The Battered Heiress Blues - By Laurie Van Dermark Page 0,23

to my office demanding to know their whereabouts. I dishonestly told him that I wasn’t aware of where they had gone and suggested that maybe Maria had taken the children to see her sister in the mountains. He threatened me, saying that if I had any part in him losing his children, that he would be back to take mine from me. I was thirty-four weeks pregnant at the time.

At first, I didn’t take his threats seriously. However, later in the week, I began to notice that he was following me to and from the mission. I asked Father John if he knew of two men that I could hire to escort me from my quinta to the church each day, until Hector found a new hobby. Juan and Miguel shadowed me for the better part of a month. This show of force seemed to have detoured retribution, scaring him off. Hector seemed to have moved on and was no longer visible in the community.

Our paths crossed again during the Feast celebration of Saint Anthony of Padua. People had lined the streets for the procession of the sacred statue. Many of the children had gathered around me as we sat, waiting for it to pass, enjoying candied apples. A pick up truck with men in the back crept by our location. I saw Hector’s face for the first time in weeks. He looked at me with contempt and slowly drew his finger across his neck and repeated the gesture across his waist. I lost my breath. Some of the people saw his warning and ran to the church to get Father John, who came immediately. He insisted that I move into the dorms at the mission until Hector could be apprehended.

I filed a complaint with the police, but Hector once again disappeared. The following week was my 35th birthday. The traditional celebration of being woken up to Mariachi music at midnight took place. They led me down from my bedroom to the mission courtyard where everyone was gathered under a canopy of strung lights. I had made many friends over the months and we enjoyed a special time of fellowship, food, and dancing.

During the party, a man, who seemed out of place, caught my attention. He walked through the crowds, vanishing behind partygoers and reappearing at will. I scanned the courtyard for him, but he was gone. After my friends sang to me and I cut my birthday cake, he reappeared suddenly, pausing briefly to pull something from his pocket. He placed a black statue in my hand, closed my fingers around the object, and walked away. I didn’t understand its significance and placed it in my jacket pocket, assuming that it was a birthday present.

Later, one of the cooks saw me dump it in my suitcase, and panicked, quickly leaving the room. She returned with Father John and some of the men who inquired after the object. When they saw it lying on top of my clothes, they told me I had to leave Peru. After explaining to me that I had received a death amulet, signifying my intended murder, I became angry, knowing that Hector was behind the statue. I thanked Father for his concern and agreed to leave for Lima until the police could capture Hector. I packed my clothes and prepared to leave on the evening bus.

I was anxious to say goodbye to my friends. Most came throughout the day and wished me well. They prayed that I would have a quick return to Chimbote.

An hour before my departure, I received a correspondence from one of the families I was assisting. I had been trying to get their daughter, who was dying from cancer, into the hospice program. The note read “Cecilia will die tonight. Please come to the clinic now.” I didn’t hesitate. I searched the courtyard for Juan or Miguel, but no one was around. I waited for a short time, but decided to go on alone in order to have time to visit before my bus arrived. My pace was slow. I felt thirty-nine weeks pregnant. The streets were deserted, with the exception of my little friend Daniel. He was waiting for me outside of the mission walls.

We walked along, holding hands and laughing about the numerous dogs that had taken to following us. I stopped to buy him dinner from a street vendor, before we continued on to the clinic. We arrived, expecting to see Cecilia’s parents waiting to greet us, but