home.
Sheâd met Mrs. Sheffield outside the British embassy, where her husband was the consul general. Marta was waiting for a bus when the Englishwoman tripped and fell beside her, breaking a heel. Marta came to her assistance and fixed her shoe with the glue she used for after-hours piecework. They spoke for a few minutesâMrs. Sheffieldâs Spanish was excellentâand she ended up offering Marta a job cleaning her home every Sunday. It was this extra day of work, paid to her in dollars, that made it possible for her to save enough money to leave the country.
Marta had wanted to keep selling used clothes and toys on the street, but her husband wouldnât permit it. Now that she was a married woman, he insisted, she couldnât go peddling her body along with her wares up and down every alleyway of the city. But she refused to stay in their apartment all day, waiting for him to come home and testily give her a few coins for the market. That was much more intolerable to her than the hand-cramping work at the factory.
Besides, she needed the money. If sheâd learned anything from her TÃa Matilde, it was to ensure her own keep. How surprised Fabián would be when he woke up tomorrow and discovered her missing. It wouldnât occur to him that she, or any woman for that matter, might leave him. But Marta had decided long ago to stop breaking her heart against his.
When sheâd married Fabián, two days after her sixteenth birthday, Marta had said her vows in earnest, with every intention of staying with him forever. It was a simple church ceremony. Marta wore a crown of jasmine with her veil, and the hem of her wedding dress was embroidered with sequins and imitation pearls. Even Evaristo, reluctantly, had descended his banyan tree to attend. Marta thought that by marrying Fabián, her future was secured.
Nothing turned out the way sheâd hoped. This wasnât to say that she didnât like her husband, at firstâhe surprised her with little gifts, buying her coconut ice cream or a pair of sneakers for her brother. Nobody had done that for her before. The fact was that Fabián had promised Marta two things she desperately wanted: to leave Mamáâs house, and to have a child of her own. TÃa Matilde warned her about marrying a
guardia
(only her mother thought him a good opportunity) but Marta didnât listen.
Today was their second anniversary. They were supposed to go out to dinner but Marta preferred going hungry to listening to Fabián complain about the price of a restaurant meal. To think that sheâd once been swayed by his promise of a juicy steak. Marta decided that she was too tempted by easy comforts. Everything has a price, her aunt liked to say, and she was right. A womanâs real dowry was the one she carried inside her.
Marta felt a heaviness in her abdomen. The arrival of her period put her husband in a foul mood, as if she were childless on purpose. Fabián had fathered twins in the countryside when he was a teenagerâso the problem wasnât with him. Nobody in Martaâs family had trouble conceiving, so it was a mystery why she couldnât get pregnant. Marta considered the children she saw living in the streets, urchins with no one to care for them, and wished she could adopt one. There was a gang of boys, no older than eight or nine, who rummaged through the factoryâs garbage bins for leftover glue. Who might they become if they were loved? But Fabián refused, as he put it, to bring mongrels into their home.
Last year, Marta had consulted an expensive gynecologist on the far side of town; Dr. Canosa told her that there was nothing wrong with her, that her infertility was all in her head. But how could
not
having a baby be in her head when all she could think about was having a baby? She made certain to have regular relations with Fabián, though he soon grew more interested in late-night wrestling on TV than in
Sheâd met Mrs. Sheffield outside the British embassy, where her husband was the consul general. Marta was waiting for a bus when the Englishwoman tripped and fell beside her, breaking a heel. Marta came to her assistance and fixed her shoe with the glue she used for after-hours piecework. They spoke for a few minutesâMrs. Sheffieldâs Spanish was excellentâand she ended up offering Marta a job cleaning her home every Sunday. It was this extra day of work, paid to her in dollars, that made it possible for her to save enough money to leave the country.
Marta had wanted to keep selling used clothes and toys on the street, but her husband wouldnât permit it. Now that she was a married woman, he insisted, she couldnât go peddling her body along with her wares up and down every alleyway of the city. But she refused to stay in their apartment all day, waiting for him to come home and testily give her a few coins for the market. That was much more intolerable to her than the hand-cramping work at the factory.
Besides, she needed the money. If sheâd learned anything from her TÃa Matilde, it was to ensure her own keep. How surprised Fabián would be when he woke up tomorrow and discovered her missing. It wouldnât occur to him that she, or any woman for that matter, might leave him. But Marta had decided long ago to stop breaking her heart against his.
When sheâd married Fabián, two days after her sixteenth birthday, Marta had said her vows in earnest, with every intention of staying with him forever. It was a simple church ceremony. Marta wore a crown of jasmine with her veil, and the hem of her wedding dress was embroidered with sequins and imitation pearls. Even Evaristo, reluctantly, had descended his banyan tree to attend. Marta thought that by marrying Fabián, her future was secured.
Nothing turned out the way sheâd hoped. This wasnât to say that she didnât like her husband, at firstâhe surprised her with little gifts, buying her coconut ice cream or a pair of sneakers for her brother. Nobody had done that for her before. The fact was that Fabián had promised Marta two things she desperately wanted: to leave Mamáâs house, and to have a child of her own. TÃa Matilde warned her about marrying a
guardia
(only her mother thought him a good opportunity) but Marta didnât listen.
Today was their second anniversary. They were supposed to go out to dinner but Marta preferred going hungry to listening to Fabián complain about the price of a restaurant meal. To think that sheâd once been swayed by his promise of a juicy steak. Marta decided that she was too tempted by easy comforts. Everything has a price, her aunt liked to say, and she was right. A womanâs real dowry was the one she carried inside her.
Marta felt a heaviness in her abdomen. The arrival of her period put her husband in a foul mood, as if she were childless on purpose. Fabián had fathered twins in the countryside when he was a teenagerâso the problem wasnât with him. Nobody in Martaâs family had trouble conceiving, so it was a mystery why she couldnât get pregnant. Marta considered the children she saw living in the streets, urchins with no one to care for them, and wished she could adopt one. There was a gang of boys, no older than eight or nine, who rummaged through the factoryâs garbage bins for leftover glue. Who might they become if they were loved? But Fabián refused, as he put it, to bring mongrels into their home.
Last year, Marta had consulted an expensive gynecologist on the far side of town; Dr. Canosa told her that there was nothing wrong with her, that her infertility was all in her head. But how could
not
having a baby be in her head when all she could think about was having a baby? She made certain to have regular relations with Fabián, though he soon grew more interested in late-night wrestling on TV than in
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