The Decision

The Decision

Beth squeezed herself onto the middle seat, between two El Salvadorian women. The seat was hard and sweaty. The plastic stuck to her skirt causing her wriggle to free herself. Beth’s temporary neighbours turned away from her in remarkable, bizarre kaleidoscope of symmetry. One of the women repetitively tapped her fingers on the underside of the seat. The other played aimlessly with her hair. Their unrest seeped across the hot, sticky air and into Beth who had begun to examine her bruises. Her knee was an oozing, bright, red circle and fine red lines zigzagged across her elbow. A patch of raw, new skin was revealed on the side of her arm, the old skin dangling off, uselessly.

It could have been worse, Beth thought to herself.

The row of seats was under a make shift shelter, designed to keep the glaring sun off the waiting. The shelter overlooked a car park where a few tired vehicles stood, taking a break from their relentless patrols. A bare concrete building stood on the other side of the car park. No signs advertised its purpose. A clock hung precariously on one of the shelter’s walls. It was permanently stuck on three fifteen. Beth pretended that it was actually moving. It would have been at least four thirty by the time a scruffy man in a shirt that had seen better days and faded denim jeans came out of a metal door on the side of the building. It clanged closed behind him. The man strode across the car park and over to Beth.

“Mrs. Cole?”

Beth nodded although she was in fact only Miss Cole. She wasn’t about to correct the policeman’s English as it was far superior to her Spanish.

“Follow me, please.”  The man walked in the direction he had just come from and headed back through the metal door. Beth followed reluctantly and found herself in a sad looking room. A desk stood in the centre of the room with a couple of Manila folders scattered aimlessly across it. A filing cabinet stood abandoned in the corner, rusted shut from neglect.

On the wall, two posters displayed mug shots of El Salvador’s most dangerous. One was entitled Mara 18, the other Mara Salvatrucha. Descriptions of horrendous crimes accompanied each grainy picture and large, red writing at the bottom of the poster urged people to inform the police if they knew the whereabouts of the thugs. Beth looked at each individual photo intently. They all looked alike; with shaven hair and cold, hard eyes. Some photos had tears tattooed down their cheeks. Beth had heard that every tear represented someone they had killed.

The man spoke. “I’m Sergeant Munoz. I hope you understand my English. I am here to take your statement and your decision to press charges or not.”

“Press charges?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know what to think about it.  What do you think I should do?”

The policeman tensed his lips.” You must decide. I can’t tell you what to do.”

“Why not?”

“How do you say it … I am not at…,” Sergeant Munoz paused, “ at liberty, that’s it, to say.”

“What about age? How old is the boy?”

“I am not at liberty to say,” the policeman said slowly emphasizing each word as if he was playing with them to see how they rolled off his tongue.

“He was crying when the vigilante hand cuffed him.” Beth took a deep breath. Her face lost a little colour. “You don’t think he is a member of a gang, do you? Crying doesn’t seem like the behaviour of a gang member.”

“I can’t tell you.”

“So, you are saying that he might be in a gang?”

“No. I am not saying that. I can’t tell you anything that might, how do you say …” The sergeant scratched his head, “influence your opinion.”

Kate picked up a pen that was lying neglected on the desk and began fiddling with it. “You can’t tell my anything? But what if he is a member of Mara 18 or Mara Salvatrucha?”

“The police would protect you …” Munoz hesitated. “The best we can. Look, I see you need more time to think. Go home and ring us later when you have a decision.” The policeman scribed the number of the police station down on a scrap of paper and handed it to Beth. Beth nodded at him, got up and walked out through the metal door. She ambled through the car park and onto the busy, chaotic streets of Santa Tecla, a suburb of San Salvador. Loud Latino music blasted out of the shops that she passed. Round, middle aged women with frilly aprons around their waists called out to Beth as she passed them, offering her their wares of tomatoes, onions and bananas. Beth ignored them and stared forward until she reached her battered Mitsubishi.  She rummaged through her bag for her keys when Shakira's soothing tones sounded out from its depths.

“Mark?” Beth breathlessly gasped into her mobile phone.

“Afraid not,” Natalia’s happy voice sang out. “Are you ok? You sound a little flustered.”

“I’ve just been at the police station …”

Natalia cut in. “Oh my god, what’s happened?”

Beth told her what had happened that afternoon and the decision that was now looming.

“You are not seriously considering pressing charges, are you?” Natalia asked.

“In England, I wouldn’t think twice about pressing charges …”

“But it isn’t the same here,” Natalia concluded.

“I know but he was crying. He didn’t look like a mara.”

“Gang members don’t exactly advertise their membership. Besides, if he goes to prison, he might become a mara and then you really will have to worry.”

Beth glanced at her watch. “Natalia, I’ve got to get home. I will see you at school tomorrow. ”

“Take care, Beth. Be careful.” Natalia went silent but then muttered softly, “Please.”

The phone rang dead. Beth found her keys, struggled with the lock of her tired car and climbed into the driving seat. She crawled home in Santa Tecla's traffic, wishing that Mark was here. Why did he have to take the students hiking on the very day that I need him? Beth thought.

When Beth reached the end of her street and her local corner shop, she shuddered. I won’t be going in there again, she thought. But when she began to visualize the contents of her fridge, she realized that she was still out of milk which was essential for the copious amounts of tea she drank every day.

She parked the car on the pavement in front the shop.

“They tell people to get straight back on a horse after they fall off, well, I guess this is the same thing.” Beth said out loud to herself while clambering out of her car.

As she jumped down from the car, she noticed an abandoned cartoon lying on the floor. A white, sticky substance had formed a puddle around it. It was milk. Her milk.

Beth swung her head around several times before entering the shop. Upon seeing Beth, the shop assistant’s jaw dropped and she nudged her colleague to draw her attention to Beth.

“Está bien?”

Beth nodded. She was okay. Just. The shop assistant pointed at Beth’s bruise on her elbow and began rubbing her own elbow as if to show sympathy. Beth pointed at the bruise on her knee and the shop assistant’s face looked even more forlorn. Beth edged away from her and towards the fridge at the back of the shop where the milk was stored. At that moment, the shop’s door swung open and a distinguished middle aged man entered the shop. He wore khaki vest with bullets bulged out of its pockets. A gun was strapped onto his side.

Not now, Beth thought. What can I say to him?

The man bounded up to Beth and enthusiastically shook her hand. “You … good?”

Beth remembered the scene that had occurred earlier today. This man putting hand cuffs on a young boy with tears rolling down his cheeks. She had seen this man nearly every day for the last six months, guarding the street next to hers. Beth thought of his job title. A vigilante. She always found this amusing title for guards but he really had taken the law into his own hands this time. And he had done it for her. And he wasn’t the only one either. It had seemed like the whole street had come to her aid.

Beth smiled at him. “Muchas gracias. Thank you for todo.”

“It nothing. Happy he in jail.  Won’t hurt persons again. Not for long time,” the man replied in halting English.

Beth gulped.  They assumed that she would press charges. How could she not?

She forced her smile to get even wider and shook the man’s hand again before retrieving a cartoon of milk and paying for it. Her second one of the day.

Upon leaving the shop, Beth took big, deep breaths to fill her lungs with San Salvador’s polluted air. She climbed into her car and drove the remaining few hundred metres to her house. She got out of the car and opened her front door. Before she was safely inside the vigilante from her street called to her, “Don’t worry. I know what he looks. I watch out if comes back.”

Beth moved her head up and down, closing the door behind her and stepping into her garage. He must mean the boy who got away. The side kick. Her thoughts flashed back to the last time that she had closed her door that day. After she had taken a few steps out of the house, she had passed two boys walking in the opposite direction to her. A sinking feeling had reached her stomach. The boys shouldn’t have been there. The minute she saw them she had known they were up to no good. Worse of all, they had seen her too.  They had watched her leave her house.

“I must not think about it. It’s over,” Beth cried out loud to the empty space in her garage.
She walked over to her mail box and tugged it up. A piece of white paper fluttered to the ground. Beth picked it up.

“WE KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE.”

Beth screamed. Her scream bounced off her metal walls and came back to slap her uselessly in the face. No one was here to hear her. Mark wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. Beth looked again at the note in her hand. The message was written in coloured letters cut out from a magazine. Beth shut her eyes and visualized Mark’s return. It would be okay then.

She slowly crept to her second front door and opened it with her key and walked through her living room. She eyed the room as she walked towards her phone. Were there any differences? Was it still her home?  It felt violated somewhere.

Beth picked up her phone, pulled out the scrap of paper from her pocket and dialed. She held the phone to her ear as it crackled into life.

“Buenos tardes,” a voice called out at the other end of the line.

“Um .. Sergeant Munoz, por favor”

“Un minuto.” Beth heard a shout in Spanish and then there was an indeterminable silence at the other end of the line. Beth contemplated putting the phone down when she heard a gruff male voice, “Si.”

“Sergeant Munoz?”

“Ah… Mrs. Cole. That was quick.”

“I don’t want to press charges.  I just want to forget the whole thing.”

“Are you sure?”

Beth explained about the note and was instructed to report to the station tomorrow morning to sign the formal statement. When the police officer hung up, Beth punched a new number in the phone.

“Hey, what’s up?” A worried tone could be noticed in Natalia’s voice.

“I’m going back to the police station tomorrow morning to tell them that I am not going to press charges. Can you tell the head that I will be late and will need my classes covering until after lunch?”

“No worries. It is for the best thing to do. What made you change your mind?”

“I got a note in my mailbox. It said, 'I know where you live'.”

“That is pretty mind changing. Poor you. Do you want me to come over?” Natalia cooed.

“No. I’m just going to go to bed to try and forget about it.”

“Good idea. You know, I was thinking about what happened and it is unusual for vigilantes to get involved. They are too afraid of the repercussions.”

“Well, I kind of helped them.”

Natalia screeched down the phone. “What?”

“When that boy tried to snatch my wallet, I just kept thinking, 'It’s mine and you can’t have it'. My instincts took over.”

“Are you insane? He could have had a knife or worse.”

Beth wound the cord of the phone around her fingers. “I know all that and I know you are meant to just hand your stuff over. But I wasn’t thinking. I ended up wrestling on the ground with the boy. I wouldn’t let go off my wallet.”

“You’re mad. Don’t ever do that again.”

“It was instincts! It wasn’t planned.”

“But still …”

“I will speak to you tomorrow.” Beth cut off the connection.  I can’t handle lectures just now, she thought.

She walked to the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed. She fell into a restless, vivid sleep.

Her dreams had seemed real but they escaped her when awoke early next morning. Beth dressed for work and had a hurried bowl of cereal. She wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.  She drove to the police station and found Sergeant Munoz loitering outside, smoking a cigarette.

“Morning, Mrs. Cole. You very early” he said, shaking her hand.

“Yes. I want to get this over …” Sharika's earthy tones drowned out their conversation. Beth pulled her phone out of her bag and looked at the screen. Natalia. She can wait, Beth thought as she switched off the phone.

“Sorry about that.”
“Come on.” The policeman beckoned Beth to follow him. He led her into the room that she was in yesterday and pulled out some official looking paper work from one of the desk’s drawers. Beth spent half an hour explaining yesterday’s events in fine detail.

“Ok. All you need to do is sign here and the defendant will be released from our custody when it goes to court next week.”

  “Next week?”

“Everyone we arrest has to stay with us until they go to the court. Even if the charges are dropped.”

“You mean to say that he will spend a week in a cell for failing to steal a wallet.  You wouldn’t even get community service for that in England!”

“This isn’t England, Mrs. El Salvador is dangerous.”

Beth looked evenly at the man. She took a pen from the cluttered desk and signed the bottom of the statement with a flourish. “Can I go now?”

“Of course. Just do me a favour. Don’t go out with your wallet in your hand again. It is an invitation for trouble.”

Beth felt herself flush. “Oh, that reminds me. When will I get my wallet back?”

“Not for a couple of weeks. The wallet is, um, proof of the crime.”

Beth sighed. “That figures. Good day, Sergeant.”

Beth walked out of the room and back to her car. She had squeezed into a space in Santa Tecla’s square by parking half on the pavement.

Once in the car she turned on her mobile phone. Six missed calls. And all of them were from Natalia. What does she want? Beth thought. Surely she can’t have forgotten that I had to go to police station?

Beth switched on the ignition and drove to school anxious about the mischief that her students would have been up to in her absence.

When she arrived at school, she marched to the staffroom ignoring the shouts of a young student who was trying to get her attention. She slumped down on one of the chairs there and sucked in the air.

A few moments later, Natalia walked in. “Beth, you’re here. I was trying to ring you.”

Beth furrowed her eyebrows. “I told you I was at the police station.”

“That’s why I was trying to ring. Rob got a letter the same as yours.”

“What do you mean?” Beth asked. “It can’t be the same?”

“Big letters cut out of a women’s magazine that spell out, 'we know where you live'?”

Beth’s hand formed a fist on her forehead.. “I don’t understand.”

“Andrea and Alessandra in Year 9 have admitted to sending the notes. They were angry at you and Rob for some essay you accused them of plagiarizing.”

. “Oh God. What have I done?” Beth pulled at her hair. “I dropped the charges and now it turns out I was wrong.”

“You don’t necessarily know that. They might still be threat.” Natalia patted Beth on her shoulder. “It’s clichéd but it is better to be safe than sorry.”

“But there is right and wrong.”

Beth pulled her mobile phone out of her bag and dialed the police station.

“Sergeant Munoz, por favour.”

“Speaking? Mrs. Cole. How can I help you? No more muggings, I hope.” The policeman chuckled.

“No, I wish to change my statement.” Beth explained the news to the sergeant.

“It is impossible. Sorry. Once you sign it is fixed in, how you say …”

“Stone.” Beth's face fell. She hung up the phone.

“No luck?” Natalia questioned.

Beth shook her head.

“You have done the right thing, Beth. It is best not to get involved. Come on, we better get to class before we have a riot on our hands!”

The rest of the day passed in a blur for Beth. She went onto auto pilot. Answering her students with the answers they expected to hear, but barely registering the question they had asked.

When the bell finally released her from her apprentices, she sneaked out the back entrance of the school and back around to her car and drove home. She had had enough. All she wanted to lie down and forget today. And yesterday.

She parked outside her house and clambered out of the car, delving in her bag for her keys.

“Senorita, Senorita.” A large El Salvadorian lady threw herself sobbing at Beth’s feet.

“Muchas Gracias. Gracias a dios” Thank you. Thanks to God.

“Para que?” Beth questioned in rustic Spanish.

“Mi hijo.”

Beth looked at the older lady who was still lying at her feet on the ground. The realization sunk in. She was the boy’s mother. Beth listened as the lady explained that she was grateful to Beth for giving her boy another chance and that she would make sure that he wouldn’t do anything like that again. Beth put her arms around the lady as the tears continued rolling from her face. The woman spoke to Beth about her boy.

“Just one thing” Beth asked in Spanish. “How long would the boy have got in prison if I had pressed charges?”

“Tres años” the woman replied. “3 years.”

Beth thought of the money in the wallet he had attempted to steal. Thirty dollars.  One year of his life for ten dollars.

She smiled. She had made the right decision.