The Sunflower: A Novel by Richard Paul Evans Page B

girl.”
    “He’ll bite your finger,” Pablo said.
    She jerked back her hand. “Are you kidding?”
    Pablo said to the man holding the bird, “Carlos. Muéstrale tu dedo.”
    Without looking at them, he raised a scarred finger.
    “Thanks for the warning,” Christine said.
    Just then, on the other side of the courtyard, Paul emerged from a room, picked up one of the box lunches, then sat alone on the stairs opposite them. Both women watched him.
    “Wouldn’t throw him out of bed for eating crackers,” Jessica said.
    “Quit ogling,” Christine said.
    Jessica said, “Let’s go talk to him.”
    Christine glanced at him again. He met her gaze and she quickly turned away.
    “Okay.”
    Taking their lunches with them, they crossed the courtyard. Paul looked up as they neared.
    “Mind if we join you?”
    He smiled, “Of course not.” He slid over to the side of the stair. Jessica sat closest to him while Christine sat three steps below.
    “How’s the painting coming?”
    “It’s coming,” Jessica said. “How long has this place been an orphanage?”
    “About six years.”
    “How long have you been here?”
    His forehead wrinkled with thought. “Maybe four years.”
    “You don’t know?”
    He shook his head, “I guess the country’s rubbing off on me.”
    “How’s that?” Christine asked.
    “Time’s different down here. Back in the states I planned my day in fifteen-minute increments. Here, months go by without so much as a nod.”
    “Sounds nice,” Jessica said.
    “It kind of is,” he replied.
    Christine asked, “Where do the children here come from?”
    “Mostly from the police. They pick them up off the street.”
    “How many children do you have?”
    “Right now we have twelve boys.”
    “No girls?” Jessica asked.
    “One.”
    “Why only one?”
    “They’re harder to find. The girls don’t usually stay on the street as long as the boys.”
    “Why is that?”
    He hesitated. “They’re sold into prostitution.”
    Christine shook her head. “Is something being done about it?”
    “The government is trying to strengthen the laws. We’re trying to bring in more of them. But we’re probably going to have to get a place for just the girls. We had a half-dozen girls here at one time, but it didn’t work out.”
    “Why?”
    “They kept selling themselves to the boys.”
    “Selling themselves?”
    “For a sol.”
    “A sol?” Jessica said. “Isn’t that like thirty cents?”
    “Everything’s cheap here,” Paul said grimly. “So, where are you ladies from?”
    “Dayton,” Jessica said.
    “Both of you?” he asked, looking at Christine.
    Christine nodded.
    “Where are you from?” Jessica asked.
    “Minnesota. Mostly.”
    The women had finished eating. Paul finished his sandwich, then unwrapped the chocolate.
    “If you’d like, I’ll introduce you to the boys.”
    “We’d love that,” Christine said.
    They all rose, and Paul led them along the corridor to the end of the porch where it opened to a large, plain dining room. The room was fragrant from the meal underway, and a large bowl of rice steamed in the middle of a long, rectangular wooden table surrounded by eleven boys. A lanky Peruvian man with thick eyebrows and eyes like two briquettes of coal stood next to a glowing hot plate on the other side of the room stirring a pot of greens. He glanced up at Paul but didn’t say anything.
    “Buenas tardes,” Paul said.
    The boys all turned from the food.
    “Oye, Paul.”
    “Todavía vamos a tener la fiesta?” Are we still having our party?
    “Por supuesto. Mañana,” Paul said. Of course. Tomorrow.
    He turned back to the women. “This is the family,” he said proudly. Starting at the head of the table and moving counterclockwise, he named each boy. “That’s René, Carlos, Washington, Gordon, Samuel, Ronal, Oscar, Jorge, Joe, Deyvis, and Juan Carlos. And that’s Richard, our cook. He’s new here.”
    “Does your help live here too?” Jessica