Prism - By Rachel Moschell Page 0,58

cars and war and everything you can imagine. And,” Alejo’s eyes darkened dangerously, “we also went together to play basketball at the community center, which was set up so nicely for the boys from the neighborhood by the friendly local mayor, Franco Salazar.”

Wara’s gut began to tell her this story was not going to have a pleasant ending.

“When I was thirteen,” Alejo said in a strangled voice, “Ruben told me that Salazar had been abusing him for three years. I told my parents, because I thought they would do something. My dad had a lot of influence in the community. They had a school, and three or four hundred people coming to their church. My dad even had his own radio program. I told them, thinking they would tell the police, that they would help my friend and put Salazar in jail. I was thirteen…I didn’t know what to do without their help. Well, my parents listened to me, and then they looked at each other with this look. My father told me that we had to keep this to ourselves. And, of course, my mother agreed. Biblical submission to your husband and all that.”

Alejo’s tanned face had paled in the light of the lamp, and Wara frowned deeply, scandalized. Alejo was saying the Martirs told him not to report child abuse?

“My parents told me that if we put ourselves on Salazar’s bad side,” Alejo said, “we would lose our permission to have the church in the town. And who would be the light of the gospel to the community then? They said, if they got involved in this situation, they would lose all their influence for Christ.”

A long pause and then, in a more composed voice, “One month later, Ruben ended up in a ditch, dead.” Alejo shrugged, as if all he had said were suddenly of no importance. “I went to live with my uncle, in Santa Cruz and went to a high school built by the Iranian government. Life as a pastor’s kid suddenly just didn’t seem palatable to me anymore.”

Alejo finished the last sentence of his story in a rush, and then jumped up from the bed, uncomfortable. “Whatever has happened in the past, it can’t bring back the people who died,” he was saying, knuckles white, when Wara thrust herself up on one elbow and hissed, “Not ‘people’. It wasn’t ‘people’ who died. They had names! Noah Hearst died! May have died!”

Wara ignored how Alejo looked away miserably, probably because she didn’t want to give up hope that Noah could still have survived. “They all had names,” Wara found herself rambling, while at the same time thinking about Ruben Mamani, Alejo’s little friend, thrown away like trash into the mud. By a horrible man who abused little children while pretending to be a leader who cared about the people, a benefactor. Who built a beautiful community center for desperately poor children to come play basketball, only to lure them into his clutches.

It was good he was dead.

But why couldn’t only he be dead! Wara felt like sobbing.

Now Alejo did look physically sick, and he turned towards the door as if to go, then stumbled trying to turn around to again face Wara.

“Salazar was a monster, Wara, but what I did is still wrong! I am a murderer. But I did what seemed right in the moment. I had to stop it… it was the best I could do!”

With actual tears running out of the corners of his eyes, Alejo whirled away and was at the door of their hostel room in two steps, out of it in three.

Alejo Martir had left the room crying.

Wara covered her head with the blanket and cried too, for Noah.

And maybe for Ruben.

20

red white and blue

SOMETIME WHILE ALEJO WAS STILL UP ON THE ROOF, Wara fell asleep under the faded sheets and heavy blanket. She was startled, when her eyes cracked open, to see that the hostel room was filled with gray light, filtering through the sheer fabric of the cream curtains. A few fiery rays of sun poked out from behind a tall red brick building.

It was morning.

Wara jerked into a sitting position, flipping her gaze over to Alejo’s bed, half-expecting it to still be empty. His body was tucked under the covers, however, back towards Wara. At the sound of Wara’s movement, Alejo inhaled sharply and shot up on one elbow, rolling over onto his back at lightning speed.

He seemed relieved to see it was only her. Alejo