Gilda Salinas - Ananke

It all feels like a dream. Everyone’s been respectful: the doctor, the social worker, the attorneys. They treat her well, care about her. She was hungry, so they gave her some meat, stew and potatoes. It tasted like heaven. She was sick of eating greasy junk food. Her cheeks hurt just from the savory taste of the stew and warm tortillas.

She felt grateful for the clothes they gave her, even the worn sneakers, which were perfectly fine. She was able to brush her teeth, and tie her curly hair into a bun. Everything has worked out so far. Anxiety and fear diminish. She no longer feels flustered, as she faces another lady, the prosecutor, who smiles while she types something in her computer.

“All right, Mélida, let me explain some things. My name is Rosa Martha Quiroz, I’m a prosecutor. Here we assist victims like you, and I’ll take care of your case. We just need to wait for your assigned attorney.” Mélida doesn’t like the sound of that, but Rosa reassures her: “It’s the law, and it’s meant to protect you because we are going to start with legal proceedings. Are you following me?”

Mélida nods, though she doesn’t quite see the point of these “legal proceedings,” but she remains silent while looking at her surroundings, the furniture, the area, the faces, and the actions of those who work there. In the cubicle next to hers, a woman complains about her husband who sells her, and has her sons kidnapped to keep her quiet; a woman with a weird voice behind her reports a man who hits her. It’s probably her pimp .

A woman arrives and sits next to her, she smiles and greets everyone. She and Quiroz exchange some words that sound like a secret code. The prosecutor writes more things that the woman tells her. Her fingers are fast, while her eyes keep track of everything around her. She is alert, calculating. Then she smiles at Mélida. “We’re ready for your statement.” “Statement? I don’t wanna do that. You said you’d help me, but not like this. What will I say? I don’t want no trouble. Just hide me or something, the cops were right, if I go home right now, they could attack my family. No, I don’t want to say anything, ma’am.”

“Relax, don’t be scared. You have to tell us who sold you.”

Nothing. Not a word.

“Did they kidnap you?”

She nods.

“Did they force you into sex slavery?”

She nods again.

“Well, that’s all you have to say.”

A wave of possibilities invades her thoughts. She could get revenge, but that could mean more trouble. Darío and his pimps are powerful, they have ears everywhere. She looks in every direction to make sure no one else is paying attention. Her heart beats faster.

Silence.

“Look, the purpose of preliminary investigation is to carry out a procedure that will put in jail whoever forced you into sex slavery. It’s the only way to protect yourself. Meanwhile, you’ll be able to stay here. Look at all the cubicles around you. Every employee you see is here to help victims like you.”

Mélida’s face relaxes a little bit. She wants protection, so maybe she could tell some half-truths and a couple of lies to win some time while she decides what to do next. Salvation begins to take shape.

“All right, yeah, I’d love to see that bastard rot in prison, I could go back home, but will you really be able to help me?” she asks, trying to gauge the prosecutor.

“Yes, provided your statement gives us enough information to proceed.”

Well, yeah. If they put him in prison, I won’t have to worry .

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Perfect. I need you to tell me everything in order, as much as possible. I don’t know how good your memory is, but we can do this little by little—”

“Oh, I have good memory, trust me, but I’ve been trying to turn off this… how can I call it? Like a memory switch.”

“Can we turn it back on?” Rosa smiles.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Mélida likes her. She seems like a good person.

“All right, then let me explain some things,” the attorney says, “due to the nature of the statement, Quiroz here needs to know everything, I mean descriptions of people you saw, places, conversations, and also very intimate details of the sexual relations. It may embarrass you, or even make you feel bad, but it is for them to be able to defend you. Don’t worry, no one here is going to judge you, and we are only doing it to help you, nothing more.” Mélida squints her eyes, trying to read behind the attorney’s words. “If at any point you are not feeling well, we can take a break, sounds good?”

“Sounds too easy, ma’am. Are you sure you’re not tricking me?”

“Let me put it this way: Your statement is the only weapon we have. If you don’t want to do it, there’s no problem, no one’s forcing you to stay here, you can go, but that’s not really in your best interest, is it?”

“What your attorney is trying to tell you is we’re here to help you. We have no personal interests in this or in any other matter. You are the one who suffered abuse and was deprived of her freedom. Those criminals need to pay for their crimes, but a victim must accuse them. You were their victim. Do you want be afraid the rest of your life? Was it fair that they made you suffer all of this?”

“But you will never be able to catch him. He has a lot of pimps and partners, including cops. How can you fight that?”

“That’s our job here. If you help me, I’ll show you how.”

Mélida considers the idea. Why is she playing hard to get if she had decided to feed them some lies along with the truth? Could it be that she feels like a hypocrite? They say they want to help her. Maybe they actually can.

“All right, I’ll talk.”

“Would you like me to explain everything again?” “I got it, you want names, places, what they did to me, all that.”

“And whenever you don’t feel like telling us something, let me know and we can go over it. Ready, Rosa.”

“How long did they keep you?”

“I’m not really sure. Ten months, maybe. They took me from town to town: Veracruz, Puebla, Cuautla, Mexico City. They were going to take us to Los Angeles because Darío has a bar there, they say, and tomorrow—”

“Slow down. I need to get the facts straight. Let’s take it one step at a time, remember I have to type everything. Let’s start over.”

Mélida nods.

Both of them are very nice. Maybe not everyone in government is a piece of shit. Still, I should pay attention to my words. After all, I’m not telling them everything, right?

“First I need your birthdate. How does your family call you? Mel?”

“That’s right, ma’am. I was born in…”

I hereby attest the following:

That I was born on March 25, 1992 in the municipality of Zacatelco in the state of Tlaxcala…

“Have you ever been to Tlaxcala? It’s very nice, not far from here.”

“You can tell me all about it later. What are the names of your parents? What do they do for a living?

Silence.

“Are they still living?”