“Okay, here’s how dinner works,” Charlie explained as they approached the center of the compound, where someone had produced a bunch of propane-powered grills. “Take whatever they offer and smile when you do it. Victor’s got a rod up his ass about showing gratitude. Once we get the food, we’ll go to one of the tables and eat. Just eat what you can choke down. If you don’t work tomorrow, you’re gonna get beat, and they’re not going to care that it’s because you passed out from hunger, okay? Whenever you get a chance for food, take it, understand?”
Evan nodded. The closer they got, the worse it smelled. “What are they cooking?”
“Never ask,” Charlie said. “It’ll get you beat for asking, and then worse than that, you’ll actually find out. You might think you want to know, but I guarantee you don’t.”
The rank of grills served as a divider of sorts for the compound, separating the adults who clustered around the main hut from the workers who clustered on the far side of the grills. Charlie showed him the way. He grabbed a plastic tray-a lot like the ones in the dining room back at RezHouse-and handed one to Evan while keeping one for himself. Charlie went to the cook first, silently holding out his tray. The cook put a hunk of meat on the tray, and then ladled some disgusting yellow shit into a cup and set it on the tray next to the meat. Charlie smiled politely, and headed toward the ranks of dilapidated picnic tables that served as the dining area.
Evan followed his moves exactly, focusing all of his energy on not showing revulsion at the animal leg that had been plopped onto his tray. It had toenails. Next came the cup of crap. At closer inspection, it looked like it might have corn in it somewhere. One way or another, he told himself, it was corn. He liked corn. If he convinced himself that he liked this stuff, then maybe he could get it down and keep it down.
Charlie led the way to a table that was otherwise unoccupied. Evan sat across from him.
“You don’t want to talk too much to the other workers,” Charlie said. “They don’t like gringos. Gringos killed a lot of their relatives and raised a lot of hell a while ago. Speaking English is a problem out here. Not speaking Spanish is a huge problem out here, so you’d better get that taken care of right away.”
“Well, you speak English,” Evan said, stating the obvious.
“Do you see a lot of friends hanging around me? These assholes all know that I’m not one of them. They know that I don’t suck their weed, and they know that if just one or two things break my way, I’ll actually be able to make a life for myself someday. They don’t like that.” He took a bite of his meat and winced at the flavor. “If I was them, I’d probably hate my guts, too.”
Evan didn’t know how to respond to that, so he let it go. He picked up the meat and smelled it. Still clueless, he closed his eyes and took a bite.
Oh, Christ, he had to find a way out of here.
Evan was keenly aware that he was being watched and talked about. Boys at the other tables craned their necks to see him and point. Farther away, some boys stood for a better view.
“A little like being in a zoo, isn’t it?” Charlie observed.
“On the wrong side of the bars,” Evan said. “Everybody’s so quiet. This many kids in one place, you’d expect there to be a lot of noise.”
“That’s the weed,” Charlie said. “That’s why they want everybody to chew it. Shit does weird stuff to you. Makes you work harder and care less. Can’t sleep worth anything, though.”
Evan’s ears perked. “Sleep? We get to do that?”
“That’s all there is after the sun goes down. That’s what those huts are for.” He pointed to a row of four thatch-roof huts just like all the others, but with walls. They stood taller than the others to accommodate a line of wire-mesh windows that started at maybe five feet off the platform and rose for about three feet over that. “They lock us in just before the light goes away, and they open it up when the sun comes up.”
Evan’s heart rate picked up. He wasn’t exactly claustrophobic, but the thought of being locked into a room with strangers who didn’t like him-in the dark, no less-was his vision of a living nightmare. “What happens if you have to piss in the middle of the night?”
Around a mouthful of food, Charlie said, “I try not to. But if you have to, there’s a cut-off drum in the corner with a seat on it. One of the punishment jobs around here is to clean it out. Never once saw anybody do it without puking.”
Okay, living nightmare didn’t touch this. Evan was getting out of here. Maybe he’d die trying, but there was no way this was going to be his life.
A pall fell over the compound, almost as if someone had sucked away the atmosphere. Charlie said, “Uh-oh. Speeches are never good.”
Evan pivoted on his bench to see Victor standing up near the grills, his fists on his hips, somehow looking even more menacing from a distance than he did up close. His skin glistened in the fading light. He said nothing until silence had fallen over the compound.
When he spoke, his voice boomed. Even without understanding the words, Evan understood that they were important. Just a few seconds into the speech, he pointed right at Evan and said his name.
Evan looked to Charlie for a translation.
“He says you are a special guest. But he doesn’t mean it. He’s making fun of you.”
As one, the entire crowd pivoted to look at him.
“He says that you can’t be trusted.” Charlie struggled with the translation, as if trying to interpret the words instead of merely reporting them. After just a few seconds of that, he abandoned the effort and started translating directly.
“Mr. Evan Guinn is not to be harmed. No marks may be put on his face. He does not speak our language, so it would be foolish to try to talk with him. Because he is special, he will not be required to work as hard as the rest of you, but he will still live among you.”
“What the hell is he doing?” Evan hissed.
Charlie shushed him. Apparently, it was hard enough to translate one person without having to answer questions from another.
He continued to channel Victor. “Be sure to watch him closely. He is more valuable to me than any of you are. If he is hurt, I will punish you all severely.”
Victor emphasized that last point by brandishing the Louisville Slugger.
“If he runs away, or if someone comes to take him away, I will hurt all of you very bad. If he does not return, some of you will die just because I will be angry.”
Evan felt his ears turning red as his stomach cramped. Victor was fixing it so that everyone would hate him.
“Our newest resident has friends who will try to take everything away from us. One day soon they may try to kill me and all of you. They may make some kind of excuse, but whatever they say to you will be a lie. These strangers when they come will try to take Evan away, and if they succeed, you might as well die. It will be like the old days all over again when the Americans killed so many of your fathers and mothers.”
Victor paused for effect, pacing dramatically down the ranks of tables. He stopped next to Evan, and he glowered. Moving with speed that made Evan jump, Victor clamped his hand on the boy’s ear and lifted him from his seat. Evan yelped and grabbed Victor’s wrist to keep him from peeling the ear clean off his head.
“And if these people arrive for our friend Evan, what are you going to do?”
For a few seconds, no one said anything. Then one boy stood up. He couldn’t have been more than ten. “ Mataremos,” he said.
The other boys cheered.
Victor cupped his ear with his free hand and leaned in toward the crowd. He said something, and then everyone said in unison, “ Mataremos! ”
“Kay?” Victor said, leaning in even more.
“ MATAREMOS! ” The boys all cheered at that. Victor let go of Evan’s ear and shoved him down into his seat. Around him, the word he didn’t understand became a chant: “Ma-ta-re-mos, ma-ta-re-mos…”
For his part, Charlie looked very uncomfortable. To Evan’s silent inquiry, he replied, “It means, ‘We will kill them.’”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
