Chapter Nine

Susan picked the last few steps across the rocky ground to her shack and plopped down on the rough-hewn bench with a grunt. She swung the heavy burlap sack off her shoulders and started to unlace her boots. She still had her old loafers and work shoes; even those impractical heels were still in the crate labeled "El Tropicano." But three months of living in a shack four miles from the power plant where she worked had quickly proven the impracticality of anything but sturdy hiking boots.

She winced as she grabbed the first one by the toe and heel and slowly worked it off. The bandage on her blistered sole had come loose and curled up again, and she gingerly unpeeled and reapplied it before removing the other boot.

At last unencumbered, she leaned back against the wall of the shack and stretched out her legs, wiggling her toes with a sigh of relief. "Ah, my aching feet!" she groaned.

"Hola," called Rogelio as he popped his head around the edge of the door. "I saw you come home with a full pack. Have anything to trade?"

"Sure, Rogelio, come on in. Just steer clear of the boots for your own safety."

Rogelio sat on the bench next to her and plopped a bag of his own on the table. He reached in and pulled out a couple of pineapples. "I did a little trading before I got here," he said.

"These look wonderful," she said, hefting one in her hand. She pulled on one of its leaves, which snapped away easily. "Ripe, too."

"And, of course, the usual corn. Que tienes usted?"

"What do I always have? Fish," she said. "Sandrine's husband caught a hundred-pound swordfish yesterday, and they let him keep half of it. Of course she couldn't use it all, so she gave some to me. There's so much we're all going to have to eat fish tonight, or it will go bad."

She pulled the white-wrapped package out of her backpack and tossed it on the table. Rogelio whistled as he hefted it. "You weren't kidding," he said. "Must be ten pounds here."

Susan stood and hobbled over to the where cooking utensils hung from a ceiling beam, keeping the weight off the sore ball of her foot. She took down a large cookpot and a knife. "I think I'll start it marinating in pineapple juice. You want to go tell everyone else and start a fire?"

"No problemo," said Rogelio, getting up. He hesitated, though, as the first heavy drops of rain began to ping off the tin roof. They shared an anxious look as the tempo started to quicken. Rogelio poked his head outside and looked out to the northeast, across the heaving, slate-gray sea. "No fire tonight, I'm afraid," he said. "It looks like a bad one."

Susan's face turned ashen as she looked out the door at the approaching clouds. Wordlessly she sank down on the makeshift bed that sat against the back wall of the hut, and buried her face in her hands.

"Susan, que pasa?" Rogelio asked, moving to her side. "Por que usted lloran? It's just rain."

"It's not just the rain," she said, her voice turning angry. "I've been living here three months, and I thought it would get easier. But it hasn't."

Rogelio sat next to her on the bed and listened as she poured her heart out. "I mean, I knew it wouldn't be like before, it wouldn't be that easy. But I thought I'd get used to it. And I've tried! I really have. I used to eat half my meals in the restaurant. Now I can do wonders with papayas and I grind cornmeal so fine you can see light through my tortillas. But then something like this happens. My friend gives us some wonderful fish, and we can't even cook it, because we live in a STUPID SHACK!" She snatched the package from the nearby table and heaved it across the room, where it hit the corrugated tin wall with a crash, and plopped to the dirt.

She collapsed on the bed again, great heaving sobs breaking out of her throat. Rogelio put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Rich is out there working hard for you," he reassured her. "Cada dia, he goes to the clinic, the cigar factory, the police station, even el palacio, looking for work that would get him out of the fields and you into an apartment. But you know that there is none to be found."

"I used to think I was in control of my life," she sobbed. "Now I feel like my life is controlling me. Like I'm just a pawn in some huge game, played by someone who gets amusement from watching my misfortune!"

"There, there, chica..." She turned into his shoulder, her hot tears falling as hard and fast as the rain hammering on the roof. Surprised, Rogelio hesitated for a heartbeat, then gingerly wrapped his arms around her.

Suddenly, the door slammed open, and Rich dashed inside, drenched head to foot. Rogelio hurriedly let go of Susan and stood up, taking a self-conscious step away from her.

But Rich seemed to take no notice. "I'm glad you're both here," he said. "Pack up your things, we have to get out. The workers are on the way. They're going to demolish the camp."

To Be Continued