Not César, I beg no one in particular. Please, not César.
Not Mami’s new happiness. Not the paycheck keeping Belén fed. Not our one connection to a cousin in the lowlands for Daniel. Not the strong arms between all of us and the next group of drunken miners with mischief on their minds. Not the mountain of a man who has never been anything but kind to me.
After an eternity, the fit passes and César collapses onto the mattress. Mami dabs his forehead. When he breathes, the air enters his lungs with the same hissing and whispering that the air tubes make snaking into the mine.
Both are filled with too much rock dust, I think numbly.
Mami shoos me into the main room and closes the door behind me.
“How can he be this bad this quickly?” I ask Abuelita. “He was fine yesterday. He was fine this morning!”
“It doesn’t sound good,” she agrees, her face seeming older than usual. “It might turn into something serious.”
I think of the miners’ hospital with its mint-green walls and cold metal gurneys and the word she’s not saying—la silicosis. Sometimes, like when Daniel was just there, the wards are empty. Sometimes they’re full of men and boys, slowly suffocating. When my grandfather died of silicosis, I remember what Papi said: It’s only fair. We take the rock out of the mountain. Its revenge is to fill us with it. He was deeply drunk at the time, but even so, I didn’t talk to him for a week after that. It was just too horrible.
I realize that Abuelita’s been speaking and I haven’t heard a word she’s said.
“I’m sorry.” I force myself to focus on her. “What?”
“I said, someone should buy more cough medicine.” She motions toward a green plastic bottle on the edge of the table. “We gave the last of it to Daniel and never bought more.”
“I can go,” I say, jumping to my feet, glad again to have some useful task. Glad to be able to leave.
Abuelita knows me so well.
“Get some money and go to the pharmacy in San Cristobal,” she says. “They’re likely to give you a better price than one of the fancy pharmacies in a non-mining neighborhood.”
I walk over to the small ceramic jar on the shelf where we keep our money. Opening it, I frown. There is one fifty-boliviano bill and a few small coins. Why is there so little money? I know César puts his salary in there every time he gets paid.
I hear César cough again in the far room, and I shelve the mystery of the missing money for later. I shove the fifty into my pocket. I think about the four-hour walk we all just took back from town and how, even if I hurry, it will be at least seven more hours before I can get César the medicine—two and a half downhill if I rush, at least three and a half uphill. It’s the middle of the afternoon. I don’t know if I can make it to Potosí before the shops close. Even if I do, I’ll be walking the last hour and a half home in the dark.
Abuelita must have done the same math.
“Do you think you can stay with your fancy friend, the maid, again tonight?” she asks. “You can get the medicine, stay with her, and then come home first thing in the morning.”
“I’m sure that would be fine,” I say, though I have no idea whether it’s true. Besides, if I can make it in time to get the medicine today, then I will come straight home. Yes, I’ll likely have a bit of a walk in the dark, but it seems worth it to help César. Getting yelled at by Abuelita for taking a risk after I’m already home safe is better than having him get sicker overnight. “Will he be all right until then?” I ask.
“It’s all in God’s hands.” Abuelita passes me the empty bottle but won’t meet my eyes. “Make sure you get the same kind.”
When she turns to go sit with Belén, I grab a battery-powered flashlight for the walk home and slip it into my manta. I take a moment to shuck out of my fancy clothes and put on some sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and comfortable shoes. I tuck the money, the empty bottle, and a loaf of bread to serve as dinner into my manta along with the flashlight, and head out the door.
* * *
One trip down and back up the mountain is plenty. Starting out on yet another lap in one day, my calves and hamstrings wail at me. I ignore them. All I can think about is César and how desperate I am not to lose him. Three hours is a lot of time to think, even when you tell yourself to pay attention to where you’re walking, even if you slide down the scree hills to make it go faster instead of taking the path. I think about all the things being in César’s family gets for us: safety, food, a bigger house, a place in the community. But if I’m honest, it’s not these things that make me hustle. It’s that, despite my mixed-up feelings about how much my life has changed, I think I might be starting to care about César just for him.
Though I hurry, by the time I make it to the pharmacy, the shop is closed. I bang on the wrought-iron grille pulled over the doorway, but no one comes to let me in. Now that I think about it, given that today was a holiday, it might not have been open even if I had gotten here earlier.
I thread my fingers through the grille and rest my forehead against the cold ironwork. I need the medicine. I refuse to go home without it. I won’t show up in César’s doorway until there’s something I can do to help him. Sighing in frustration, I turn away from the pharmacy and follow Abuelita’s suggestion.
It’s a Friday, so Yenni should still be at the posada. Remembering Doña Arenal’s command that I only be there the one night when I was at death’s door, I’m not sure of my welcome. Even so, thoughts of warm rooms and good food point my feet in the direction of the inn. Outside the servants’ gate, however, I pause.
Deep, deep in my heart, so deep the cold Andean winds haven’t managed to snuff it out yet, I’ve been holding a hope that I might someday get a job at the posada too, like Yenni. I have no idea how she managed to get a choice like this, but I want a way off the mountain desperately. And, as much as I want a meal from Carmencita and a safe bed for tonight, I hate to gamble with my chances of a future job. I’m still debating whether it’s worth making them mad at me by showing up and begging for a roof for another night when the door opens suddenly and Yenni is standing in front of me.
“Ana? What are you doing here?”
“Yenni? Oh, hi,” I say awkwardly, covering my surprise with an overly-bright smile. “Are you done for the week?” She’s still wearing her maid’s uniform.
“Usually I would be, but with the parade and everything, there’s more to do.” Yenni shuts the heavy door behind her. “Carmencita didn’t have enough sugar to finish the breakfast breads for the morning. I need to run out and get some more. The little corner store should still be open, but only for another fifteen minutes or so. Want to keep me company?”
“Sure,” I say, falling into step beside her as she jogs down the street.
“So,” she says, “what brings you to the door of the posada at this hour?”
I tell Yenni all about the parade, since she missed it, and César getting sick, and the pharmacy being closed. Yenni shakes her head in sympathy.
“They definitely won’t be open until tomorrow,” she agrees.
As we walk, we update each other on our brothers: I tell Yenni about everything that has happened with Daniel, and she tells me Santiago is feeling better and is back to school.
We get to the little corner shop. It’s tiny really: only a room in a woman’s house. There’s not even a door to get in: it’s a barred window that opens onto the street. You can look through the bars into the small room and see the items on the shelves along the walls. It’s basic stuff: sugar and rice in little plastic twist-tie bags, cans of Inca Kola, batteries, pencils, single-use shampoo pods. The woman sits just inside the window, and you ask for what you want. You give her your money and she hands you the item and your change. It’s a good system. She can stay open late and still be safe because she’s behind the heavy iron bars, inside her house.
Yenni puts her pu
rse on the windowsill and counts out the coins. She pays the woman, and the woman hands her two of the plastic bags of sugar and shuts the wooden shutters inside the window. We barely made it in time before she closed up for the night. When a motorcycle backfires behind us, we both jump in surprise and whip around to face the street. When we see the cause of the noise, we laugh shakily. Yenni smiles at me, about to head back to the posada. I decide now is the time to ask.
“So, Yenni . . . I was wondering . . . is there any chance I could spend the night with you?”
Yenni, looking uncomfortable, shakes her head.
“No, sorry. I can’t bring you with me like before. I know Doña Arenal let you stay the last time, but afterward I overheard her talking with one of her lady friends, saying she regretted it. That she was running an inn, not a charity. If I brought you back, I’m afraid I’d lose my job.”
“Oh, Yenni, I’m so sorry.”
She shrugs. “Not your fault. The doña changed her mind, is all.”
I try not to let my disappointment show on my face. Not just for tonight, but also for the future. If the doña changed her mind about me, it means she probably won’t ever hire me.
“Do you need a place to stay? Are you alone?” Yenni seems worried.
I can’t put my problems onto her. She needs to get back with the sugar so that Carmencita can finish the baking for tomorrow. She needs to keep her job and get her brother off the mountain.
“No, I’m fine,” I lie. “I can stay with my cousin. I just missed Carmencita’s cooking.”
Yenni dimples.
“Well, come around the back door tomorrow morning and I’ll sneak you out a piece of the sweet bread,” she says.
“Okay,” I say. “See you later.”
“Bye, Ana!” Yenni waves over her shoulder and hurries off in the direction of the posada. For a few minutes I stand there, leaning against the peeling paint of the concrete wall, resting my forehead against the iron bars of the closed shop window. Finally, I huff out a breath and straighten. The night is only getting later, the streets more dangerous. I need to figure out another plan as quickly as possible.
As I step away from the window, my toe catches on something. Bending down in the dim light, I see that it’s Yenni’s coin purse. She must have missed putting it in the pocket of her apron when she startled at the motorcycle’s noise. I pick it up and open it to be sure. I gasp at the money inside: forty-eight bolivianos and fifteen centavos! That’s a lot to drop. I jog after her, but when I get there, the posada is shut down for the night, the door bolted. I tuck Yenni’s purse carefully into my manta. I’ll keep it safe for her tonight and give it back to her tomorrow, since she already invited me to come by and get some sweet bread.
Then, out of options, I head to the only other place where I know someone in Potosí: I go to see Victor.
I find the right building, push open the door, and click on my flashlight so I don’t stumble in the littered hallway. But when I get to the room at the back, two of the other young men are there, but Victor’s not. My eyes fly to his corner. I see the small pile of his things and breathe again. He’s not here now, but he hasn’t left forever. When you have very little, you don’t leave it behind if you can help it.
“Hey there,” says one of the guys, leering at me. I instinctively don’t like him.
“Hello,” I say, willing my voice to stay steady over the fearful thudding of my heart. There are no other doors in this room; no windows. I have no idea when Victor will be back. I begin to rethink the wisdom of coming here. At the time, I wanted nothing more than to get off the dangerous streets. Now I glance around this dark, cramped room and wonder whether the street would have been the safer option. The beam of the flashlight wavers slightly. I realize my hands are trembling and tense the muscles in my arm, refusing to show my fear.
“Leave her alone, Osvaldo,” comes a voice from the far corner of the room. The other guy pushes himself up on an elbow. “She’s the fighter’s friend, remember?”
“As if I were afraid of him.” Osvaldo snorts.
“Of course not,” the other one says soothingly, “but a friend of a friend, right? Let’s be nice to her, eh?”
“Shut up, Joaquín,” he grumbles, but he turns away from me and walks over to his corner.
I give Joaquín a grateful nod. He winks at me and then goes back to what he was doing. I force myself to relax, sit, and wait for Victor.
It seems like it’s hours later, though in the windowless space it’s difficult to tell the passing of time, when he finally walks in. His eyes go first to the light: I’ve put the flashlight on the floor beside me, pointed at the ceiling. The small circle of white light isn’t much, but in the otherwise dark room, it’s a beacon. From there, Victor’s eyes move to me and go wide.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. It has been nerve-racking, waiting as the shadowy room around me filled with the shapes of strangers. My old terror from the mines clung to me like stale sweat, and I alternated between trying to be invisible and trying to appear fierce. Neither worked very well. Now, with Victor here, I feel safer. Though, looking at my shield, I wonder just how much he could stand up to before breaking.
Victor plonks onto the floor across from me. I pull the loaf of bread out of my folded manta and rip it in half.
“Here,” I say. “I brought you dinner. Again.” I put the larger half in his lap.
“Ana, what on earth are you doing here?”
“Bringing you dinner,” I repeat. “I said I’d be back to visit. Oh, and some light.” I point at the flashlight by my hip. “This way I won’t freak out in the dark tonight, and you don’t have to waste any more candles.”
Victor stares at the flashlight as if it he had never seen one before. He tries again.
“No, really,” he says, seeming to struggle for words, “why are you here? This isn’t a safe place. You went home. You’ve been gone for weeks. You’re supposed to be home. You’re supposed to be back to normal.”
“Eat,” I say, pointing to the food in his hands. I rip off a small piece of bread and put it in my mouth to show him how. He glowers at me, then bites off a corner and chews. Only then do I answer him. “I did go home,” I say, “but nothing is back to normal.”
I tell him about Daniel, my new family, and about César being sick. I whisper when I tell him about being too late to get the medicine because I don’t want the other boys in the room overhearing that I have money. I explain why I needed to spend the night.
Victor laughs softly.
“You know you’re in trouble when visiting me is your best bet and this place is your best option for a hotel,” he says.
“This is a terrible hotel,” I agree. “But you’ve always been my best friend.”
Victor gets quiet when I say that. “Thanks, Ana,” he whispers.
“So what did you do today?” I ask. “Did you fight again?” I can’t believe that I’m making small talk about him volunteering to get beat up in exchange for money, but I have to do something to get that sad, lost look off his face, and it’s the first thing that pops out of my mouth.
Victor moves his bloodshot gaze to me.
“Yes.”
“Did you win?”
“Yes.”
He’s not making this easy.
“Are you hurt?”
“Yes.”
I huff in frustration and watch Victor finish his food. He seems sadder than usual, more on edge. Two and half more weeks of living this life have aged him even more than working in the mines did. I wish I had come up with something to offer him—wish I could have brought him hope instead of bread. But I didn’t, and clearly he doesn’t feel like chatting.
“Never mind,” I say. “We can talk more in the morning. I want to be at the pharmacy as soon as they open, so I’m going to sleep now. Good night.” I
stretch myself out on the floor, my head resting on my folded manta. But I don’t fall asleep right away. Instead I lie there pretending to sleep while I watch him between my lashes.
He sits, not doing anything, for a long time. I see his hands clench and unclench, but he doesn’t go to sleep.
A boy comes over and stands behind him. It’s the boy from before, who made Osvaldo, the creep, leave me alone. He looks at me and then at Victor.
“Can’t figure out what to do about the problem of Sleeping Beauty?” He chuckles.
“Go away, Joaquín,” Victor grumbles.
“I could kiss her,” Joaquín suggests. “That usually fixes things in fairy tales.”
“This is no fairy tale. And she wouldn’t thank you for getting engine grease all over her clothes if you touched her,” he says, but there’s no venom in it. I don’t really think I’m in any danger from Joaquín.
“Hey! Not my fault I spend all day working with cars. You’d be oily too if you were training as a mechanic.” Joaquín laughs. “Seriously, though, Victor”—his voice loses its laugh—“she can’t keep coming here. It’s not safe. I got Osvaldo to leave her alone earlier, but next time he might not listen to me.”
Victor rubs a hand over his face roughly, deepening the lines of exhaustion there.
“I know,” he agrees tiredly. “I’ll talk to her in the morning.”
Then, as though they both agree to it without discussing it, Victor and Joaquín move their blankets so that they’ve boxed me into the corner with their bodies. Anyone wanting to get to me would have to walk over them to do so. And though this should make me feel even more strongly that I’m in danger here, instead it makes me feel taken care of. I fall asleep before the batteries in the flashlight die.
* * *
The next morning, Victor walks with me to the pharmacy and we sit together on the stoop, waiting for them to open. I’m glad they don’t open late on Saturdays. I don’t think I could stand to wait much longer to get this medicine to César.
Treasure of the World Page 21
