The Beasts of Juarez by R.B. Schow (story books to read .txt) 📗

man said. “They may seem funny or even a bit uncomfortable but they are important to the men and women who will be interested in you.”

“I want my mother,” Maisie said.

“You will never see your mother again, little one,” the man said, now sounding more comforting and less riled. “It is best to hold to the memories of her in your head. No more interruptions, please. Interruptions make me mad, and when I get mad, I tend to kill people.”

“You can’t just kill people,” Maisie said.

“Maybe not in your country, but over here, in this city, killing people is easy, especially little girls. We have entire deserts filled with them.”

Zoey vowed not to speak to the man again, not unless she was spoken to first. At least, that’s what she told herself.

“What is your name, dear?” he asked Zoey.

“Zoey Fox,” she said.

“Zoey, have you had your period yet?” he asked.

She dipped her eyes and started to blush. He said the questions were going to be uncomfortable, but he didn’t say he was going to be asking such personal questions.

“C’mon, child. A simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ will do just fine.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Have you ever had intercourse?”

“Sex?”

“Yes,” he said with a smile.

“No,” she replied.

“Have you started to grow breasts? Do your nipples hurt?”

Inside, she started to panic. The man was disgusting, just the kind of creep her mother warned her about.

“I can ask you or I can find out for myself. As embarrassing as this is for both of us, there are price points on everything. Our buyers have very specific tastes. If I somehow mislabel you, if our buyer pays for one thing but gets another, a man like me ends up buried in the desert next to someone like you. Now please, answer the question.”

“My…they’re…I’m a little swollen there.”

“Do they hurt?”

“Sometimes,” she nodded.

Has any adult touched your privates inappropriately? I’m not talking about bathing you as a child or changing your diapers…”

“No,” she said.

“Have you ever performed any sexual activities with either girls or boys in your school?”

“Like what?” she asked.

“Anything involving their private parts or yours.”

“I showed my friend where my…where my nipples hurt, but she said hers didn’t hurt. They were still flat, so I told her maybe they would hurt soon, too. Is that what you mean?”

“Nothing with any boys?” She shook her head. “Good, that’s good. I’m so sorry for having to ask such terrible questions but I have mouths to feed. Daughters about the same age as you and a wife.”

“Do any of them work here?” Zoey asked.

“No,” he said quickly. “And I hope they never do.”

“Is it bad to work here?” Zoey asked.

“It is very bad to work here.”

“What is this place?”

“A maquiladora, or a textile factory. We assemble jeans that we export to other countries. Knockoffs of American jeans that can be sold for half the price in American dollars and produced almost as low as those made in the Chinese factories.”

“Will my sister and I be working here?” she asked.

“For a little while.”

She looked at Maisie, who was starting to tear up.

“Don’t cry yet, little one,” the man said in a compassionate voice. “You can do that when I’m done questioning you or when we’re done with the photographs. After that, you’ll be working, so maybe you’ll have to wait until after you’re done with work to cry. It’s okay, though. You’ll have all the time you need.”

“Are you going to ask her the same questions that you asked me?” Zoey asked.

“As embarrassing as they are, yes, I will ask her the same questions.”

“Then the answer is ‘no’ to all of them,” Zoey said. “She is only eight years old.”

He looked over and asked Zoey’s younger sister, “Is this true?”

Maisie nodded then looked at her sister. Zoey worked extra hard to keep her chin up and her eyes dry. She couldn’t think of how they’d escape but she knew one thing for sure, her father was coming for her, and sooner or later, he would make them all pay for what they were doing.

“Okay, then,” the man said, standing up.

He put his hands to his lower back and pressed his belly out in some sort of stretch that old people do. He didn’t look that old, but he was pretty fat when he arched his back.

He picked up a camera from his desk and said, “Zoey, you need to go stand against that wall. Face me and give me a half-smile.”

“Are you going to take my picture?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Who will see it?”

“Rich people,” he said. “Be a good little girl and do what I ask.”

Zoey liked this man much better than the others so she did as she was told. She wanted to smile the way you were supposed to smile when your picture was being taken, because her father once said, “Who knows, maybe that will be the picture they use one day when you’re older and powerful like me.” She barely smiled for this man, though, because that’s what he’d wanted her to do. If rich people didn’t want her smiling big, then she wouldn’t smile big at all.

The man took photos of her when she was facing the camera, when she was turned sideways, and when she had her back to the camera. As long as she got to keep her clothes on, she was happy to let him take as many pictures as he wanted. It turned out he only wanted three photos of her and three photos of Maisie.

When he was done, he said, “You two were terrific. Now I want you to follow me onto the factory floor. I will have one of the women teach you to sew and you can begin making pants. Isn’t that fun?”

“Where will we sleep?” Maisie asked.

“You will