The Sunflower: A Novel (9 page)

“Sure,” Jessica said.

“All right,” he said to Pablo, “But you have to work hard.” He looked back at the women. “I’ll see you a little later.” He glanced once more at Christine, then walked out. Jaime followed him out of the room, speaking and gesticulating as they walked.

“He’s
gorgeous,”
Jessica said.

“You say that a lot,” Pablo said.

Jessica grinned. “All right, Pablo, let’s put you to work.” They walked over to the scaffolding. “Have you painted before?”

“I like to paint pictures.”

“This is a little different. Actually it’s a lot different. You can use my roller. You dip it in the paint like this. Then roll it off a little in the pan so it doesn’t drip. Then you roll it on the wall.”

She helped guide his movement. “I can do it myself,” he said.

“Good. Because we’ve got a lot to do.”

Jessica picked up another roller, then climbed back up the scaffolding. Pablo settled next to Christine to work. After a few minutes Christine said, “Tell us about yourself, Pablo.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Tell us about your life.”

His brow furrowed. “My life is very tragical.”

“Tragical?”

He nodded. “Very.”

“Don’t you mean ‘tragic’?” Jessica said.

He shook his head. “No, tragical.”

“Why is it tragical?” Christine asked.

“You’re going to make me talk about it?”

Christine smiled. “You don’t have to talk about it. We’ll talk about something happy. Tomorrow’s your birthday?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll be eight?”

“Yes. We’re having a party. A big one. We made a piñata.”

“Sounds fun. Can I come?”

“You’ll have to ask Dr. Cook. He’s the boss.”

“We’ll get you a birthday present anyway,” Christine said.

“Thanks.”

“How long have you lived here?” Jessica asked.

“Long, long time.”

This sounded funny coming from an almost-eight-year-old boy. “Where are you from?” Christine asked.

At this he hesitated. “I don’t know.” He looked down and went back to his painting.

They had nearly completed the third wall when they heard the clang of a bell.

“Time for lunch,” Pablo said, and he immediately set his roller on the ground and ran out of the room.

Christine smiled. “Guess he was hungry.” She went to the door and looked out. Their group had returned to the courtyard. They were standing in small lines to pick up their box lunches or already seated to eat.

They poured the paint from the trays back into the can, sealed it then went out. On one side of the courtyard a water fight raged between the high school students, who were filling buckets from a hand pump and dousing each other. The Peruvian workers watched in amusement.

Jessica got two box lunches while Christine went for their drinks. They sat down together on the stone wall next to the fountain where Pablo and several of the Peruvians had gathered.

“Thanks for your help, Pablo,” Christine said.

“It’s nothing.”

The sun was high in the sky and Jessica leaned back to take it in. “Isn’t this weather incredible?”

“Everyone will think we’ve been hitting the tanning beds,” Christine said. She looked down at the box lunch. “So what’s for
almuerzo?”

“Huh?”

“Lunch,” Christine said.

Jessica rooted through her box. “A hard yellow roll with a fatty piece of ham and a slab of yellow cheese. A banana. Sweet-potato chips. A piece of chocolate. We’re definitely losing weight. What are we drinking?”

“Strawberry yogurt,” Christine said, handing her a small carton.

Jim stopped by. “How’s the painting going, ladies?”

“You should come see for yourself,” Jessica said. She un-peeled a banana, then pulled at its strings. “How about you guys?”

“We’re making progress. It’s definitely a three-day job.”

“Come eat with us,” Christine said.

“Thanks, but the driver just told me he’s having trouble with the bus, so I better take care of that.”

“Yeah, we’d like to go home tonight,” Jessica said.

“I’ll get you home.” He turned to Pablo, who was sitting quietly eating his sandwich. “Hey, Pablo. Staying out of trouble?”

“No.”

“He’s been helping us,” Christine said.

“Pablo always helps. He’s a good worker.”

“Thanks,” Pablo said.

“I better run. Chao,” Jim said as he walked off.

One of the Peruvian men sitting near them had a bright yellow and red macaw sitting on his shoulder. It would occasionally squawk, and the man would hand it a piece of bread. The bird would take the morsel in its talon, lift it to its beak, then throw its head back and eat.

“That is such a pretty bird,” Christine said. “Look at its feathers.” She reached out to touch it. “Hello, pretty girl. Hello, pretty girl.”

“He’ll bite your finger,” Pablo said.

She jerked back her hand. “Are you kidding?”

Pablo said to the man holding the bird,
“Carlos. Muéstrale tu dedo.”

Without looking at them, he raised a scarred finger.

“Thanks for the warning,” Christine said.

Just then, on the other side of the courtyard, Paul emerged from a room, picked up one of the box lunches, then sat alone on the stairs opposite them. Both women watched him.

“Wouldn’t throw him out of bed for eating crackers,” Jessica said.

“Quit ogling,” Christine said.

Jessica said, “Let’s go talk to him.”

Christine glanced at him again. He met her gaze and she quickly turned away.

“Okay.”

Taking their lunches with them, they crossed the courtyard. Paul looked up as they neared.

“Mind if we join you?”

He smiled, “Of course not.” He slid over to the side of the stair. Jessica sat closest to him while Christine sat three steps below.

“How’s the painting coming?”

“It’s coming,” Jessica said. “How long has this place been an orphanage?”

“About six years.”

“How long have you been here?”

His forehead wrinkled with thought. “Maybe four years.”

“You don’t know?”

He shook his head, “I guess the country’s rubbing off on me.”

“How’s that?” Christine asked.

“Time’s different down here. Back in the states I planned my day in fifteen-minute increments. Here, months go by without so much as a nod.”

“Sounds nice,” Jessica said.

“It kind of is,” he replied.

Christine asked, “Where do the children here come from?”

“Mostly from the police. They pick them up off the street.”

“How many children do you have?”

“Right now we have twelve boys.”

“No girls?” Jessica asked.

“One.”

“Why only one?”

“They’re harder to find. The girls don’t usually stay on the street as long as the boys.”

“Why is that?”

He hesitated. “They’re sold into prostitution.”

Christine shook her head. “Is something being done about it?”

“The government is trying to strengthen the laws. We’re trying to bring in more of them. But we’re probably going to have to get a place for just the girls. We had a half-dozen girls here at one time, but it didn’t work out.”

“Why?”

“They kept selling themselves to the boys.”

“Selling themselves?”

“For a
sol.”

“A sol?” Jessica said. “Isn’t that like thirty cents?”

“Everything’s cheap here,” Paul said grimly. “So, where are you ladies from?”

“Dayton,” Jessica said.

“Both of you?” he asked, looking at Christine.

Christine nodded.

“Where are you from?” Jessica asked.

“Minnesota. Mostly.”

The women had finished eating. Paul finished his sandwich, then unwrapped the chocolate.

“If you’d like, I’ll introduce you to the boys.”

“We’d love that,” Christine said.

They all rose, and Paul led them along the corridor to the end of the porch where it opened to a large, plain dining room. The room was fragrant from the meal underway, and a large bowl of rice steamed in the middle of a long, rectangular wooden table surrounded by eleven boys. A lanky Peruvian man with thick eyebrows and eyes like two briquettes of coal stood next to a glowing hot plate on the other side of the room stirring a pot of greens. He glanced up at Paul but didn’t say anything.

“Buenas tardes,”
Paul said.

The boys all turned from the food.

“Oye, Paul.”

“Todavía vamos a tener la fiesta?” Are we still having our party?

“Por supuesto. Mañana,”
Paul said.
Of course. Tomorrow.

He turned back to the women. “This is the family,” he said proudly. Starting at the head of the table and moving counterclockwise, he named each boy. “That’s René, Carlos, Washington, Gordon, Samuel, Ronal, Oscar, Jorge, Joe, Deyvis, and Juan Carlos. And that’s Richard, our cook. He’s new here.”

“Does your help live here too?” Jessica asked.

“Only Richard and Jaime.” He turned to the boys.
“¿Qué tal si le cantamos una canción?”

The boys all stood and Paul said,
“Uno, dos, tres…”
The boys began to sing. The women applauded when they finished.

“What did it mean?” Christine asked.

“It’s a song I wrote for them about El Girasol. It says, ‘My shirt might be dirty, my hair’s a mess, but it’s the boy inside that matters.’ ”

He waved to the boys.
“Chao, guapos.”

The boys returned with a chorus of goodbyes for Paul and the women.

Outside the room, Jessica said, “Can you tell me where the bathrooms are?”

He pointed toward a small opening in the courtyard. “Right over there. You need to walk through and out. Want me to show you?”

“I can find it.”

“They’re unisex, so I’d recommend locking the door. The guys just barge in.”

“Thanks for the warning.” She ran off leaving Paul and Christine alone.

“I didn’t see the girl,” Christine said.

“Roxana doesn’t like to eat with the boys. They’re a little too rowdy for her. I usually take her lunch to her room.” Paul turned toward her and his eyes seemed to settle on her as if finally taking her in. Being alone with him suddenly made her feel a little shy.

“Would you like to meet her?”

“I would.”

He led her across the courtyard and up a dark stairwell to an upstairs dormitory containing three bunk beds. Sitting alone on the lower bed of the nearest bunk was a little girl, barefoot and wearing a thin red cotton dress. Remnants of her lunch—an unfinished bowl of rice and a banana peel—sat next to her on the mattress. She was holding a book in her lap but was looking up at them as they entered the room. She had delicate features with dark brown almond-shaped eyes. A large scar ran down the left side of her face.

“Hola,”
Christine said. The girl didn’t respond.

“Roxana is deaf and mute,” Paul said.

Christine looked at him quizzically. “Deaf?”

“Yeah.”

“…But she looked like she was waiting for us when we entered.”

“She felt our vibrations.”

Paul knelt down on one knee next to her and began to sign.

She answered him, then looked up at Christine, and her hands moved in a fury of motion. The conversation continued for nearly a minute.