Esperanza had no intention of living like her father, who lived in fear when Trujillo was alive and had been even more afraid of him since his death. She watched the unshaven men across the street through her bedroom window when her father left the house. Her father thought it was a clinic, but through the curtains, she saw that something more was going on inside that small house with the red cross painted on it. She watched Santo stand in front of the clinic smoking his cigar, wearing his pants low around his waist. She admired the way his arm muscles flexed when he pulled bloody men into the clinic. He was so very brave, she thought as she watched the chaotic streets teeming with torn limbs, children hiding under slabs of wood, trying to stop the ding in their ears from the loud gunshots, the flying dust, the burning tires that filled the streets with smoke.

At night, she listened to Los barbudos’ laughter, and the boom of their voices filled her head with dreams about their adventures around the city, maybe even around the world. She wanted to travel. The study of maps was her favorite lesson in school, as well as the stories of people who took long journeys despite the odds. She fantasized about escaping from under the eyes of her father so she could learn Santo’s name, but her father locked up the gates at night and kept the keys inside his trousers. During the day, her mother carried the keys in her housedress. Since the takeover of the presidential palace by civilians, school had been canceled. Her father insisted that they didn’t leave the house unless he could ensure that they were safe.

—I have to go to your tía’s and pick up some supplies, her mother said one day.

She handed over the keys to Esperanza. —Take care of each other.

Her mother made sure Esperanza locked the gates as she climbed into the car parked in front of the house.

—We don’t have much time, Esperanza said to her sister and ran to the mirror to fix her hair. She put some cooking oil on her lips and pinched her cheeks. She told her sister to watch her back.

—Are you crazy? Pura said. —What if something happens to you?

—Nothing will happen to me. Haven’t you noticed how tranquil the city is? Esperanza hurried across the street. There had been a cease-fire for two days, which gave the city a different kind of tension. The air was dusty, the sky a strange orange gray. Santo watched Esperanza peer into the clinic’s window.

—Can I help you? he said from behind her.

Esperanza’s eyes widened. She looked around, afraid her mother would catch her. Her sister waved for her to return from across the street.

—I have to go, she said, making sure Santo got a good look at her.

—Wait, what’s your name? he asked, wondering how old she was. At least fifteen, he hoped.