The Girl in the Glass

She smiled as she removed the hat and handed it to me. Her hair, now unbraided, blew wild in the wind, and I couldn't stop staring long enough to take the hat from her. She reached over and placed it on my head.

"It looks better on you than on el gigante," she said.

"Antony? You saw him?"

"From the upstairs window. I watched the whole thing."

"I have one question," I said. "Why are you helping us?"

"Not us," she said. "You. We Hindus have to stick together."

"You were never convinced, even for a second, by my turban?"

She shook her head.

"When did you come north?" I asked.

"'In twenty-four," she said. "I was eight."

"The big year," I said. "Me too, but I was nine."

"We got on a bus in Ciudad Juбrez," she said, "and it took us to California. My parents went to work in Parks's orchard out there. I was sent to the mansion to work in the kitchen. My mother died of typhoid. My father was eventually repatriated. I was lucky, I suppose. When Parks moved here from California, I was brought along."

The moonlight illuminated her face, and I could see the sadness in it. "їY tъ?" she asked.

"We lived in Mexico City, and my family survived the worst of the struggle-the shelling, Zapata's siege of the city, all of it. Just when it seemed that things were looking up, my father was caught in an exchange of gunfire between Zapatistas and Carranza's soldiers. He was on his way to the market."

"How old were you?" she asked.

"Four. Later, when the border opened in twenty-four, my mother took me and my older brother, Hernando, and we fled."

"You pick crops?" asked Isabel.

"No," I said. "My mother wanted to go east, to New York."

"їPor quй aquн?"

"She heard farm labor was bad, that factory work was better. We got a small apartment in a building on the East Side, no heat, and we had to boil the water that came from the pipes. We were only there for a month before she didn't return from work one day. No one knew what happened to her. She just never came back."

"You must have been scared," she said.

"My brother and I were evicted and roamed the streets, eating out of garbage pails and scrounging leftovers from the back doors of restaurants, begging change."

She put her hand out and lightly touched the side of my face. "And the handsome man with the mustache?"

"He found me in the street, unconscious," I told her. "I'd been separated from Hernando, and I couldn't survive without him. I passed out in the gutter one night, and Schell just happened to be in the city on a job. He took me home and raised me."

"Un milagro," she said.

I nodded, clearing my eyes. It had been so long since I'd allowed myself to think about the past. All of the considerable effort put toward my studies had been an attempt to erase it. Sitting close to Isabel made the early days return, vivid and full of life, as if my memory was a room full of butterflies.

LIKE A GHOST

Your English is perfect," she said.

"Better than my swami?"

She laughed. "Me da problemas."

"You do well," I said. "I had private tutors. They came five days a week. Schell told me if I wanted to succeed here, I needed to get so good at the language that I could convince people that night was day."

"And that's your life now," she said.

I nodded, lifting the hat off my head.

"What's your name?" she asked.

I told her.

"Siйntate a mi lado, and we'll watch the water," she said, patting the air beside her.

I moved closer to her and turned to look out over the sound. Her hair lightly whipped across my face, carrying the vague scent of some spice. Leaning back, arms behind me and fingers braced against the rock surface, our shoulders touching, I was in a daze. My head swam, I felt weak and there was a nervous energy in my chest. We sat for some time in silence, and then she leaned against me.

"Parks is sending me back to Mexico in the spring," she said. "The only reason he's waiting is that he doesn't want to train someone new during the holidays."

"Why?" I asked, sitting forward and slipping my arm lightly around her shoulders.

"His friends have told him it's not right to have a Mexican working for him. You know, La Depresiуn, the repatriation…"

I wanted to say something to comfort her, but all I could offer was silence and a firmer grip.

"It's fine," she said. "I want to go back and find my father."

"In twenty-four they invited us to come, because they needed us. Now we're vermin."

"Un paнs desconocido," she said and shook her head.

We sat very still then, watching the water and the moonlight upon it. Eventually I remembered Antony and the promise I'd made to be back within an hour. Saying nothing, I turned, kissed Isabel on the cheek and got up. She took hold of my shirt before I could rise, though, and pulled me close to her, kissing me quickly on the lips. In that moment, I realized I had fallen in love.

When I stood, I nearly toppled off the boulder and had to scrabble for a moment to right myself. She laughed. "I want to stay, but I can't," I told her.

"I'll call you," she said.

"I'll come," I promised as I stepped down onto the beach. Filled with a new kind of energy, I sprinted for a distance. Then missing her already, I turned for one more glimpse. I sca

I began to walk quickly, hoping I hadn't kept Antony waiting too long. A bank of clouds moved in, obscuring the light of the moon. My thoughts were still with Isabel, and memories of our street in Mexico City mingled with my image of her. I trudged along, awake but dreaming, until I heard a voice.

I started and looked toward the water's edge. There, I saw a cigarette ash go red hot for an instant, and I realized I was not alone on the beach. I stopped walking and listened. There were four or five shadows moving, gathered around the larger shadow of what appeared to be a boat pulled up on the shore. The sound of voices came more clearly to me now. I stayed very still, hoping they hadn't seen me.

Who they were, I had no idea, but I was certain I didn't want to be discovered. In a moment, my elation over having kissed Isabel gave way to fear. I thought if I stepped carefully, making as little noise on the rocks as possible, I could get past them without their noticing me. After no more than ten steps, though, the moonlight found a break in the cloud cover and bathed the beach in its glow. I panicked and began to run, and the moment they heard my shoes on the stones, I heard one of them whisper, "Over there, get him."

I broke into a full sprint, and above the sound of my own pounding heart, heavy breathing, and footfalls, I heard my pursuers close behind me. There was no time to turn and see who was following, but from the sound of it, I surmised there were at least two of them, maybe three. Now that I had been spotted, I hoped the moon would continue to shine, as I could not spare an instant trying to locate the stairway leading to my rendezvous with Antony.

I ran like a rabbit, spurred on by fear, for at least five full minutes before I began to weaken. My legs cramped, there was a pain in my side, and I gasped for air, but I pushed on as they closed the gap afforded by my head start. Then I saw ahead, along the shore, the outline of the white buoy I had noted earlier. With a quick cut, I turned in toward the cliffs, searching frantically for the stairway.

For a few moments, I ran with no destination in sight, merely guided by faith that I would find my escape route. Another cloud covered the moon, and the beach was again plunged in darkness. Almost at the last moment, I saw the steps ru