Chapter 5

  Buenos dias, mi hijo.

  Sun rays peaked through the blinds of the windows and courted the dust dancing in the air. Excitement burned through Arturo’s chest and into his limbs, eclipsing the aches and agonies at home in his body, filling him with an energy to move and jump and run like a little kid. Today was the day Arturo left for the Capital. “I’m coming home, Mother,” he whispered to himself. He swung his legs off the bed and lunged for his pants and shirt. Pain? It hadn’t crossed his mind. Though his feet spasmed and he nearly fell, his thoughts were in a far-off place.

  Soon. Soon he would have a break.

  A smile parted his mouth, and he laughed at his uncooperative fingers attempting to do up the buttons near his collar and the straps on his boots. He wore his good wool today, and the fabric almost caressed his skin. Fresh morning air drifted into his home. Sweet on the tongue and full in the chest. It was a good morning.

  Arturo stopped and felt shame. He glanced out the blinds to the waking town. Valeria was out there, an early riser, wishing he wouldn’t leave. Wishing he could stay. It wasn’t hope. A hope is for those who believe what they wish will come to pass, and Valeria knew her wish was a fantasy. Arturo would make this trip. He couldn’t miss it. He felt the shame, but it wasn’t going to stop him. Not with this. People relied on him so much, and he deserved a break. Still, the loneliness Valeria was feeling weighed on him. The blood pulsing between his fingers and in his palms seemed to boom in his ears.

  Home isn’t supposed to be painless.

  This would be the last pilgrimage. Then his attention could focus solely on Valeria and starting their life together. Barto drank and rolled his sabanos tight. Arturo took his little trips. But habits can be broken. Everyone lived in pain, and he was not special.

  With his fresh clothes and boots, Arturo slipped on his hat. The leather hissed under his rough shepherd’s hands, brushed the fingers of his father before him. His own loneliness fermented in his heart. The hat smelled like him, like his father. At least, Arturo thought it did, and he wondered if he could even remember that smell. He was young. It was musky, a dirty man from a small pueblo, but it was sweet with sugar cane too, and a sticky tobacco the man had packed in his lip. That’s what Arturo remembered, or how he remembered it. The difference was meaningless to him. Yes, this would be his last trip to the Capital. At least for a while.

  Squealing wood hinges needed replacing in Arturo’s front door. They reminded him when a scrappy looking dog jumped at the sudden high-pitched screech of Arturo opening the door and looked at him with a great deal of frustration. Odd thing for a dog to stare at a man like he had pissed in the house. “Perdon…” The perro huffed in response then licked its snout and sauntered off.

  Arturo could tell the sun was coming up some fractions of a dial later than a few weeks prior. Making the pilgrimage at this time of year let him see the rains in the region just outside the bowl valley of the Capital. Rain was hard to come by in the grasslands, and they attributed almost all their water to run offs from the high places. He yearned to drink from the source.

  Arturo took his ginger steps, elation abated now by the memories he wore on his head, and found himself in front of Olina’s tavern. Not surprising. He spent most of his coin here eating and drinking. Or paying for Valeria to eat and drink. Why did meals cost more than double when he added her to the bill, but she ate less than he did? The target of his running thoughts noticed him, and Valeria bounded to her feet from her place at the bar. She beat him here. Also, not surprising.

  “Arturo, buenos dias, mi amor.”

  “Buenos dias,” his loving reply came through a smile and a peck on her lips.

  “Are you ready for your trip?”

  There was longing in that question. He responded truthfully anyway, “I am very ready.” Arturo didn’t want to get into this with her right now. Gone were the days of a young relationship where he was surprised when she was upset or angry with him. This trip was important to him. She would have to get past that, and it was the last one. Worry stabbed his gut about finding the work to make money for Valeria’s abuela. Looming loss is not a weight he wished the woman he loved to carry on her own. He could fix it. She needed to just let him fix it.

  “Que raro…” her voice trailed off as she saw the white flesh on his chest where the red scars had been just two days prior. Arturo had tried not to think about it. Observations locked away along with the nausea from those brutish executions.

  Pots rang in the kitchen, and Olina’s cursing ricocheted about the tables and conversations strewn about the tavern. “Tengo mucho trabajo!” The bartender kicked open the door, hands full with sacks of what must be food. “People in this pueblo can’t cook for themselves, and I have to do it all for them!” She dropped the food and turned back through the door to pick up more bags. Several people at the tables stood at her boisterous entrance. She reappeared, “Settle down, you dogs! It’s almost ready!” Now realizing they were dressed in travel attire, family leathers where there would typically be wool, sacks strung over their shoulders, Arturo watched the men and women grumble and sit back at their tables, half-heartedly returning to half-baked conversation.

  Arturo chuckled and shook his head, “Are they not paying you?”

  Olina dropped the next load then shoved her shaking jowls right up to Arturo’s face. Sweet cafe and clove lilted off her breath, quite the juxtaposition to her otherwise general untidiness. “Not. e-NOUGH!” Her eyes caught something outside, and Arturo turned his head to look. Dust drifted behind the hooves of horses and wooden wagon wheels. His heart jumped, pain receding to memory again. Olina groaned, “Ay, El Padre, they’re early. Who in their right mind would want to be early?”

  Arturo shot to his feet and went for the door. He called over his shoulder, “I have to pack my bag. They’re already here! We can eat when I come back.” Thoughts left that place and flew to the mountains a ten-day ride to the east. Valeria didn’t have any objection, so he raced out the door and into the center of the pueblo, registering the apparent anger squaring her shoulders and clenching her jaw a second too late. That stole his stride, and he turned back to the tavern to apologize and ask for her leave to pack, as would be the gentlemanly thing to do. After all, he wasn’t going to be seeing her for the next few weeks. He met her fiery gaze from outside in the crowd, and it seemed to fuel his footfalls, feeling like flame engulfing him from the soles of his feet to his hips with a sharp pain lancing into his spine. His walk was more of a hobble now. He already worried about her getting tired of his problems and his illness and leaving. Why make it an easier choice for her?

  The hair on the back of his neck stood up. His skin crawled, and a sense of paranoia overtook him. He stood still and kept his head forward fearing what he might find if he turned it. Eyes locked with Valeria now, her anger melting into an obvious confusion, Arturo felt his eyelids plastered to his skull with fear. That awareness. He clutched at his chest, and his knees wobbled. Blood and pain splattered a tent. He shook his head. No, it was just the town square, and vendedores shouted about their fruits and bread. Valeria walked towards him now, and he held out his hand to tell her to stop. She stopped. People passed around him, giving odd looks but carrying on with indifference. Arturo needed to get a hold of himself. That awareness.

  His scalp seemed to pull his head around. Slowly. He heard the joints in his neck creak and grate and grind against each other. The joints in his fingers felt ready to burst. Towards the east, and the direction of the incoming wagons, a man and women stood in identical woolen robes the traveling merchants might wear, yet a dark black and too clean. Their faces weren’t visible beneath deep hoods, but their figures gave at least their sex away. The man on the left, even taller than Arturo, and a stocky woman on the right. Confirmation seemed to ring in Arturo’s mind. Confirmation or… recognition? They crossed their hands in tandem, left hand over right. That awareness fled, replaced by the tension of spotting a crouching predator. A puma’s head rolled at his feet and disappeared into the dust. People flowed around Arturo, moving too fast. Arturo watched the strangers’ hands, and saw they were ungloved, unnatural. Their skin was neither dark nor light, scarred nor callused. It seemed… gray.

  “Que mierda,” Arturo breathed out. The man, broad shouldered, turned and flowed behind a building, walking much too unrefined a word for the movement. The woman lingered a moment longer. Arturo was positive she watched him. Then, the woman turned and followed the man out of sight. The alarm bells and feeling of recognition immediately left. Arturo shook his gaze from the spot and wondered why he’d been so spooked. Many strange people came to town. Maybe their profession stained their skin. It happened to leather tanners, after all.

  Valeria ran up beside him. “Que? paso?, Arturo?” She put a light hand on his face, and his eyes came back into focus, sound from the street returning, smells and sights around him bombarding his mind.

  “Nothing, just had some chest pains.”

  Suspicion lowered her eyes. “Bien. Well, be careful and rest on your ride. Please?”

  He nodded.

  She nodded back.

  He turned and walked back to his house to pack, hands and feet complaining all the way.

  ***

  An hour later, Arturo passed the waggoneers feeding and watering their horses in the street and slunk back into the tavern. He picked himself up as he entered, throwing on a mask to cover his uncertain mood. Olina stood behind the bar speaking with Valeria. Their conversation seemed intense; Arturo smirked. He slipped into the room and stayed low behind Valeria so Olina wouldn’t notice him. “Hola chicas!” He jumped up and grabbed Valeria’s shoulders. Her hand slipped forward and spilled café down Olina’s apron.

  “Puto! I just cleaned this! Pinche-” Olina slapped her cleaning cloth on the bar counter and stalked to her pantry room, cursing him the whole way.

  “Ah, Olina, lo siento! It’s just café!”

  “It’s white cloth, pendejo! It will stain!”

  Arturo’s eyes went wide, and his mouth turned into a mocking frown. Valeria turned in her seat with her mouth open in amused shock. They noticed each other’s expressions and started laughing. Arturo sighed with one last chuckle and sat at the bar next to Valeria. A plate of beautiful orange egg yolks ran over tortillas and salsa. An unspilled cup of café sat next to the plate of food. He reached for a warming gulp.

  “Not a chance. You lost yours all over poor Olina.” Valeria swiped the cup and drank.

  Olina’s muffled voice yelled from beyond the door behind the bar, “Olina is going to beat the piss out of poor Arturo!”

  They heard a muffled laugh then behind the door, and Valeria giggled too. Arturo wondered what portion of the sauces on his plate were in fact the bartender’s spit. He tore a piece of a tortilla and scooped up egg and salsa. The food didn’t taste like spit. What he couldn’t taste wouldn’t hurt him. “So, what were you guys talking about before I ruined her morning?” Arturo gestured a bitten tortilla to the bar door.

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  “Olina had some interesting customers in last night. They ordered liver and sugar water!”

  Arturo swallowed the mouthful, the taste of the food was lost to him. The strangers had sat in this tavern. Who else would she be talking about? She hadn’t known what spooked him before, but he wouldn’t let it on either. He mirrored Valeria’s energy, “So, interesting because they have bad taste?”

  “No, well yes, but that’s not the weird part. They kept their hoods up the whole time, and they looked off. It’s pretty dark in here at night, so Olina couldn’t really pin it.”

  Olina opened the door and stepped back to the bar, a clean apron layered over her clothes. Arturo turned his attention from Valeria to the portly middle-aged woman. “See? I told you it was just café.”

  “It’s my spare, pendejo.” Olina narrowed her eyes at Arturo then joined the conversation as if she’d been there the whole time. How she heard them speaking through the wall was beyond him. “Anyway… they just seemed off. Lifeless almost? I’m not sure. They made my skin crawl. Like the stories of the Parents’ abominations. Greatstorm demons. It’s a good thing what they do for us every year with those things.” She added the last bit under her breath.

  Valeria made a wry chuckle, “Even if a pair somehow made it past the view of the Parents, they wouldn’t have just sat in your tavern ordering weird food.” Olina and Arturo glanced at each other. “Oh, come on guys, one Greatstorm a year, and the Parents always protect us. Identical twins in your tavern, Olina? No mames! No one has ever seen them but what the Father shows us.”

  Reluctantly, Arturo admitted what he was trying to hide before, “I think I know who you’re talking about. It was a man and a woman. I’m positive. Couldn’t be identical twins.”

  “So, you know how they work, huh? The scholarly shepherd?” Olina chided.

  “Well, they’re supposed to be identical,” Arturo responded in kind, “a man and women are not identical, barkeep.”

  Enraged and with a stain-free apron, Olina came over the bar swinging a thick club for a hand at Arturo. He leaned back and laughed, expecting that reaction. Olina pulled back and spit on the floor and leaned back on the bar like nothing happened.

  “See,” Valeria jumped in, “not your spooky Greatstorm.”

  Olina rolled her eyes, “Something was wrong about them.”

  Arturo agreed.

  Another voice chimed in, “Can I please ord-”

  “Espera, guey!” Olina waved off the intruder.

  Valeria raised her eyebrows, “Superstitions in small towns. How cliché.” She returned to her own food.

  “Well, we do hear the voice of a god every day,” Arturo responded. He could tell he was getting under Valeria’s skin, and not in the fun way he tried to do on purpose.

  She blew out of her nose and shook her head, “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Arturo, ready for the pilgrimage? Excited to hear from the monks?” Olina was good at breaking tension. It was a big part of her job.

  “Yes, I am! I can’t wait to get a break from this place.”

  Valeria pushed out her stool and stood. “Disculpe?. I need to get some chores done.”

  Arturo realized he probably wasn’t the best at breaking tension. She stormed out of the tavern and shoved past a couple vendedores crowding the door outside.

  “Best get after her, boy.”

  “Yeah.”

  Arturo followed Valeria as she turned into an alley leading off the main square. His chest ached with anxiety as his feet ached with his swifter than comfortable movement. It had been a year since he got to move without a wince. Valeria waited for him around the corner under a wool awning. He guessed she didn’t have chores to do after all.

  “You’re so ready to be away from me.” Valeria put her pointer finger on his chest.

  “How could you think that?”

  “Oh, I’m so ready to take a break from this place,” she mocked and waved her hands above her head. Arturo’s mind raced for the right thing to say. He wanted to be a comfort for her.

  “I- I love you, Valeria. I just need this for myself.”

  “It’s supposed to be a pilgrimage, Arturo. To worship the Parents.”

  “You know that’s not why I go.” He also knew she could care less about worship.

  “I know you love thinking you’re normal in the Capital. Well, you’re not. I don’t love you for being normal. You brave a storm every day keeping your head held high. You try so hard to be happy with your illness, and-”

  “And what? You don’t want me to feel happy?” Try so hard? Arturo was happy.

  “I want you to feel happy with me! Can’t you see that? You play an act, but you don’t feel it!”

  “Don’t tell me what I do and don’t feel,” his tone could have chilled water, “I’m going this year to try and bring some work back for you, Valeria. To help out. I know you guys need the money. I am happy with you. I just need the briefest relief from this constant pain. I can’t sleep, think, walk, run, sit, stand or anything! You don’t have any idea what this is like! You know what I feel and want? I just want a break! Why don’t you want that for me?”

  “I want you to feel that relief with me. I told you I couldn’t go this year, and you accepted that so quickly.”

  Arturo was getting frustrated, “You told me to enjoy myself!”

  “And you never even offered to stay!”

  Arturo stopped what he was about to say, his mouth half open. He saw tears in her eyes. He saw his finger pointed back at her chest, the tip of it searing with pain. A pain he was so familiar with. So tired of. It wasn’t about how long he would be gone, or that she didn’t understand his affliction, or that she didn’t need the money. She just wanted to be there for him, and all he wanted was to leave. People began cheering and hooting in the square behind them. Horses snorted, and wagon wheels creaked.

  “It looks like your ride to the Capital is here.” Valeria looked down, tears dripping down her face. He turned and looked into the square. Wagon drivers were loading the belongings of this year’s pilgrims. He felt a longing in his chest. It fought the shame of his selfishness to be gone.

  Turning back, Arturo cradled her jaw in his hands and pulled her eyes into his. “I am doing this for me. I can admit that. But I promise to try and find some work to help your family,” he swallowed, his heart trying to force the next words back inside, “And, I promise this will be the last time I make the pilgrimage. I know you can’t afford to miss so many weeks of work to come with me.”

  Wet cheeks, unkempt hair spilling over her shoulders, and those honey brown eyes formed a pit in his stomach. He couldn’t leave these. Then, the pressure of holding her face threatened to peel the skin from his fingers and split the bone. He couldn’t hold her.

  “Go,” she said, “My abuela will make all the meals you like for you when you get back. It’s not ok, and I don’t forgive you; but I’ll be waiting for you anyway. Te amo.”

  “Will she be making them all at once? Four pots and a comal all steaming and filling the casa with smoke?”

  “She always does.”

  Arturo chuckled, “Te amo mas. I’m sorry.”

  “I’ll accept your apology when I see you again. Get your stuff and go,” she brushed her finger on the fresh, white skin where she thought he’d just scraped himself, “and please be careful, pendejo.”

  “I will.” If she knew the full of it, she’d beat him senseless for even considering making this trip. A phantom relief already quieted his pounding feet and aching hands. Soon it would be gone.

  ***

  A Brother watched the demon skittering across the tiny pueblo square. A Sister’s head followed it as well. It came out of one of the mud alleyways surrounded by mud shacks with a ratty pack slung over its thin shoulder. Such a pathetic looking thing. Tall and wiry like a new sprung tree. Easy to break. Shaking hands and shifting feet. Capable of so much destruction. A Sister whispered, metal ringing in her voice like a drawn sword, “A Brother will follow it back home. A Sister will deal with rumors of demons.”

  ***

  Arturo gingerly grabbed the side of the wagon and swung himself up and inside. A poorly maintained tarp draped over wooden ribs extending from the wagon’s sides. Little rays of sunlight peaked through holes in the tarp and lit small islands on the wooden floor. Many years of travel and many more travelers had worn the wood smooth. At least Arturo wouldn’t have to add biting splinters to his chronic pain.

  “Figures you’d pick the same wagon as me.”

  Arturo glanced up at the gruff voice and smiled into the shadow at the front of the wagon bed, “Barto? You’re coming to the Capital?”

  “No, I’m catching a ride to my Tia Esmerelda’s house for some tacos. What does it look like I’m doing.”

  “I’m just surprised. By the Father, you’re grumpier than normal.”

  Huffing and puffing sounds accompanied scraping as the old man tried to sit up. A gnarly, twisted face with a single tooth bending its top lip struck one of the many holes in the tarp and winced at the sudden light. Barto had clearly been sleeping until Arturo awoke him. “Maybe I’m just tired from dragging your sorry culo back to town torn to shreds.” The wagon creaked, and a young couple, well older than Arturo and Valeria, but still young, situated themselves with the pleasant company of Barto’s sneering face.

  “Hola,” they greeted and nodded politely.

  “Buenas tardes,” Arturo smiled and nodded back.

  Barto coughed without covering his mouth.

  Arturo pictured Valeria seated next to him on the dusty wood. A ray of sun washing her hair and eyes in light. His heart ached. His hands throbbed. He clenched his hands into a tight fist until it hurt worse than he felt.

  “I can’t wait to spend another few days locked up in tents in the countryside with mewling animals,” Barto smiled at the couple. He looked to Arturo, “Y contigo. Again. Don’t ask me to drag you back from the Capital too.”

  Soft smiles on his left and hard words on his right, but Arturo was going to have a great trip despite, well, everything. “I’m looking forward to spending some quality time with you too, amigo,” he replied cheerfully to Barto then slapped the old man on the back and grasped his shoulder. Barto might have gotten kicked by a mule for the coughing that came after.

  The four of them waited in the back of the wagon while the rest of the caravan filled up with people and their belongings. After a few minutes, the driver called out, “Nos vamos! We want to make the foothills by sundown!” The wagon creaked forward, and the horses whinnied. Concentrated sunlight in the little holes of the tarp warmed his head. Swirling wind caught his hat as he turned to see if Valeria had come to watch them go. She had not. The sombrero flew off his head and out the back of the wagon. “Ah, my hat! Esperame, esperame!”

  The driver called back from outside, “Just run, muchacho! We are at the back of the line anyway!”

  Arturo groaned, but his pains would be over soon. “Excuse me, amigos,” Arturo grunted at the couple as he scooted himself to the back of the wagon.

  “Pendejo!” Barto barked and laughed at him. Arturo jerked his head to glare at the old man. Some of that fear from their talk yesterday flashed in his eyes. The grump swallowed, and Arturo turned back to continue out of the wagon.

  Dirt rushed up to meet and punish his feet. Daggers traveled up his legs and all the way to his eyes, shirt shifting on his searing skin like sandpaper. He took long, forceful breaths and closed his eyes. He couldn’t travel without that hat. It was his good luck charm and the only thing of his family he possessed. He kept his head down and pushed through the pain. He picked up his pace to the fastest he could take. A heavy hand slammed into his chest and knocked the wind out of him.

  “I heard you yell about this and saw it drifting to the ground, amigo.” The last word sounded forced. Arturo pulled his eyes from the ground and tried to catch his breath. The hand that struck him still rested on his chest. It was gloved in brown leather. A rather fine leather at that. Arturo took deep breaths and looked up to the glove’s owner. One of the strange folk in the merchant robes, grayish skin on his neck and face. Recognition again. Heartbeats flooded Arturo’s ears, and his lungs seemed depleted of air.

  The stranger proffered Arturo’s father’s hat in his other hand. The leather of the hat seemed like cheap garbage in those gloves. “Gracias,” Arturo wheezed. He reached for his hat.

  The man’s hand pressed slightly harder into Arturo’s chest, but he kept his feet planted. He wouldn’t be pushed around by some stranger. “You should be more thoughtful of your personal things, young man. If you’re not careful, someone will take advantage of your complacency.”

  “Thank you, but it’s just a hat,” Arturo reached again for it. The man let him grab his hat, but he didn’t let go. Arturo balled his other hand into a fist. He didn’t want to risk a fight with the stranger. If he hit the man like he hit the wildcat, there would be no hiding from the people of the town. From Valeria. Then again, if he punched the man and nothing out of the ordinary happened, he’d be beaten to a pulp. So, no punching would have to suffice.

  The fake merchant glanced at Arturo’s clenched fist, and to Arturo’s surprise, the same fear in Barto’s eyes flashed across this man’s eyes. How did he know what happened? Was the Ministry watching somehow? Strange agents sent to strange occurrences in the country? The rest of the Ministry people had left the town, on to their next stop in their never-ending aid efforts to the pueblos of the grasslands. Arturo applauded them for it. This stranger hardly fit the benevolent hand of the Ministry.

  “Ah, mi amigo, I apologize if I have frightened you,” the stranger smiled at Arturo. His teeth and gums were almost gray too, almost… lifeless. Arturo thought back to what Olina said about the stranger’s appearance and his own odd experience in the square. He ached to be far away from the stranger. There was something unnatural about this man.

  “Oh, don’t worry about it.” Arturo tried to swallow with a bone-dry throat.

  “Better hurry to catch your ride. The Capital awaits.”

  Arturo nodded his hand, and the grey man finally released the sombrero. “Gracias.”

  He stumbled back to the caravan, and the wagon graced Arturo with its comfort. He was tired of the wild things going on in his life. Was it too much to ask for to get some normal days of peace and quiet? Barto farted from his corner, and funny enough, that counted on the side of normality.

  The wagon lurched forward and people in the crowd yelled their goodbyes. A mariachi played on the corner of Olina’s tavern as they passed. The tinny notes set a fast pace that seemed to jitter with Arturo’s thoughts and draw him to sleep. The sight of the strangers watching them leave unsettled his very bones. It was an odd feeling to nod off to. “Barto, can you wake me in an hour or so?” A snore rumbled the side of the wagon as drool dripped down the old man’s chin. “Nevermind.” Arturo slumped down and brought the lip of his hat over his eyes.

  Buenas noches, mi hijo.