Innocence by David Hosp

well. If I’d left them, the death squads would have hunted them down. My father died the year after Maria and I married, and my brother was still only seventeen, so he and my mother were living with me and Maria.
    “VDS, the criminal gang that arranged for our escape through Mexico and across the border, is very organized. It controls much of the drug smuggling from Central America. It has contacts in many of America’s cities: Los Angeles, New York, Washington, Boston. With some of my own money, I arranged for them to take us here.”
    “Why Boston?” Finn asked.
    “There is a significant El Salvadoran community here. Besides, I am a doctor, and Boston’s reputation as a center for the medical profession was familiar to me. In honesty, I was young and foolish. I thought I would be able to get a job in a hospital, maybe even find a patron who would be a sponsor of sorts and help me get a license to practice as a doctor here.”
    Kozlowski laughed derisively. “You have to be a citizen, or at least a legal alien, to practice medicine here.”
    “As I said, Mr. Kozlowski, I was foolish. You see, in places like El Salvador, America is still viewed with a sense of romanticism; there are few stories about the hardships immigrants encounter here. Of course, I hadn’t realized that hospitals are very careful about who they hire. They want records, and without them, it is impossible to get a job, even as a janitor. As a result, I had to accept employment at a convenience store for less than minimum wage.” He looked at Kozlowski. “At least I didn’t have to pay taxes.”
    Kozlowski nodded. “Touché.”
    “We lived in a small apartment in Roxbury, but we were excited about the baby, and I made some extra money treating other immigrants in the neighborhood.”
    “Practicing medicine without a license is a crime,” Kozlowski pointed out. Finn frowned; he was beginning to wonder whether bringing the detective had been a good idea.
    “And failing to treat the sick is a sin,” Salazar replied. “Besides, I wasn’t dispensing any prescription drugs. I only examined people; handed out over-the-counter medications; sometimes delivered babies. If someone needed more treatment than I could provide, I told them to go to an emergency room.” He sighed. “They never did, of course. If you are an illegal and you go to the emergency room, there is always a chance that you will be reported. You risk deportation. Many felt that they had a better chance of surviving with disease than deportation.”
    “Mark told us that’s how the police found you—when you took Maria to the hospital,” Finn said.
    “Yes. Things were going well in many respects. Between my job at the convenience store and the small amounts I made treating poor people, we were getting by. My brother, Miguel, was doing well in school—one of the few places where immigrants seem to be able to participate without repercussion. He had learned English, like me, in a private school in El Salvador, and he was always the smartest in his classes. Things started to fall apart when Maria went into labor.”
    Salazar took a deep breath before continuing. “In her thirty-seventh week, Maria began experiencing pain. It isn’t so unusual at that point in a pregnancy, so I wasn’t concerned. I told her to stay off her feet, but we didn’t want to go to the hospital because we were afraid. I thought everything would be all right. I didn’t know it, but she had a fibroid tumor that was blocking the birth canal. Shortly after she went into labor, her womb ruptured. There was so much blood . . .” His voice trailed off, and he went quiet. No one spoke.
    “I rushed her to the emergency room, but it was too late. She lived through the cesarean section and even heard Rosita cry before she bled to death. I suppose I take some small comfort from that.”
    “And your daughter was born blind?” Finn asked.
    “No, she was fine when she was born.”
    “So what