ONE NIGHT SOPHIE and her parents are called to a hospital where Pedro, 6-year-old Mexican boy, is recovering from dehydration. Crossing the border into Arizona with a group of Mexicans and a coyote, or guide, Pedro and his parents faced such harsh conditions that the boy is the only survivor. Pedro comes to live with Sophie, her parents, and Sophie's Aunt Dika, a refugee of the war in Bosnia. Sophie loves Pedro - her Principito, or Little Prince. But after a year, Pedro's surviving family in Mexico makes contact, and Sophie, Dika, Dika's new boyfriend, and his son must travel with Pedro to his hometown so that he can make a heartwrenching decision.


From the Hardcover edition.

One night in June, at midnight, I was in bed reading The Little Prince, a book I'd already read once and underlined for world lit class. I was lost in the story, right there with the pilot alone in the sand dunes when the little boy appears out of nowhere.

Right then, the phone rang. I walked into the kitchen in my nightgown, my bare feet slapping the clay tile, my mind still in the sand dunes of another planet.

I picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Officer Douglas here, Border Patrol. I need to speak with Juan Gutiérrez."

My stomach tightened. I knocked on Mom and Juan's door. "Juan. Border Patrol's on the phone."

During the phone call, Juan listened and nodded gravely. "Yes, yes, I see. Seven dead?" His voice cracked. "I have no idea how my business card got in this kid's pocket."

I sat at the kitchen table, tracing the deep, worn scratches in the wood, trying not to stare at the tears leaking out of Juan's eyes.

Mom disappeared into the bedroom, and a few minutes later, calmly reemerged, her keys jangling. She'd already changed into a gauzy dress and turquoise necklace. She carried herself in a European-model way, her neck long, never slouching, not even in the middle of the night un- der the weight of bad news. Only two delicate furrows on her forehead betrayed her worry. That, and her British accent grew a bit more pronounced, as it did whenever she got emotional.

Just as Juan was hanging up the phone, Great-aunt Dika thudded into the kitchen, her eyes wide and alarmed. "What is it?" she cried. "What is it?" For Dika, being woken in the middle of the night meant bombings and attacks. She came from Bosnia and she'd materialized in our lives six months earlier. Dee-ka is how she said her name. Trying to understand Dika was like deciphering a code: vs were really ws, ds were ths, rolling rrrs were rs. Her words pierced the air, loud and shrill, as if she were perpetually in the middle of a big, rowdy party. Be patient with her, Sophie, Mom kept telling me, the woman barely survived a war. But I suspected she was a naturally hyper person.

Juan rubbed his face. The muscles in his arms flexed, moving the snake tattoos. "Seven Mexicans died crossing the desert." He spoke in Spanish, as he always did when he felt deeply about something. "One boy survived. They found my business card in his pocket."

On the way to the hospital in the puttering Volkswagen Bus, Mom clutched the wheel and came up with possible scenarios. Juan, meanwhile, sat hunched in the passenger seat, his head in his hands.

He'd come from Mexico in the eighties, illegally, across the desert. He got residency after he married my mom nine years ago. Since then, when people crossed the desert to Tucson, Juan sometimes put them up for a night. He gave them food and water and always refused payment. His motives were good, but what he did was against the law. Mom finally put her foot down about it. Only in absolute emergencies, she said, could these people stay at our place.

Mom sped down First Avenue, her eyes flicking nervously from the rearview to the side-view mirror. I knew she was wondering if we'd get in trouble, if the Border Patrol had discovered we'd been helping immigrants. "You know, Juan," she said in Spanish, "maybe you did business with someone who knew this family. Who knows, maybe the card was passed around a lot. The boy could've found it on the street."

Dika, meanwhile, muttered in the background. "This poor boy. Poor, poor boy." She spoke her own strange version of English. Her accent moved from Slavic to Spanish to German. She was an onion, layers of language peeling off here and there, exposing bits of her...

 

Emma Bering faces a performance challenge in depicting the characters who surround 16-year-old Sophie. Sophie's mother is English, her stepfather is Hispanic, and her Aunt Dika is from Bosnia. Then 6-year-old Pablo, a mute child, becomes a part of their family after his parents die in an illegal border crossing. Bering juggles fast-changing accents and ages easily. She moves just as skillfully between the deep feelings of all the characters. These intensify as Sophie, Aunt Dika, her boyfriend, and his son escort Pablo from Arizona to his Mexican village and then travel on to war-torn Guatemala. Sophie begins with a multitude of anxieties, but traveling with her courageous companions teaches her much about risk-taking, first love, and her personal "spark." S.W. Winner of AudioFile Earphones Award (c) AudioFile 2009, Portland, Maine

 

"The vivid characters, the fine imagery, and the satisfying story arc make this a rewarding novel."

 

Red Glass by Laura Resau
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