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In N.Va., a Latino Community Unravels

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But those neighbors are gone now, their homes vacant like so many others in the subdivision. And Silda, who is in the United States illegally, is too nervous to venture out for casual strolls.
"What if a policeman were to stop me and ask for identification?" said Silda, who asked that her surname not be published.
She checked the time on her TV screen: 3:30 p.m. -- the hour Silda used to start preparing dinner for her husband, his two brothers and two cousins, all likely to be hungry after a day erecting frames for houses. But that was before such work dried up in Prince William. Two weeks ago, all five men moved to take jobs in Pennsylvania.
Silda said her husband plans to send for her and the children as soon as he can find a suitable home, even though it will probably mean abandoning their current house to the bank. "There's no way we can sell it," she said.
She checked the TV clock again. Time to walk to the bus stop, where her 5-year-old son, Denilson, would be dropped off from kindergarten. Silda and Cynthia stepped into the eerie quiet of the street. They walked past several small houses with "For Sale" signs in front. In the driveway of another, a pickup truck was piled with chairs and a grill.
"Looks like they'll be the next to go," Silda murmured.
A police car drove by, and Silda quickly pulled Cynthia toward her body.
At last, the bus arrived. When school started last fall, she said, a dozen Latino kids used to get off. On this afternoon, Denilson was the only one. Silda let him and Cynthia race back to the house. The more energy they expended, the less they would complain about spending the rest of the day inside.
Once back in the living room, Silda handed her son the remote.
"Here," she said. "Why don't you watch some cartoons?"
* * *
The bell by the door to the 99 Cent Plus store in Woodbridge jingled as a stocky Latino man walked in.


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