Furia(22)

I laughed, shaking my head. Nothing was further from the truth. “Minus all the millions. College players make no money, actually. But playing for a college would open doors that don’t even exist here. Their female league is professional.”

His eyes widened.

“But there aren’t many scholarships for international students, so I’ll aim for the National Women’s Soccer League. Getting there is difficult but not impossible. Even if that goal is too far-fetched, who knows where the journey will take me.” It felt so good to open up to him.

“Every year, multitudes travel to my native India to find enlightenment,” Father Hugo said. “When I was eighteen, I left to seek myself. I, too, wanted to know what I could do, and never in a million years did I dream I’d end up in Rosario. Now this is my home. These are my people.”

It wasn’t until he mentioned he was from India that I noticed his slight accent. Behind me, a little kid squealed in delight, and I turned to see Diego in the middle of the courtyard, buried in a pile of dry leaves. His hair looked like a nest. There was no trace of el Titán.

If he’d been a jerk, drunk on fame and glory, it would’ve been so easy to turn away from him. But seeing him like this disarmed me.

Before I could hide my feelings, I noticed Father Hugo studying my face. “So, fútbol is your dream?”

“It is,” I said.

Father Hugo smiled and opened his hands. “In the meantime, you need a job, and I need an English teacher for the kids.”

I nodded, waiting to hear what he had to say. He continued, “Do you have experience teaching?”

“I’ve tutored kids for end-of-the-year tests, but not in a classroom setting. I like children, though, and I’m a fast learner.”

“I see . . . but before you commit to something you’re not ready for, I want to make sure you know exactly what you’ll encounter here.”

The church’s turret cast a long shadow over the courtyard. Trying not to shiver from nerves or cold, I crossed my arms over my chest.

“A lot of the children here have gone through things most of us can’t imagine.” Father Hugo’s intense gaze accentuated the seriousness of his words. “The kids here aren’t like the kids at the American institute downtown, but in God’s eyes, they’re equally treasured. Other than the help from international charities, we have no support. The work the Sisters and I do here is like running on a hamster wheel. We run, we tire, but we don’t go anywhere. We repeat the same motions the next day and the one after that. Every day. And maybe there will be one or two like Diego. Or like you. A little one with dreams too big and amazing to ignore. When they go for those dreams, all the effort and failure are worth it.”

“Sounds to me like this is a big job,” I said, squaring my shoulders. “You and the Sisters can’t do it all by yourselves. There might be others like Diego waiting for someone to give them a hand.”

“That’s true. But you have to understand that Diego is an exception to the rule. He’s among the precious few children I’ve met through the years not to end up in jail or living under a bridge. Most of the kids who seek refuge here, Camila, have families. They come here or else they don’t eat. They come because children still have that divine spark intact in them, and they instinctually gravitate to a place where there is order, warmth, and love.

“It’s only when they grow, or when they get hurt by those who should protect them, that the spark in them dies. That death, that loss of innocence and hope, is something many volunteers can’t endure. And they give up. If you agree to teach here, will you pledge to keep working no matter how little progress we make?”

Oddly at ease with this stranger of the strong will and soft eyes, I said, “I know it won’t be easy, Father. I won’t promise I’ll always be in high spirits, but I’ll never lose heart. Now, what do you need me to do?”

He regarded me in silence, and then his face broke into a generous smile. “You can come after school to help me give the kids their afternoon snack and help with their schoolwork. There are a couple at risk of repeating the year, and I think we can get them excited if, as a reward for passing, they get to learn the English. They want to be involved on the YouTube and Instagram. What do you think?”

“I think I can manage that.” Practices were at eight, so the schedule worked perfectly for me. My mind was already whirring with ideas for how to start teaching them “the” English.

“The pay is not great.”

“No, no, don’t worry about that.” I needed every single peso I could scrape together, but could I really take it from these kids, who needed it even more?

“But I do worry about that,” Father Hugo interjected. “It’s a meager salary, but you need to take it. This is a job, not a volunteer position.” He said it with such firmness that I didn’t dare contradict him.

“Okay, I’ll take it.”

“Of course you will. Two thousand pesos a week—a pittance.” He shook his head.

Two thousand pesos a week was eight thousand a month, more money than I’d ever had at once, so for me, it wasn’t a pittance. If I saved for a whole year, it would be about fifteen hundred U.S. dollars. A fortune.

“Believe me, it’s okay,” I said.