heavy. She didn't want anyone to notice that she was crying, so she bowed her head and wiped at her face. At some point she stopped crying, and she raised her head and she watched the man play. He was tall and thin and he wore shiny black shoes and tight black pants and a white T-shirt, and his long arms coming out of the short sleeves were fantastic, like the legs of a spider, and she was most mesmerized by his arms. Elbows out. Head dipping. One time, as he finished a song, he thanked the folks, and then he turned and he looked right at Íso and he nodded. Then he played another song. She thought she might have been mistaken, but he did the same thing with next song. Nodded at her. She got up and walked off.

She slept in her alcove that night and the following morning she ate her breakfast sandwich and she washed her face and brushed her teeth, and she took the number 15 and the number 32 to Zone 7, where the doctor lived, and she stood on the far side of the street and watched the vehicles come and go. Most of the cars had dark windows, and so she could not see the occupants.

She returned downtown in the afternoon, and later that evening she found herself sitting on the bench listening to the trumpet player.

The following day, on the number 32 bus, she recognized a girl she'd seen entering the gates to Zone 7. Her physical features were like those of someone from the south, and Íso decided to take a chance and she asked the girl in Spanish if she worked in Zone 7. The girl looked at her and then said, Yes.

Íso asked the girl if she
'd worked there a long time, and the girl said for two months. For a family.

Children? Íso asked, and the girl said that there were three young children. The girl turned away then, as if wishing the conversation to be over, but Íso wasn't about to let her go, and she asked if there were other jobs working for families.

The girl shrugged. Always, she said. They're always looking. But they like you to speak English.

Íso said that she spoke English.

The girl looked at her quickly, unbelieving, and then looked away.

Where do I go? Íso asked. To apply for a job?

The girl said that there was no one place to go. It was illegal. You have to be recommended. It's all by recommendation.

The bus had arrived at the stop, and the girl rose and got off. She was carrying a shopping bag and it was heavy, and so she walked with a bit of a list, leaning to the right. Íso sat in her seat and watched as the girl spoke to the guard, and then passed through the gate and disappeared.

That night she found her bench and listened to the trumpet player. It grew darker. There was the smell of smoke in the air. Word was that there were riots and looting taking place in Zone 3, a few miles distant from the city centre. The trumpet player noticed Íso, and when he had finished a set, he put down his trumpet and walked over to her and said, Hello, stranger.

When she didn't reply he said, You lost, girl?

She shook her head.

I see you every night.

Íso stood to go.

Whoa, girl. I ain't chasing you. I like you sittin' here. You bring me luck, I'd say.

He held out his hand. Chaz, he said.

She looked at his hand, and then shook it.

You have a name? he asked.

I do, she said, and she told him.

She speaks. Good. You have any favourite songs, Íso? he asked.

She shrugged. She said, I just like sitting here.

Okay, he said. Okay. He studied her. Thank you, he said. And he went back to his trumpet and picked it up and he blew the saliva from it and then he began to play the song that had so moved her the first time she'd sat on the bench. She was surprised and she looked at him quickly and then looked away, for he was watching her. She sat down again. She kept her head lowered and she heard the trumpet, and sirens, and people talking on the patio, and then Chaz was standing before her again. She saw his black shoes, and she looked up.

Hey, he said. You haven't escaped.

Can I buy you a drink? he asked.

I don't drink, she said.

All right, good. How about a Coke, or coffee?

I smell, she said.

He laughed. First time I heard that. Then he said, I don't think so.

Oh, it's true, she said. I need a shower. Why she was being so honest with him, she wasn't sure.

There's a Y, he said.

Why?

YMCA. It's not expensive. And they have hot showers. I can show you, but first a drink.

She nodded. She felt some fear, but she hadn't spoken to anyone for a week save the girl on the bus. And here was Chaz, and he was talking to her and she was incredibly lonely and she knew that she wouldn't have to say much and so she said, Okay.

He told her to wait there and he walked off. He'd left his trumpet and case sitting beside her and she saw that now she was in charge of it and she thought that he wasn't stupid. When he returned ten minutes later, he was carrying a Coke for her and a can of beer for himself. He sat. Opened the Coke and handed it to her. Opened his beer and said, Cheers, and he drank. Ahh, he said, blowing makes me dry.

She sipped at her Coke. He took a pouch of tobacco from his pocket and he fished for his papers and he rolled a cigarette and lit it. She looked straight ahead.

He said that this was his favourite time of the evening. The light goes away, he said, and the crowds thin out and the air is still and the night stretches out before me. He laid his hand out flat to the ground and stretched out his thin arm and she saw the night as he must see it, predestined.

He finished his cigarette and then he finished his beer. He said, I work summers here and go south for the winter. Make more here, though. Folks are generous. Maybe they're buying a spot in heaven, who's to tell. If I were God, I'd save them a place.

They sat. Both of them quiet now. He rolled another cigarette and this time she watched his hands work. He offered her one and she shook her head.

He lit the cigarette and said that he'd show her the Y. It wasn't far. It was safer than sleeping on the street.

He had an old bicycle and he strapped his trumpet to the rear rack and then he straddled the frame and indicated the saddle behind him and he told her to sit. She climbed on, holding his shoulder, and she felt the bone of his clavicle. She found a precarious balance and attempted to ride along without touching him, but it proved dangerous and when he called out that she might want to hold on, she grasped his waist. Her legs hung down and her feet scraped the pavement, and so she lifted her legs slightly and in this manner they rode through the streets. She felt conspicuous.

At the Y he went in and then came out and he said that there was room at the inn. He handed her a piece of paper with his address on it. You'll need to have an address, he said. Just to say
where you come from. And then he handed her thirty dollars and said that she'd brought him luck and now he was paying her back. She tried to return the money but he wouldn't take it.

He said, Adios, and then he was gone.

Only later, standing in the hot shower, did she realize that he had spoken her language.

She had a bed in a dorm room with five other girls, and even though she was exhausted she didn't sleep well. The sound of the other girls' breathing was very strange and new. She'd heard a few girls talking before they slept. They'd woken her with their noise when they'd come in, and they'd talked in an accent—German, she thought—and after they were quiet she couldn't get back to sleep. It didn't bother her. She liked the safety of the other girls, their bodies, their noises, the clothes on hangers or lying on the floor or at the foot of the beds, waiting to be inhabited again.

Early in the morning, with the first hint of light through the window, she got up and took her backpack and checked out and walked back downtown and caught her regular bus. She saw the same girl get on and she went over to her and sat down and said in English that she knew how to speak English and she needed a job and would the girl recommend her to someone who was looking for a worker.

The girl was quiet for a time, and Íso was quiet as well. She waited. And then the girl said that she would ask, but it wasn't guaranteed at all.

She spoke Spanish like Íso, with the same locutions and the same accent, and though they were both aware that they came
from Guatemala, neither of them remarked on it, for it was as if to remark, or notice, would be to admit that they were outsiders, and in need, and the last thing either of them wanted was to appear vulnerable. And so they ignored what was obvious, and it was only later, when they became close, that they spoke of themselves and their pasts.

What's your name? the girl asked.

Íso told her and the girl said that her name was Vitoria. And then she asked if Íso had references.

You, Íso said. Just you.

Vitoria raised her eyebrows and said again that she would ask. It isn't easy, she said.

Thank you, Íso said, and she stood and went back to her own seat.

L
ATE
afternoon she returned to Zone 7 and when Vitoria exited the gate and caught her bus downtown Íso followed her and when Vitoria climbed off the bus she did so as well and followed her from a distance. Vitoria walked with her heavy bag and she crossed the walkway above the interstate, and then descended a greenway and disappeared beneath a bridge. Íso waited and watched from above, and when Vitoria did not reappear, Íso crossed the greenway and entered the shadows of the bridge and came upon an encampment with makeshift tents and lean-tos made from multicoloured tarpaulins and at the centre of this camp a fire burned. A young man squatted before the fire. He looked at Íso and then he looked away and tended to a frying pan in which there
were four fillets of fish. He turned the fillets and called out. Two other young men emerged from the tents and then a young girl appeared, and finally Vitoria. When she saw Íso she did not seem surprised. She indicated for Íso to step forward and join them. And so she did.

She was handed a tin plate with half a piece of fish and there was dried-out bread and beans spooned from a large tin and she ate like the others, squatting around the fire. No one paid her much attention and it was as if she had landed in an alien place where no one cared if she was dark or white or clean or rich or poor and the only assumption made was that she was hungry, and so she was fed. The other girl, the one who was not Vitoria, was very young and she huddled beside the man who had made the food, and she didn't eat. She held the cook's arm and watched him eat and when he offered her a bite, she refused. Her hair was dirty and she was thin and she didn't speak. Later, she disappeared into one of the shelters with the cook and Íso never saw them again. Vitoria sat beside Íso and asked her if she had a place to sleep and Íso said that she was okay. Vitoria shrugged and said that there was always room here. You are welcome, she said. One of the other young men, who had a thick and black beard, said that he had room in his tent if she needed a place.

Vitoria told him to be quiet. He's always looking, Vitoria said to Íso.

Vitoria herself seemed to be attached to the third man. He would touch her head as he passed her by, as if indicating possession, and when the food was finished Vitoria took his plate from
him and he spoke to her softly in Spanish. Then, Vitoria sat beside her man and he smoked and held her hand. The traffic rumbled and clapped overhead, but this seemed of no concern. Time slowed down. Íso felt sleepy. She rose and gathered her bag and she said thank you and she walked out from under the bridge and up the greenway to the stairs of the bridge that would carry her over the interstate and down into the middle of the city. She had imagined that the others might call out or ask her to stay longer, or that Vitoria might speak, but none of this occurred.

S
HE
was persistent, and this being so she rode the bus again the following day, hoping to see Vitoria. When Vitoria climbed onto the bus she came right to her and sat down beside her. Vitoria's hands were very clean, and her hair smelled of fruit, and so she must have washed, and Íso wondered how she had managed that. Vitoria sat quietly for a bit, and then she said that if Íso wanted a job in Zone 7, she would need a health certificate. She said it was mostly for TB but there were other diseases the rich were worried about. Especially if you're coming from the outside. Which you are. She said she knew of a doctor who could do a physical. It would cost twenty dollars. Do you have that much? she asked.