ed: name of the woman in this report has been changed to protect her.
I met Lucia shortly after I arrived in California. I had moved there after my divorce, and was going to pursue my career with exotic papers with a company located north of San Francisco. I really didn't know too many people, other than my new employers, Chuck and the new landlord and his wife. We managed to settle into a beautiful duplex, surrounded by the Sierra mountains that were always in sight. And of course, one of the prerequisites in my life was to have someone help me clean this apartment thoroughly at least once a week.
Enter Lucia into my life. She was from Brazil and spoke minimal English, but we immediately clicked for some reason. She would rattle away in Portuguese, and I'd do the same in Spanish, and somehow we managed to understand each other. She was warm and sunny with a very giving disposition. Naturally, there were similarities in our cultures. Though she was younger than me, we shared a wave length.
Lucia had not always cleaned houses and delivered newspapers to make a living. But her story is so typical of single mothers who come to this country so that their offspring can have a better life. And they will do just about anything to achieve their goal.
Lucia was also a dreamer and a climber of imaginary mountains. Though she had little by way of means, she was always at the ready to give of herself if I needed her. She was extremely spiritual and had introduced me to some of the rituals and beliefs that are so prevalent in 'black magic' or makumba as they refer to it in Brazil. She also fell in love with an American man, whom I will call John, as he was as ordinary as they come. But, I tried to withhold judgment so as not to hurt Lucia's feelings. I have learned that at times, letting the winds effect their changes is so much more effective than personal interference.
Lucia always called to see how I was, and how my daughter was; she understood the angst which comes from mother/child separation, even though my daughter at the time was on her way to a BA in psychology. If something happened that would upset me, she knew immediately and would make her shoulder available. The second year in California, we celebrated Mother's Day together, and we had dinner at a special Mexican restaurant.
When I had decided I was returning to New York, my heart was heavy at leaving Lucia. I will never forget how much she and her brother helped me with the move. She also skipped working one weekend so she could give me a hand with garage sales. Clearly this was something she could not afford to do, but did anyway.
We always kept in touch. When I travelled back from Vietnam in 2006, I stopped in San Francisco for a day so I could see her. And when she was en route to Brazil, after her millionth argument with 'John', she stopped in a frozen January New York for a few days and stayed in my apartment. I never thought I'd see her again. But we never stopped making plans to get together, open a business, go shopping in Natal for articrafts, and more of her dreams.
For his part, John was verily 'distraught'. He cried to her on the phone; he wanted her back. Was that his heart speaking or the effect of the marijuana he so liked to inhale on a regular basis? He called constantly; at times, she'd answer and at other times, she'd just let the phone ring. Yes, he wanted to marry her, bring her son to the US, live his life with her. Music to her ears, certainly, but always at the wrong place and the wrong time.
Lucia made it back to Brazil and began working in a proper office selling computers. She could now see her son, her mother, her brothers, - all the people that cared and worried about her. But she could not stop thinking about John. Before she returned to the US, we spoke, and though I had some reservations about her decision, I told her I'd fly into San Francisco for her wedding.
This weekend, I heard Lucia cry for the first time. And I felt so powerless, aside from angry as hell, being 3000 miles away from her and of little comfort. Through her sobs, I could make out some words; he beat her, he wants her to pay him more money for the rent. He had been berating her, and calling her unflattering names. She was too ashamed to tell her friends, and her brother. I had to change tactics.
I had told her before, and found myself repeating the same words. You must get out; this man is capable of killing you. He has no respect for you, takes your money, does nothing all day long except get stoned. He will never marry you, he's a coward and a thief. Apparently, after he took her money, and she mentioned calling the police, he left the house.
Within 45 minutes, my cell phone was telling me she was on the line again...I picked up, but this time, she wasn't talking. I was privy to a shouting match between the two of them, and I heard her cries, his threats, and I realized that she had dialed my number and left the phone somewhere so I could hear the drama.
I immediately called the San Francisco police department; gave them his name, address, and had he served in the army, his serial number. Described the incident and urged them to send a police car to the scene.
What happened afterward is more reassuring for me. Lucia is in a shelter for battered women. She has spoken to me twice since. There is a restraining order against John. There are photos of her bodily bruises. She will be meeting with a counselor tomorrow, and will keep me posted. She does not yet have the courage to press charges, but I think it's a matter of time.
And with a little help from her friend, I know she'll make it.
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