Page 33 of Counting Backwards

Dustin repeated the question, and Jacinta shook her head.

“Ellossolo meponenadormir,”she said, then she made a motion to mimic a mask being placed over her nose.

“Nothing. They just put her under.” Dustin’s voice was so quiet it was nearly a whisper, but I thought I could hear anger simmering underneath.

“Does she have any children?” I asked.

As Dustin interpreted, Jacinta motioned toward the hallway behind the kitchen and said a few words.

“No,” Dustin answered, and I fought the urge to vomit.

How many more women could there be? How many had been brutalized? I wanted to get up and call the police. This was an emergency, and wasn’t that the thing to do in an emergency? A crime was being committed at that clinic, over and over and over. Someone had to get in there and stop it. But calling the cops wouldn’t achieve anything here. We were up against a government facility shrouded in red tape and a glaring lack of transparency. The most effective way to help the women would unfortunately be the most cumbersome one—filing a lawsuit.

“Did she tell anyone? Complain?” I asked.

Dustin translated and relayed Jacinta’s answer.

“Other women knew about what happened. Some came to her and gave her their condolences.” His eyes continued to dart between Jacinta and me. “That’s how she put it: condolences.” He grimaced and then continued. “She stayed in the infirmary for a few days, and then they moved her back to her regular cell. Three different women told her they’d had similar procedures, at the same clinic, all with the same results.”

Condolences. My heart stuttered at the word because it was exactly right. How many times had I heard that word when I was a child—people always wanting to offer their condolences? On one particularly bleak afternoon about two weeks after my parents’ double funeral, I’d actually taken Gram’s dog-earedMerriam-Websterdown from the shelf to look for the definition, wondering how this word I didn’t entirely understand was supposed to make me feel. Nothing could change the fact that my parents would never pick me up from dance practice again, never teach me to drive, never watch me graduate high school.Condolences, as it turned out, was just an empty expression of sympathy, an acknowledgment that all was lost. Thinking about what had been taken from Jacinta, I was reminded of what I’d discovered long ago—that the worst kind of sadness was the kind that came with no hope.

“Why didn’t she file a formal complaint?” I asked.

Dustin asked my question.

“Since she only had two weeks until she was getting out, she didn’t say anything. Didn’t want to jeopardize her position, end up getting deported. She had been warned by friends. Of the other women who filed complaints, one was on a plane back to El Salvador the very same day. Jacinta doesn’t know what happened with the other one.”

“Can you explain to her that if she doesn’t speak up, the doctor is going to keep doing this to more women?”

Dustin rattled off a few sentences, and Jacinta started shaking her head.

“And tell her,” I added almost frantically, “that nobody in the facility has control over her anymore since she’s on the outside. She won’t get in trouble.”

He tried to translate, but I interrupted again.

“She has legal status now. Tell her she’s safe.”

Dustin turned back to Jacinta, but I yanked his arm and interjected once more.

“Tell her that without her, we won’t have a case. We need someone who’s willing to speak up.”

“If you’d let me speak to her, I would.” He looked down at my hand on his arm, and I instantly withdrew it.

“Sorry, sorry,” I said, forcing myself to stay quiet after that.

When Dustin’s Spanish words finally trailed off, Jacinta looked from him over to me, her dark eyes pensive. She tilted her head from one side to the other, like she was beginning to think through the possibilities. Glancing at Dustin, I could see cautious optimism in his eyes.

“Please,” I said in English, hoping the woman would understand. “Think of all the other women like you, still hoping to have children. I can’t imagine what that would be like for a woman who has waited her whole life to have kids”—my voice broke, betraying my emotions, but I kept on—“only for her to find out some stranger has taken that away from her.” Twin tears escaped from my eyes, racing each other toward my chin.

Dustin began repeating for Jacinta what I’d said, but he continued talking for long enough that I could tell he was adding words of his own. Jacinta interrupted him, and he responded at length, all the while leaving me in the dark. Finally, Dustin finished whatever he’d been saying. Jacinta’s eyes slid back to me, and we were all silent. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if Jacinta refused to work with us. If the women were all too afraid to speak up, how could I even help?

“Sí,” Jacinta finally said. “Loharé.”

“She’ll do it,” Dustin said, his voice still quiet but firm.

Then Jacinta said something else, and from the tone, I could tell she was hedging.

“But she doesn’t want to be the only one,” Dustin said. “She’ll only do it if you convince others to speak up as well. This is not about her, she said. It’s about all women.”