Treasure of the World

by Tara Sullivan

  Shivering on my rock ledge, I let myself imagine living down in the city, wearing clothes that are warm and stylish, laughing with a group of friends. I imagine myself in a secondary school, learning math and science, and reading about all the wonders of the world. With my fancy education I’ll have a job waiting for me, and my family and I—since I’m dreaming, I go ahead and put Daniel in my new house too, relaxing in a comfortable chair and laughing at me with bright eyes and normal lungs—live in the city and are happy for the rest of our lives, not a speck of rock dust anywhere. I hesitate for a moment when I remember Papi and Belén and César, but everything in my dream world is free, so I make Papi alive again and toss them all in too, filling the imagined world below me with wonders for us all.

  As lovely as the wish is, though, I find that I quickly wear it threadbare with too much touching. Besides, I know there’s nothing left for me in the city now, not even the hope of working at the posada. Not after I’ve stolen from one of their employees.

  I’m just shifting my position to get more comfortable when a shadow approaches along the road that is definitely not a dog. I jump to my feet, grip a stick of dynamite, and call out.

  “Who’s there?”

  The figure puts both of its hands up and continues to shuffle toward me. I keep an eye on it, my heart pounding. I light the acetylene lamp on my forehead in case I need the dynamite in a hurry. When the shadow is a few meters away, it finally speaks.

  “Ana, dear, put down the dynamite.”

  “Abuelita?” I’m stunned, but I do as she says. I jog over to where my grandmother is standing in the entry lot and take her cold, knobby hand in one of mine. She’s wearing a knit hat pulled low over her ears and has a bundle tied to her back that made her shadow unrecognizable, but now that I’m up close, with the light of the lamp shining on her, there’s no doubt who it is.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  She gives me a wrinkled smile.

  “I came to keep you company. Nights alone are long.”

  “But you shouldn’t be out in the cold . . . you’ll get sick . . .”

  “Pah! These old bones never sleep through the night anyway. Might as well put them to good use. Now, where were you sitting? Was it out of the wind? Take me there.”

  Though I still feel like I should make Abuelita go home and rest, I’m grateful that I don’t have to be alone anymore, so I show her where I’ve been sitting. Using the blankets Abuelita brought, I make her a warm little nest, hand her some coca leaves, and we settle down together in an easy silence.

  “The city is so beautiful,” murmurs Abuelita after a while. “It sparkles like a rich person’s Christmas tree.”

  Whenever we go into the city near Christmas, Abuelita and I always love the decorations in the shops. Sometimes you can even see through windows into people’s houses. The trees with their fairy lights are so pretty. Then my smile fades.

  “Just like a rich person’s Christmas tree, none of the gifts there are for us.”

  For a moment Abuelita is quiet. “What’s wrong, Ana?” she asks at last.

  I wave my hand, half brushing off the question, half pointing to everything around me. “I . . .” I struggle for a moment. “Doña Elena wanted to marry me off.”

  Abuelita snorts. “Elena is an idiot. Ignore her.”

  I smile at my grandmother’s support, but the feeling doesn’t go away so easily. “I won’t be able to ignore her forever,” I say. “I mean, maybe Mami and César won’t force me to get married anytime soon, but eventually . . . ? No matter how long I manage to put it off, my life will always be to marry a miner, have his children, and be his widow. I’m supposed to break rocks and keep house and send my sons into the mine.”

  Abuelita is watching me carefully.

  “And I just . . . I don’t want that. You’re always telling me stories of the Inca—look at us! We’ve been doing this for centuries, trapped on this mountain for hundreds of years, no one ever doing anything different than their parents or their parents’ parents. I wish . . . I wish I could do something else with my life . . .” I trail off and drop my head onto my crossed arms. “But girls like me don’t have choices. There are good things out there, but we’ll never have enough money to buy them. Everything is just too hard.”

  For a long moment Abuelita is quiet, considering me. I finally lift my face, feeling rude and ungrateful that I’ve told her I want a life that is nothing like the life she lived.

  “Abuelita—” I start to apologize, but she cuts me off.

  “All this talk of gifts and buying,” she says, “you’re thinking like the Spaniards.”

  I roll my eyes, not wanting another history lesson. I’m talking about my life now. I don’t care about any epic clash between Andean and Spanish cultures in the 1500s. But either Abuelita doesn’t see my eyes or doesn’t care, because she keeps talking.

  “The Spaniards came here searching for El Dorado, a mythical city made all of gold. They wanted to melt it down and turn it into coins and buy better lives for themselves, just like you’re saying. Do you know what the Inca called gold and silver?”

  “No,” I mumble into my knees. Once Abuelita gets started, you can’t cut her off. You have to let her finish.

  “They called gold ‘the sweat of the sun,’ and silver ‘the tears of the moon,’” she says. “They thought they belonged to the gods and used them for religious artifacts because they were beautiful. They never gave them value beyond that. Do you know what the currency of the Inca empire was?”

  I shrug.

  “Work.”

  I look up at her.

  “You were wealthy in those times if you had good lands to farm for food, or herds of llama, alpaca, or vicuña that you could shear for fine wool to make cloth. People worked in family units and everyone contributed to help make life good for the whole family. The Inca took that model to the level of an empire. They made the people they conquered work for them two months out of the year, and in exchange they fed and defended them. With this model, they built everything they needed, from over forty thousand kilometers of paved roads to cities, fortresses, way stations, and storehouses.”

  I’m not sure where she’s going with this. “So?” I say. “They were defeated by people that had horses and guns and new germs. They were squashed by Spain and forced to work like slaves. Who cares what the Inca did?”

  “You”—Abuelita’s voice is fierce, and she pokes me in the middle of the chest with a bony finger—“are Inca. You are a child of that heritage. If you want a different future, it will never be yours if you chase it like a daughter of Spaniards. Money, pah! When does anyone ever have enough of it?”

  “Never,” I grumble.

  “Exactly. It’s the wrong currency. Up here, if you measure your future in coin, you will always be poor. Remember your ancestors. Work, Ana. If you want a different future, don’t wish for it. Work for it.”

  And with that, Abuelita wraps herself in her manta and leaves me to my thoughts.

  * * *

  By the tiny hours of the morning, Abuelita has dozed off and not even the sparkle of Potosí is enough to keep me warm. I try staring up at the stars instead, but they’re far away and just as cold as I am. Besides, looking at heaven makes me think about dead people, and I don’t want to think about them either. I realize that I had no idea how long a night could be, cold, and awake, and alone. It’s not good to be alone, whispers an echo of Mami’s voice. I hunch into my blankets, trying to block everything out, willing the night to be over.

  My head bobs.

  You’re getting sleepy, I think. You should get up and walk around for a bit.

  But that realization comes a little bit too late and I nod off.

  Seconds—minutes? hours?—later, a formless fear washes over me, coupled with the feeling of falling and I startle awake with a gasp. I nea
rly wake Abuelita, but I can’t bring myself to be that selfish, so I let her sleep. She’s here to help me in case of an emergency, not just when I get scared by a nightmare.

  If only I could see the line between the nightmare and my life more easily. Like the devil in the mines, unless you find the right tribute, fate catches you eventually and savages your dreams with its broken-glass teeth. Perhaps I was a fool to ever think to look for a different future from the one I was born to.

  I push to my feet and force myself to do a lap. As I walk, the cold wind whistles around me and I bend my head against it. Unable to shake the feeling that the Tío knows that I’m here, I stumble up to the edge of the darkness at the mouth of the mine and sprinkle a few of my precious coca leaves onto the mud.

  “An offering,” I whisper, and climb back to my lonely perch.

  * * *

  Finally, long past the point where I’m sure I can’t bear it any longer, dawn arrives. And with the dawn, trudging up the slope, is Don Carmelo. I never thought I’d long to see his sour face, but the feeling of relief that washes over me when I see him is huge.

  Stiffly, I get to my feet and wake Abuelita. She gathers our things while I clamber awkwardly off my perch to talk to Don Carmelo.

  He considers me for a few moments, then holds out two paper bills and a five-boliviano coin. I take them from him with hands made clumsy by a night in the cold.

  “I get paid every day?” I ask, wedging the thirty-five bolivianos into my pocket.

  “No,” he says. “But I thought, for the first few days, maybe we’d do it this way.” He scratches his nose. “I’m paying you for just last night because maybe you’ve decided you’re not coming back tonight.”

  Thirty-five bolivianos is not enough to repay Yenni, let alone feed my family or pay down our debt. I lift my chin.

  “I’m coming back,” I say. “Have a good day, Don Carmelo.”

  He shrugs as if it doesn’t matter to him one way or the other. Which I guess it probably doesn’t.

  “Until later, then,” he says, and plods into the mine, starting the morning shift.

  21

  When Abuelita and I get home, a wave of exhaustion crashes over me, and I collapse into bed. The devil is waiting for me, as I knew he would be.

  “So,” he says, standing. “You’re just like all the others.” The coca leaves and offerings slide off him to drift around my feet. He towers above me.

  When I tip my head to meet his eyes, I reach reflexively for my helmet to keep it from slipping off. But my hand touches nothing but my hair.

  Risking a quick glance at myself, I see that I’m wearing my outfit from today, right down to my ratty tennis shoes.

  “Like who?”

  The devil ticks off a list on his cracked red clay fingers.

  “The conquistadores, the viceroys of Spain, the bishops, the mint masters, the pirates, the kings, the emperors, the governments, the multinational corporations, the mining cooperatives.”

  “What do you mean?” I demand. “How am I like all of them?”

  The devil of the mines leers down at me and his tone is possessive when he answers, “You’re a thief.”

  When I wake, I find that I’ve clenched the thirty-five bolivianos I earned last night so hard in my fist that I can read the imprint of the metal coin on my palm.

  I carefully put the money in the little jar on the shelf and force my stiff fingers to relax, refusing to cry. You only borrowed it, I tell myself, over and over again like a prayer. You’re earning it back.

  I sleep most of the rest of the day. Though Abuelita tells me she’s fine and works outside with the palliri, after our midday meal I notice that it takes her a couple of tries to get up from sitting, like her whole body is hurting her. Belén rushes over to help her before I can, and Mami gives them a worried look.

  That night, when I layer on all my extra sweaters and pack my manta, Mami appears at my elbow.

  “I’ve told Elvira not to sit with you every night,” she says, helping me settle my bundle over my shoulder. “It’s too much for her old bones.”

  “I didn’t ask her to come with me last night,” I rush to clarify, trying to keep my voice even. I knew it was too much to ask, but even with Abuelita getting on my case, it was nice not to have to face the unending dark hours alone. “Of course she shouldn’t come. We don’t want her getting sick too.”

  “Exactly,” says Mami. “She can come with you every few days maybe, when she’s had a good rest in between. The other nights I’ll come with you.”

  I feel a wave of relief, remembering the terror of the empty hours before Abuelita showed up last night; hours so lonely I would have done anything to see another living soul, and yet terrified that I might see someone at the same time. Then I think about what Mami is offering.

  “No,” I say. “You didn’t sleep all day like I did. You worked as a palliri. You still have to cook, and clean, and take care of Belén and César. We can’t afford for you to get sick either. I can do this.”

  Abuelita and Belén are listening in as we talk. Abuelita’s mouth is a thin line, but I guess Mami talked to her earlier, because she doesn’t say anything.

  “I’m used to being by myself,” Belén breaks in. “When it was just me and Papi, he had to leave me alone a bunch. I’ll be fine. Doña Elvira and I can take care of things here.”

  Abuelita gives Belén a fond look. “Yes, we can. Do whatever you need to do, Mónica,” she says to Mami.

  And so it’s settled: the plan is for Mami to come with me to the mines.

  But, like so many plans, it doesn’t work out.

  We’re just getting to the door when Doña Elena comes running up in spite of the aching hip she was complaining about earlier.

  “Mónica!” she says. “Inés is having her baby, but something’s not right. Please, can you come?”

  Mami jerks as though she’s been electrocuted. She’s not a doctor or a nurse, but she has helped deliver many babies. Her eyes flash to mine, and I can see her gathering her courage to say no. I know that, given the choice, she will protect me over Doña Inés’s child. I’m hers, after all.

  But I am no longer a baby.

  I straighten my spine. “Go,” I tell her. “It’s just one night. I’ll be fine. Abuelita can stay here with César and Belén. If the birth goes quickly, you can join me later.”

  Mami opens her mouth to argue with me, but I cut her off.

  “It’s not worth a baby’s life just to keep me company.”

  For a moment more, Mami stands there, torn. I keep my back straight and my face clear, showing her how strong I am. Finally, she nods. “Okay,” she tells Doña Elena. “Tell Inés I’m on my way.”

  The woman bolts from the room, and Mami, after gathering some things she might need, turns to go as well. Just before she leaves, she pulls me into a hug. “You’re so brave, Ana,” she whispers into my ear. “I’m so proud of you. Thank you.” Then she gives me a quick kiss and hurries after Doña Elena into the night.

  I heave a sigh. Being brave is the worst.

  “Okay,” I say to Abuelita and Belén, “have a good night. Take care of César. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Abuelita pats my cheek. “Take care of yourself tonight, Ana. I’ll pray for your safety.”

  “Good night,” I say to Belén, who’s giving me a funny look I can’t figure out.

  “Good night,” she says.

  I wave over my shoulder and head out.

  * * *

  I get to the mouth of the mine just in time to check in with Don Carmelo before I climb up to my perch and settle in for a cold and lonely night.

  The moon is barely a hand’s width above the edge of the mountain when I see a small figure creeping through the shadows toward me.

  That can’t be . . .

  But when she ge
ts closer, I see that yes, it is.

  “Belén? What are you doing here?” A thought occurs to me: the only reason they would have sent her to come get me is if something truly terrible had happened. “Is Abuelita okay—is César—did Mami—” I don’t know how to organize my thoughts, but Belén cuts me off.

  “Everyone’s fine. Your mami is still out helping with Doña Inés, your abuelita is sleeping, and Papi’s breathing settled a bit. I left a note saying where I went so they won’t worry.” Belén bounces over to join me.

  “So they won’t worry . . . about what?”

  “Me staying here with you, of course!” She smiles brightly.

  I stare at her blankly. Then I snap out of my shock.

  “No way,” I manage, shaking my head. Belén is only eight.

  “Why not?” she demands.

  “Because,” I say, “it’s dangerous, and lonely, and cold, and you’ll be uncomfortable and miserable and get no sleep and be worthless for school tomorrow . . .” I trail off, not able to put into words how terrible of an idea this is.

  Her chin juts into the air. “If it’s all that bad, you shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

  It’s not good to be alone. I clench my hands by my sides in frustration.

  “No,” I say, keeping it simple.

  “We need the money,” she says firmly. “You’re helping to get it. My new mami is helping to get it. Even old Doña Elvira breaks rocks and sits with you. You’re all doing it for my papi because he’s sick. I’m going to help too, and you can’t stop me.”

  “I sure can,” I say, getting to my feet. “Come on! We’re taking you home right now.”

  Belén plants her feet, a stubborn crease on her forehead. “You can take me back, but you can’t make me stay,” she says. “I’ll just run out again and come here. And then the mine will be left unguarded, and your abuelita will have to be up all night to keep track of me. What’s the point?”