"Wheeler-LandOfFlowers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wheeler Deborah)

DEBORAH WHEELER

JAVIER, DYING IN THE LAND OF FLOWERS

THE GROUP OF NEW-HIRES crowded together on a concrete slab that had once been
part of a beachfront parking lot. Javier Gonzalez stood in front, pressing
against the chain-link fence as he squinted at the sea. Waves made horizontal
lines of light across the gray-blue water, cut by the wake of the boat from
Tierra Flores Island. Gulls wheeled overhead, screeching.

Further south, aluminum-hulled dinghies bobbed at the public pier. Illegals used
them to net croaker and sculpin, scavenger fish too polluted for the regular
markets. Behind the rows of crumbling, sunbleached hotels, enclosed pedestrian
corridors stretched from the West City mall plexes to the private filtered
bathing areas. But here on the landing, the only sunscreens were tin slats that
stank of bird shit. Strips of burning light fell across the rusting benches. The
seats had all been taken hours ago by men who didn't have jobs on the Island but
were hoping for an inside tip that might lead to one.

Some of the new-hires brought their families with them to see the Island boat
and say goodbye. Javier's mother and sister had come with him on the electric
tram from the East City barrio, but he'd already sent them back again.

Mama had pulled away from him, leaving a film of sweat where they touched. Her
eyes flashed, a ring of white around black. He wondered why she should be afraid
now. All those years, he could have run with the cartel or been gunned down by
them, or been zeroed out by drugs or lung crud. He could have blown his brains
out like so many of his friends. But he hadn't. He was clean and mostly whole
and now he'd landed a job -- a real job.

Her plastic sandals scuffing the sand-gritted concrete, his sister, Ana, had
followed Mama back into the glaring street, the baby sleeping exhausted on her
shoulder. Blood spattered its lips where it had been coughing. Ana acted as if
the baby were dead already, like the last one. Javier could feel the pain
running like a sickness in her blood. Sometimes she hurt so much it made her
crazy.

He would take care of her and the baby, too. There was no one else, not after
her husband got caught in the crossfire of a cartel raid.

Javier looked from the boat to the crumbling beach town. He imagined what it
would be like to be on that boat, coming back with cash and a second-class
citizenship. Maybe something extra, some love-gift from a rich Angla. He'd seen
how the barrio girls watched him through their eyelashes as he walked down
streets at night. His hips were hard and slim, his skin honey-gold, a little
reddish this past week as if he'd been careless enough to go out in the open
sun, which puzzled him a little. But he didn't mind. Women liked a man who lived
dangerously.