these
distribuidores de la heroína
… they’re bad men. You’re not a bad man, Kelly; a woman like Paloma would never love a bad man.”
“Get away from me.” Kelly shoved Sevilla. The cop stumbled and his cigarette hit the floor. Kelly staggered backward and got tangled in his own sockfeet. He toppled onto his rear. When he looked up Sevilla had his hand on his gun and his face was flushed red.
“Don’t be
stupid
, Kelly! I want to find her, too. You think I don’t want to? After all the good she’s done? You don’t know how many people owe her, Kelly. You’ll never know.”
“Get the fuck out of here,” Kelly said. His eyes stung and he blinked away tears. “You just… you just get the fuck out of here now.”
“If I leave here now, Kelly, you’ll get no help,” Sevilla said.
“I don’t want your help. I want you to leave.”
Sevilla sighed. The high color drained from his face and he let his hand move away from his pistol. He crushed the fallen cigarette into the vinyl tile with the tip of his shoe. When he went to the door he paused as if to say one last thing, but Kelly wouldn’t look at him and finally Sevilla just left. Kelly put his face in his hands and all the words and pictures and ideas and fears and hopes whirled around behind his eyelids until they could only come out in more tears.
He felt it again: shame, warm and hot as blood. He smelled that blood, too, and it was then Kelly realized his palm was cut after all.
SIX
E STÉBAN DIDN ’ T COME BACK THAT morning. Kelly waited into the afternoon and watched shadows slide with the sun until he couldn’t stay still anymore. He left the apartment and made for the bus stop. He turned his head from the pink telephone pole when he passed it, though his mind framed the image on its own:
Justicia para Paloma
.
It took hours to reach the familiar street, the leaning building and the office with the pink door, or so it felt to Kelly. Every stop, turn and delay on the bus route was agony. Everyone moved too slowly. Those who talked on the bus were too loud. The sun was too bright and it was too hot in his plastic seat.
Kelly felt unshackled when he stepped onto the sidewalk. He walked quickly, and then ran, but his stamina was gone and he gassed before he got halfway there. Even so he took the steps to the second floor two at a time. At the last moment he was afraid the office would be closed, but the door was open and Kelly heard a typewriter from inside.
He expected Ella, but it was another woman, one he didn’t recognize. She was older, like most of Mujeres Sin Voces. When Kelly came in, she made a sour face as if he smelled.
“Excuse me,” Kelly said. If he’d worn a cap, he would have taken it off. “
Estoy buscando
Ella.
Mi nombre es
Kelly.”
“Ella Arellano?” the woman asked.
“
Sí
.”
“Señorita Arellano
no está aquí.
”
Kelly hesitated. The flyers in the office drew his eye, demanding
justicia, justicia, justicia
like every time before, but the faces were different because he saw them now. He came no farther than the doorway; he didn’t dare enter the room and be surrounded by all those faces.
“
¿Señor?
I say she no here.”
He had to stop looking at them, but they would not stop looking at him. Kelly dragged his eyes back to the woman. “Yeah. Where… um, where is she? It’s about Paloma.”
The woman crossed herself. “
Estamos esperando noticias
.”
“I know,” Kelly said. “I’ve been… away for a while. I want some news, too. Can you tell me where I can find Ella? They worked together a lot here.
¿Por favor?
”
The woman was silent, and Kelly felt the hesitation coming from her mixed with fear. Ciudad Juárez was a city of fear, and Kelly was white and a stranger to be feared most of all.
“
¿Por favor?
” Kelly asked again.
Kelly needed another bus, this one headed into the porous boundary between Ciudad Juárez and the sun-bleached wild beyond. Where streetlights and paving
distribuidores de la heroína
… they’re bad men. You’re not a bad man, Kelly; a woman like Paloma would never love a bad man.”
“Get away from me.” Kelly shoved Sevilla. The cop stumbled and his cigarette hit the floor. Kelly staggered backward and got tangled in his own sockfeet. He toppled onto his rear. When he looked up Sevilla had his hand on his gun and his face was flushed red.
“Don’t be
stupid
, Kelly! I want to find her, too. You think I don’t want to? After all the good she’s done? You don’t know how many people owe her, Kelly. You’ll never know.”
“Get the fuck out of here,” Kelly said. His eyes stung and he blinked away tears. “You just… you just get the fuck out of here now.”
“If I leave here now, Kelly, you’ll get no help,” Sevilla said.
“I don’t want your help. I want you to leave.”
Sevilla sighed. The high color drained from his face and he let his hand move away from his pistol. He crushed the fallen cigarette into the vinyl tile with the tip of his shoe. When he went to the door he paused as if to say one last thing, but Kelly wouldn’t look at him and finally Sevilla just left. Kelly put his face in his hands and all the words and pictures and ideas and fears and hopes whirled around behind his eyelids until they could only come out in more tears.
He felt it again: shame, warm and hot as blood. He smelled that blood, too, and it was then Kelly realized his palm was cut after all.
SIX
E STÉBAN DIDN ’ T COME BACK THAT morning. Kelly waited into the afternoon and watched shadows slide with the sun until he couldn’t stay still anymore. He left the apartment and made for the bus stop. He turned his head from the pink telephone pole when he passed it, though his mind framed the image on its own:
Justicia para Paloma
.
It took hours to reach the familiar street, the leaning building and the office with the pink door, or so it felt to Kelly. Every stop, turn and delay on the bus route was agony. Everyone moved too slowly. Those who talked on the bus were too loud. The sun was too bright and it was too hot in his plastic seat.
Kelly felt unshackled when he stepped onto the sidewalk. He walked quickly, and then ran, but his stamina was gone and he gassed before he got halfway there. Even so he took the steps to the second floor two at a time. At the last moment he was afraid the office would be closed, but the door was open and Kelly heard a typewriter from inside.
He expected Ella, but it was another woman, one he didn’t recognize. She was older, like most of Mujeres Sin Voces. When Kelly came in, she made a sour face as if he smelled.
“Excuse me,” Kelly said. If he’d worn a cap, he would have taken it off. “
Estoy buscando
Ella.
Mi nombre es
Kelly.”
“Ella Arellano?” the woman asked.
“
Sí
.”
“Señorita Arellano
no está aquí.
”
Kelly hesitated. The flyers in the office drew his eye, demanding
justicia, justicia, justicia
like every time before, but the faces were different because he saw them now. He came no farther than the doorway; he didn’t dare enter the room and be surrounded by all those faces.
“
¿Señor?
I say she no here.”
He had to stop looking at them, but they would not stop looking at him. Kelly dragged his eyes back to the woman. “Yeah. Where… um, where is she? It’s about Paloma.”
The woman crossed herself. “
Estamos esperando noticias
.”
“I know,” Kelly said. “I’ve been… away for a while. I want some news, too. Can you tell me where I can find Ella? They worked together a lot here.
¿Por favor?
”
The woman was silent, and Kelly felt the hesitation coming from her mixed with fear. Ciudad Juárez was a city of fear, and Kelly was white and a stranger to be feared most of all.
“
¿Por favor?
” Kelly asked again.
Kelly needed another bus, this one headed into the porous boundary between Ciudad Juárez and the sun-bleached wild beyond. Where streetlights and paving
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