Dance Lest We All Fall Down - Margaret Willson [37]
Andrea threw her arms around me and burst into tears. Luzia looked over Andrea’s head at me, then came and cuddled her from the other side. We waited for her sobs to subside.
“My father,” Andrea said. “He beat me—again!” She held up her bruised arms for us to see.
“Oh dear.” Luzia sat back on the sofa.
“What about your mother?” I asked.
“She can’t do anything against him, or he’ll just beat her too! I don’t want to even tell her—she’ll just get mad at me. He hit me with his strap!” She pulled up her shirt and I saw dark welts on her skin. Luzia went to the bathroom and returned with some ointment. “Ouch, that hurts!” Andrea said. But she let Luzia rub the medicine onto her wounds. “I’m not going home,” she said. “Can I stay here?”
I cast Luzia an inquiring glance. She shrugged. “Does your mother know you’re here?”
“Yes. She said it was fine.”
We sat with Andrea for a couple of hours, until she said she was tired. She curled up on my bed and within seconds was sound asleep.
Luzia and I sat in the front room and talked about what we might make for a light supper. “Do you think her mother really knows she’s here?” Luzia asked.
“You think Andrea would lie?”
“She’s a teenager, Margaret. She probably just ran out of the house.” We sat for a few minutes. “They do have a phone, don’t they?”
“Yeah. So they can receive calls from Amsterdam.”
“Why don’t you call them. What’s her mother’s name?”
“Tatiana. All right.” I sighed heavily. “I can’t do it here though. I feel like a traitor.”
“Put yourself in Tatiana’s place.” I nodded and went outside in search of a functioning public phone.
Tatiana picked up after the first ring. “Margaret, is that you? Is Andrea with you?” Her voice cracked with fear.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, she came here this afternoon.”
“Why didn’t you ring me? Why didn’t you ring immediately? She ran away. I didn’t know. I didn’t know where she was. Someone could have kidnapped her. Why didn’t you call me?”
My stomach clenched into a ball. “Someone beat her, Tatiana.”
“Her father. Because she always wants to be out on the street now. She won’t go to school. But you should have called me.”
“Yes, I should have. I’m sorry Tatiana. It’s just—she’s all beat up.”
“You know their father, Margaret. He’s terrible.”
“Can she stay with us tonight? If I tell her to go, she’ll just stay on the street; you know that.”
Tatiana sighed. “Yes, yes. I’ll come and get her tomorrow.” There was a pause in which I could feel her embarrassment. “Ah Margaret, when I come, could you pay for our bus fare back? I’m not sure I have the money right now.”
“Of course, Tatiana.” I wiped tears from my cheeks and put down the phone.
When I got back to the apartment, Luzia had begun preparing dinner. I told her about the conversation I’d just had.
“Oh God,” Luzia said. “This is too much.” She poured water over the rice and onions she was frying. Then she looked at me with the arched eyebrow I had come to know. “What we need, Margaret, is some sex. When things get too stressful, too chaotic, that’s what can calm things down, some good sex!”
I laughed. “Oh Luzia,” I said. “You’re impossible.” I shook my head. “And wonderful.”
Luzia was an actress on stage and off, flamboyant, clever with words, expressive of face, and very sure of herself. She was tall and slender with olive skin, high cheek bones, and straight, long, chestnut-colored hair. In the United States, she would be considered incredibly beautiful. In Salvador, although her figure was too boyish to be considered traditionally attractive, she had some other quality, perhaps her complete assurance in knowing exactly what she wanted, that made her completely seductive. I always felt large and ungainly next to Luzia, and I knew my figure was considered even less perfect. Brazilian men, particularly in Bahia, appreciated large, rounded bottoms and small breasts. I had a flat bottom and fairly large breasts. Bahia women, who were always blunt about these kinds of things, often told me