Why did she fall in love with him so swiftly, so totally? She didn’t even like him at first, the cynical twist to his humor, the way his eyes narrowed and stared when she was saying something that all of a sudden in his presence seemed fatuous, naive. But that was it. He was a challenge, difficult, and she won him in spite of himself. Oh God, this is even worse than she thought.
Later she slips into bed beside Magdalena in the tiny immaculate room that the only daughter in the house has to herself. Magdalena is already asleep, and her perfume, sweet and pungent like gardenias, is on the pillow. For a long time Kate stares at the car lights flickering against the shade. She has been rescued, snatched up from trouble. She is safe and warm, but she doesn’t deserve to be, she knows. She thinks of the smoke she saw this morning when they passed the slums of the barriadas, curling up black and ugly into the sky. It was a signal, an SOS sent to God. They all need help.
C
hapter Nineteen
Wednesday, July 1, 1964
Kate awakes to the sight of Magdalena examining her habit, the blood stains fainter now but still visible. The girl turns and sees Kate watching her. “Buenos días, sleepy-head. I thought you would never wake up.”
Kate looks at the window. It is still dark. Magdalena is putting on her makeup, and Kate notices how lovely she’s become since she’d left them in Juliaca.
“Mami tried to get all the spots out of your habit, but I’m afraid there are still some stains. But at least you won’t look disreputable when the nuns see you.” Magdalena is wearing a navy blue skirt and white blouse, and her high heels click against the wood floor as she passes back and forth across the room.
“Magdalena, have you been seeing anyone since you’ve been out of the convent?” Kate can’t imagine that the men of Lima would not have noticed her.
“If you mean am I seeing a man, the answer is no,” and she makes a face. “I am in no hurry to get mixed up with most of the men I meet. The good ones always seem to be married or unavailable for some reason.” She looks at Kate, and there is a long pause. Kate says nothing. After a minute, Magdalena grabs her jacket and stands in the door. “I’ll leave you in peace to get dressed now. Then we’ll catch the bus to Balconcillo.”
Kate crosses the room and takes her hand, “You have been so kind, all of you. I can never thank you for this. But I don’t need you to go with me today. You have to go to work, and I’ll be fine if someone will just put me on the right bus. Really. I mean it.”
Magdalena looks at her for a minute and then nods.
When Kate comes into the kitchen dressed in her habit, Chabelo embraces her, holding her to her warm breast. Picking up the hem of Kate’s habit, she looks critically at her cleaning efforts for a minute. “Bueno, it will have to do. At least it looks a lot cleaner than it did last night. How did you sleep, my dear?”
Kate embraces the woman again and feels her springy hair on her face. “I slept like a baby. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”
“I am happy to have you. Maggie has told us how kind you were to her when she was still in the convent, up in that terrible place. I was so worried about her. She was flaca when she came back, but we are fattening her up now.”
“She looks wonderful,” Kate smiles at them.
“Now sit down and have your breakfast. There are fresh rolls, oranges, grapefruit, mangos, and some nice hot coffee. The boys have already eaten and gone, so we have a little peace and quiet.”
Cristobal enters, and Chabelo lifts her face to her husband’s kiss. He sits at the table, his newspaper folded neatly in front of him. Kate sees that his eyes are laughing as he looks her over, and she feels shy suddenly as she remembers how he carried her up the steps in his arms.
“And how did you wake up this morning, little sister?”
He motions toward her arm, and she pushes up the sleeve of her habit and pulls back the bandage. The cut is still raw. He nods toward his wife to take a look, and Chabelo holds Kate’s arm up, examining the cut. Then she brings a bowl of some brownish red mixture and begins to apply it gently to the wound.
“What is that?” Kate feels the coolness on her arm.
“Oh, these are remedies I learned about from my mother and grandmother. This is a mixture of malva and aloe. It soothes the wound and takes away the sting. It helps the flesh to heal. But you may always have the scar.” Her brown eyes stare into Kate’s, and then she adds, “Such a shame to have a scar on your pretty arm. What will your mother say?”
Kate’s stomach lurches as she thinks of her parents. During the attack she remembers crying out “Mother, Mother.” Whom had she been
