C – "No crezco más, tengo 13 anos y mira que chaparro que soy"
G – "No se preocupe, los niños crecen mucho de 13 a 18"
C – "No! Nunca me voy a crecer, mi papi es chaparro y yo también"
G – "No sé, nunca vi su papi"
C – "Está en Kentoky...me dejo cuando tenía 3 anos."
Carlos is indeed really short for his age, and skinny. He looks like he could be 9. His face though is big and round, with a big smile and round eyes. A pair of stringy shorts is the only piece of clothing he wears. And he seems to have mastered the art of walking barefoot over the most insidious surfaces. The only pair of shoes he owns, the type you go to church with, make him look feo – ugly.
He lives with his aunt, sister Nora, and three cousins in a modest house next door to mine, which by western standards, is quite modest as well. With his friends, he is on an everyday quest to fend off boredom. No school, no toys, no sports, no electronic gadgets. At his disposal, only a grass-less backyard punctuated by palm trees and the relics of a semi-built house. Chickens, chicks, a dog, and a pregnant cat complete the scenery.
When I asked him about his dad's whereabouts, he slicked back his thick black hair with his right hand and looked away for a second. Towards "Kentoky," probably. His dad left when he was 3, and his mama también, although following different paths. Father is a bricklayer in the US, allegedly fairly well off. Mother remarried and lives in Mexico, where she stopped on her way to El Norte.
They left him and his sister with their tia and never came back; but what's worse is that they never contacted them. Ten years of silence. Of course, this means that neither of their parents is sending back any money. No remittances for Carlos and Nora. Their aunt – as they become adolescents – sees them as a burden. She expressly told me so. What will be of them I don't know; I mean, I do know.
Carlos turns his round brown face back to my white hairy one, removing his eyes away from an unknown place called Kentoky. At this point, I can only address the situation rhetorically: "Lo siento mucho" – I’m very sorry. With his Honduran Spanish he quickly replies as if he were consoling me: "No pasa nada" – Don’t worry about it.