Installment 3
At one point it occurred to me that the passers by were going out of their way not to notice us. There were very few glances in our direction; no eye contact. We passed very quickly by squalid shops similar to the one we had just left- I could make out figures in the murky interior, but none came forward into the light.
Fernando remained close by my side. He spoke quietly, so low only I was able to hear him. He reassured me of our safety. No one would stop us. But the air felt charged, dangerous. The hair on my neck began to tingle, then rise. I felt sure there was a confrontation, inevitable, in our very close future. My eyes slid back and forth, surveying the area and darting to take in every person close enough to touch me. I was avidly paranoid. Fernando placed a cool hand lightly on my upper arm, urging me to walk faster.
He guided the way. Debris littered the way and I stumbled several times, but not a movement or a sound issued from the child in my arms. The route was very different than the one we had taken on our way in. Before long I became disoriented and claustrophobic as the shacks crowded onto the streets and the streets became narrower at every turn. Despite the hot mid day sun beating down from over head, it seemed as if everything was shadowed in a film of dirty gray. The pathway was so narrow I was forced to walk behind Fernando, keeping so very close I stepped on the back of his broken sneakers more than once. My eyes became fixed on the thin, narrow back directly in front of me so that I didn’t even bother to watch the surroundings or where I placed my steps.
In an instant I became nauseated and weak; my vision blurred and Fernando disappeared completely from view. My breathing came in quick erratic gasps like the beginning of some maniacal panic attack. I felt my wounded hand go numb, cold and without feeling. My arms burned hotly from the weight of the child, an eerily feeling much opposite from the deadened nothingness I felt in my hand. My burden chose that exact moment to begin sobbing sharply in a hopeless, dejected voice. The sobs pierced my ears painfully, scratching at the surface of my fevered brain.
“Fernando,” I gasped, my vision slanting and blurring everything around me. I couldn’t see him as I reached outward with my hand as a blind man.
Fernando gently grasped the child and shifted her weight into his arms. I swayed drunkenly as the nausea pounded forth in thick, disorienting waves with every new breath I drew. The urge to vomit was prevalent as the gag reflexes in my throat worked the fluids to the very depths of my stomach. I sank to my knees as could no longer keep my balance.
Barely able to keep my head up, bile spewed from my mouth uncontrollably. Streaks of the foul smelling vomit clung wetly to my shirt and the thighs of my pants, having splashed up from the dirt as it hit the ground. When there was no matter left in my stomach to come up, the dry heaves began. The wracking heaves twisted the muscles of my abdomen. The dizziness subsided as my abdominal wall began to knot and twist from the exertion.
My companion pulled me to my feet, still gripping the girl. “Caminhada rapidamente, agora. Nós não seremos seguros para muito mais longo.” He whispered gruffly in my ear as he manhandled me down the littered street. My mind was sluggish and it took some effort to translate what he was saying. It was important that we walk, and walk fast because we weren’t going to be safe for much longer.
I pushed myself to the limits as my physical condition rapidly deteriorated. The numbness from my hand was steadily creeping up my arm like some invisible flesh eating virus. I stumbled and pitched forward into Fernando as we rounded what seemed like the hundredth corner in this grimy maze of the slums. I heard a sickening thud of bone and muscle as my weight propelled him forward into the building next to us, his shoulder catching squarely on the corner. I knew from the moan that escaped his lips he was badly injured, and from the sound his shoulder had made on contact with the wooden wall, I was sure his shoulder had been dislocated. The child slid from his grasp, the blanket falling away completely.
She stood stock still, eyes pressed painfully shut from the brilliance of the light. Grimy, grubby hands rubbed furiously at crusty eyes, trying to see her surroundings. She would run like a spooked animal the moment her eyes became accustomed to the shocking brightness of the daylight. Even though the landscape appeared gray and shadowed to me, she had been locked away in the gloom of Fong’s shop for days and days with very little light. She might as well be blinded until her eyes had a chance to compensate and adjust. I snatched her hand and lurched to Fernando.
“If you bite me again, I swear I will paddle your little ass black and blue.” I snarled at her. I yanked her arm viciously, my nausea forgotten or overcome, anger seething to the every pore of my being.
“Go,” I said to him in Portuguese, and we went.
