The Salt God's Daughter by Ilie Ruby Page A

“He’s still in love with me,” my mother whispered, her knuckles going white on the steering wheel. “So, that’s that.”
    I pulled my hood down over my face.
    I still thought about the sea lion, the one I’d left to die in the hot sun. And about Dr. Brownstein, who had protected us when she could have walked away. I fantasized about a different ending to the day, about sitting around with the workers and their children, about making real friends. This was the first place I’d ever felt at home, and now I was forbidden to ever come back. In my fantasy, my mother took out her guitar to play, and everyone thought her extremely beautiful and talented, begging her to sing the Hebrew prayer Shalom Rav and the Spanish “Malagueña.” Because of her, they would think I was special, too, not just a big-boned girl with pink Coke-bottle glasses, with a sister who was mad at everyone. They’d see that I, like my mother, was someone worth knowing, too.
    â€œWhat are we going to do now?” Dolly asked.
    My mother started the car, her eyes welling up. “Don’t know. I’m not sure I can keep going like this. We’re down on our luck.”
    It was time to head back to the civilized world, she said, where the real people lived, away from the in-betweeners. It was time we had a stable life. “We’re never coming back here. I won’t humiliate myself again with that farkakte man.” I started to cry.
    â€œWhat’s wrong, Ruthie? What is it?”
    â€œCan I come back to see Felix? He was my friend.”
    â€œYou didn’t even know him,” said Dolly.
    â€œRuthie,” my mother said. “Don’t make me do this. We’re both too old, and soon you won’t want me to come back for you.”
    She explained that we would do something fun now. We could become pirates.

    Dolly cheered.
    I suddenly thought about the child I would have, my Naida. I asked my mother how long I’d have to wait for her.
    â€œShe’ll be ready when it’s time, don’t worry. Children always are.”
    I noticed that she didn’t say, “Mothers always are.”

Chapter Four
    I T WAS EASY to become night pirates, casing the streets in the rich section of town. The waning moon, which rose like a great orange ball in the sky, would bring us a productive and protected night of trash picking. The moon’s position in the sky made it appear larger, looming, as if it would be traveling right along with us.
    Grateful to have left the fields, we drove into the city, passing the streetlights and the dank smells that filled the alleys between the crowded apartment buildings. My mother, undaunted, kept driving. Within a few minutes, we hit the part of town where people left their undesired belongings in bags at the end of their driveways. So began a night of plundering trash for treasures. This, we knew how to do. We had done it before so many times.
    We folded bandannas and put them around our heads. We slashed wet plastic garbage bags with pencils, groping for good finds, our hands spilling strings of fake pearls through our fingers. It was free to anyone who drove up and could fit a toaster, a wicker basket, a lime green beanbag chair, or a pile of vinyl records into a car.

    Dolly reached into a bag full of old clothes and pulled out T-shirts covered in rainbows and peace signs, and one that had KC and the Sunshine Band on the front. She slipped it on over her undershirt and slapped on a straw hat, torn at the brim. My mother retrieved a set of neon green plastic patio dishes and matching cups. She also found a bag of costume jewelry that contained three plastic bangles. “No one will buy those, Mom. They’re cheap plastic,” said Dolly.
    â€œOh, really? Where’s my 409?” my mother asked, sliding a chunky carved red bracelet over her wrist. “This, I’ll tell you right now, will make us very rich. This is at