TheBanyanTree: Roberto

[apmartin at canada.com]

                   Roberto


Beto (short for Roberto), one of the live-in boys at
Casa Ayuda, is nineteen years old.  
He is short and slim with broad shoulders and muscular
arms. His eyes are chocolate brown and he is sprouting
the soft hairs of his first mustache. He doesn’t look
mentally challenged but an inoperable brain tumor has
arrested his development.  His vocabulary is limited
and he often communicates with grunts and hand
gestures.  Nearly always, he manages to make himself
understood.  He can’t read or write, and he doesn’t
know the value of money.  When Alicia sends him to the
corner store, she writes a note for him and counts on
the honesty of the storekeeper to ensure he receives
the correct change.

I found him good-natured and likable, although very
serious.  He seldom smiled and I never heard him laugh.
 

Soon after I arrived at Casa Ayuda, I taught him and
the other two live-in boys the word ‘hug’.  When I
demonstrated it, none of them knew how. It made me sad
to think something so important was missing from their
lives. Since then, I have often taken the opportunity
to give the boys a reassuring pat on the back or to
give their shoulder a gentle validating squeeze when I
passed by them. From reading, I knew that physical
touch is vital to everyone.  It is a need, not a want
and was noticeably lacking in the boys’ lives.  

Beto enjoyed the attention and began to reciprocate. 
He often came up to me just to touch my shoulder and
say my name.  I thought it was cute and felt a bond
forming between us. 
  
Casa Ayuda was surrounded by a 12 foot brick fence and
had aluminum gates the same height that were kept
padlocked.  Beto took pride in being trusted with the
gate key. When someone rang the bell, he was the first
to volunteer to see who it was.  The master key hung in
the kitchen near the sink but often Victor or Alicia
had it on their person and weren’t around.  If Beto
couldn’t find that key, he borrowed Andrew’s or mine. 
We became accustomed to lending it to him without
question.

Beto had no living relatives except for one brother who
had never visited him.  He desperately wanted a family
and called Victor and Alicia, Tia and Tio (Aunt and
Uncle).  He had also ‘adopted’ a neighborhood family
who were good friends of Victor and Alicia.

“Lydia, mi mama, (Lydia is my mom,)” he often told me.
Lydia, her husband and three children played along, and
I thought this gave Beto the sense of belonging he
desperately sought.

Every day for several hours, Andrew worked with the
live-in boys doing carpentry.  It was a real challenge
because all three boys had a very short attention span.
 Beto’s project was a large wooden heart for his ‘mom’,
Lydia.  I found it touching that a boy who had nothing
wanted to make something to give away.  His project
involved cutting, sanding, chiseling, and painting. 
Then, Andrew took a digital photo of Beto with his
surrogate family and had it printed and laminated. 
Beto glued it to the heart and took great care when he
painted, “Te Amo” (I love you) over the letters Andrew
had hand-printed for him beneath the photo.  

When the project was completed, Beto’s usual serious
expression brightened.  Likely it was the first time in
his life he had experienced a sense of accomplishment. 
He carried his finished wooden heart from room to room,
person to person, showing off his handiwork.  He was so
proud that Andrew wondered if he would be able to carry
through with his original plan of presenting it to
Lydia.  But Andrew needn’t have doubted Beto.  That
same day Lydia received a heart-shaped wall plaque from
a young man who called her mama.

A few days later, Beto asked to borrow my key to the
front gate.  Without hesitation, I handed it over.  He
promptly returned it.  I had no idea anything was amiss
until the telephone rang.  

Alicia answered.  When she hung up, she asked if either
Andrew or I had lent our key to Beto.  I nodded,
wondering what the problem could be.  Nearly every day
we lent our key to him for one reason or another; we
had never been told not to.  

“That was Lydia.  Beto is over at her house.  He says
he doesn’t want to live at Casa Ayuda any longer,”
Alicia said. “If he doesn’t come back, I am going to
have to telephone the police.”

Both Andrew and I were stunned; Beto had given us no
indication he was unhappy at Casa Ayuda.  

“We’ll go over to Lydia’s and try to talk him into
returning,” Andrew said.

We scrambled to put our shoes on and minutes later
hurried out the gate.  We had only gone a little way
when we saw Beto plodding toward us.  Shoulders
slumped, he stared at the ground.  I could only imagine
how he felt to have been turned away from his ‘mama’s’
house.  

“Que paso? (What happened?)” Andrew asked and put his
arm around Beto’s shoulders.

“Voy a Queretaro (I’m going to Queretaro {a nearby
city}),” he said.

“Pero no tienes dinero.  Vivir en la calle no esta
bueno, (But you don’t have money.  Living in the street
isn’t good),” I said.  “No hay comida.  Sin dinero vas
a comer de la basuera (There’s no food.  Without money
you will have to eat from the garbage.”  

Beto dug into his pocket and withdrew a few coins. 
Because he had no concept of its value, he didn’t
realize they totaled less than 20 pesos or $2.00.      
                                                       
 
“No hay mucho (that’s not much),” I said.  “Victor y
Alicia estan buenos personas.  Necesites hablar con
ellos y los decir por que tu no estas felices (Victor
and Alicia are good people.  You need to tell them why
you aren’t happy.”
 
In English, Andrew suggested we invite him out for
coffee and to talk.  (Beto didn’t understand us so we
were able to discuss the situation without him knowing
what we were saying.)

“Okay,” I said, somewhat reluctantly.  “I hope he
doesn’t decide to run away while we are responsible for
him.”

“He’s not going to run,” Andrew said with confidence.

“I don’t think so either,” I said, “but I’d sure feel
awful if he did.”

“Quieres salir con nosotros para hablar? (Would you
like to go out with us to talk?)” Andrew asked.

“Si (yes),” Beto said.

“Primera necesitamos hablar con Alicia, (First we need
to tell Alicia),” Andrew said.

We neared Casa Ayuda’s gate. Andrew unlocked it and
Beto followed us inside.  I snapped the padlock shut.
Until then, I thought of Casa Ayuda as a refuge.  At
that moment, it felt more like a jail.  

Beto did not accompany us into the house.  He stood
near the locked entrance, shifting his weight from foot
to foot.  

We found Alicia in the kitchen.  She told us Beto often
tried to run away and that he was just seeking
attention.  I listened without comment but in my heart,
I understood Beto’s need; he worked hard at Casa Ayuda
but received no praise, no thanks and no affection.  

When we asked Alicia how she felt about us taking Beto
to town, she expressed concern we were rewarding his
bad behavior.  Not only could it influence him to try
to escape again but it could give Natcho and Carmelo
ideas.  She suggested we take him out the following day
provided he behaved himself.  

I liked following through with plans but agreed with
Alicia’s logic.  When we went outside, she joined us
and told Beto what we had decided. 

The next day, Andrew and I took all three boys to town
for lunch so it could not be construed by any of them
that it was in response to Beto’s escape attempt.  We
caught a taxi both ways; that in itself was exciting
for the boys.  

It was Semana Santa (Easter week) and the streets were
pulsing with color, crowds and activity.  We kept a
close eye on Beto but need not have.  He was happy to
be on an outing and appeared to have accepted that he
had to stay at Casa Ayuda.  In the restaurant, we
bought two large roast chickens and the boys gorged on
chicken, tortillas, salad and soft drinks.  Few meals
at Casa Ayuda included meat so they really enjoyed
themselves.
 
Later, we had an opportunity to talk to Victor about
Beto’s attempted escape. He felt it was in response to
Beto’s recent visit with Victor’s friends in Queretaro.
 Beto stayed with them for three nights while Victor
worked there.  

“The people were nice to him.  He liked the food better
and he didn’t have to work.  Beto lives in a fantasy
world; he imagines anyone who is nice to him is his
family and he can go and live there.”   

I felt more sympathetic.  I saw a boy who felt empty
attempting to fill one of life’s most basic needs:  the
need to be loved. 

***