baseball bat.
Evan’s stomach knotted in fear. This man with the glistening skin and powerful muscles was bad. Evil was written all over him just as surely as if it had been drawn with Magic Marker.
The presence of the new man transformed Evan’s guard from abusive bully to timid wimp. As the two of them spoke, it was clear that Evan was the topic of conversation, and the angry set of the black man’s face told the boy that he wasn’t welcome here.
When their brief conversation was done, the guard put a hand on Evan’s shoulder and pushed him closer to the black man. In the staccato conversation that accompanied the push, Evan heard his name.
“Ah, so you are the prince,” the black man said. His tone was leaden with sarcasm. “Welcome to your new home.” He held out his hand.
Evan took it. He was going to say, “Pleased to meet you,” but before he had the chance, the man’s grip closed like a talon.
“My name is Victor,” he said. “You are mine. You will do what I say. If you are too slow or if I am in a sour mood, I will hit you with my whip. If you try to run away, I will break your legs with my baseball bat. Do you have any questions?”
Evan found himself transfixed by the way the man handled the bat. When he talked about breaking his legs, he twirled it in a manner that projected perfect intimacy with its potential to inflict damage. Evan shook his head no-a silent lie. He was filled with questions-consumed by them-but nothing was more clear to him at the moment than the fact that the correct answer was no, he had nothing to ask.
“ Bueno,” Victor said. He then spoke rapidly to the guard, who laughed and walked away after giving Evan an angry glare that the boy felt he hadn’t earned.
Victor poked at Evan’s belly with the baseball bat, but he bent in the middle and jumped back, avoiding contact. Victor laughed. “Good reflexes,” he said. “They will serve you well among the other workers. Come.”
He led the way down the hill into the thickness of the bushes. As if it were even possible, the heat and the humidity both doubled. Most of the bushes were taller than Evan, and the height of the foliage blocked whatever semblance of breeze there once had been. Within a minute, his skin was slippery with sweat, which in turn summoned more insects.
“What is this place?” Evan asked.
“Your home.”
The answer was intended to frighten him, and it succeeded. But Evan wasn’t going to give his captor the satisfaction of showing it. “I meant the bushes,” he said. “What are they?”
Victor scowled. “You have hair like a girl.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Perhaps I should cut it off.”
Evan looked him straight in the eye. “If you want to, you will. I’m not big enough to stop you.” Actually, right now, in this heat, he sort of hoped he would. He’d have welcomed a buzz cut. But he sensed that these people wouldn’t let him cut his hair even if he begged for it. Whatever this was about, taking his picture was an important part of it. Since they’d already shot his photo twice in the last couple of days, it only made sense that they’d want to take it again, and if that was the case, they’d want him to look like himself.
Victor asked, “Have you heard people say that money does not grow on trees?”
Evan nodded.
“These bushes”-Victor brushed them with the tip of his bat-“prove that to be wrong. These leaves are U.S. dollar bills. Over there are Euros. And rubles and rupees and pesos. The work we do here makes people very wealthy.” He plucked a few leaves from one of the bushes and offered them to Evan. “Here.”
Evan took them, held them in his fist. They looked like any other leaves, green and oval-shaped. He looked at Victor.
His captor stripped a few leaves for himself and tucked them between his cheek and lower gum, the way people back home dipped snuff. “You chew the leaves. Suck on them. Make you feel happy. Make you feel strong.”
Evan remembered the nice old lady from the village spitting out the bits of paper that looked very much like these leaves. He handed them back. “No, thank you.”
Victor looked offended. “Coca leaves. Very good for you. Like Coca-Cola.”
So that was it. They’re making cocaine up here. Evan had watched a documentary once about the development of soft drinks, and he remembered that early on, Coca-Cola had cocaine in it. They’d removed it years ago, but apparently, a hundred years later, Victor still hadn’t gotten the word.
Evan dropped the leaves onto the ground and brushed his hands together. “No, thank-” A flash of light behind his eyes and an explosion of pain cut off his words as Victor knocked him on the back of the head with his bat. The boy yelled and bent over as he grabbed the wound. A second, harder blow to his right hip dropped him to his knees. From there, he curled into a protective ball, terrified of where the next hit might land.
“Stand up,” Victor commanded.
Sensing another blow, Evan raised a protective hand blindly, not daring to look where it might be coming from.
“On your feet now, chico, or I will truly hit you. Those were only light taps.” He poked him with the end of the bat, eliciting a yelp. “Stand now, or get hit again.”
Stunned by the suddenness of the attack and aching from the points of impact that were already starting to swell, Evan scrabbled to get his feet beneath him. He stood, his hand still pressed to his head.
“When I say to do something, you do it,” Victor said evenly. His tone made him sound like the voice of reason. “Now pick up those leaves I gave you.”
Luckily, they’d fallen in a clump on the dirt path where they’d been walking. Unluckily, they’d fallen in mud. As Evan picked them up, he noticed how filthy his hands were. He might as well never have washed. Perhaps that’s why no one else did.
He displayed the three leaves for Victor, spreading them in his fingers as you might show a hand of cards.
“Put them in your mouth,” Victor instructed, and he watched as the boy complied. “Chew them a little to get them soft, then settle them here.” He pointed to the dip-spot in his own mouth.
Evan chewed as instructed, in spite of the terrible, bitter taste. In seconds, he could feel his tongue going numb-not as thoroughly as with Novocain at the dentist’s, but that same sort of feeling.
“Be sure not to swallow them,” Victor said. “It should be okay to move them to your cheek now.”
Again, Evan followed directions and this time Victor watched expectantly. “How do you feel?”
“My mouth feels numb,” he said. “I don’t like it.”
“But how does your head feel? And your hip?”
Holy crap, the pain was nearly gone. He didn’t say anything, but apparently his expression spoke for him.
“See?” Victor said, smiling. “I told you the coca was good for you. Come.”
The walk continued. After a minute or so, they started to pass other people at work. It was as he’d suspected. The workers were all boys, and he was among the oldest. Most didn’t even notice him passing, but those who did registered a curious glance quickly and then went right back to stripping the leaves off the branches. Off to the left, Evan saw one kid squatted with his butt close to the ground taking a dump right in the middle of everything. Curiously, the smell of his shit was lost in the general atmosphere of rot and decay.
Victor bellowed, “Charlie! Where are you, boy?” Evan wouldn’t note it until later, but he shouted in English. After he didn’t get an immediate answer, Victor poked another boy with his bat. “Jesus,” he said, and the boy jumped. Victor asked him something in Spanish, and the boy pointed behind them.
“You stay here,” he said to Evan, and then he retraced their steps back a dozen yards. “Charlie!” he yelled, clearly finding the face he was looking for. “Come out here.”
A boy of about twelve emerged from the bushes, and Evan’s heart fell. It was the one he’d just seen taking the shit. He was nearly as dark-skinned as the others, but his hair was brown, not black, making Evan wonder if maybe genetics had less to do with his skin color than sun exposure. He was skinnier than the others, too. A rope kept his tattered shorts in place. He was beyond filthy, and his eyes had a dull look about them. Evan instantly disliked him.
