GRINGA (11 page)

             
Rosa
bares her teeth at Maria for a moment, then
appears to
remembers me. She turns to me and her smile is back. She glances at the breakfast tray
then at me.

             
‘No thanks,
Rosa
,’ I say. ‘I’m not …’

             
‘No breakfast for Senorita?’
Her breathing becomes very rapid.
  

    
             
‘Eh, no thanks. I’m not hungry.’ I was bloody starving.

    
             
Rosa
flashes Maria a I-get-what-you-say look. 

             
Maria nods
and mutters,
‘
T
old you.’

    
             
I wish they wouldn’t take a breakfast refusal so personally.

             
Rosa
suddenly grins again. ‘You from
America
, Senorita?’
she asks, handing me a cup of coffee.

    
             
‘Eh, yeah
, t
hanks.’

   
             
‘I know someone in
America
, Senorita,’ she says, her voice mounting with excitement. ‘Her name is Syyylvia.’ She stops and waits for my response.

   
             
I look up when she doesn’t continue. ‘Eh
.
..
um
...?’

    
             
‘You know her, Senorita? She got a black hair and she is eh ...’ She pauses and sticks out her elbow
s to her side, ‘but she is ver
y nice lady. She is my sister’s
…
eh ... she is my
cousin
.
My cousin, yes. S
he live in
America
and she got her own house. You know her, Senorita? You know her?’

             
‘Eh, well,
America
is ...’ I
l
ook at her cherubic, expectant face. ‘Actually
Rosa
, she sounds familiar.’ I just don’t have the heart to disappoint her.

  
             
She beams at my answer and shoots Maria a see-I-told-you-I-know-important-people-in-America look.

             
I smile at her naivety.
             

    
             
Maria
exhales loudly.
‘You know, Rosa,’ she snaps, ‘
America
is a big country and there are lot
s
of Sylvia’s
here … eh, there
. So is not possible for Senorita to know
all
the Sylvias in
America
, eh?’

             
Okay, Maria is definitely the brains in this operation.

             
She
turns to me. ‘Do you know Enrique, Senorita? He is your ...your cousin.’

  
             
Scratch that – there is no brain in this operation. Let’s get that fact out of the way. 

             
‘He has a big truck and he go to
America
all the time,’ Maria continues. ‘He make a lot of money.’ She drops her voice and leans towards me. ‘He make
...
he make a lot of money when he take people from here to America but they have to hide in the back of the truck and must be very
...’ She puts her finger to her lip and winks.

             
Ah, a people smuggler – Immigration’s favourite person.

             
‘I think I do
,’ I say. ‘S
ounds familiar
. T
hink I
have seen him on
TV
. B
order Patrol
.’

             
She beams and even
bows slightly then
looks at
Rosa
. ‘You see? My family – they are famous people. They are on TV in
America
.’

             
Wow. She got the entire sentence correct.
 

             
Rosa
mutters under her breath
then
grins again.

             
At least they’re
entertaining.   

   
             
‘Um, Maria,
do you have any clothes I can
like,
borrow? I need to shower and ...’ I gesture to my clothes. ‘I didn’t bring anything
.
’

   
             
‘Of course, Senorita!’ Maria says. ‘I’m now the Senorita of
Tana
-Mera
and I can have anything I want.’

             
Oh Yeah? What about freedom for the people of Siempre? What about my freedom? How about I pull rank and demand that?

             
‘
Senorita, we are so happy Diablo find you,’
Rosa
gushes. This time her nose lights up
– becomes red and shiny
.

             
What does she mean? And after what I saw this morning – his perverted relationship with his sister, why the hell does he need me? For appearances? 

             
I drink another cup of coffee while Maria squints at my frame.

             
‘Mmm ... I am very thin, Senorita, but I will see what you can do.’

             
She leaves the room and returns with dresses that hang on me. I assume they’re Santana’s and I don’t like the idea of wearing them, but I have no choice.

             
After a while, I leave the room to take a shower. When I re-enter
my room
, both ladies are lounging on my bed, eating my breakfast and arguing between themselves in Spanish.

             
I smile to myself.
So much for being
my
servants.

             
After they finish
every morsel of
my breakfast, they
fuss over me -
help me dress
, brush my hair then
freshen my room and bathroom. I’m really happy we’re getting along, especially since I miss Enfermera.   

    
             
At one point, during one of their many petty arguments about whether to leave the window open or not, reality hits me and I indulge in a silent pity
-
party for myself. 

             
The ladies pause with their arguing and stare at me.

             
‘
Santa Maria
!
’ Maria shrieks. ‘
Why
...
how
...
what is wrong chil
d
?
’

             
Both ladies flutter around me
.
             
‘You upset her when you ask her so many questions,
’
Rosa
shouts at Maria. ‘Now Diablo, he kill us.’

             
‘NO! I open the window that’s why,’ Maria says and shuts the window. She spins around to face me. ‘Senorita
, Rosa, she upset you .
..’

             
‘No
...
no
...
no
...’ I wipe away tears with the back of my hand. ‘Nothing to do with the window …
you
…either one
… ’

             
They exchange helpless looks.

             
‘I’m hungry, tha
t
’s why,’ Maria
says
and rubs my back. 

             
‘
Si
,’
Rosa
says, ‘you are hungry, Senorita. You mus
t
eat.’

             
Both ladies glance at the empty breakfast tray and then at each other.
Rosa
’s face turns fire
-
engine red
. Maria strategically
moves in front of the empty breakfast tray, blocking it from
my
view.  

             
‘I’m okay, I’m okay
.
’ I sniff
loudly then furiously dab my eyes.

   
             
They bring me another pot of coffee and enough chocolate biscuits to feed a small country. I nibble on a biscuit and drink another cup of
lukewarm
coffee, while they
eat the rest of the
biscuits and
finish
the coffee.

             
After that,
Rosa
massages my feet, while Maria massages my head and makes all sorts of clucking noises. I’m
just
not comfortable with the
ir pampering.

             
‘Please don’t,’ I say.