Chapter Text
November 2005. 2 pm. Sanatorio Central Hospital, Ciudad del Este, Paraguay
The waiting emergency room was very crowded that day, full of noise to his dismay. Technicians were repairing the flickering lights and the broken ceramic tiles on the floor, babies were crying, people were passing by worried about their loved ones, and med students were following their superiors around seemingly tired. It felt like it was a night shift already. 7 years already passed since Manousos Oviedo arrived in Paraguay.
7 years since his parents told everyone to exile themselves. 7 years of working hard in a Supermercado Gran Via so he could pay rent the most he could.
That morning, he woke up early, trying to do renovations in his frail apartment he had been living for a month. The previous owner forgot to do repairs, which made the small dwelling almost crumble. Due to the fact that contracting someone might exceed his strained monthly budget, he opposed the idea of asking for help. Eventually it led him to hurt himself badly. Not even the simple bandages from his first aid kit could help to stop the bleeding. To survive and live another day, he had to trust the help of doctors...even though at the end he has to pay for their work, even though there are chances for the equipment to not be properly sterilized. It's not that the young man mistrusted everyone in his new country, it was just still difficult to adapt himself there, especially in a poor area of the city, even after living there for so long. He sometimes wished he had enough money to live well in Asunción, the capital. It was either Asunción’s slums or Ciudad del Este. He chose the latter, not knowing that he'll eventually return to the capital years later.
Manousos grew up in Medellín in an economically stable household for its time, being the youngest of 7. With all the habits one can get from it, living later in a lower class had him thinking how much he had it easier back then, even though there were some things he lacked having that ended up helping him survive periods where food was scarce. But at least it felt better than being in his parents’ radar. The only things he had in mind was to be away from them and survive. But what about his goals and aspirations? Well, he once aspired to become an electrical engineer, but due to his quick exile, he had no time to save money to continue his studies.
What about his social life? Could he still live for the sake of someone? He still talked with his youngest sister once in a while via those small international phone cards that had to be scratched, and had a few people he’d comment the newspapers with. But he never reached a phase where he’d care about them. People already thought of him as rough and very blunt. He has a bad habit of not sugarcoat things when needed, which made people go away from him. Seeing all these people at the hospital that day, being worried about each other almost made him feel alienated. But he didn’t feel bad about it. His mother told him many times that he was meant to be alone.
Suddenly it started raining. Way too much than usual. He could hear the thunder roaring outside from the waiting room and then saw the paramedics coming in all wet with wounded patients completely soaked. In the meantime, towards the emergency entry, within the crowd of grown ups hurrying to save lives, was timidly walking a little girl, not older than 8 years old. Looking like she fell in a pool, she was wearing a pink shirt, long torn shorts and knockoff blue Sonic the hedgehog sandals, while carrying a big box with a solid string around her neck. Una niña de la calle. Usually, the hospital volunteers would try to kick her out, but since it was raining too hard, they let her rest inside until the storm calms down. She sat down in a corner and tried squeezing the water out of her clothes, then snoozed for a bit before immediately going back to business as usual, like nothing happened. For a living she had to sell candies. She went around the emergency room trying to sell what’s inside her box. Some people politely declined, some ignored her, and others tried to get rid of her like she was scum, but nevertheless, everyone was too busy worrying about their health or their loved ones health to care about a little street girl’s business. Who knows where the hell could these candies come from...
She kept on trying to sell until she reached Manousos’ seat. Her narrow eyes visibly showed concern of how bad the man looked. A deployment tool bag by his side, torn polo shirt, bruises everywhere, a black eye, and most importantly, a small piece of wood impaled in his left arm, with blood still dropping on the floor. She was scared, but at the same time, she felt sorry for him. She still tried to sell him candy.
“Excuse me señor, please buy some candy I got. I got lots of flavors, I got limón, maracuyá…”
“No thanks niña you can go”, interrupted quickly Manousos.
Suddenly a giant pain in his arm arrived, and he couldn’t help but grunt loudly. The temporary painkillers given to him were not working at all. The girl could notice how much he suffered. 30 seconds later, panickily without even thinking, she got one candy amongst the pile of unsold ones in her box and lend it to him
“Uh, here…you can have one for free. For the pain to go away…just take it ok?”, she said while her hand trembled waiting for the man to take it from her hand
The man stopped agitating, and looked at her, confused. Some patients were suddenly realizing that she was giving instead of selling.
“Hey, what about us? I didn’t know you can give them for free!”, shouted a teenage boy who was sitting beside his sick grandma.
The little girl startled. She gave one last look to Manousos, shook her head because of realizing her mistake, put her held candy in the bench beside the man, and went around giving candies for free. It sure did ruin her business, but it somewhat made her happy to see others feeling a bit better by consuming her product, and by extent witnessing her presence. Rare were the moments where people were nice to her, yet she also kept on thinking about how her mother would pull her hair for giving away the candy for free, which scared her a bit. She tried her best to embrace the moment, nevertheless. Manousos in another hand, did not know that a street kid could ever sacrifice their precious job over genuine worry. He would personally never do such thing, but he does at times respect people who do.
A few hours passed. It didn’t rain anymore, but it was starting to get really dark outside. After getting the medicine needed, the man headed towards the exit, but then saw in a corner the little girl, sitting pensively, thinking about how to confront her anticipatedly angry mother. He looked at her a bit, remembering her attempt at helping him, then approached her, taking a 2000 Guarani bill from his shorts’ pocket, which is approximately 30 cents USD in 2005 and gave it to her.
“For what you gave me back there”, he thanked, then left the hospital.
That was her only profit of the day.
The hospital outside felt safe despite the environment feeling tired. The overwhelming streetlights were trying their best to light up people, but a few streets away, Manousos had to feel more guarded because of the darkness and the lack of stable lights. He kept walking, noting the emptiness of what was above him. Stores closed, street vendors leaving their usual vending spot, broken magazines and food wrapping drifting away, street dogs wandering trying to find one last thing to eat before going to sleep. He used the lights of the few passing cars to guide his steps towards his apartment.
Suddenly, while waiting to cross a street, he felt a presence behind him. He turned his back and saw the little girl trying to not look at him. He assumed she was just going the same way as him, and when the lights turned green, he went on his way, ignoring her. The girl kept on following him, her home was indeed from the same direction as the man’s path and noticed his grounded yet confident walk and tried to copy it clumsily, holding her box almost empty. Maybe it would help her feel more brave at night for future days. A few meters later, the man turned around, annoyed.
“What do you want niña?”
She got taken aback. Had following him been too obvious? It was not what she wished for but she expected that he’ll eventually notice her following. The subtle safety she felt while trailing him had vanished and she had to prepare herself to continue her path alone. She replied in the bravest way she could, to not show any signs of vulnerability:
“Sorry if you thought I was following you! I was only going home! The path towards Barrio San Jose is from the left, right?!”
Too tired to scold her, the man simply nodded.
She tried to change direction, but then she heard a scream from nearby. Her feet froze. In a few meters in front of her was a panicked woman that was trying to hold her bag from a tall man with a leather jacket and tattoos who tried to steal it. These specific tattoos made the little girl realize that he was a ratero from a known street gang. She knew these people were not good to be messed around. Manousos noticed her trying to step back, squeezing her box nervously, yet her face trying to express control. He sighed roughly.
“ Follow me. Your neighborhood shouldn’t be too far from here.”
The little girl tilted her head skeptically. Despite looking annoyed and tired, his body language did not show any malicious intent behind giving the favor, not even a creepy smile, something she could easily detect after 2 years of experience on the streets. She kept on examining him, until he slowly raised his hands halfway before showing her that he wasn’t carrying nothing harmful. Her narrow eyes opened widely, thankful that she could trust him a little more. They kept on walking, while the kid was feeling more at ease and less nervous. To remember him, she tried asking for his name. Manousos did not answer. She presented herself then:
“My name is Rosi and I’m 7 years old. Thanks for helping me!”
After a few minutes, the man gave up on keeping his identity a mystery. He thought to himself that he wouldn’t see her again any other day anyway.
“Manousos. You’re welcome.”
She had a hard time pronouncing his name back, so she just called him Mancho. It bothered the man and he tried to correct her but then remembered how its helpless to educate a child like her, so he eventually gave up. To keep on conversing to ease the stress on walking at night, she pointed out his accent, being different from the one she usually hears in the streets. Looking at her box while tilting her head, she asked:
“Your Spanish is funny, where are you from?”
Sharing his name was enough, he refused to reveal more. He didn’t even tell other people he usually chatted with where his hometown was, yet they could easily tell he’s from Colombia. Thankfully Rosi was not as aware.
“How about we stop talking, we’re almost there.”, muttered the man
Rosi suddenly remembered a song her mother used to sing while cooking. Manousos had a similar accent to the singer.
“Wait, you kinda sound like Juanes! Juanes, Juanes, Juanes…now where is he from I forgot…”, she said pensively.
Manousos almost choked. How the hell does she know about him?, he thought. Still, he refused to answer her question. No one then talked for a few minutes. While waiting to cross the last street before reaching her neighborhood, Rosi leaned a bit closer to him, eyes looking disappointed.
“My mom always wanted to go to one of his concerts…”
A car passed too fast, its headlights briefly blinding them. Somewhere nearby, someone shouted obscenities, followed by laughter. Beer bottles shattering on the ground could also be heard, followed by dogs barking. When the light changed, Rosi suddenly reached without thinking for Manousos’ hand, her fingers wrapped around it the way children do when they are scared. He was the only source of safety around, yet she knew it was a bad idea.
As expected from her, the man stiffened. Bad.
First, he wasn’t a fan of physical contact with a stranger on the first day of knowing them, especially a child. Then suddenly something even more hurtful came through his mind:
When was the last time I ever purposely held someone as a kid?
He did not squeeze her hand back, but he was too shocked to remove it. The street crossing felt like a few seconds to Rosi, but to Manousos, it felt like hours. He kept on having thoughts about his past. His neglectful mother who held him indifferently, his father who kept on praising his older brother. Most of his family ignoring him because he was just a product of the deep Catholic value of having more kids. His existence did not feel desired, just how everyone would have not feel desire to help this girl go home safely if he didn’t show up. That quiet moment they had made him feel no comfort at all, instead he thought about responsibility. She was still someone’s child, and most importantly someone that needed help.
When they finished crossing, he removed his hand swiftly from her, not wanting to drag this any longer. Rosi flinched, then for a second, her chest felt tight to her surprise. Did she start trusting that stranger too much? That feeling…felt too similar to the one she remembered when her mother would at times violently reject her affection. Fortunately, she didn’t have too much time to ruminate on these feelings. She could already see her house from where she was.
“I’ll leave you alone…my house is just there”
She looked at him while trying to put on a smile, before hugging him awkwardly:
“Sleep well Mancho!”
She then ran towards a house that seemed built by amateur hands. The man observed that the lights were off. No one was waiting for her. Manousos made a small prayer that her parents would come back soon. Sleep well Mancho . That farewell echoed his mind while walking towards his home. It felt weirdly familiar. Almost like what his youngest sister would tell him when they were little. A few moments later while entering his apartment, he realized he forgot to put his watch back in his wrist since he left of the hospital. He went to look in one of his bag’s pockets. The watch was not there. He shook his head displeased. 𝘌𝘴𝘢 𝘯𝘪ñ𝘢….