Free Chango's Fire by Ernesto Quinonez

pleads. Of course I stop.
    â€œI knew it, I knew it,” I say, “you needed something else, I knew it. I’m not going to pay to have that girl’s thing done.”
    â€œSo you’d rather have her beaten up by her husband or killed by her father? Look, this girl came to me for help. I’m trying to help her.”
    â€œDid you ever think Maritza that you can’t always help people? That sometimes it’s better to just let things happen.”
    â€œNo it’s not.”
    â€œI can’t believe you, I’ve known you all my life, and you still surprise me. I can’t believe you.”
    â€œI have a scared girl in there who made a mistake! I need your credit card!” She is already losing her patience with me, as if I am the one who is responsible for all of this.
    â€œMaritza, I’m not the guy who did this to her, and I’m sure that the guy she is marrying is also a new immigrant, cuz Nuyoricans aren’t into this virgin bullshit. We like our women whether they are pushing strollers or not. Look at Zulma, she has like four kids, but she still looks good and all these men want to marry her. So it’s not only my problem it’s not even my people’s problem.”
    â€œWell, for your information, the guy she is marrying is Puerto Rican.”
    â€œYeah, from the island, right? That’s different, they buy into this marrying-a-virgin shit. They think their wives should be pure like sugar or something, like their mother, or some—”
    â€œI’ll pay you back!” She yells in annoyance at my rattling. For a split second only the sounds of sirens and cars passing us by can be heard.
    â€œI’ll pay you back,” she says calmly. “If I could put it on my card, I would.” And she stares at me like she has hypnotic powers.
    â€œAren’t you against all of this?” I say, calming down a bit and shaking my head slowly. “Isn’t this something that you speak out against in your church?”
    â€œYes, of course it is, stupid. God you’re so stupid, Julio,” she says, “of course it is, this is female genital mutilation. Of course I’m against it. It’s really about control over women. But right now, I have a scared girl who if she doesn’t bleed on her wedding night is going to get the shit beaten out of her.”
    â€œAt times I don’t get you, Mari,” I say defeated, “I don’t, but all right, all right how much?”
    â€œTwo …”
    â€œYeah, two? Two what? Two hundred?”
    â€œTwo … Two thousand.”
    â€œTwo thousand! You bugging, girl!” I can’t max out my card, two thousand, I have a mortgage to keep, tuition, books, my parents.
    â€œWait, wait, wait,” she holds my arm, “I have three hundred and she has six, so you will only be paying eleven. I’ll pay you back.”
    I stare at her. Her face is lit by a lamppost on the corner. I once dreamed of wanting to know how Maritza’s face looks in the dark. When you turn off the lights and your eyes have begun to adjust and all things take on new shades and different hues. I used to think maybe one night I’d wake up for no reason and she’d be next to me and I’d get to see that image in real life. But then I got kicked around by her so much that I realized that she was more like a big sister slapping her little brother around.
    â€œYou’ll pay me back?” I say knowing she will not, she can’t, like many do-gooders, Maritza is always broke.
    â€œYes, I’ll pay you back now let’s go.”
    â€œHow about giving Trompo Loco a job at your church,” I say. Maritza looks at me like I’m insane.
    â€œFine, but I can’t pay him—”
    â€œNo, you pay him what you owe me. You just let him do stuff—”
    â€œWhatever, okay. Trompo can clean up and shit, let’s just go back inside.”
    We walk back in