The girl clutched her mother’s hand tightly. In the orange dusk, they saw the great black ships leave the harbor; bearing south towards the island the mother and daughter had once called home. The president’s grave words still rang in their ears. The world could end that night, and they both knew it.
But the Earth showed an almost cruel indifference to their fate. The crisp October air swept through the majestic palms, gusts rippling the water in front of the ships. The setting sun danced lightly over the buildings on the western horizon, casting the tall shadows of two short, shaking people onto the water below.
The girl dug her pale, dry face, far too frightened to cry, into her mother’s dress. “No tengas miedo, mi hija, no tengas miedo,” her mother whispered, stroking the back of her daughter’s head. “Que vá a pasar mami?” the frightened girl cried, looking up to see that her mother’s face was as pale as hers. The mother looked out at the ocean beyond and choked, “No sé, niña, no sé.”