This man, Squires, was the same in that way.
For the weak, silence is among the few weapons available. Tula was using silence against Harris Squires now.
Squires tried his bad Spanish, saying, “Hear me, puta!”
He said it twice, but it didn’t cause the girl to look away from her toes, so he returned to English, his voice softer. “I saw you, chula -you know that. I saw you sitting alone in a tree like a little weirdo. And you saw me.”
It was true. At first, Tula didn’t believe Squires could see her, sitting among branches, listening to owls, but then she realized he could. The man, after dragging the sack to the water, had leaned into the rumbling truck, then stood, holding binoculars to his eye. They weren’t normal binoculars, Tula realized, as the man turned in a circle, searching the area, and then suddenly stopped, leaning to focus on the small space she inhabited.
When the man had jogged toward her, yelling, “Who the hell are you? Stay right where you are!” Tula had dropped from the tree and run, vaulting roots, then a wire fence at the boundary of the trailer park property.
Last night, she’d slept curled up on the floor of a bathroom stall, and she had spent most of the day in hiding, too, expecting Squires to appear. Now here he was.
Yes, Squires had seen her. His binoculars allowed him to see in darkness, like a night creature. Tula had heard rumors of such devices from women who lived in widow villages, created by the government after the last revolution for wives who had lost their men. In such villages, they knew about war, and the behavior of drunken soldiers, yet it surprised Tula that a man like Squires would own such a device for he did not look like any soldier she had ever seen.
“Was Carlson with you?” Squires demanded. “You two are buddies, don’t try to deny it. The little weasel has been begging me for your mama’s phone number the last couple of days.”
Tula moved her legs, using the washcloth to hide some parts of her but to reveal others.
For a moment, Squires’s expression signaled slow confusion, then he shook it and said, “You know, I just might know where she’s living. I bet she’s got some pretty little peaches on her, too-I wouldn’t mind helping you find the lady. You want that phone number? Play your cards right, chula, I’m the man who can give you everything you want and more.”
Tula sensed that Squires was lying about knowing her mother, so she ignored him, dipped her face into the water and washed.
Her eyes were closed, but she could feel what was happening when Squires dropped to his knees. His hips were against the rim of the bathtub as he grabbed a fistful of her hair. Then the man pulled her head back, saying, “Answer me, you little brat!”
The girl opened her eyes and sat still, muscles relaxed, letting silence communicate what she wanted the man to hear. Tula waited until he finally took his hand off her.
Slowly, Squires got to his feet and backed away. “What the hell’s wrong with you? You a retard or what? You don’t look even a little bit afraid. By God, I’ll teach you! Just like I’ll teach your whore of a mama to jump, once I find her!”
Tula’s head snapped around when she heard that. Her eyes found Squires’s eyes, and she said, “Don’t talk about my mother that way. You have no right!”
That caused the man to smile, taking his time now, because he had finally won this game of silence. “See there?” he drawled. “By God, you speak the language as good as me.”
The girl said, “Why be so mean? If you know where my mother is, you should tell me. This is a chance for you to do God’s work.”
“ God’s work?” Squires said, rolling his eyes and laughing. “You’re a damn comedian. You think I keep track of every Mexican spends a few nights in this park? Besides, what do I care? Unless…” He paused to give the girl a theatrical smile. “Unless you’re willing to give me something in trade. That’s the way the world works, sis. Otherwise, why should I bother?”
Squires didn’t expect an answer, but he got one.
“Because God is watching us,” Tula told the man, looking into his face. It took a moment, but his expression changed, which pleased the girl. “The goodness of God is in you,” she continued. “Do you remember how you felt as a child, full of love and kindness? God is still there, alive in your heart. Why do you fight Him so?”
Squires made a groaning, impatient noise. “You got the personality of an old woman. Christ! Save your God-loves-me speeches for Sunday school.”
She could feel his anger rising again, and she knew she had to do something because she had broken the silence that protected her. Perhaps she had ruined the spell she was attempting as well.
Tula folded the washcloth, put her hands on the rim of the tub and got to her feet, water dripping. As she did, she looked into the fog that covered the man’s eyes.
The man was a foot and a half taller than her, two hundred pounds heavier, but her confidence was returning as she cupped the jade amulet and the medallion in her right hand.
Then, closing her eyes, speaking softly in English, Tula began repeating the phrase that had comforted her these last few weeks, three thousand miles riding atop freight trains, in the trailers of eighteen-wheelers, dodging Federales who would have jailed her and the coyote gangsters who could have robbed and raped her.
As if praying, she chanted, “I am not afraid. I was born to do this. I am not afraid. I was born to battle evil, to smite the devil down. I am not afraid. I was born to do this…”
They were the words of her patron saint, a powerful spirit who communicated to Tula through the medallion she wore. The saint had died as a young woman, burned at the stake, yet she still came to Tula, sometimes at night in the form of visions, and during the day as a voice that was strong in Tula’s head. The voice seemed to come to Tula from distant stars and from across the sea, where, long ago, a brave girl had put her trust in God and changed the world.
If the Maiden could vanquish the English from France, certainly, with the Maiden’s help, Tula could now vanquish this mean, weak man from her bathroom.
As Tula prayed, Squires made a sour face. “You was born to do what ? You was born to be a pain in the ass, that’s what I think.”
He could feel the heat rising, no longer seeing an adolescent girl standing naked before him but imagining her talking to police, telling them about what she’d seen him do last night.
Squires grabbed the girl’s arm and gave her a shake. “Get your duds on. You want to see your mama? We’ll get in my truck and go see her now.”
The man was lying again. Tula knew it. She could picture herself in the man’s vehicle, the two of them parked in some dark place where no one would hear her screams.
Tula switched to Quiche Mayan and continued chanting, “I was born to do this… I am not afraid… I was born to battle evil and smite the devil down…,” as the man shook her so hard that her head snapped back, and then said, “Now! Let’s go! Stop your goddamn jabbering and-”
He didn’t finish. Squires’s words were interrupted by a wild, wailing scream, and he let go of the girl’s arms.
The man turned toward the sound, listening, then said to Tula as he went to the door, “I ain’t done with you, chula. Don’t you go nowhere!”
The screams came from a person who was terrified and in pain, the voice unrecognizable. But Tula knew instantly who the person was-it was Carlson, the old drunk with the good heart. The girl didn’t understand how she knew such things but she did.
Without toweling herself dry, Tula pulled on her jeans, a baggy T-shirt and stepped into her sandals. On the kitchen table, among mole sauce, sodden nachos and an ashtray, was a bottle of tequila. She grabbed the bottle, hesitated, found a flashlight, too, then stuffed a kitchen towel into the back of her pants and went running out the door.