lights from San Marcos and if music still boomed from the gringo bar, it was muffled by the rain.
Her foot smashed into a stump, then another. The Maya must have been clearing trees in this area for the smoky woodstoves in each house. Kate very nearly crashed into a lean-to shelter, left by the men who had been working here. Her face brushed against the palm thatch roof. Good enough for tonight, good enough to keep the rain off them. One entire side was open but three sides were loosely covered with something, she couldnât see what. Water gushed through the shelter along the ground.
Kate couldnât put the child down so she kicked a series of short logs into a corner until she had enough to squat on. She untied the drenched knot of fabric and put the child on the island so that she could grab several more pieces as well as an abandoned piece of palm thatch.
This was impossible. What had she been thinking? A blanket of despair fell over her, as wet and dark as the night. The adrenaline that had been pushing her forward abandoned her, leaving her slumped in a heap. She felt small, a dot of a human crushed between mountain and sky.
Through the night Kate sat huddled in the corner with the girl in her arms. They both drank from the plastic bottles. She leaned into the corner of the shelter and for brief moments fell precipitously into dreams where she held on to a slippery raft on an endless lake with angry waves.
CHAPTER 13
T he rain lasted well into the next day. They drank the rest of one bottle of water and ate some of the tortillas that had stayed miraculously dry. By midday, the clouds rushed along on a new path to the east and the sun broke through. Kate took off her pants and hung them on a bush outside the shelter. Her spare pants retained some dry places; the seat was dry but the legs were drenched in water that found its way into the bottom of the pack, possibly through the seams that Kate had not bothered to seal.
Sofia was awake and wide-eyed, watching every move that Kate made, including the pee squat not far from the front of the shelter. Kate unwrapped her to see how wet she was and what needed to be dried out. Manuela had said her kids were about two years old, more or less. So the girl could be as old as two and a half, maybe. Or she could be less than two years old.
Kate had no idea. She had never been a babysitter, and she was an only child. Her entire knowledge of young children was based on an elective psych course on child development and on the babblings of one of her professors in grad school who had a new baby at home and continually complained of sleep deprivation.
As soon as Kate unwrapped her, the girl stood and looked straight at Kate, eyes unblinking and warm. A sweet gust of wind bringing dry air blew past, rustled the palms. Something fluttered in her breasts, a tightening that she couldnât account for scientifically, but she knew what it could be, having heard it enough from her own mother. How the nearness of a child can cause a chemical change in adults, an evolutionary mandate to care for babies and young children. She wanted only to get Sofia to safety, to protect the child against retaliation. She held out her small brown arms to be picked up. Kate bent over and enveloped the girl, carrying her on her hip.
âLetâs get you out of the wet things and into my beautiful T-shirt so that we can dry everything.â The decision to speak English to the child came as a surprise. Yes, she would speak English to the girl. Certainly Sofia had heard her mother and Kate conversing in English. On the surface, it was the worst possible idea, obliterating her most familiar language and Spanish. But if the child had words for soldiers or guns, Kate didnât want to hear themâor more to the point, she didnât want anyone else to hear them. She counted on the malleability of a toddlerâs brain.
The girl was remarkably compliant, not fussing, never crying, and yet
Her foot smashed into a stump, then another. The Maya must have been clearing trees in this area for the smoky woodstoves in each house. Kate very nearly crashed into a lean-to shelter, left by the men who had been working here. Her face brushed against the palm thatch roof. Good enough for tonight, good enough to keep the rain off them. One entire side was open but three sides were loosely covered with something, she couldnât see what. Water gushed through the shelter along the ground.
Kate couldnât put the child down so she kicked a series of short logs into a corner until she had enough to squat on. She untied the drenched knot of fabric and put the child on the island so that she could grab several more pieces as well as an abandoned piece of palm thatch.
This was impossible. What had she been thinking? A blanket of despair fell over her, as wet and dark as the night. The adrenaline that had been pushing her forward abandoned her, leaving her slumped in a heap. She felt small, a dot of a human crushed between mountain and sky.
Through the night Kate sat huddled in the corner with the girl in her arms. They both drank from the plastic bottles. She leaned into the corner of the shelter and for brief moments fell precipitously into dreams where she held on to a slippery raft on an endless lake with angry waves.
CHAPTER 13
T he rain lasted well into the next day. They drank the rest of one bottle of water and ate some of the tortillas that had stayed miraculously dry. By midday, the clouds rushed along on a new path to the east and the sun broke through. Kate took off her pants and hung them on a bush outside the shelter. Her spare pants retained some dry places; the seat was dry but the legs were drenched in water that found its way into the bottom of the pack, possibly through the seams that Kate had not bothered to seal.
Sofia was awake and wide-eyed, watching every move that Kate made, including the pee squat not far from the front of the shelter. Kate unwrapped her to see how wet she was and what needed to be dried out. Manuela had said her kids were about two years old, more or less. So the girl could be as old as two and a half, maybe. Or she could be less than two years old.
Kate had no idea. She had never been a babysitter, and she was an only child. Her entire knowledge of young children was based on an elective psych course on child development and on the babblings of one of her professors in grad school who had a new baby at home and continually complained of sleep deprivation.
As soon as Kate unwrapped her, the girl stood and looked straight at Kate, eyes unblinking and warm. A sweet gust of wind bringing dry air blew past, rustled the palms. Something fluttered in her breasts, a tightening that she couldnât account for scientifically, but she knew what it could be, having heard it enough from her own mother. How the nearness of a child can cause a chemical change in adults, an evolutionary mandate to care for babies and young children. She wanted only to get Sofia to safety, to protect the child against retaliation. She held out her small brown arms to be picked up. Kate bent over and enveloped the girl, carrying her on her hip.
âLetâs get you out of the wet things and into my beautiful T-shirt so that we can dry everything.â The decision to speak English to the child came as a surprise. Yes, she would speak English to the girl. Certainly Sofia had heard her mother and Kate conversing in English. On the surface, it was the worst possible idea, obliterating her most familiar language and Spanish. But if the child had words for soldiers or guns, Kate didnât want to hear themâor more to the point, she didnât want anyone else to hear them. She counted on the malleability of a toddlerâs brain.
The girl was remarkably compliant, not fussing, never crying, and yet
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