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Three days pass. Lourdes musses her filthy hair, trying to blend in with the homeless and not get singled out by police. She prays to God to put someone before her, to show her the way. Whom can she reach out to for help? Starved, she starts walking. East of downtown, Lourdes spots a small factory. On the loading dock, under a gray tin roof, women sort red and green tomatoes. She begs for work. As she puts tomatoes into boxes, she hallucinates that she is slicing open a juicy one and sprinkling it with salt. The boss pays her $14 for two
hours' work. Lourdes's brother has a friend in Los Angeles who helps Lourdes get a fake Social Security card and a job.
She moves in with a Beverly Hills couple to take care of their three-year-old daughter. Their spacious home has carpet on the floors and mahogany panels on the walls. Her
employers are kind. They pay her $125 a week. She gets nights and weekends off. Maybe, Lourdes tells herself
– if she stays long enough – they will help her become legal.
Every morning as the couple leave for work, the little girl cries for her mother. Lourdes feeds her breakfast and thinks of Enrique and Belky. She asks herself:
"Do my children cry like this? I'm giving this girl food instead of feeding my own
children." To get the girl to eat, Lourdes pretends the spoon is an airplane. But each time the spoon lands in the
girl's mouth, Lourdes is filled with sadness.
In the afternoon, after the girl comes home from pre-kindergarten class, they thumb through picture books and play. The girl, so close to
Enrique's age, is a constant reminder of her son. Many afternoons, Lourdes cannot contain her grief. She gives the girl a toy and dashes into the kitchen. There, out of sight, tears flow. After seven months, she cannot take it. She quits and moves to a
friend's place in Long Beach.
Boxes arrive in Tegucigalpa bearing clothes, shoes, toy cars, a Robocop doll, a television. Lourdes writes: Do they like the things she is sending? She tells Enrique to behave, to study hard. She has hopes for him: graduation from high school, a white-collar job, maybe as an engineer. She pictures her son working in a crisp shirt and shiny shoes. She says she loves him.
Enrique asks about his mother. "She'll be home soon," his grandmother assures him.
"Don't worry. She'll be back."
But his mother does not come. Her disappearance is incomprehensible. Enrique's bewilderment turns to confusion and then to adolescent anger.
When Enrique is seven, his father brings a woman home. To her, Enrique is an economic burden. One morning, she spills hot cocoa and burns him. His father throws her out. But their separation is brief.
"Mom," Enrique's father tells the grandmother, "I can't think of anyone but that woman."
Enrique's father bathes, dresses, splashes on cologne, and follows her. Enrique tags along and begs to stay with him. But his father tells him to go back to his grandmother.
His father begins a new family. Enrique sees him rarely, usually by chance. In time,
Enrique's love turns to contempt. "He doesn't love me. He loves the children he has with his wife," he tells
Belky. "I don't have a dad."
His father notices. "He looks at me as if he wasn't my son, as if he wants to strangle me," he tells
Enrique's grandmother. Most of the blame, his father decides, belongs to Enrique's mother.
"She is the one who promised to come back."
For Belky, their mother's disappearance is just as distressing. She lives with Aunt Rosa Amalia, one of her
mother's sisters. On Mother's Day, Belky struggles through a celebration at school. That night she cries quietly, alone in her room. Then she scolds herself. She should thank her mother for leaving; without the money she sends for books and uniforms, Belky could not even attend school. She reminds herself of all the other things her mother ships south: Reebok tennis shoes, black sandals, the yellow bear and pink puppy stuffed toys on her bed. She commiserates with a friend whose mother has also left. They console each other. They know a girl whose mother died of a heart attack. At least, they say, ours are alive.
Excerpted from Enrique's Journey by Sonia Nazario Copyright © 2006 by Sonia Nazario. Excerpted by permission of Random House, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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