Breaking Free

Doña Fernanda Salvatierra Martinez. Hunched by the window working her little finger in her ear to loosen wax and staring out at the mango tree. Anxious because she wasn't seeing light. Something was intervening. She saw an unnatural heaviness where the brightness should have been; heard the heavy ticking of the hallway clock. Looked down at her watch. Both of them said 10 a.m. What was happening? It was morning but the dark kept on deepening. I am Chaska, Fernanda's maid. I knew it was only a horde of birds in flight above Cajamarca that clouded the sky, but Fernanda fell to her knees in prayer to Our Lady of Sorrows.

Help us Our Lady. Show us the light of the world. Open up this first day for us. The day of sun.

I read the thoughts of Fernanda. She listened for the parrot's warning but the parrot was silent. He had not called out since daybreak. Fernanda slept at daybreak, snoring in her high featherbed. Only I was up. Cleaning ever cleaning. Now that she was awake she would want me to polish the brass of her bedposts to make them shine. She was afraid of the creep of darkness, wherever it occurred. There was no restful Sunday for me. I carried the water bucket outside to the courtyard as on any other day. Fernanda watched with a critical eye. If water slopped out over the rim of the bucket onto the mats, she would be displeased.

"Stop that, Señorita," she croaked.

I tipped the water into the drain. She saw it go with a jealous look. Fernanda could not bear to witness any loss.

Because the parrot would not look at her, it brought on her frowning. When nights were fair and the parrot edged along his perch, dipped his head, winked like the stars in the sky, called out to her with a sound like the quacking of a duck, she was all smiles for the joy of the world. You could see the gleam of her gold tooth. At this moment she could imagine only sadness. She thought of her husband dead these five years, her childless state, the nieces and nephews whose existence reminded her of this, the boils on the underside of her feet, her fast-dimming eyes.

"Chaska, fetch me the coffeepot," she screeched.

Coffee to reawaken her, as though the day could begin again.

Light flooded the sky now in Cajamarca, but even so Fernanda would not be happy. The meat I bought that morning contained too much fat, the change from the vegetable market was less than it should have been. She wrung her wrinkled hands until the veins stood out like purple thread, scratched at her itching left shoulder blade where she had a triangle of rash to which I used to apply anti-irritation creams each night before she slept. She increased pressure on the boils by stamping her right foot on the ground. This caused her unnecessary discomfort. Fernanda sent me back out into the busy streets to the marketplace, where I had to ask for more money at the onion stall. The parrot watched me go and made a squawking sound. As I left the shadow of Fernanda's house I saw how clear the day had become. The sun kissed my nose, my cheeks. I would be twelve years old in three days. I hoped for many presents, I hoped for a mobile phone.

I sensed the parrot did not like me. Pedro was his name, but I never said it in my mind when I looked at him. He always squinted when I walked past as if he wasn't pleased to see me. The door of his cage was kept open and he sat outside on his wooden perch where he liked to shuffle up and down. If he caught sight of me he stopped his shuffling and went inside. I have always treated him kindly, brought nuts and seeds, and filled his water jar when it was empty. I cleaned his cage in the early mornings before Fernanda woke...