“Yes, of course you could,” Vargas told Edward Bonshaw. “You can practically walk to Cinco Señores, and La Maravilla also travels. There are occasional road trips; the kids will get to see Mexico City. Maybe you can go with them. Travel is a kind of education, isn’t it?” Dr. Vargas asked the Iowan; without waiting for an answer, Vargas turned his attention to the dump niños. “What is it you miss about the basurero?” he asked them. (Everyone who knew the niños knew how much Lupe missed the dogs, and not only Dirty White and Diablo. Brother Pepe knew it was a long walk from Lost Children to Cinco Señores.)
Lupe didn’t answer Vargas, and Juan Diego silently counted to himself — adding up the things he missed about Guerrero and the dump. The lightning-fast gecko on the shack’s screen door; the vast expanse of waste; the various ways to wake up Rivera when he was sleeping in the cab of his truck; the way Diablo could silence the barking of the other dogs; the solemn dignity of the dogs’ funeral fires in the basurero.
“Lupe misses the dogs,” Edward Bonshaw said — Lupe knew it was what Vargas had wanted the Iowan to say.
“You know what?” Vargas suddenly said, as if he’d just thought of it. “I’ll bet Soledad would let these kids sleep in the tent with the dogs. I could ask her. It wouldn’t surprise me if Soledad thought the dogs would like that, too — then everyone would be happy! Small world, sometimes,” Vargas said, shrugging again. Once more, Lupe imitated his shrug. “Does Lupe think I don’t know what she’s doing?” Vargas asked Juan Diego; both the boy and his sister shrugged.
“Children sharing a tent with dogs!” Edward Bonshaw exclaimed.
“We’ll see what Soledad says,” Vargas said to Señor Eduardo.
“I like most animals better than most people,” Lupe remarked.
“Let me guess: Lupe likes animals better than people,” Vargas told Juan Diego.
“I said most,” Lupe corrected him.
“I know Lupe hates me,” Vargas said to Juan Diego.
Listening to Lupe and Vargas bitch about each other, or to each other, Juan Diego was reminded of the mariachi bands that forced themselves on tourists in the zócalo. On weekends, there were always bands in the zócalo — including the miserable high school bands, with cheerleaders. Lupe liked pushing Juan Diego in his wheelchair through the crowds. Everyone made way for them, even the cheerleaders. “It’s like we’re famous,” Lupe said to Juan Diego.
The dump kids were famous for haunting Zaragoza Street; they became regulars there. No stupid stigmata tricks on Zaragoza Street — no one would have tipped the niños for wiping up any blood. Too much blood was routinely spilled on Zaragoza Street; wiping it up would have been a waste of time.
Along Zaragoza Street, there were always prostitutes, and the men cruising for prostitutes; in the courtyard of the Hotel Somega, Juan Diego and Lupe could watch the prostitutes and their customers come and go, but the kids never saw their mother on Zaragoza Street or in the hotel courtyard. There was no verification that Esperanza was working the street, and there may have been other guests at the Somega — people who were neither prostitutes nor their clients. Yet Rivera was not the only one the kids had heard call the Somega the “whore hotel,” and all the coming and going certainly made the hotel appear that way.
One night, when Juan Diego was wheelchair-bound, he and Lupe had followed a prostitute named Flor on Zaragoza Street; they knew the prostitute wasn’t their mother, but Flor looked a little like Esperanza from behind — Flor walked like Esperanza.
Lupe liked to make the wheelchair go fast; she would come up close to people who had their backs turned to her — they never knew the wheelchair was there until it bumped them. Juan Diego was always afraid that these people would fall backward into his lap; he would lean forward and try to touch them with his hand before the speeding wheelchair made contact. That was how he first touched Flor; he’d meant to touch one of her hands, but Flor swung her arms back and forth when she walked, and Juan Diego unintentionally touched her swaying bottom.
“Jesus Mary Joseph!” Flor exclaimed, spinning around. She was very tall; she’d been prepared to throw a punch at head level, but she found herself looking down at the boy in a wheelchair.
“It’s just me and my sister,” Juan Diego said, cringing. “We’re looking for our mother.”
“Do I look like your mother?” Flor asked. She was a transvestite prostitute. There weren’t so many transvestite prostitutes in Oaxaca in those days; Flor really stood out, and not only because she was tall. She was almost beautiful; what was beautiful about her truly wasn’t affected by the softest-looking trace of a mustache on her upper lip, though Lupe noticed it.
“You look like our mom, a little,” Juan Diego answered Flor. “You’re both very pretty.”
“Flor’s a lot bigger, and there’s the you-know-what,” Lupe said, passing her finger over her upper lip. There was no need for Juan Diego to translate this.
“You kids shouldn’t be here,” Flor told them. “You should be in bed.”
“Our mother’s name is Esperanza,” Juan Diego said. “Maybe you’ve seen her here — maybe you know her.”
“I know Esperanza,” Flor told them. “But I don’t see her around here. I see you around here, all the time,” she told the kids.
“Maybe our mom is the most popular of all the prostitutes,” Lupe said. “Maybe she never leaves the Hotel Somega — the men just come to her.” But Juan Diego didn’t translate this.
“Whatever she’s babbling about, I can tell you one true thing,” Flor said. “Everybody who’s ever been here has been seen—I can promise you that. Maybe your mother hasn’t been here at all; maybe you kids should just go to sleep.”
“Flor knows a lot about the circus — it’s on her mind,” Lupe said. “Go on — ask her about it.”
“We have an offer from La Maravilla — just a sideshow act,” Juan Diego said. “We would have our own tent, but we would share it with the dogs — they’re trained dogs, very smart. I don’t suppose you see any circus people, do you?” the boy asked.
“I don’t do dwarfs. You have to draw the line somewhere,” Flor told them. “The dwarfs have an unreasonable interest in me — they’re all over me,” she said.
“I won’t be able to sleep tonight,” Lupe told Juan Diego. “The thought of dwarfs all over Flor will keep me awake.”
“You told me to ask her. I won’t be able to sleep, either,” Juan Diego said to his sister.
“Ask Flor if she knows Soledad,” Lupe said.
“Maybe we don’t want to know,” Juan Diego said, but he asked Flor what she knew about the lion tamer’s wife.
“She’s a lonely, unhappy woman,” Flor answered. “Her husband is a pig. In his case, I’m on the lions’ side,” she said.
“I guess you don’t do lion tamers, either,” Juan Diego said.
“Not that one, chico,” Flor said. “Aren’t you Niños Perdidos kids? Doesn’t your mother work there? Why would you move into a tent with dogs if you don’t have to?”
Lupe began to recite a list of reasons. “One: love of dogs,” she started. “Two: to be stars — in a circus, we might be famous. Three: because the parrot man will come visit us, and our future—” She stopped for a second. “His future, anyway,” Lupe said, pointing to her brother. “His future is in the parrot man’s hands — I just know it is, circus or no circus.”