by Meg Medina
“Well? What have you got?” The shopkeeper looked with irritation at the puddle gathering at Sonia’s feet. “It had better be more than filched silverware.”
“Oh, it is.” Sonia emptied her leather bag of milagros as Pancho’s eyes grew wide. The metals were luminous, even in the dim light overhead. “What will you give me for these?” she asked.
The shopkeeper ran his fingers through the glittering pile, with a bored look on his face. “They’re crude pieces, not worth very much,” he said as he turned the tiny treasures under his jeweler’s glass. “Superstitious charms — why would I want them?”
“Because they’re made of the purest metal — and you know it,” Sonia replied. “The metal is clearly exquisite; melted down, it could fill your coffers nicely. How much?”
Sonia peered at the number that the man wrote on a slip of paper. It was just shy of what they needed.
Without blinking an eye, she began to scoop the milagros back inside their bag.
“What a shame, señor,” she said. “It is obvious you don’t know what they’re really worth. Let’s go, Pancho. We have no time to waste here.”
In a flash, the man put his hand on hers. “What’s the haste? You’re so eager to be out in the storm again?”
“Make a better offer, then,” Sonia demanded. “It’s mountain metal we’re talking about. I’m a miner’s girl. You and I both know it’s the best in the continent — no matter what fancy city people like to tell themselves about their baubles.”
When she glanced his way, Sonia noticed Pancho was beaming.
The shopkeeper scratched his belly, thinking.
“Well?” Sonia asked.
“Let me see what I can do.”
He dropped the first piece on his scale.
THEY HAD LEFT in the night, just as Mongo had instructed. Unlike the weekend train that ended in Tres Montes, the midweek train ran only as far as the town of Río Negro; they would have to walk the rest of the way.
The journey back through the mountains seemed interminable. All day and night, Sonia stared out into the blackness of La Fuente, searching for signs of travelers among the pallid cows in the hillsides, listening for any moan or shadow that might really be Rafael. When they reached the last stop, they were still more than nine kilometers from home, but Sonia was grateful for the chance to walk in the open air. She might see Rafael, find him herself, somehow.
Of course, she saw no sign of him, only rusted tracks leading home. To distract her, Pancho told her stories until he was hoarse. And he wrapped his arm around her shoulder for comfort. Finally, when they were sure they could not walk another step, Tres Montes appeared before them in the valley.
Sonia took in the view as if she were a traveler from far away. She’d known this village all her life, every path, every shop, every family. Señor Pasqual’s taxi boys were milling around for fares. Shopkeepers were unlatching their doors and shooing the stray dogs that warmed themselves on their porches. Tres Montes was unchanged, and yet nothing felt the same as she looked at her home.
She glanced at Pancho from the corner of her eye for strength. His gaze was in the pines rising up along the hillside as she took his hand.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“That it’s good to be home,” he said.
It wasn’t until Pancho and Sonia were almost upon them that the taxi boys recognized their old friend trudging along the tracks. In a flash, a fleet of bicycles came racing in their direction, shouts and questions firing as they approached.
“Is it really you, Pancho?”
“Wait until Señor Pasqual sees you!”
“What’s wrong with your arm?”
“You smell half dead!”
Armando’s voice was loudest of all as he hugged his old friend.
“I ought to yank your ears for all the worry you’ve caused!”
Sonia was cheered by Pancho’s clamoring companions. He put his good arm around her to protect her from the jostling and whistled to silence the racket. The boys fell into a stunned hush.
“Yes, it’s me, but I can’t tell you anything now. We’re in a hurry to get to the Ocampos’.”
“Get in, both of you,” Armando said quickly. “I can get you there the fastest.”
Sonia walked through her empty house. It looked tiny and dirty, and it stank of copal incense, instead of jasmine. The floors were bare wood planks. No one was inside.
“Out here,” Pancho called from the backyard.
When she reached the garden, she stood blinking in disbelief. Felix and Blanca Ocampo sat side by side on a bench, every vine and shoot in their plot withered to dust. Their prized vegetables were gone. Felix had shrunk to a sack of bones, and Blanca was sitting idle for the first time Sonia could remember, as if waiting for some apparition to materialize in a spot up ahead.
Tía Neli was the first to see them. She dropped the blanket she was tucking around Felix and rushed across the yard.
“Thank God you’re here,” she whispered, hugging them both.
Felix swiveled his bony neck in their direction. He seemed lost, and he looked at Sonia warily.
“It’s me, Papi,” she said in his ear when she reached him. “I’m home.”
Felix clutched her old shawl in his lap, and Sonia felt suddenly awkward in her soiled maid’s uniform.
“He’s still missing,” Felix said.
Sonia pressed her lips to his hands; the skin was papery and gray.
“I know. We’ve sent someone to find him,” she said.
Pancho came to stand by her side.
Near evening, Sonia paused behind her screen door. Mongo did not knock but stood in the path, casting a long shadow on the floor she was sweeping. Despite his low hat, she recognized him by his tattoos at once, but she couldn’t bring herself to say a word. He jerked his thumb toward the road.
“I’ve found him.”
Sonia’s scream pierced the air. Rafael lay like a sack across Mongo’s horse. Pancho raced out at once. Felix wobbled from the house in a haze as Blanca ran past him, reaching out in desperation. From every direction, neighbors rushed up the incline in alarm. Mongo’s horse neighed and reared.
“Stay back, señores!” Pancho shouted.
But it was no use. They pressed forward to look with horror at Rafael.
Sonia rushed to tear at the ropes that bound him. He’d been savaged. His face was bloated and caked with pebbles. Blood soaked his shirtsleeves; two fingers had been hacked off completely. She bit on her lips to keep from vomiting.
Mongo unsheathed his knife and sliced through the ropes to free him faster.
“Dumped,” he whispered to her. “I found him like this on the road. “He’s barely alive.”
“Help me get him inside!” Sonia scooped her arms beneath Rafael’s sagging legs. His back arched awkwardly as she and Pancho tugged. She shouted frantically at her neighbors. “Help us!”
But when no one moved, Sonia realized that fear had risen like a poison miasma over the people who had once adored her. Skinned raw of their fantasies about her powers of protection, they stared at her now in terror and doubt. If God could punish her in this way, what might he do next?
Sonia looked from one frightened face to another, realizing her family was abandoned. Fury boiled in her veins as she read their accusing thoughts.
“Look away from us with those eyes, all of you! There is no sin here!”
She turned to Tía Neli instead. “Go at once to Ernesto Fermín. Tell him to send back a doctor from Río Negro or anyplace else he can.”
“A doctor?” Tía Neli asked. “No doctor will trouble himself to come here.”
“Take that.” She pointed at the sack of ransom money still tied to Mongo’s belt. “And take Mongo and Pancho with you. There’s plenty of cash in that sack to make it worth Capitán Fermín’s trouble. Believe me, Tía, he owes us well for ignoring what was under his nose about his girlfriend, Conchita Fo!” She turned to Pancho and lowe
red her voice. “If he refuses, tell him you’ll go straight to his wife.”
At last she saw her father staring from the doorway. He dropped her shawl to the ground and walked toward her. He’d been strong once, with eyes that stayed dry no matter how many boys he saw killed in the mines. Live wires in puddles. Cave-ins. Coughs that rattled inside them all the way to Death’s door. He’d resigned himself every time.
But now Sonia could see that nothing was more fragile than a man stripped of his illusions. He looked ancient. Inside his eyes was a sadness she had never seen before. With the last of his strength, he picked up his only son and brought him inside.
They worked with a single purpose in the bedroom.
Sonia ripped open Rafael’s shirt, biting her tongue when she saw the damage. The skin around his ribs was welted in purple and green, and it was hot to the touch. She bandaged his hand tight with a rag to stop the river of blood from his missing fingers. Blanca washed the dirt and dried blood from his nostrils and lips. His teeth were broken from the gums. Each time a gurgle bubbled in his throat, Sonia crossed herself in case he was taking his last breath.
They worked under Felix’s empty stare until Rafael was swaddled in sheets. Sonia stood back, panting and perspired. She wanted to keep working, to find some way to make Rafael better, but there was nothing left to do now but wait for help to arrive. The only sound in the room was Rafael’s labored breathing.
Finally, Felix spoke up. “God has found the just punishment.”
Sonia set her jaw and turned to him slowly. “And what was Rafael’s sin, Papi, that he should be punished like this?” she spat. “Not wanting to work in the mines? Hoping for something better in his life? Is this the God you believe in?”
Blanca held up her hand. “Quiet, both of you,” she said. “This is no time for angry words.”
But Felix shook his head. “God does the right thing by crooked ways, Blanca. You know that as well as I do.”
Sonia froze. Her fingernails were brown with her brother’s blood; her feet were tangled in his shredded clothes that stank of urine and infection. She gathered the mess at her feet and headed outside before her father could see her cry.
“Wait —” Felix called.
But Sonia would not listen.
The yard was empty. Though she had always loathed their ceremonies, Sonia found that she longed for the companionship and support that her neighbors might have offered. There were no songs for the ill or incense, and no women guarding the gate to keep out spirits who might want to snatch him away. She hated the sting of loneliness.
Fear had poisoned everyone she knew. It was killing the people of Tres Montes in one way or another. It had left them with no prayers of their own for God, no faith in themselves to face the unknown. No way to be consoled or offer respite to anyone else.
The cooking fire, where Blanca had boiled water, was still smoldering when Sonia reached it. She dropped Rafael’s soiled clothes into it and watched the flames lick high into the air.
Then her eyes fell on her shawl. It lay exactly where Felix had dropped it near the doorway. Sonia began to reach for it, deciding on the spot to turn the wretched thing to ash, too. But when she stooped, something surprised her inside the nearby bushes. A pair of eyes was watching her from between the branches.
She took a step closer to get a better look.
It was Luz, a girl who’d once burned with fever, but had recovered as Sonia prayed for her.
“I’m hiding like a panther,” the girl said. She made her hands into claws and growled.
“Oh. You’re a very good panther, then.”
Luz edged out, grinning wide as she wrapped herself around Sonia’s legs. The warmth of her little body was instantly calming. Sonia thought of the copper charm that stood for Luz on her shawl. Time had already given it the desirable tinge of verdigris. Would time be as generous to the real girl in a place like Tres Montes? What would it offer?
Sonia ruffled her hair.
“Go on, now, before your mother finds you,” she said. “We shouldn’t both be in trouble.”
In a flash, Luz’s bare feet were slapping against the packed dirt.
By nightfall, when her parents at last dozed in their chairs, Sonia stared out into the dusk, trying to not to think about sleep. She was too afraid to close her eyes and lose Rafael, who looked smaller and more fragile with each passing hour.
Instead, she listened to the night sounds. For all its grandeur, there was no music like this in the capital. Nor did the breeze circle the treetops in the same way. She took in deep breaths, until a rustle in the room made her turn.
Abuela had slipped into a corner, looking at Rafael with pity.
“Don’t take him yet,” Sonia said. “Please.”
Abuela sighed and made Sonia’s eyelids heavy. Good memories blew through the room. Learning to swim in the river, roasting chicken legs on the fire, searching for lizards after rains, running the cliffs, even the Saturday-morning arguments at market. The images took shape before Sonia’s sleepy eyes and floated away to Felix and Blanca, until soon their slack lips curled into smiles.
Sonia reached for Rafael’s hand. It was ice. She lay down beside him and whispered in his ear.
She murmured stories about the capital, pretending she could still see the mischief in his eyes. She promised him the largest truck that money could buy and apologized for every moment she had ever secretly envied him. His breaths grew shallow, and a strong odor of sulfur filtered through his bandages. She tried not to notice the red streaks of infection running the length of his wounded arm.
It was nearly dawn by the time Tía Neli, Pancho, and Mongo arrived with the doctor, a tired-looking man who’d been battling spotted fever in the countryside. Mongo’s horse had a glazed look; its ears were limp from the long trip. The group rushed up the path and stopped when they saw her.
Sonia was in the yard alone, staring at the embers that still glowed in the fire pit. Bits of Rafael’s charred belt were smoldering. For a moment, no one spoke.
“We’ve brought the doctor,” Pancho said.
She turned to him slowly.
“Abuela came,” she replied.
Tía Neli covered her mouth and raced inside with the others, the screen door banging behind her. Sonia didn’t follow. She stared at the last of the fire once again.
Rafael was gone.
THERE WERE NO songs or processions. No long wails of neighbors coiling into the sky, only Señora Clara tucking mint leaves gently inside Rafael’s cheeks as she prepared him in his father’s best coat.
The next day he was buried quietly in a spot not far from Abuela and Luis, where Sonia said he could look out over the train whenever he liked.
“He didn’t deserve that fate,” Pancho whispered to Mongo, who had dug a grave through the moss and rocky earth while Pancho watched hopelessly, his arm still useless from his untimely exit from the train. That pain, however, was nothing compared to watching Sonia’s private despair.
The barkeep wiped the sweat from his head and loaded the last shovel onto his horse. He shook his head and clapped his young friend on the back.
“Don’t waste your time on such thoughts, Pancho. Fate meets the lucky and unlucky every day. There’s no use thinking it’s any other way.”
They finished packing in silence.
“Where will you go now?” Pancho asked him when he mounted at last. Conchita Fo had disappeared for parts unknown, according to Armando. La Jalada was deserted.
Mongo shrugged. “Who knows? Wherever the wind takes me, I suppose. But don’t worry. I’ll send word when I get settled; then you can write me more of your stories.” He hit his forehead with his hand. “Oh. I almost forgot.”
He fished in his pocket and drew out the remaining money that the milagros had fetched in the capital. “Give it back to her. Her people will need it from the looks of things.”
Pancho pocketed the money for safekeeping and watched his friend disappear into the tree
s. Then he joined Sonia near the fig tree. She and Tía Neli sat away from her parents. The space between them reminded Pancho of a chasm between mountains, but this one seemed to have no bridge. No one was speaking.
He tossed a small sack of wildflower seeds on the ground.
“For planting,” he said. Next year, when the ground was flat and hard again, he thought it would be a comfort to see their color, the bees dawdling heavily in the blooms.
Sonia stared, and Pancho instantly knew what she was thinking. Next year she would still be here without Rafael. By then she might start to forget the sound of her brother’s voice.
“Gracias, Pancho,” Tía Neli said. “We’ll plant them before we go.”
But the hours went by, and they walked home in gloom. No one had mustered the will to plant the seeds.
The next day, when Pancho arrived at the grave to spread the seeds himself, he found that Sonia was already there. She was sitting at the very edge of the outcrop, watching the hawks in the canyon. Her shawl lay beside her. She’d removed every charm from the fabric and piled them at the foot of the fig tree. Clearly, it had taken her hours of work. Her fingertips were bloody from the pricks. Her clothes were damp with dew.
He sat down and put his arm around her shoulders. From here they could see the river and the tracks, even the roof of Irina Gomez’s dilapidated schoolhouse and the shade tree where they’d shared so many stories.
“One day it will feel a little better,” he said, thinking of long ago when he had become an orphan.
Sonia picked up her shawl and rubbed her fingers along the fabric.
“I need to trouble you with another favor,” she said.
“Of course, anything. What is it?”
“Bring my parents here. Will you do that for me?”
“What should I tell them?”
Sonia sighed. She’d been asking herself that same question all night.
“Just bring them.”
