THE LIME TREES OF MICHOACAN

A Written Creative Work submitted to the faculty of San Francisco State University In partial fulfillment of the requirements for the Degree A5 ' 30 Master of Arts

ErtGClO In

• 5 8 3 * English: Creative Writing

by

Rene Juarez-Vazquez

San Francisco, California

Spring 2016 Copyright by Rene Juarez-Vazquez 2016 CERTIFICATION OF APPROVAL

I certify that I have read The Lime Trees of Michoacan by Rene Juarez-Vazquez, and that in my opinion this work meets the criteria for approving a thesis submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirement for the degree Master of Arts in English: Creative Writing at San Francisco State University.

Peter Orner, M.F.A Creative Writing Professor JC- Nona Caspers, M.F.A Creative Writing Professor

C jjJ . Alejandro Murguia, M.F.A Latino Studies Department Chair THE LIME TREES OF MICHOACAN

Rene Juarez-Vazquez San Francisco, California 2016

A farmer in Mexico is forced to defend his lime farm with force after a drug cartel orders his family from their ancestral home. The story will be told in third person and will contain themes centered around Mexican and Aztec philosophy, family, devotion, inheritance, and crime abroad.

I certify that the Annotation is a correct representation of the content of this written creative work.

k}. ..y lA Chair, Thesis Committee Date ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to take this moment to thank all involved in this creative process. My partner

Daelana Angela Victoria Burrell. My editors Amy Jones and Martin Oropeza. My mentor

Alejandro Murguia, and my advisor, Maxine Chemoff. This story wouldn’t have been possible without all their help through out the past year.

v 1

Santiago Bautista walked shoulder to shoulder, next to his son. He wanted show his son the family’s lime tree the same way his father had shown him when he was a boy. Father and son treaded on the old path adjacent to the old river that led into the time tested orchards. Lime trees were originally foreign in Mexico, with the Spaniards having brought them over in the 16th century. Santiago’s father had brought him here in the same fashion he was bringing Carlos. Hundreds of beautiful trees covered his property, green leaves, earth tone branches and trunks and of course the verdant and lush limes, perfect and flawless in color. Santiago’s father had taught him the Spanish brought over thousands of seeds and saplings during their conquest of Mexico. Scurvy was the reason history relayed to the world about the arrival of the limes trees, but Santiago’s father said the trees called out spread across the world and the Spanish had simply obeyed. By the twilight of the Spanish conquest there were more trees than the tallest man could see for miles and miles covering the fields of Colima and other towns know historically for their lime gardens and fruit farms. The Mexican lime trees evolved from Persian trees brought from Spain. They were cousins of the American key lime and both had their thorns bred out to ease the picking process. The lime trees on the Bautista orchard continued to carry their thorns. Years of meticulous breeding by the Bautista forefathers had created a perfect green lime that held an optimal amount of juice and flesh while retaining the thorns on the branches. His father’s opinion regarding the thorny lime trees was that they were perfect. Santiago wanted to show his son Carlos these perfect green limes in the same fashion his father had done for him. 2

The orchard sat twenty minutes away from the house by foot. It was sunset and the crickets began to sing their songs, coyotes in the hills howled. Carlos was glued on his phone, swiping away at the screen and tapping his fingers in rapid succession on the glass During the picking seasons Santiago, Carlos and their workers rode horses to the orchards where they would work tirelessly before hauling in their yield with tractors.

Before they could afford tractors, workers, farmhands, and other equipment, the Bautista family did the harvest themselves. They walked to the orchard on foot and returned on foot.

Miguel Bautista, Santiago’s father, was an only child. He left his father and the land at twenty years old, vowing never to be a lime farmer. He went to Mexico City to study numbers and business. At thirty, he returned to the family orchards with enough business acumen to turn the family farm into a successful business. He took out a loan and tripled the money in a year, allowing the family to purchase equipment and hire seasonal workers. One thing was missing from the picture, a family. Miguel Bautista left his father and mother as a young man, returned in his thirties and became a father at forty, much older than the other men in town, who at that age were changing the diapers of grandchildren and the occasional great-grand child. Not wanting to be like his father,

Santiago had three children, Carlos at twenty-one, Manuel at twenty-three and Monica at twenty-four. He wanted more children but his wife no longer could carry children to term. Santiago counted his three blessings and cherished all his children. The two walked with their donkey, the baskets on his brown wooly side empty, except for a rooster they brought with them.

“I’ve seen the trees before, Dad,” Carlos said, finally putting his phone away.

“Not in this way Mz/'o,” Santiago replied with smile on his face.

“I pick them every year with you, Alejandro, Benito and everyone else.” This was

true, Carlos would pick the fruit with their workers every couple of months.

“It’ll be a good lesson. I promise,” Santiago said.

“It’s Friday night dad, I want to go into town tonight. This wont take long will it?”

“No, I promise, it won’t take long,” Santiago said.

“Good, I wanted to hang out with Alejo and a few people tonight.”

“You’re hanging around with that Granada kid again? What do you have in common with him? He was arrested a few months ago. What do you see in him?”

“He’s better company than all these chuntis that live around here.”

Santiago turned to his son, disgust on his face. “What did I tell you about saying things like that?”

“Whoa, relax dad it was just a joke.”

“You are no better than anyone else. I’m dark and you’re the same shade as me.

Watch your tongue.” 4

“Yeah dad, and we’re also over a foot taller than most people. We also look pretty good the last time I checked, except for Manuel, but Manuel doesn’t count.”

“Leave your brother out of this. Can we please not argue? I thought we agreed that we wouldn’t argue during this. I promised you it wouldn’t take that long. You’ll have plenty of time to go out with your friends later on.”

“Fine,” Carlos huffed “I’ll stop arguing with you, dad.”

They arrived at the lime trees. Forty acres, all theirs. The trees had been brought during the Spanish conquest. Originally they were Persian fruits brought to Spain by one conquest. The more recent one of the Americas had brought the Spanish lime here where it bred into the Mexican version. The Bautistas had always lived on this land. They lived here when they were pure Indio and they were here after the Spanish forced themselves into their bloodline. When Emiliano Zapata rode into town during the revolution, A

Spanish family still owned the land. Santiago’s family worked it of course, even if it wasn’t their land on paper. Zapata offered the share croppers many things if they joined him; fame, women, guns, horses, a chance to kill the people at the top. The Bautista family only asked for their land. Zapata agreed and with his blessing the Spanish family was slaughtered that very night. The Spanish family was buried among the trees.

Santiago’s family had inherited the trees generations ago and no longer had a connection to anything Spanish. However, the Bautista’s feared their spirits would walk the land in anger. If they were buried among the trees, their spirits would sustain the trees in the afterlife creating bittersweet joy for them in death so their spirits would not linger and 5

haunt the land. The lime trees had been tended by the Bautista family officially since then, but in reality, the family had been tending the land before anyone.

Santiago extended his arm into a lime tree. He plucked of one of the tree’s biggest fruits and returned his arm to his side unscathed, years of picking the limes had hardened his brown skin. When Carlos was a boy, he grabbed a lime without being careful and had shredded his arm. Santiago told him to wash the blood off in the river. He knew his son’s hands and arms would eventually match his, scarred and rough from years of tending the trees and picking the limes. Santiago looked at his seventeen-year-old son’s arm. They would still be cut if he reached into the heart of a tree like he just did. They were getting close to being like his, not yet though, another few years when Carlos’ arms were rough would be the proof Santiago would need to pass over the farm to his son. In the meantime, Santiago would have to prepare his son to take care of the trees. He held the lime out to his son.

“Take it,” He said.

“A lime? Is this why we’re here?”

“You know it is,” Santiago smiled at his son.

“Is something wrong with it?”

“You tell me,” He asked his son.

The boy gripped the fruit and closed his eyes just how his father taught him. “It’s ripe,’ he said. He painted a picture of the fruit with his hands, not his eyes. He needed to 6

see the fruit by feeling it. “It’s ripe a little early but we expected this because of the weather changes, right?’ Carlos squeezed the fruit gently and traced over the bumpiness of the rind. Everything felt right except the size. “It’s not fully grown but that’s because of the rain, right? The river is still kind of low. Uh, I don’t know,” Carlos said, perplexed at what could be wrong with the lime.

“Nothing’s wrong with it,” Santiago said to his son.

“So why are we here then?”

“I want to show you how the limes are made,” Santiago asked, taking the lime out

of his son’s hand.

“I think I kinda have that figured out. We live a mile away,” Carlos said

“It’s more than how we grow them, let me show you,” Santiago said.

The donkey sat next to a tree a few steps away from the two. Santiago went to it, patted it on the head and removed the rooster from the basket on the donkey’s side. He held the rooster gently and stroked it like he stroked his children when they were babies.

He eyed his son.

“Carlos. Follow me,” Santiago said gently.

They walked to the edge of the orchard where the river flowed into a man made

grotto. A lone tree sat on raised soil. 7

“Just over there, you see that tree? Santiago pointed to a large lime tree covered in thorns sparsely covered with exceptionally large fruit.

“Yeah, the one you told me to stay away from,” Carlos said rolling his eyes.

“That’s the one,” Santiago smiled.

“Wow Dad, a forbidden tree,” Carlos said unimpressed. A frown covered his dusty young face.

“Don’t be like that, it’s not forbidden. We just kept you guys away from it because we didn’t want any of you to damage the tree. When my dad was little he played on it and almost tore it out from the ground trying to hold up a soccer net,” Santiago shook his head.

“Dad, we have, like, a couple hundred trees. Why is this one special? Is it cause it’s in the grotto? Does it look magical to you or something? We can always transplant one if it rots or falls out you know? You taught me how to move a live tree, remember?”

“This tree is important mijo. Out of all the saplings that were brought on the boats so long ago, this one still stands,” Santiago said hoping to impress the boy.

“That’s impossible Dad, lime trees don’t live that long. Your words,”

“This one does.”

“How?” 8

“Let me show you.”

Santiago stroked the rooster a few more times before he thanks it from the bottom of his heart and whispered old words that his father had taught him. All Santiago knew was these words, the language that they came from was no longer spoken but the words were still alive and beating strong in his heart. He finished his blessing and pulled out a long knife. He placed the knife to the rooster’s throat and lulled it into permanent sleep with a silver lullaby. He let the warm blood blood drain where the trunk of the tree met the soil. He repeated the words once more, less privately, so his son could hear. When the rooster was drained Santiago returned it to the basket attached to the donkey. Carlos looked on. Something felt odd about the scene. He had seen his mother slaughter animals for food before and that never moved him. This did. “We came all this way to kill a rooster?”

“It’s not the death that’s the lesson.”

“Then what is?”

“You’ll see. We’ll be back tomorrow around the same time. I’ll meet you at the house and then we’ll come back here and I’ll show you something else, ok?”

“Sure dad, tomorrow, whatever.”

They would repeat the scene and the ritual once a week for another two months.

Each time Santiago removed a rooster from the basket Carlos knew what to expect. After two months, Carlos was still troubled by the sight of the birds and the knife. After their 9

latest trip, the two walked in silence back to the house as they always did. The sun had set and they could see their breath in the air. They smelled the wet earth of the riverbank and the air had a tartness that only a citrus orchard could produce. With each cold breath they took, they tasted bitter air more and more. The closer they got to the house the stronger the smell of dinner got. From the distance they could see a figure waiting patiently for them. Ines Bautista waited outside the back door, in light dress and shawl around her shoulders. Her arms were crossed as she eyed father and son returning home. When they were a few feet away she walked towards them, a look of worry covered her face. Ines

Bautista rarely worried about anything.

“Ines? Is something wrong?” Santiago said.

“Santi, there’s a man here,” She said with with worry in her voice. Ines was

Duranguense, from Durango, a rougher region of north west Mexico. Not many things worried her, let alone a man.

“What does he want? We don’t start picking until next week. If he wants a job he should come back during the day.”

“He’s not looking for work.” Ines crossed her arms and looked at the house behind them. “Not this one.”

“What does he want than?”

“Santi, he came in a nice car and he has a gun, plated in gold.” 10

“A gold gun? This I have to see,” Carlos said in excitement, readying his phone, opening the camera application.

“Young man, absolutely not. If you go near that man, God help me, I’ll take away that phone of yours and not return it until winter,” Ines scolded her oldest son.

“Ugh,” Carlos groaned.

“So what, I have a few teeth made of gold,” Santiago laughed and flashed his wife and son his fake teeth. Ines and Carlos couldn’t help but smile. A few seconds passed and her frown returned.

“A gun made out of gold means he’s got money Dad,” Carlos said abruptly, cutting into the silence.

“Gold plated,” Ines corrected Carlos. “A gold gun would be too heavy, and ridiculous. These people plate their guns in gold, it’s an aesthetic. Your brother and sister are feeding the animals, go help them, your Father and I have to talk,” Ines said. Carlos sighed and went off into the direction of the bam where his siblings were feeding the livestock their dinner.

The two of them walked to the side of the house, away from the windows and doors. Before he could say anything Ines put a finger to he lips and shushed her husband.

“Ines, we’re fine. We’re always fine.” 11

“Promise me you’ll be careful. Get drunk with him, offer to go to a bar or something, sing those sad songs with him, distract him, make him forget this place, don’t give him a reason to come back. Promise me,” She pleaded.

“I can handle it, Ines. The last one wasn’t too much trouble.”

She gripped her husband’s wrist. “This one is different. He has that look. You need to be direct but he’ll de direct back. It’s a tactic. Do not, under any circumstance show weakness.” Ines showed no weakness in this moment, Santiago absorbed some of her strength in the moment. “He will smell it, feed on it, and prey on it. Promise me you’ll get rid of him. Promise.”

“I promise.”

Santiago entered his house, at his table a small man was sitting down, tapping away at his cellphone and drinking his wife’s coffee. The smell of alcohol radiated from the man’s cup. Ines had planned well. She always did.

“Can I help you?” Santiago asked. The small man held out his hand signaling

Santiago to come no further.

“Just one second Sir. The signal up here is shit and I took a really good photo of myself that I’m trying to upload,” The small man said, raising his white phone in the air and shaking it the direction of sky. 12

“Reception is bad inside this portion of the house. My son’s phone only works in other rooms. Something about the bricks of the house was the story the phone people told me,” Santiago said to the small man.

“Serious? Meh, whatever, not like I can’t take another photo,” The small man said, setting his phone onto the table. “I’m being rude, sorry. My name is Jesus Ramirez,”

The small man said, standing up from the chair and extending his hand as friendly gesture to Santiago. He was small, the same height as Santiago’s fourteen-year-old son. He though this odd, he didn’t look that mixed, he had grey eyes and brown hair but still looked mestizo in the face. He donned white clothing emblazed with gold trimmings on his pants and vest. He wore his hat indoors; the first insult. His accent did not flow properly, he pronounced words differently, pre-planning them. He was foreign, that much was certain, perhaps the reason he wore his hat indoors in a stranger’s home. Ines’ words rung in his mind and Santiago took the small man’s hand and shook it fervently like he would an old compadre, Just the way Ines suggested

“What can I do for you, Jesus?”

The phone on the table shook. Jesus’ hand motioned to pick it. He looked at it for a second before looking back at the stoic Santiago.

“Easy. I don’t think this is the first time someone has come up here to ask you this. You have a really nice plot of land. My benefactor would like to make an arrangement,” The small man said grinning so slightly. Santiago knew what this meant.

The man’s grin said it all. They came every so often. Sometimes once a year, some times 13

every other year, but they always came and asked. Some asked directly. Others threatened the family outright, showing up with armed men. Those times Ines and

Santiago had taken care of the men. The were simply foot soldiers sent on a mission that was more akin to cold calling. When they didn’t return no one came back asking where the men went. Something about the man before him made him uneasy. It wasn’t the man’s appearance or the way he navigated Spanish, it was Ines. Nothing frightened her, nothing. She was a small woman but stood taller in ways he could not comprehend. To see her shaken up made Santiago uneasy. He would not falter in front of this small man and his ethereal benefactor, he hadn’t in the decades he had owned the limes trees and he wouldn’t begin today.

“What sort of arrangement are you offering, Jesus?” Santiago asked.

“You must get this all the time, I bet. How much for the land, if you’re selling I mean, you have a great spot over here. Near a river too! Not many rivers with an adequate water supply like this one,” The small man said.

Santiago replied; He didn’t think, he didn’t breathe, the words flowed out his mouth like water, fluidly, powerful, deadly. “It’s not for sale.”

The small man smiled back. “Doesn’t have to be for sale.”

Santiago knew that smile well. A Mexican man would not don that smile. All them me that had come prior and even the few women, they donned an earthy smile, deadly with intent but still humble like the earth the people came from. This man’s smile 14

was foreign. A piece of Santiago’s focus fractured and turned into a memory of young adulthood, when he went off to Mexico City for college. He accomplished one year before returning to his birthright. The men from the north wore the same exact smile the small man wore. The mask he wore was northern, frozen, out of place. Santiago boxed his growing anger inside. “Thing’s are either bought and sold, or stolen. What are you implying,” Santiago broke out his Spanish into the accented northern tongue he knew very little of. “Mr. Ramirez?”

Santiago stood up from his chair, walked back to the kitchen to compose his thoughts and pick up the pot of coffee still hot on the machine. He towered over the small man staring at him, still smiling at him, tiny in his chair although enormous in the northern attitude he threw with his eyes. “More coffee?” Santiago smiled, feigning warmth. The small man nodded.

“I can assure you we aren’t going to take it by force either. I beg you, sir, and I really, really mean it: just hear me out. I think you’ll like this,” The small man said in his

Spanish.

Santiago wanted to harm the man, but he knew a better, more nuanced way of doing that. Again he replied in English. “Let me guess, you’re about to make me an offer

I can’t refuse or some other Hollywood thing like that. The answer is no.”

“How very direct of you. English too, not good but not bad.”

“I could say the same about your Espanol.” 15

Jesus’ smile faded. Santiago could hear the foreigner’s teeth begin to grind slightly. His words had successfully cut. The small man’s left eye twitched, the same way his old classmates would when ever Santiago would out perform them. Jesus’ hand slipped into the pocket of his bespoke pants and pulled out a red, wooden rosary. As he stared in silence at Santiago, he flipped the rosary through his fingers, stoking it occasionally. He took a long breath before speaking again to the patient Santiago

“I told you I just wanted to be heard. It’s funny that you mention Hollywood, and

I’m not going to lie to you, I practiced this ‘offer you can’t refuse’ business in a mirror with my best Marlon Brando accent,” Jesus said.

“You didn’t know I spoke English before you came here. How does Marlon

Brando even sound in Spanish?”

“The joke was for me, not for you. I didn’t expect you to, speak the way that you do. Come to think of it, you’re the first farmer whose Spanish was clear and didn’t sound like a fucking hick.”

Santiago remained standing and looked at the man, piercing beyond his face to understand his background.

“I can tell by your accent you aren’t from here; you aren’t from Mexico. You used some words that Mexicans don’t use. How you got involved with who you’re with is beyond my guess but like I just said, I’m not selling. End of story” 16

The small man forced a large smile on his face. Just like his Spanish, this smile was also unauthentic. “This is actually a bit fun. No one talks to me this way. But I’ll ask again, please let me say my piece. I practiced just for you,” The small man said.

“Sir, like I said. Not for sale,” Santiago replied.

“I’ll talk when I want to and you’ll listen,” The small man said.

“No you won’t. I wont let you. Sir, we’ve continued this talk long enough. Either leave my property or do what your people tend to do in these types of situations.

The small man began to chuckle, the faux smile still on his face. “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying myself Mr. Bautista. I think I’m done playing.” The small man pulled a standard black gun with a silencer from the holster inside his jacket. Without turning his head, he angled the gun out the window, starred Santiago in the eyes and pulled the trigger. “I aimed at the bam your children are in, the didn’t hear the bullet but I aimed at a bird roosting on the second level of the bam, right above your daughter.”

Santiago had seen scare tactics like this before from different groups before this man. “I don’t believe you,” Santiago said.

“You didn’t let me say what I wanted to say,’ The small man pointed his gun at

Ines. “Mrs. Bautista, your husband thinks I’m a liar. I am not one. Please take your leave from this little meeting and go find that bird in the bam. Bring it back here. Take your time if you think you need to check on your children.” Ines looked at her husband and then towards the man, she nodded and exited the room. “This is what’s happening, it’s 17

not a question, it’s a demand. We aren’t at all interested in owning the land. We don’t have any Hicks to give about ownership. It’s really fucking simple.” The small man put away from real gun for the gold one and spun it on a finger. “We’re going to give you two seasons, that’s about six to seven months for you. You need to end all contracts now with your buyer. If you need help with the process, you call our business guy on this card.” The small man reached into the other coat pocket, the side that didn’t have a holstered weapon and drew out another type of firearm, a glossy tiny card. He placed it forcibly on the table, on the edge closest to Santiago. “He’ll help with arrangements if they give you any trouble. It’s best to do that now. We’re going to let you stay here because we need people to pick off coyotes and other fun little animals like that. They love weed even more than teenagers do, so we need people to shoot them, capicheT’

Santiago didn’t understand the language. “Come again?” He said.

“That was also a joke for me.”

There was a silence for thirty seconds before Santiago replied. “You’re taking my land, and you want me to shoot coyotes for you?” Santiago said.

“We’re not taking your land, we’re repurposing it. You don’t even have to work in the fields, we have our own workers. You stay here, you kill some coyotes that like to get high off the weed. You’ll get paid more for killing dogs than killing yourself growing those oranges or whatever the fuck you grow.”

“We grow limes. We will always grow limes on my land,” Santiago said. 18

“No, you wont. You get six months, pick and sell what you want. We’ll be back with bulldozers and some money for you. When the product starts to grow we’ll be expecting you to take care of the future coyote and dog problem. Do you have guns, or do we have to give you some?”

“I have more than plenty,” Santiago said to the small man coldly.

“My friend,” the man chuckled and lifted the left side side of his jacket, exposing the gun with the silencer to Santiago, My friend, I pray to our holy father that you are gloating about the wonderful, ahem, what would you call them? Antique arms and not threatening me in any way.” The man continued staring at Santiago. Across the room, many old guns decorated the walls of the house that Santiago’s great grandfather had built. The guns were mementos from Zapata’s ride into the town, calling the men to arms.

The weapons once belonged to the family that the Bautista family worked as sharecroppers for. When Isaac Bautista had built the house with his own two hands and adorned the walls with the guns that had been used against them. A reminder of the centuries that the Bautista family, along with all of Mexico, had been colonized by one country or another. Today, Santiago looked at the guns he had used to threaten the small man. He did not know if they functioned. He couldn’t recall if he had seen anyone ever take them down, let alone clean and maintain them. The only guns he could rely on were a small shotgun he had won in a bet, a rifle that he had bought from an American, and his

Father’s revolver. All three weapons were out of reach; the only thing that he could use to kill the man in front of him was attached to the wall behind him. His family came to 19

mind, his dear Ines and their three children. For their sake and their lives, he had to bury the rage he felt at the tiny coward that flashed his golden gun at him. If the man was not armed Santiago would’ve ripped the man to pieces. He had killed men before in self defense and for his family’s honor, but never out of rage. He had to bury this silent anger, maybe not permanently, but just for the moment.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Santiago calmed his body, dropping his arms to the side, feigning weakness and openness. “I’m sorry if I came off as rude. I actually do have many guns, take a look at the wall behind you,” He extended his arm to the wall and the man turned around.

“You weren’t lying when you said you had plenty,” the man said, studying the wall in awe. He was small, only a few inches taller than his middle child.. His back was turned; Santiago could’ve easily strangled the man.

“These guns have been here a while, and here they will stay,” Santiago said calmly.

“Again, like I said, we aren’t taking your land. You get to keep the land, that’s what you campesinos love anyway, your fucking land,” the small man laughed.

“It’s more than love,” Santiago replied honestly.

“We’ll see. Two harvests are all you get. I’ll send someone a week before to remind you that were coming in, give you a moment to say goodbye or whatever the fuck 20

you want to do. Sing a song or practice your war dance or something.,” The small man stood up, took out his phone and took a photo of the land from the window of the kitchen.

“What if I say no?”

“I was waiting for you to ask” The small man tapped at the glass screen of his phone. He was sending a text message. He didn’t even bother to look up and replied in a casual voice. “I’ll personally kill all your children, and I’ll make you watch. I’ll have some men run a train on your wife and I’ll make you watch that too. Then I’ll kill you.”

“I don’t have a choice then,” Santiago said.

“Oh, it’s a choice alright, you can either plant the weed, grow the weed and protect the weed, or you can die,” The small man laughed.

“Both options are death.”

“You Indios and your “death”. Whatever, one season. That’s all you get. Don’t look at me that way, if you do a good job we give back five percent of the land as gesture of good will for you to do what ever the fuck you want with it. I’ll leave now, it’s getting weird for me, you’re absurdly taller than me and it’s freaking me out. Where is your lovely wife? I have to say goodbye to her, I would say goodbye to the children but I didn’t introduce myself to them. It’d be odd to introduce myself and then say goodbye, am I right?”

As quickly as he finished his words, Ines walked out from the shadows, holding a dead bird in her hand. “Senor,” She said. 21

“And boom goes the dynamite.” The small man said in English laughing to himself. Ines and Santiago looked at him oddly. “Senora Bautista, thank you for your hospitality. We’ll have to do this again sometime. Send my regards to Carlos, Manuel and Monica.”

“It was our pleasure to host you. I’ll tell the children you said hello,” Ines said with a smile.

“I’ll thank you once more and be off. I look forward to seeing you in a couple of months.” The man stopped at the door, not turning around, he spoke once more.

“Hopefully not before that. Goodbye.”

As quickly as the mysterious man had arrived, he was gone. This scenario had played out before. Men and their money would show up to the farm with their displays of wealth and talk about the options Santiago had with them. They would offer money, a house close to town, before Manuel received his scholarship they offered to pay for his college. The answer would always be the same. It was always out of the question, their demands for the farm were never fulfilled. Santiago’s tribute to the trees made certain that they would bloom next season. The trees cast protection around Santiago and his family. He also knew that somehow, if the trees failed to protect the land, Ines would.

When Miguel Bautista died, Santiago committed his ashes to the lime trees. With them, he buried his father’s feelings and regrets into the roots of the limes tress. His father told him living life and dedication was what made the fruit so sweet, so bitter. The day after Miguel Bautista died, Ines Kreuz showed up in town. She was covered in blood; 22

a smoking pistol in one hand and a bottle of tequila in the other. Ines was from Durango, her only reply to any questions about her history. They married one year later and soon

Carlos was bom. He knew if the protection failed and he fell, Ines would get the job done. She had always been there for him, and after the small man left, she returned to him once more.

She was a slender, petite woman who purposely walked slowly everywhere she went. She had no reason to hurry. Life moved at her pace and Santiago felt blessed to have her in his life. He knew he would grow into a very old man with this woman that could slow down time.

Ines walked to the direction of the children in the bam house. She muttered some words to Carlos and he waved to his father from the distance. He was going into town to see his friends. Santiago waved back at his boy, who matched his height at only seventeen. Manuel and Monica took the donkey into the bam to feed him and Ines walked towards Santiago. He counted the seconds it took her to walk to him. She slowed down time and life and Santiago’s his love for her grow in his chest like a flower that takes years to bloom. Santiago’s flower for Ines had not bloomed completely yet, the two had more years to enjoy each other. Ines’ dark hands clasped Santiago and her eyes met his. Even though Santiago was almost two feet taller than Ines, he always felt like he was looking up when they looked at each other.

“What do you think about this one?” Santiago asked. 23

“Crazy, dramatic, theatrical. I enjoyed myself a little too much,” Ines chuckled.

Her smile made Santiago smile, and when he saw that smile after working a full day in the sun and was parched, he wouldn’t feel thirsty.

“He threatened our kids, Ines,” Santiago answered honestly.

“I know.”

“He knew their names,” Santiago said somberly. The men that had come before had never been so rash. They had threatened his family before but had never come so prepared like the man today.

“Most people know our names. Carlos and Monica are mountains and Manuel’s eyes are the only colored eyes for miles,” Ines said. She always spoke with pride regarding her children, even under these circumstances, it was no different.

“I could’ve killed him right there. Strangled him, ripped out his tongue, cut his throat.”

“But you didn’t,” Ines said.

“Something was off. The gun, the accent—he was American bom,” Santiago said.

The man’s accent gave it away. He struggled with pronunciation. He had the same accent that Santiago would hear when Northern bom children would come visit in the summer.

Droves of them would come over to visit their grandparents and other relatives that their parents had left behind before settling in the United States. The northern bom children had American Citizenship and could travel freely between the borders. Their parents, 24

many of them the Bautistas had known at one point, could not return due to their immigration status in America.

“That worries me. Do you think he’ll be back? I’m worried about him and his people working in the open so close to the federal investigation of those students.” Ines raised her hands in frustration. The year prior, forty-three students had gone missing.

After the protests and investigation, the cartels were relatively silent. The world was watching Mexico; many did not want to do anything bold until the firestorm had calmed down.

“I know, something still felt off. Carlos and I did tribute tonight, that should’ve protected us,” Santiago said.

“Santi, do you see the blood of any of your children, animals or me on the ground right now? The only blood spilt tonight came from that bird that I’m going to turn into soup for the morning,”

Santiago looked at his wife, the wisest person he knew. “Why can I always trust you?”

“I had your children and if it come to to it, I would’ve killed that man. I’m also told my cooking is pretty good.”

“I would pay anything for your food,” Santiago said to his wife.

“Of course you would, I just told you it was good. Go say hi to Manuel and

Monica. They’re jealous of the secret farming technique you showed Carlos.” 25

Santiago left his wife’s side and went to the bam to join the two youngest children. Manuel was a fifteen and Monica was fourteen. Though they were only 11 months apart, Monica was taller than Manuel. She was slender and beautiful like Ines, dark like him and almost six feet tall. Manuel, their middle child, was small. At Fifteen he was only five-foot-three. He had a square jaw, not the long face the other children had.

Manuel’s faced was spotted with freckles and he had sea-green eyes. Ines would say that

Manuel would grow up to be a lady killer. They were far away from the ocean but

Manuel’s eyes were like two miniature seas. While the other children never had to worry about the sun, Ines had to buy sunblock for Manuel, whose light skin would sunburn easily during the hot months and tan lightly during the cold ones. Santiago approached his children. Manuel ran eagerly to his father.

“Hey dad!” The boy said to his father. Santiago’s father once told him even though limes are always the same fruit, sometimes they come out different. Manuel was different.

“How are you two? I haven’t seen you in days,” Santiago said.

“You live with us; how could you have missed us?” Monica Bautista said to her father. At fourteen she was the tallest girl for miles. She shared her father’s height and her mother’s strength.

“Dad was busy with Carlos,” Manuel interjected. 26

“He’s always busy with Carlos,” Monica replied. For years now Santiago had been cultivating Carlos into an ideal caretaker. The other children were old enough to notice the attention he gave to their brother.

“I’m busy with you two now,” Santiago smiled at his children.

“Can you call this being busy?” Monica said, tossing feed to the chickens at her feet. They pecked at the food and at her big feet.

“What were you guys doing?” Santiago asked

“Before you guys left we did some homework so we could have the weekend free.

We were just feeding the animals now. Peluche was hungry. Did you and Carlos feed him at all today?” Manuel’s word rang in the Santiago’s ears. In the whole day he had not once fed the donkey. When Carlos came home he woke the donkey up from his nap so they could go over to the grotto. Peluche was the children’s favorite animal, the three had raised the burro together. Santiago felt ashamed that he hadn’t fed the creature all day. He petted the donkey on the head and apologized to it. Manuel watched as his father stroked

Peluche.

“Of course he forgot, they were on some life changing, out of this world adventure,” Monica said while shooing chickens away from her legs.

“We went to go see the lime trees,” Santiago replied.

“Don’t you see them everyday? We grow them year round,” Manuel said. 27

“Carlos is getting older. He’ll have to take care of the trees eventually,” Santiago said.

“I could help you, dad,” Manuel said. Manuel would follow the two around, trying to get Santiago to let him come, but Miguel Bautista said that only the first bom could inherit the trees.

“You can help during the harvest,” Santiago said, looking at his middle child.

“You too,” Santiago said towards his daughter who huffed when she heard his words.

“Do we have a choice?” Monica asked.

“Dad, I could help you too, it would make the work easier,” Manuel said.

“You just focus on your studies and soccer, son” Santiago said.

“How come he gets studies and soccerV Monica interrupted, using her fingers as quotations signs.

“Soccer is too harsh for a girl. Don’t be like that Monica, you go to a nice school.

Your mother and I can afford it.”

Monica bit her tongue down at her father’s reply.

Manuel spoke up timidly. “Imagine the money our farm could make if I helped in the day to day work.”

“Money isn’t important,” Santiago said. 28

“It is to that man,” Monica said coldly.

“You saw?”

“Everyone saw,” The girl spat to the ground. The action annoyed Santiago.

Monica had to be more ladylike, like Ines. Even Santiago didn’t spit the way she did

“This is the third time this month, we haven’t seen that man before dad,” She said.

“You sent him off, right?” Manuel asked.

“Yes, I sent him off. Told him it wasn’t for sale,” Santiago said proudly to his two children.

“Good job Dad, I was worried for a sec,” Manuel said.

“How come?” Santiago asked. The children knew of these men, but they had never been worried. The children were like their mother; they didn’t worry much unless it was important.

“Damn it Manuel!” Monica yelled as she she elbowed her brother in the shoulder.

“Wait, why were you worried?” Santiago walked over to his son and towered over him. “Young man, why were you worried? You don’t think I could’ve handled that man?” Santiago raised his voice at his son. He rarely raised his voice with the children.

The last time was years ago when Manuel had wandered into a newly paved road and was almost hit by a car. 29

“No... I mean... yeah, maybe, I don’t know,” Manuel tried to compose his words but couldn’t with his tall father in his face. Santiago was looking down at him, Manuel hated when his father had to look down to look at him. His father almost two feet taller than him, Manuel was frightened at the man before him. He was fifteen and he hadn’t grown an inch in a year. He was told he was done growing.. Manuel felt small and he wanted to cry with his father standing so menacingly over him.

“Dad, stop it, you’re being cruel. We aren’t like those roosters you take into the fields!” Monica yelled, shutting off her father’s anger. Santiago composed himself and felt shame at the way he had startled his son. This wasn’t him. He never raised his voice to the children. He had never done what he had just done to any of them. The man with the golden gun brought more than a business proposition, he brought a rage.

“I’m sorry,” He said as he brought his son close to him and hugged him. “I’m sorry Manuel. I didn’t mean to yell. Can you please tell me why you were worried?”

Santiago asked him once more.

“Mom, she—she went and dug up a gun in a box next to house, she’s never done that before,” Manuel said.

“He knocked on the door with his gun. Mom opened the door to a gun in her face.

I don’t blame her for getting her gun. Major, major insult,” Monica said. 30

“Damn it,” Santiago said under his breath. The man had pointed his gun twice at

Ines and he had done nothing. “Where’s your brother? I should also talk to him. I think for the time being, we’ll keep all of you home until we clear things up.”

“Carlos isn’t here dad, he took off while you arguing with Clint Eastwood,”

Monica said.

“Why do you need Carlos?” Manuel asked

“God damn it, he just took off? Now I have to go into town and bring him home.”

“He had a date. I’d check the downtown first near the restaurants and the movie theatre. That’s why he was mad that you made him go with you,” Monica replied.

“I didn’t take a lot of his time, it was still early,” Santiago said aloud, a private thought he wanted to keep in his head.

“I can help you dad, let me come with you,” Manuel asked. Just like with the lime trees, he wanted to follow.

“You stay with your sister and mother. I’m taking off to town right now. Tell your mom I left and will be back later tonight,” Santiago said.

“Let me come with you dad, I can be an extra set of eyes,” Manuel begged.

“Stay here with your sister and mother, watch some TV or something. I wont be long I promise,” Santiago said, turning quickly and heading to the bam. 31

“Dad, please let me just come with-” Manuel said as he was cut off by his sister’s hand grabbing his biceps. She shook her head. There was no convincing their father and

Monica didn’t want to see brother beg. They watched in silence as their father walked away.

Santiago Bautista went into his bam and saddled up his horse. The sun had set and it was almost ten o’clock. The neighboring town was a little over a mile away. Not that many people rode into town on horseback or with a pack animal like they did when

Santiago was a boy. They rode bikes, motorbikes and scooters and the occasional car. At the dawn of the presidency of Vicente Fox, the first car showed up on the dirt roads.

Every family would send one son, maybe two, over to the North for work. Towards the end of the presidency more cars and bikes began to navigate on newly paved roads.

Empty houses decorated the countryside, entire families would uproot their lives, cross a dessert and river to live up North. As Santiago rode into town he looked at the failed farms, all empty on the side of the paved roads. The horse didn’t mind the pavement; he had gotten used to the changes on horseshoes. Santiago hadn’t gotten used to pavement underneath his feet.

Santiago knew all the farms, the products they once grew, the family names and their history. The two farms closest to the Bautista family once belonged to the Alvarez and Benavidez families that once rode along with Zapata and the Bautista family. Their sons rode for liberty and land, and their reward was a republic. In this new century,

Mexico told Mexicans to leave, how to cross successfully into the North and how to 32

make money their and send it back home. All of Santiago’s childhood friends had migrated to the cold North where they labored in fields, kitchens and factories. The ones that had the luxury of returning came back with an arrogance and a nuance that could only be cultivated in the cold North. They were trees who were transplanted into a region where they could not grow. And if they did grow, they grew twisted and contorted into an unknown image and bore a dirty, new fruit.

After a few minutes of riding, the farms were in the distance and the town was in sight. Santiago rarely ventured into town these days. When he was younger, before Ines and the children, he went into town to drink and pick up women. He had been fond of fighting. He was the tallest man in the area. Once, as teenager, some people came into town to measure him. They said he was the tallest man in Michoacan. Santiago was excited at being featured in a few newspapers, the free drinks and the women that came with the publicity. It later turned out that another boy near the coast was two inches taller than Santiago.

Santiago arrived at the bar of his youth. He reigned his horse onto the post, his was the only horse in town. Vincente Morales, who went by Don Chente in his advanced age, was a good friend of the Bautista family. He had known Santiago from the time he was a boy, had known Miguel Bautista as a boy and Miguel’s father as a boy. He owned a farm that grew oranges south of town and owned the local bar where Santiago had been wetting his tongue since he was a boy. 33

Santiago Bautista refused to carry a phone. All the children had them, they worked hard in the orchards during the picking season and they bought them with the money that they had earned. Santiago refused to dictate the way his children spent the money that they earned working hard in the fields. His father was the same way. He told

Santiago as a boy that he could use the money that he was paid on drinking or on building a home. Santiago spent the majority of his money drinking, Don Chente could attest to that. Santiago walked in the direction of the movie theatre where Carlos said he was going. Movies from the United States played here now, sometimes with subtitles, or sometimes with the voices dubbed over in Spanish. Carlos enjoyed movies in English with subtitles in Spanish. He had been taking English classes at his high school and had a few friends in the North that he had met online. Carlos spent the majority of his life on that phone. Ines had been called the schools administration too many times to claim

Carlos’ that had been taken away. While all the children that computers in their rooms to do their homework, Carlos rarely used his. He preferred to use his phone for everything.

When they harvested the limes, Carlos would listen to music from his phone and

Santiago would frequently catch him chatting with other kids on it. Manuel and Monica preferred to joke around with the other workers and their mothers, while Carlos would always pick trees that were furthest away from the group of people. The day before,

Santiago knew it was time to show Carlos the way in which the lime trees grew and protected the family. Carlos would be planting roots soon, and those roots needed to stay in Mexico, where he belonged, where his birthright was. 34

Santiago waited an hour for the movie to end. He sat on a concrete bench that was built with the theater and counted the seconds until people emptied from the theatre and spilled into the streets. He looked for Carlos’ tall frame among the crowd. He was among the last to leave. His son had changed out of the clothing he had worn when they had walked in the lime trees. He was dressed in tighter fitting clothing and had let down his hair. Carlos had even shaved off the little bit of facial hair that had been growing in nicely. Santiago looked at his son from the distance and admired the boy that would inherit the lime trees after he passed. When Santiago stood up to wave at his son, his stomach churned. Carlos had emerged with a boy from town, Alejo Granada. They spilled into the streets clasping each other’s hand the same way he and Ines did when they walked the countryside. Alejandro pecked Carlos’ brown cheeks with kisses, standing on tip toes and jumping like a puppy would just to be able to kiss his tall son’s face. Carlos fought the boys advances a few times, laughing and teasing back until the

Granada boy planted his lips on his, and Carlos retuned Alejandro’s enthusiasm with his own. The moment that Santiago saw this he wanted to walk over and rip them apart. He would strike Carlos across the face, drag the Granada boy to the concrete bench and bang his head on it again and again until nothing was left. This was the scenario that played out in his mind. He looked Alejo and felt uncertain whom he hated more; him or the man who had arrived at his home with his gold plated gun. Just like with the small man,

Santiago did not do anything against the boy who had kissed his son. The two boys held hands once more and walked off in the direction of their friends. 35

Santiago walked back to his horse, twice defeated this night. Don Chente was outside, waiting for him. The ninety-year-old man always had words of council for him, and for the first time in his life, he needed them now more than ever.

“Did you find what you wanted. ” The old man with hands larger than Santiago’s asked. Don Chente was stroking the horse, feeding him before the late night rush.

“I didn’t,” Santiago replied in defeat. Inside, he felt that his two failures of the night meant the end for his life The small man would return for the trees and the Granada boy had his claws in Carlos. Two of the most important things in his life were now being stolen before his very eyes.

“You wanna come inside? Have a drink why don’t you?”

“I haven’t had one in so long. Sure.”

“Bullshit, I’m the one doing the pouring. I decide when you have a drink and when you don’t. If anything, I’ll just give you soda water or 7-Up if you look like you’ve had enough.” The old man patted the horse once more and motioned with a large left hand for Santiago to follow.

“I can trust those words.” Santiago followed the old man into his bar. It still smelled the same from when he was a boy. When he was younger, Santiago and his friends would spend evenings at this bar after working their fathers’ lands. They would drink as they pleased, talk about the women, work and nothing in particular. They came to Don Chente’s bar to drown whatever daily sorrow had grown in their hearts. 36

Santiago’s thoughts turned to all the boys he had grown up with. He had grown into a man with those friends at his side. When they got older and children came, their priorities changed. The more time passed the more people disappeared. They had fled to the cold

North in search of what they called opportunity. It was around that time that Monica was bom and Santiago had stopped drinking. His trips to town became infrequent and he started to spend more and more time in the orchards and with Carlos. It felt strange to be back, but refreshing. He wasn’t used to the smell of alcohol anymore; he was accustomed to the bitter smell that the citrus fruits created. It had been nearly 15 years since he stared at a bottle of liquor. He sat at the end of the bar in his favorite seat and watched as Don

Chente poured clear liquid from a bottle.

“What’s on your mind?” Don Chente said.

“Nothing really, just the usual. Does Ramon still come by or did he end up leaving to America, like he said he would,” Santiago said. “Like they all say they do.”

“Ramon Cisneros is not who were talking about. Something else is on your mind.

What is it?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“I know you better than to be a liar. Did I teach you to be a liar?”

“No sir.” 37

“Good, then stop lying and start telling me the truth. What’s on your mind?”

“Honest? The whole fucking world. It’s like everything is topsy-turvy. It’s like I don’t know the world,”

“That’s because you don’t.”

“Come on now, what do you mean by that?

“I mean you’re old Santiago,” The old man poured himself a shot and drank it for himself.

“Old? Me, Don Chente look at yourself, you’re knocking at death’s door with a water pitcher in one hand and a bottle of liquor in the other.”

“Do you even know what I mean by old?” Don Chente said, taking another shot.

“No sir, enlighten me if you will,” Santiago said in an attempt to antagonize the old man.

“Well take a look around town? What do you see?”

“I see entitlement and the fall of our culture, society, and our people,” Santiago drank from his glass, motioned for Don Chente to refill it and drank from his glass once more after the old man refilled it. The image of the two boys holding hands infuriated

Santiago. He tolerated the things people did in their own homes, that was their business, much like what he did with his trees. If Santiago could keep what was important to him secret and not in the open, these people could to. The issue wasn’t their lifestyle, it was 38

that it is was his son, his Carlos. The alcohol burned his throat and added to the fire burning in his chest and belly. The anger only grew. “Our children,” Santiago said. “Our children are walking on a bad route as well.”

“And why would you say that?”

“I’ve lived here my entire life. I’ve seen countless seasons come and go. I’ve seen my product grow, I’ve seen yours grow. My friends, where are they now? Up North washing cars for tips, cleaning dishes and cleaning houses. All for a car, a phone, a movie theatre? They ran away to that, lured by those white men and their money,” Santiago motioned to spit in comer. Don Chente shook his head and Santiago stopped, slowing the spit and mucus. “And after those men stole those people away, they plundered our cities and towns with their culture. My kids are stuck on their phones, sharing this, liking this, mailing that. They want to control us. They want to control us like they did back than.”

“Santiago, do you honesty believe we’re being controlled? Did someone force you into my bar to talk to me?” Don Chente refilled both their glasses.

“Yes!” Santiago shouted. “Yes, I was pretty much forced into here. I haven’t had a drink in years but someone came to my house today and threatened my family in way that I have never seen before.”

“And what did you do?”

“I sent them off like I always do,”

“So why did this one make you come here?” 39

“Do I even have to explain it? It was only time before they came to Michoacan.”

Santiago looked outside the window. When the cars and shopping malls came, so did those men. They called it progress, they called it change, they called it the future.

When they changed the culture, they changed the land. Blood was spilled on the roads; pieces of people were strung on bridges to advertise their message. The times were changing and if you didn’t change with them, you were dead. It was a slow crawl to

Michoacan, but Santiago knew they would eventually come his way. He just didn’t think it would be so fast. Carlos was still a boy, too young to inherit the land. And the Granada boy only complicated things. Santiago drank from his shot glass. “They’re all over

Durango, Guanajuato and other states. I had gotten rid of some small time men before, but this one, Don Chente, I don’t know who he works for but he had a fucking American accent and knew what he was doing. I don’t know how to handle this one.”

“Santiago not everything is black and white. You know they took my farm two

years ago?”

“What?” Santiago’s mind raced the orange trees of the Morales family, the sister farm to his lime farm. They had spoken many times in two years but he had never visited.

Santiago’s rage only grew from this betrayal of knowledge. “But your trees are older than mine. They’ve seen more than my trees. I picked those orchards with you when I was a boy.” The news burned at Santiago’s soul. He had spent many summer days working Don Chente’s orange orchards with his two sons that were his age. He had fallen from ladders, pulled his back and lost sleep over the harvest. What hurt him the most was 40

the fact that Don Chente was the last man in the countryside that still gave tribute to the land on the ways that Santiago did.

“The times change and people change with them,” Don Chente said.

“They’re taking my land, and you’re saying to go along with it?”

“Nothing close to it. I’m telling you to take advantage of them. They’ve been here for years. You just haven’t noticed them and they haven’t noticed you.” Once again the old man refilled the shot glasses. “They asked you to pick off coyotes or something like that right?”

“Yes.”

“Well kill the dogs. It’s just that easy. They come in plant, pick, leave and comeback, all while you collect a check.” The old man lifted the bottle to his lips and drank a large gulp. “Don’t get me wrong, you don’t want to do anything to piss off the guy in charge. He’s fucking crazy. I had to meet him once, talks to himself and other nonsense like that, but the arrangement is pretty easy. They’re loaded, they think you’re stupid. Let them think you’re stupid.”

“I will not let those men take me for a fool.”

“Dammit Santiago, are not listening to me? Things change. Save the seeds, wait a few years, take that money and buy land closer to the ocean. The one thing the government won’t let those assholes have is the sea. Buy some property there after three 41

years. I promise you’ll have enough money to start up again.” Don Chente went to refill

Santiago’s glass but Santiago covered it with his hand.

“Are you moving away? Are you going to move your orange trees?”

“Santiago when those men came, I let them bum it all, trees and seeds.”

“Why would you do that? That was your family’s legacy,” Santiago said in anger.

The only other orchard that still adhered to the old ways was gone. His trees were the scions of the past. The new world was cruel.

“Legacy? My kids are my legacy and I have too much of it. I have ten children, all grown, they all have close to ten children, and those kids, well, you get the picture.

My last name is everywhere,” Don Chente chuckled.

“But your trees, your trees.”

“Trees are just that, trees. I know how important they are to you. Save that one tree that your father loved so dearly. Transplant it closer, in your back yard. Don’t lose your family over bullshit like this. Do you want me to go into detail what will happen to you? To your children? To Ines?”

“You don’t have to. I know what kind of people these are,” Santiago had heard stories. All by word of mouth, you couldn’t write about what happened to people. “I know what they will do.” 42

“You’re stubborn like your horses, you know that? Not that new one though. He’s happy and content. Cars honked all night and he didn’t once spook.”

“You could say my horse is American then. Bet he’d like to ride in a car too.”

“Now you’re going after your horse?” The old man forced Santiago’s hand off the top of the glass to refill it. “Leave the poor creature alone, this world is all he knows. Just like your kids. They know the world from their own perspective, their own eyes. Not yours Santiago, not yours.”

“My children,” Santiago sneered and rolled his eyes. “My children are ignorant.

Monica wants to rule the world. Manuel? Don’t even get me started on that one. And

Carlos.” He thought of his son and the Granada boy kissing. “Dammit, Carlos is a fucking failure. All my life I’ve been trying to show him my ways, my culture. He’s in love with his phone, he’s in love with the North and he’s in love with another fucking boy.”

“Your point? Two of my children are gay. They left to America because I didn’t accept them. They’re over 50 and I haven’t seen them in close to 30 years. Do you want to know how that feels? You don’t,” Don Chente took a long drink from the bottle.

Leaving no liquid in it.

“Carlos won’t have any children.”

“My two do. I don’t know the details but it’s not impossible and not even that uncommon.” 43

“What will people think though?”

“Fuck what people think. We bleed animals into our trees. I’m pretty convinced you and I don’t give a fuck what people think.”

“And the other two. Since you’re so wise abut this era what can you say about them?”

“They are like that new horse; this world is all they know. You buried all your horses that spooked at cars, machines and televisions. You need to be like that new horse.

You’re burying yourself in the past.”

“And what about my little problem?”

“Let them come, let them cut, let them grow. Your pride is not worth your entire clan. It’s no longer expected that you sacrifice everything to make a life. Zapata’s time has passed. You can’t launch some storybook rebellion. The people who moved North, they know all about giving up their pride. Give up your pride Mijo.” Don Chente smiled at Santiago

“I think I have a good idea of what to do now.”

“That’s something I can toast to,” The old man said.

“Sa/wd,” Santiago said, raising his glass.

“Salud\ ” Don Chente replied. The two men toasted and continued to drink for another few hours until Ines and Manuel came looking for Santiago. Manuel called a car f 44

rom an application on his phone and helped load his father in the car. The boy rode the horse home, trotting on paved rode his father had traversed on earlier in the night.

Santiago slept soundly that night dreaming of his trees and his family. Don Chente also slept well. That entire night he had been drinking with Santiago om a manner he hadn’t done in years. In the morning Santiago walked past Carlos’ room and peaked through the open door. He wasn’t home. He passed his daughters room where he opened her door to see her asleep on top of piles of books. When he got the end of the hallway and to

Manuel’s room, he let himself in. He sat gently and tenderly on the edge of his son’s bed.

His weight shifted the mattress down where he sat and elevated the rest of it. He watched his son breath gently, his bare chest moving rhythmically up and down. The sun had not risen yet, it was the weekend and he knew the children had no alarms set. He would wait until Manuel would stir, wake up naturally, and when he we would, Santiago would invite Manuel and the rest of his family to join him in growing and harvesting one last crop of limes together, as a family.

The Bautista Family worked their land together for the first time as family and only as a family. It had been three generations since the entire Bautista family worked the land together. When the day came for their workers to begin cultivation of the next batch of lime trees, they were excused. The men protested, asking how Santiago could dismiss them. They lived off the generous wages Santiago paid. It had always the same story, the men would come in tend the trees with Santiago and Carlos, wait for the crop to grow and then harvest it. They packaged the limes in the cardboard boxes that went up North.

Santiago grew his product without the use of pesticides and the Americans loved that. 45

They paid a premium amount for each ton of limes his orchards could produce. It took

Ines a year to convince him to sell to the Americans up North. To Santiago, it was the same of of sending his children North illegally. He agreed that they could only sell to people that were conscientious enough to care about the product. The amount that they paid was simply a placeholder for an amount that Santiago and his forefathers could not put a price on. The limes had to be sold, that much was true. Santiago could not run a lime farm for only his own enjoyment. Ines’ counsel guided Santiago’s decision to sell his product to the specialty stores that at least, in Santiago’s opinion, appreciated his work and dedication. And even if they didn’t, they did a damn good job of pretending they did.

The men didn’t ask for much, but the demanded an explanation. Santiago told them to wait. They were furious. The men, Alejandro Solis, Benito Alvez, his brother

Chuy and Luis Sanchez all had families to feed. The men elected Alejandro to speak for them. Alejandro Solis was small man, but did not falter before the face of Santiago

Bautista. He had to look up to talk to Santiago, but he knew he would not accept any form of disrespect come from man. Santiago had been their patron for years. They had worked for the family before Ines and before the children. They felt connected to the trees as well. Alejandro confronted Santiago Bautista on the eve of the spring growing season. All over, the few orchards of fruits and nuts began their growing season. They were the few lucky farms that had been left untouched by crime, but the Bautista orchards had not been selected to join them. Alejandro rode out when the sun set and hitched his horse to the post outside the Bautista home. When he knocked, Santiago opened the door 46

immediately, he had been waiting behind the closed door. He knew his old friend would come.

“Alejandro, hello. Please come in,” Santiago moved to the side, the inside of the house revealed.

“No Santiago, I don’t think coming inside will do us any good. Sooner or later, one of us is going to raise our voices. I don’t want to bother Ines or your kids. Ines is also good at hiding alcohol in coffee. Not good enough though, I know to expect it now.”

“So, a walk through the trees then?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The two men walked to the orchards that covered the country side. The trees were barren, but their shoots were budding and soon they would be covered in beautiful green leaves. The work had to begin fast. Alejandro’s mind turned to the buyers in the United

States. They didn’t use any pesticides and those types of fruit made good money.

Santiago paid the men good money, and Alejandro wondered if the growing children needed more funding for their schooling. He wished he made enough money to send his own children to the same school Santiago and Ines’ children attended. Ines had offered all the men’s children tuition at one point and each time they all declined, they wanted to make their own money, with their own hands. If the Americans weren’t paying as well anymore, it wouldn’t be an issue to take a pay cut. Perhaps Santiago’s pride was getting in the way once more. Alejandro worried if the family could manage by themselves. 47

Carlos had been helping for years but Ines, Monica and Manuel had never once helped with the trees. They wouldn’t be fast enough; they wouldn’t be strong enough. There was only a short list of the things Ines didn’t control, and Alejandro knew the trees were on that list. The two men walked briskly to warm their bodies up. Though it was close to the first day of spring, the nights were still cold and they could see their breath rising every time they breathed out. Santiago spoke first.

“Go on, go ahead, say your business.”

“You’ve known this, haven’t you? I know you know me well but this was well thought out.”

“It had to be. I think about things for a long time. Don’t think I made this choice in haste.”

“But from our perspective it does. You told us the day we showed up to your door a few days back, our horses fed, water and lunches in our hands. We have families to feed. Luis’ daughter, she was bom with her insides on the outside. She’s had surgery and will need more. You know we count on the work.”

“I wish nothing but the best for girl, but my mind is made up. I can’t simply just have my last harvest like all the others.”

“Why does it have to be your last harvest? What have you agreed to and whom?

You didn’t sell the land to developers did you? I didn’t take you for that kind of man.”

“I cannot explain it to you” 48

“And why not? We know you’re tying to go out with bang, but what about us?

Don’t you want to make money from your last harvest?”

“I’m not concerned about the money, remember that Ines had to convince me to sell to Americans.”

“Then what about us? What about your men? Are we not allowed to participate in your final harvest? Don’t you think this hurts us? I don’t, we don’t want to see the trees bum either.”

“No one wants to see them bum. I don’t know if I’ll be able to watch.”

“Then why do you deny us? If not money, what about the honor and history of the whole fucking thing? It’s your farm, but in a way it’s ours too. We’ve all put the same amount of time, sweat and blood into this operation. Remember when the tractor fell over and I broke a few ribs. I came back the next day and the day after that, remember. Look at my skin. We are the same shade of brown, made by the same amount of time under the sun. Your hands stick them out, palms up.” Alejandro looked at Santiago in silence until he extended his arms, his palms up. Alejandro did the same. ‘My hands are calloused the same way.”

“And you don’t think I thank you for that? You don’t think that I appreciate you?

Or the others? You are my brothers! You are the ones that stood around after all the others left to be wetbacks, you had less than me and still you stuck around. If you had left twenty years ago, you could’ve had a car, a house and other shit in America. Their 49

fucking President is making all of them legal, you don’t think I know what you missed out on? You hitched your horse on my post, we are the last of our kind. I respect you allfor all that you’ve done and I thank you from a part of my heart that I didn’t know existed.”

“Then why won’t you let us help? The men and I would help! When the time comes when they come for the trees, we will be there for you. I know we all have children to feed but we would help you in heartbeat. It’s not about the money, it’s the principle. We’re here for you.”

“This is something that we must do alone. I fear I might lose my family. I need to give my children the chance to experience the trees in the same way we all did when we were children. I’m setting you free. You went from friends to my family to my workers and now you are my family again.”

“Is this really how you would treat people that you consider family Santiago?”

“It is. Here,” Santiago pulled an envelope from his pocket. The seal of the bank of

Mexico was on it.

“Santiago...”

“Take it, there’s a year wage for each of you in there. You are not to come back and speak to me until I have had time with my family.”

“Santiago...” 50

“Leave me now while I still have my pride. It will be gone in a few month’s time,” Santiago said as he held the envelope out. His hands were cold and tired.

“Take it,” Santiago said again, “You have families to feed.”

The two men stared at each other for three minutes in silence before Alejandro took the envelope and spoke one last time.

“We will be there for you when they come for the trees. That much I can promise you.”

The two men walked in silence back to the house. Alejandro reigned in his horse and Santiago Bautista watched his brother ride into the cold spring night.

Carlos Bautista showed his brother and sister how to work the land. This was the first time they had helped with the growing process. They were slow and untrained, they fumbled the hoe and the pick axe. Monica picked up a hoe and raised it over her head and brought it forcefully to the ground, in the same fashion that you use a machete to open a coconut. He walked over to his sister. She was rapidly increasing in height. In few years, he knew she would match his.

“Here, let me show you.”

“Please! I have no clue what the hell I’m doing,”

“Watch me,” Carlos said. He gripped the tool in the middle, held it up not too high and angled his strikes. “See, nothing to it.” 51

“Easy for you to say. You’ve been at it for years. Look at you, you’re ripped and you don’t even work out.”

“This is a workout.”

“And that it is. Both physical and ‘spiritual’ as Papa says.” Monica emulated his technique, struck the land and made a deeper, cleaner break into the earth. “Why are we doing this again? “

“To flow water from the river into the orchards. We don’t have an automated system. Dad wont let us get one. I’ve been trying to get him to get one for years. Even the men asked him and he still said no.”

“Well, look at it this way, at least when you’re in charge of this you can install all the equipment you need.” Monica smiled at her brother and continued to to use his technique. She turned on her music from her phone in her back pocket and sang along.

She was the same shade as Carlos. Her height made her look older and she and Carlos were frequently confused for twin, but if she were to have a twin, it should’ve been

Manuel. She was bom ten months after he was bom, they grew up holding each others hands until her arms grew too long for her shorter brother to hold.

Carlos watched his sister and felt love for her. For the first time in many seasons, he smiled while doing work, but his smile turned into a frown when he realized what she’d said. What did she mean, that this would all be his? Carlos didn’t want this; he didn’t want any of this. He didn’t want to live his days out farming lime trees like his 52

father. When his father had cut that roosters throat, Carlos made a decision. He had to get as far away as he could. From the distance, he eyed Manuel mimicking the technique he had shown Monica. This, this could be his. Manuel wanted it. Even though Manuel wasn’t trained, and hadn’t been brought along for any of the harvests, he watched his father and the others work the fields. When the family began the harvest, Manuel attempted to copy a few of the techniques he watched the others do.

Carlos knew that Manuel was his way out.

Manuel would give him the escape that he wanted. Carlos knew there was no place for him in Mexico. He had dreams of the United States. Alejandro had been there a few times for work and the stories that he brought back to Mexico inspired Carlos. There were cities in California where he knew he wouldn’t have to hide himself. He wouldn’t have to go to an obscure movie theatre in town just to hold Alejandro’s hand and kiss him. He could love both boys and girls in the way that he did and would not need to explain himself.

On that night a month ago he had seen his father. He whispered into Alejandro’s ear to kiss him. He expected his father to run him out from from the house that night but when he returned his father was already in bed. For weeks, Carlos expected his father to confront him but the argument never came. That was just like him, avoiding the subject.

Perhaps he erased the image from his mind. Alejandro’s father had caught the two boys in bed once, but he managed to forget about it after visiting the bottle for the entire night.

The next day, all was forgiven and forgotten. Carlos did not want to be forgiven or 53

forgotten. He wanted to be acknowledged for him, not for what his father wanted him to be. The scent of the lime trees and moist earth tickled his nose, it disgusted him. He craved the odor of a city, of pollution, other people, pizza and pasta. That was the ideal.

Carlos continued to watch his brother from afar after Monica had walked away. The technique was sloppy but he moved quick and was eager, an excellent candidate. His brother struck the earth and would fail to create a deep hole, he’d curse himself and try again, and again until he succeeded and until his technique looked better. Carlos motioned for Manuel to come over.

“How’s it going? How do you like the work?”

“It’s what I expected. I watched you guys work a few times. It looked easy, but clearly I was wrong.”

“No, no, it’s alright. You’re good at it. Show me how you do it. Come on.”

Manuel lifted the hoe and struck the earth with the precision of a new doctor, self taught.

“That’s great. Let me show you how to get a deeper hole, the deeper it is the less you have to hit the ground. Your form is great, let me show you.” Carlos took the tool from his younger brother’s arms and showed him how to properly cut into the earth.

“So like this?”

Carlos nodded as he watched his brother. Manuel smiled and began to work the land just like his brother. 54

“Are you still playing soccer?”

“Yeah, a scout from Germany is coming this summer.”

“You must be excited.”

“I guess.”

“Dude don’t be like that, Europe!”

“Meh, it’s Germany. I don’t speak German. I don’t want to bother learning the language. If its like English than it’ll be hard”

“Man, come one. It’s Europe. You look European. You’d fit in.” Manuel stopped working and starred at his brother.

“No, no I don’t! I look Mexican!” Manuel yelled. Carlos picked up the tool his brother had thrown down and handed it back to him.

“You look a little European then. Don’t get so mad. Mom’s maiden name is

German or Swedish or something. So we’re part something I guess, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

When they were boys, Carlos fought for Manuel many times on the playground.

As a baby, Manuel didn’t stand out, but the older he got, more evident it became that he looked different. Boys would tease Manuel with the words that they learned at home.

Their parents were afraid of the Bautista family, but they never considered that the words 55

they called Ines and Manuel would be carried into the streets by their children that eavesdropped on their jokes. The headmistress dismissed Carlos from the private school he was attending after he, in her words, mauled another boy. Ines went to pick him up and they walked back home in silence until a young Carlos asked his mother a question.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“What’s a putaT

Ines did not respond. The word pierced a part of her that she thought was impenetrable. When rumors yielded insults, she knew that people would know better than to say it to her face. She frightened people and that pleased her. She knew that people could not hurt her in the open and yet here, through her children they had succeeded.

“Who,” Ines said with a raspy voice. “Who said that word to you?”

“Alvaro and Enrique. They called you that word and they called Manuel a bastard! I don’t know what those words mean but they made me mad. They were teasing

Manuel and that’s why I hit them.”

When Ines spoke to the headmistress, she was told that one boy would no longer be able to see out of one of his eyes. The other would never have full use of his right hand again. The ten-year old boy that walked next to her, back to the orchards of her husband’s ancient family, was already half a foot taller than her. The headmistress called her son a bear, just like his father. That had pleased her. Her thoughts turned to the 56

children that were injured by her fledgling bear cub. If Carlos had begun the fight with no pretense, she would’ve given something to the families to rectify the injuries. But because of what Carlos had told her, she decided that getting their children back in one piece was her family’s gift to them.

“Why don’t you want to go to Europe? You play way fucking better than all the other guys.” Carlos asked Manuel.

“Maybe I do, maybe I suck, I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?! Man I used to watch you play all the time. You were fucking amazing.”

Manuel put the tool down and looked at his brother. The words danced on his lips for a few seconds until he could muster the strength to speak.

“When was the last time you saw me play?”

Manuel’s sentence rang like a loud bell in Carlos’ head. When was the last time?

He couldn’t remember. Manuel was fifteen now, almost sixteen, his face was covered in blemishes, acne scars and some hair had begun to grow. The last time Carlos had watched his brother play Manuel had been smaller, his body pudgier, his face less like a man’s.

“I’m,” Carlos hesitated. “I’m not sure. But you’ve always been great. They’re here to see you! That means something.” 57

“They’re not here just to see me. They’re here to look at other people too. I was good three, four years ago or something like that. I don’t know about now. I know we got a letter saying that they’d like to see me but they sent that letter to other boys as well.”

“And you don’t think that means means something?”

“You know you’re just like Dad right?”

“What do mean by that?”

“What’s my birthday? And no, you can’t open up your phone.”

“It’s in May.”

“What day? What year?”

“Why does it matter?”

Carlos remained silent and his phone felt warm in his pocket as if it called out to him.

“See, just like dad.”

“I’m nothing like him, and me forgetting some stupid date isn’t enough for you to compare.”

“It’s not stupid for me.”

“I didn’t mean it in that way.” 58

“Which way then?”

Carlos responded once more with silence.

“No answer? See, you’re just like him. You both ignore me, why can’t you just admit it? You can admit other things, bigger things, but you can’t admit that you ignore me. I don’t even care anymore. Just admit you ignore me and we can move on.”

“I don’t fucking ignore you. I’m busy with life too. Do you know how many fucking times dad takes me out to the fields to show me shit? Weird shit? Fucked up shit

I can’t even begin to tell you about!” Carlos raised his arms in the air, his hands and head trembling at the words he yelled.

Manuel only half way smiled. “And should I feel sorry for you?”

“Sorry? You don’t need to feel fucking sorry for me, you’re the little douche who has a legitimate way out and you don’t even bat a fucking eyelash at the opportunity?

You know what I have to do? I have to pack shit up, cross a fucking desert, end up as a fucking dish washer to be free to be my fucking self.”

“You’re already your fucking self. And you are fucking free. We all know you stomp around town fucking guys,” Manuel chuckled to himself.”You don’t do a very good job of hiding that either,” Manuel moved to work a few feet away and mumbled something underneath his breath. A list of words rushed into Carlos’ mind and they bored into him.He threw his tool and shoved Manuel’s shoulder.

“What the fuck did you just call me?” 59

Manuel turned around and pushed back with both arms.

“What the fuck? I didn’t say anything!”

“Fuck you! What did you call me?!” The words of boys and girls calling him horrid names rushed into Carlos’ head. Even though he was bigger they had still called him names. Even when he beat them up, they would stand up and go home and another boy would take that boys place. It was a cycle that Carlos could not break. He fought everyday, sometimes multiple times in a day. Grown men threw bottles and trash at him from their cars when he was out with a boy and women would do the sign of the cross when he was out with girls. Manuel had never said anything about it until now. Carlos pushed his younger brother down to the ground. Manuel fell with a hard thud and Carlos climbed on top of him, preparing a fist.

“What the fuck did you say to me?”

“I didn’t say anything you fucker! ’ Manuel yelled.

“One last time Manuel, tell me what the fuck you called me!”

“Nothing!” Manuel said, inhaling mucus from his nose and spitting it out into

Carlos’ face. Carlos reached over to the earth beside him a scooped some soil into his hand.

“You want to play farmer? You want this land? You can fucking have it!” Carlos shoved the dirt into Manuel’s mouth. His younger brother struggled against his weight.

With every push Manuel did, Carlos pushed back harder. He held his hand down tight on 60

Manuel’s mouth until his struggling became weaker. As he held down tight, a brown arm found its way in front of his face. The forearm and bicep wrapped around his neck and he saw the hand meet another bicep. He felt the the other hand press tightly on the back of his head-a complicated choke. Then everything went black.

“Are you okay?” Monica said to Manuel. Her brother got up from the ground, spit the dirt from his mouth and took long, heavy breathes. He coughed hard until he vomited.

“I’m fine,” he said, taking a deep breath. “You could’ve killed him.”

“Um, he was going to kill you. Don’t worry, he’ll be up in a few minutes, let him nap.”

“No he wasn’t.”

“He shoved dirt down your mouth, if that doesn’t say “I’m going to kill you”, then I don’t know what that looks like.”

Manuel looked at Carlos, sprawled out on the ground. “It’s not like he was going to do it.”

“Is everyone in denial today?”

“Stop it, he wasn’t going to do anything.”

“Can you at least thank me?”

“Thank you, happy?” 61

Monica smiled, holding a laugh in before it forced it way out. “Yes, actually I am.”

Manuel stood up, walking towards their brother. “You sure he’ll be alright? He isn’t moving, should we check on him?”

Monica pulled his leg, forcing his stop. “Sit,” She said. “He’s going to be alright.

I didn’t apply that much pressure.”

“Where did you learn that?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Alright.” Manuel knew to trust Monica. They were bom ten months apart, they were twins in his eyes, fraternal of course and they were close the way twins were. While their father and older brother did their own things, with the trees and friends, the two had been inseparable since they were babies. Monica, like their mother, held many secrets.

When she told him to not worry about something Manuel would remove it from his thoughts. His trust was concrete with his sister.

“What was the fight about? Really looked like he wanted to kill you.”

“I mumbled something under my breath and he got angry.”

“Jesus, what did you call him?”

“Nothing! I didn’t call him anything and he attacked me, I mumbled loser and that was it.” 62

Monica frowned. “Don’t lie.”

“I’m not!”

“You’re lying. Say out loud, to me , what you said to him.”

Manuel clenched his fist and looked away. He spoke softly. “Fag...I called him a fag. Happy?”

“No, that doesn’t make me at all fucking happy,” Monica took a deep breath. Her hear ached for both her brothers. “You do know he’s super sensitive about that kind of shit?”

“Yeah, you don’t think I’ve had to fight some kids over the shit they’ve said?”

“Same here. And yet here you are saying the same word.”

“He used to stand up for me when we were smaller, it was the least I could do.

Now that I’m older I don’t take the shit that people say about us sitting down anymore.”

“Is there anything wrong with not fighting back?”

“We should always fight back!”

“Manuel, they’re just words coming from people’s mouths. Their words are the masks they wear. Just like this one napping over there. You know better than to wear a mask. Look at how our parents act. Remember what we promised each other?”

“I do.” 63

Separated by only ten months, Monica and Manuel claimed to be twins. They grew together, their roots intertwined, like the trees that their father doted on. But unlike the trees, they weren’t given special treatment by Carlos or their father, and in response they came up with their own ritual. When Monica grew bigger than Manuel and she towered over them, the outward appearance grew different but the two siblings remained the same. The ritual that they came up with began with people watching. People were like trees; they grew, changed, withered and endured. But people were also characters and they wore, what the siblings called “masks Their parents were no different; their father’s mask was the trees, their mother’s was her hidden past and their brother’s was his pain.

They promised each other that they would never lie to one another and wear a “mask” in the presence of the other. When one would falter and begin to forge a mask, the other would shatter the pieces before completion, telling the other that they had to remain true and sincere. Recently, Manuel had begun to forge many masks. Now with Carlos knocked out on the ground, Monica could sense her brother’s desire to forge a mask to hide behind from the world. She reminded her Manuel of their promise like he had done for her so many times in the past.

The two siblings sat in silence as they waited for their older brother to come to.

He stirred a few times and Monica checked on him to make sure he was okay. She touched his neck in a gentle way, not in the way her father’s caressed the necks of their livestock. Monica did not fear many things, but the things her father did in the field frightened her. A black aura covered their farm and home after their father would leave with a live animal only to return with only it’s remains. While her mother tolerated it, and 64

Manuel envied it, Monica felt uneasy as the darkness emanated from the orchids, and the black warmth the soil would have after her father’s excursions.

Now she caressed her dear older brothers neck with a gentleness that she felt he needed. Carlos was covered in sweat; he was dreaming, something that didn’t happen naturally and so quickly after being knocked out. He emanated a different form of darkness from his body, similar to that of their fathers but more perverse and destructive.

She had watched froma far as her brothers argued and began to fight. Manuel had told her he wanted to fight, stand up for himself and so she let him. Out of Manuel’s desire and her curiosity she let it play out. Monica Bautista wanted to see her proclaimed twin brother stand up for himself, she would not fight this battle for him, and to see her oldest brother put down his mask for once and talk it out. Neither happened, and when Carlos shoved the dirt in Manuel’s mouth she knew she had to act quickly.

“Are you 100% sure he’s okay? He’s jerking around.” Manuel said, breaking the silence. Monica wiped the sweat off Carlo’s forehead.

“He will be. He’s just sleeping, dreaming. Let him be. Thought he’d be up by now but he’s dreaming for some reason.”

“Isn’t he always dreaming?”

“Let him. You cant police what he does asleep.” 65

“I don’t mean it that way. Sorry. I meant the more figurative way. It’s just that he’s always barking about how he wants to do this, do that, go here, be there. You know the shit.”

“Let him. Like you don’t dream? Your mouth waters every time dad talks about those trees.”

“At least my dreams make sense. At least I can make them reality,” Manuel said, now looking away fondly at the grotto. It was less than a mile away, but he felt it was a thousand miles out of reach.

“I see your point. But you know dad’s stuck in his ways. Carlos could

leave or die and dad would moum him forever and he still wouldn’t hand

anything over to you.”

“That stings.”

“No masks,” Monica said instantly.

“No masks,” Manuel replied.

“You don’t need any of this you know. Dad dangles it in front of you, but it’s not worth it.”

“I know what has worth to me.”

“And when Carlos eventually leaves who will watch out for the family or the trees. Not mom. It should be me.?” 66

“Anyone but you.”

“He hates me doesn’t he? I know Carlos does, the fucker almost knocked out my teeth. I can still taste the fucking dirt,” the taste lingered on Manuel’s tongue, he swallowed hard, opting not to spit. He would not give his brother a victory, even while asleep.

“He doesn’t hate you. If anything he hates himself.”

“Why do you say that? He seems comfortable doing what he does,” Manuel scoffed. Monica shot a cold stare at her twin.“Is that what you call it?”

“I mean, he can do what he wants, anyone can. I just don’t like it in my face, which he does a good job of hiding, so he’s okay.”

“And if he wasn’t? What if he walked around with Alejo in public the way he does with Astrid?”

“Doesn’t he already? He used to be better at hiding it. He could hide it so damn well. Kids would call him a fag. Do you know how often they called him that? You don’t, it was a lot. I’ve have to argue with people saying that he wasn’t like that. He’d go out with a girl and that would only prove my point. But then he went out with guys in public.

You know Dad saw him and that kid the other day?”

“And he didn’t say anything? You’re talking about dad right? Our dad?” 67

“Yeah, mom told me all about it. She said that Carlos was doing it on purpose.

When they spoke Carlos told her he had seen dad in the distance. I guess the guy with the gun freaked them out, or something.” Manuel spoke with intent in his voice, Monica felt a slight jealousy at the relationship her brothers had with their mother, Manuel’s connection stung too deep. Monica had rejected her mother’s past and world for her own, the real world that made sense.

“I guess the old man went blind for that then. They still talk like everything is okay, it’s been a few months.”

“They have to talk about it eventually.”

“How come? It’s his life, not dad’s. He can live it how he wants.”

“Having a drug problem or alcohol is one thing, but this,” Manuel motioned to spit. He caught Monica’s look of disapproval and swallowed red hard once again. “This is another thing.”

“Christ, let him do what he wans, he’s not hurting anyone. You know what dad does and you don’t give a fuck about that, do you? You want to learn that shit, that creepy shit, don’t you? You know people talk and say that dad takes people out there sometimes?”

“That is a fucking lie!” Manuel yelled. The loudness of his voiced echoed in the distance and Carlos twitched a little in his slumber. 68

“Dumbass, I know that’s a fucking lie, I live with you! But think about it. People like to to talk their shit about all of us. They say things about dad and his trees, mom that crazy gun story, Carlos and his tastes, me on being a bitch and you... for... you know.”

“For what?! Just fucking say it. Just fucking say it like the others do,” Manuel said timidly. He always felt miniscule in the presence of his family and this was no different.

“They hate you... because,” Monica grabbed Manuel by the shoulder and brought him close where she could smell his skin and the dirt on his face and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Because you’re so damn cool and cute!”

Monica had a way of bringing the light out in people. She would remove people’s masks and pull them out of the dark. Manuel’s rage and envy of Carlos waned.

“Manuel,” Monica said kindly. “We can’t be like the townspeople. I know you want to like them for reasons I won’t say out loud. But they say horrible things about all of us. We don’t need to fight each other.” And with that Monica shattered Manuel’s mask.

“Monica?”

“Yes?”

“Will you sit with me while I wait for Carlos to wake up?”

“Always.” 69

In his dream there nothing but a scorched land, the remnants of an inferno. A lion stood watching, behind it was a red robed man. Carlos stood watching the lion and man until her felt a sharp pain in his forehead, calling him out of the ether and back into the material world.

Carlos Bautista woke up from his dream. The day had turned into twilight and his younger brother and sisters stared at him in an unfamiliar way. They had not looked at him in this way since they were babies, since the time he could carry both of them in his arms at the same time. He sat up, wiped the dirt and sweat from his forehead. “What time is it?” He said.

“Late,” Manuel said.

“Look who’s talking to his brother again?” Monica said triumphantly. Carlos remembered what happened. The argument, the pushing and shoving and the dirt he picked up. He looked at his hands, still covered in the hard, dry dirt.

“Manuel, did you knock me out? How the fuck did you do that?”

“Ahem,” Monica cleared her thought. “Don’t look at him, I did that. How does it feel to have your ass kicked by a girl? I can do it again if you’re still salty. Come at me,

Carlos,” Monica said with the straightest face she could muster, hiding the laugh she wanted desperately to belch out.

“She did a fucking good job of it too. You were gone in four seconds and out cold for hours,” Manuel said, giving his sister a high five. 70

“That’s funny. You have to do that again sometime,” Carlos said, licking at his dry lips. “Fuck, did you leave me in the sun all afternoon? I feel like shit. You couldn’t have pulled me into the shade or something?”

Manuel’s jaw dropped slightly. “You shoved dirt in my mouth. No, of course we weren’t going to pull you into the shade.”

“I deserve that.”

“You think?” Manuel said, cocking his head to the side and shrugging his shoulders.

“Can we move on from this? You guys fought, Manuel and I had a talk, you must’ve had some thought provoking, life changing dream in dad’s haunted orchards. So we’re all cool right?”

Carlos’ mind tingled from dehydration and the dream. He didn’t understand the words that came from his sisters mouth until the register a few seconds later. He looked in the direction of his brother. “We’re cool.”

“Cool.”

Carlos stood up and his sibling followed suit. They did not finish their work.

Carlos looked at the untilled land behind them. Their father would be mad but they didn’t care. It had been years since the three siblings walked shoulder to shoulder in the manner that they did now. They were walking home, traversing the same old paths that they had made by walking up and down until no more grass and weeds grew. This was the path, 71

the path back home. Even after they stopped walking together many years ago, no more weeds grew on the path, or the others that the children had carved with their feet. Even when it rained and weeds and other invasive plants took over the orchard, and Santiago and the men had to rip them out with their hands, no weeds grew on the path the children had made. Even when Santiago upped his sacrifices for a good season, weeds still grew in the orchards. Whatever magic protected and nourished the lime trees, the path that the children created was protected by an older magic, one tied more deeply to the land and one where no blood needed to be shed.

The children walked the same path together now as the crickets began to sing their song and the earth radiated the warmth of the sun that it had soaked up during the day. Carlos removed his shoes and proceeded barefoot and, then the other children removed theirs also. The earth felt warm, dry; but had that warmth that Carlos could only compare to the warmth of hen sitting on her egg, keeping it just right until it hatched.

Carlos knew in the back in of his mind the importance of blood, in sacrifice and in the pride that his father had. It was blood that protected the land and family. It was also blood that scared his father into never asking his mother to deny or confirm what everybody wanted to ask about Manuel. And it was blood that his father worried about Carlos passing on. He didn’t want any of it, all he wanted was this mile and halfback home with

Manuel and Monica. They would walk home they way that they used to when they were children, the way that felt most right and most free. The way that Carlos felt right now was the way he always wanted to feel. 72

“Have you seen the kids?” Santiago asked his wife.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen them in hours, maybe they killed a tree and are trying to hide it?”

Santiago chuckled. “Don’t play like that!”

“And why not? I can have a little fun right? We’re doing this entire harvest by ourselves can I can have a joke or two.”

“That you do.”

“Did you really have to let the men go? We could’ve been done so much quicker if we had kept them around. You still paid them,” Ines said sternly.

Santiago remained silent and continued his digging.

“When we pay our men the expectation is that they work. This is what we agreed upon years ago, am I wrong?”

“You aren’t wrong.”

“And what about the Americans? They wont be happy to hear that we will be delivering the limes so late. They’ll have to up their prices for their stock and that will spill over onto what the pay us.”

“I’m not handing this harvest to the Americans,” Santiago confessed. 73

“Excuse me? I don’t think I heard you clearly and if I did, I hope damn well you fix this mistake come morning.”

“We’re officially done with them, in word and in paper.”

“Santi,” Ines sighed a hard breath. She closed her eyes, trembled in anger and banished it before opening her eyes to continue. “We were going to keep them interested in the farm, and sell to them again once we have a farm by the sea. That is what you told me before we started on this little adventure as a family unit. Was it not?”

“It was, but I changed my mind. The fruit belongs to us, not them.”

“You know what? You can keep the fruit, keep all your fucking fruit. You can’t do this all in one day. You tell me that you paid all the men, and in FULL, for a harvest that we will see no money from. When the gold gun man comes back , they wont pay us right way, you know that? They’ll pay us after THEIR growing season, if that even happens at all. They can come in here, bum your fucking trees to the ground and not plant anything for a year, like they did other farms.”

“I’m aware of that. But I make the final decisions here. And this was my final decision.”

“I don’t accept that answer Santi. We have so many bills, the kids’ education costs so much money, our savings wont handle that, or any other expenses.”

“We’ll find a way.” 74

“A way? I refuse to be one of those women that asks her neighbors for help because her man can’t take care of her!” Ines yelled. She gestured violently.

“This isn’t the end of the world Ines. Please trust me, trust me like you’ve trusted me before!”

“How can I? You have us here working these fields and I understand why it’s important to you. I’m letting you have that; I’m letting you have that victory to taste it.

But why do you have to jeopardize our stability and our children’s education? This isn’t some novel where you’re trying to be poetic. This is real life,” Ines grabbed her husband’s hands and gripped them tightly. She caressed his callouses. She knew each one individually from She knew each one individually, how each one felt against her skin She lifted his right hand and brought it to her face. “Feel me. I am real, I am alive, I am not a tree. Santiago, I am alive.”

He felt the warmth of his wife and he loved her even more than he had before.

This was the mother of his children, the woman he would grow old with. Here she was sharing her warmth again, like in the bed they had shared for over twenty years; Ines

Kreuz, the mysterious woman from the mountains of Cuencame Durango.

“Ines,” Santiago said looking into her earth brown irises. “Do you trust me?”

“I want to. I want to but I know what’s coming and I’m afraid. I’m never afraid.”

“Say the word and I’ll change my mind. I’ll put the men to work, I’ll sell to the

Americans. Whatever you want. One thousand miles away from here? If you want it, I’ll 75

do it!” He held his hand closer to her face as tears fell fell from her eyes. The tiny globes of water were trapped in her long eyelashes and Santiago languished at her tears. There were only four times he had ever seen her cry. The day of their wedding, and at the births of each of their children.

“This has to be done how you want it to be done. I brought my curse over here and that’s why they’re here. If not now, then when? Santiago, write your own fate and story and I will follow along. I trust you.”

“You need to be sure about this. This means the world in more ways than one.”

“Santiago,” Ines said, removing his hand from her face. She moved his arms to his side, propped up on her toes and stoked his long face. “Yes, we’ll handle this together.”

The two looked into each others infinite eyes and answered each others questions only with the brown in their irises. They held each other in silence for two hours until the sun began to wane. Ines’ embrace grew tired and Santiago convinced her to return home.

He would spend the night here in the trees one last time. Ines granted his wish. She kissed him on his cheek and left. Santiago watched as his wife walked away. She was a body at first and then a dot and soon she was gone.

Santiago did not fall asleep. By the light of the ancient stars and moon, he watched the trees glow in the darkness. He used his hands and sifted the dirt, smelled it and took a little bit of of and put it in his mouth. It was pure. He removed his shoes from his feet and buried them in the warm dirt. Crickets sang their midnight song, a rabbit 76

hopped though the orchards and a coyote dashed after it. This was living, this was perfection. When the family had set out in the morning, he knew this would be the last harvest, this would be the last time he would be able to see the tress in the fashion that he had known all his life. The time had come. He had promised the family they would do the season together, but he knew in an area buried deep inside his soul that the family would not succeed. Without the help of the men they were just running a fool’s errand. But this was the errand he knew they had to do.

Even if he desired to sell them, the limes were imperfect and the Americans would reject them. He lifted his large frame from the place that he had sat in for hours and took in the smell of the fruit from the tress. They had never smelled like this before.

He and his men were meticulous in their planning and harvesting. The trees always bloomed all at once and grew together. With no men, that equation was rendered null by his inexperienced family. Some trees still had their blossoms, others had a mix of ripe and rotten fruit; it was beautiful. Different versions of the same germination. There were limes on the ground, limes still growing, blossoms dying and blossoms blooming. This was the final sight he wanted to see. He walked to the man made grotto, the one he had neglected for months, the one lime tree he was told to never neglect. He plucked one of limes from the braches and played out the lesson. He closed his eyes. Felt the rind, bumpy the way it should be, because they were limes and not lemons. The perfect size, the rind was a medium thickness with the fleshy inside making up the majority of the fruit. He opened his eyes. It was a sold green, no yellow or white patches. The fruit had come off the tree perfectly, as if the tree wanted to give him that lime as a gift. He drank 77

from the water that accumulated in the grotto and proceeded to walk back to the orchard.

The sun was rising, dispelling the final night and all the animals that accompanied her.

From the distance, he saw a figure walking in his direction. He did not recognize the man until the blurry image became more clear. He walked with a limp, the only difference that he had from his twin brother, Vincente. It was Francisco Morales, Don Pancho. He walked with a smile that Santiago hadn’t seen in many years. Santiago walked fast to the older man, the exact copy of Don Chente. He extended his hand to the man and Don

Pancho replied with an intense hug.

‘It’s been so long, mijo,” Don Pancho said so gently, the same way he had called

Santiago mijo many, many years prior. Santiago returned the man’s embrace with an extra squeeze.

“Yes it has,” Santiago let go to look at the third father of his old life.

“You look good! Still tall, even when you get old like me and begin to sag and your bones get smaller, you will still be a very large man!”

“That’s what I’ve been told, my grandfather died four inches smaller than when he was at his prime. Even as an old man he was pretty tall. He was a good man, so was my father.”

“Your father was a good man.”

“I knew him too briefly.” 78

“You’ll see him again,” Don Pancho said. The old man squatted and lifted a palm full of dirt. “Such beautiful, beautiful soil. He’s in this ground, I can feel him. And in 50 years you’ll see him again.”

“That I hope. If he’s with my ancestors, I want to be there too. But I don’t think

I’ve earned my place in their circle.”

“Why do you say that mijo?” The old man’s face turned sour and confused. “You don’t think you’ve earned a place there? You don’t think you’re worthy?”

“What have I done that is great? What have I done for history or the world?”

“Look at your strength right now?”

“Strength? Is that the world you’re calling it? Is that what your brother told you?”

“Yes! Look at your bravery, you are setting everything aside for the health and safety of your family. People don’t do that, they fight and then you know what happens.

You can’t have your family hurt over a foolish pride. How many men and boys have you seen trampled down because of their pride?”

“Too many. But what is pride?”

“That answer varies from person to person, but when it’s iron clad, that’s when people suffer, that’s when people die.”

“And what about conviction? Are people still allotted that luxury?” 79

“You are still as well read as the last time I saw you. Fancy words and all. You have nothing to prove to me or the world. You’ve earned your place,” Don Pancho raised his arm and moved it across the horizon, pointing out the acres of trees Santiago owned.

“I’m just a simple man with a family, I haven’t done anything great in life.”

“You do not believe that you have done amazing things? You know the talk about your family?”

“I know the talk.”

“Not that.”

“Then what?”

“The talk that my brother and I say. The talk that the Munoz family and the Ruiz family say. This talk is praise,” the old man said. “It’s so easy to say no to the past. Look at us, we are the same shade as the earth and yet most of us worship the God that the

Spanish brought. We all speak their tongue. We look down on those that still speak their mother tongue. Many families speak their languages in secret. ”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

“Because you go against that, you swim against the river, like what a salmon does. They swim thousands of miles to swim upstream because that is their destiny.”

Santiago winced his eyes. He felt insulted. “A fish, a fish that lives to die?” 80

“It’s not death that’s the lesson.”

“Then what is?”

“Life! Mijo, life!” Don Pancho smiled once more, the brown wrinkles on his faced moved with joy. “You live life so free, pure, unlike everyone else. You feel like a pariah but we admire you. You are a man of honor, a man of conviction. And you are handing your farm over to protect your family. The common man won’t know your name or remember you, but your children will tell their children of your sacrifice.” Don Pancho stepped toward the land in front of him, the glorious trees radiated light and that he and

Santiago could feel. His back was turned to Santiago as he absorbed the same warmth that his family’s orange trees had once done for him. He hadn’t felt this light and warmth in six years.

“Don Pancho, I never asked you. Why did they send you?” Don Pancho did not turn around. Tears swelled in his eyes. He still had a bit of pride that he did not want to show Santiago.

“I’m friendly. They don’t want you to feel bad. They know that this is hard for you, giving all of this up. The other cartels kill people left and right for no good reason. I hear this cartel head is really smart, he’s bookish kid. Much like you. Kind too.”

“But you? Why you?”

“I like animals. I hated shooting the rabbits and coyotes and birds. I asked for a new job and they found one for me. I remind people of the time.” 81

“And how is that going for you? How many farms have they claimed?”

“Yours is the last.”

“I see.”

“Go ahead and ask me another question. I’m here to help with the transition.”

“When men lose their livelihood, how do they handle it?”

“The bottle, it’s always the bottle. I have some tequila in my bag, help yourself to some.” Santiago opened the leather bag and pulled out the bottle; vintage. The cartel’s payments for his services had began even before they burned his trees down. He opened the bottle, took a swig, he swished the liquid around and it stung at his gums and tongue in the same way his first drink had at twelve. He spat the liquid onto the ground.

“Don Pancho, I have to ask again, why you?”

“I’m friendly.” Santiago could feel the old man smile with his back turned. This was Don Pancho, his third father, the man that had helped him up trees, taught him to swim and hugged him so tightly when his father in blood passed away. The old man stood tall and was still looking at the trees the same way Santiago had done the night before. Santiago walked in the direction of his third father.

“Such beautiful, beautiful trees,” Don Pancho said

“Yes, they are,” Santiago said. 82

The bear towered over the old man, he walked slowly to him, the old man did not turn around, why would he? The bear extended his long arms and wrapped his paws around the old man’s neck from behind. The old man shook violently, and the bear could feel the delicate blood vessels in his face begin to pop, there was no gasping, only a death rattle. The Bear put his muzzle to the old man’s left ear.

“Don Pancho, I have to ask you again, why you?” The bear squeezed once more and the snap echoed in the ether and the old man fell and was still.

The old man never returned. The townspeople spoke in hushed voices that they had seen him walk in the directions of the mountains. Don Chente knew what this meant when he heard of his brother’s disappearance. Jesus Ramirez, however, did not. In the years they had sent the old man to farms, stores, people’s homes; he always came back, always.

Jesus drove into the neighboring farms around the mountains. They all grew the tall marijuana and coca leaves in the open, entire fields of them, all lush and alive, well tended, like children. He visited each operation, one by one. All except the Bautista farm, who was given the months of reprieve as dictated in their verbal contract. That one was off limits until the demolition began and one of his colleagues would arrive to install the security and instruct the staff on how they were going to grow the product. The orders the

Bautista farm was were fulfilled, now, the missing old man was the thread unraveling all the hard work. Jesus thought the man was dead on the side of the road somewhere. He liked to walk. They had offered him a car, even an armed escort, the old man always 83

refused. Now, he was missing. Jesus’ car drove past the stretches of sidewalk of paved roads, all creations of the family he served. Everything should have run smoothly, under control, the way every single farm and business had before until the old man never answered his phone.

He lost track of how many times he asked; “Donde esta ese Viejo? ”, where is that old man. The response was always; “I don’t know”. The people of Michoacan did not tell lies, they did however, keep their lips as tight as they could for as long as they could. All it took was a flash of the gold plated gun to make people’s lips speak the truth, and the occasional threat to take someone’s life.

The people from the surrounding farms said the old man had walked happily from his house on the comer of his family’s old orange farm; a beautiful operation once covered with acres of citrus. Santiago played there, learned there, breathed there. He found solace at with the twin brothers who were his surrogate fathers. His father had never finished teaching him the rights and customs of the land; Don Vincente and Don

Francisco completed the transfer of knowledge, tradition and power.

Jesus travelled to the old man’s home after suspending his search. He drove up to few armed men, all people on their payroll, men from other places in Mexico, not trained but him but knew the correct way to pull a trigger. The coca trees that covered the farm stood tall and proud as he exited the vehicle. He entered the old man’s home with no issue. If the door wasn’t locked, he had not returned home. The smell of days old bitter coffee took over his nostrils. He opened the windows on the ground floor to let the light 84

in and tossed the coffee pot out the window. A man, one of the workers, walked up to the house and knocked at the door.

“Sir?” The man asked

“What is it?”

“I’m the one who looks over this farm. We got a call that you’d be coming over for an inspection or something, is that right? I can show the plants, or my books, or anything else you want?”

“You can, actually. Have you seen the old man, the pacifist?”

“Him? No sir, not in a few days. He just comes and goes when he has errands or he’s been given a job.”

“The last time you saw him, when was that?”

“I’m not sure. He left so early in the morning, the time where we have the fewest guards.”

“How many days ago?”

“My men say three to four.”

“Thank you, that helps.”

“Anything else I can do?”

“No, you’ve been helpful, thanks.” 85

The man walked away into the horizon where the new green plants were being grown, in the open and unchallenged, or so it had been the last few years. Jesus’ mind turned to the Lopez family from four years ago, whose patriarch spat in his face, laughed at his Spanish and demanded an audience with his benefactor. Bruno Bencomo drove to the farm the next day, spoke to the Lopez man. Bruno Bencomo had the family lined up and cut into delicate, tiny pieces with axes with axes as Bruno lectured from some some book. Jesus watched as the helpless man was held down as his children, wife and parents were butchered alive and one by one. He was ordered to spread the fragments of the family in the streets of the town and on the farms they had yet to visit. He remembered tying up the pieces of the Lopez new bom baby boy. He was ripped apart by hand. Jesus handled the delicate, chubby remains of the three-week old baby. No one questioned

Bruno Bencomo, that was part of the world he controlled. Some kingdom in his mind that he ruled and saw fit to do what he wanted. Jesus was his enforcer, his gun, his sword.

If who he thought had done what he believed had been done, the first person to answer to Bruno Bencomo and the Red Man would be him. When ever he spoke to his benefactor, another voice came through, whom Bruno called the Red Man. Jesus had spoken only twice in tenure under the Bencomo family with with Bruno’s Red Man, a third time would carry a terrible penalty. Jesus believed that the Red Man was something

Bruno had created. Bruno carried mercury with him, or quicksilver as he called it. They where five metals; Quicksilver, Gold, Silver, Copper and Iron. Jesus’ designation was gold, which was still on probation from a failure months ago. Jesus did not believe in god, gods, new gods, old gods or a personal god. The Red Man that spoke from his 86

benefactor’s mouth was a creation of the mind, and that god was the most dangerous of all.

He turned away from the windows after sealing them all up, no light could penetrate the darkness to come. He pulled out his phone charger, plugged it into a socket to charge it. He would wait two days for the old man to return; perhaps his errand was out of town. Or, his benefactor would call to retrieve him. As he waited with his nerves stinging with anticipation, the delicate scent of oranges danced in the air and filled the house once more, ghosts from the past haunted the grounds and Jesus trembled at them, but trembled more so at the thought of Bruno and his Red Man

“What did you do?” Ines said, standing over the body of the old man she had not seen in many seasons. “Santiago, what did you do?” She asked once more, her eyes fixated at the crumpled man on the soil, her mouth left gaping.

“It could’ve been anyone else, and they sent him.”

“They sent him on purpose?”

“Yes and no. He works for them, he goes to all the farms, I guess they didn’t know I knew him.”

“Did you have to kill him?”

Santiago answered Ines question with silence and his stare. Through his eyes he answered the question. Ines looked away. 87

“You do know what this means?” Ines said softly.

“I do.”

“I see,” Ines said. She looked in the direction of her home where her children laid in their beds. She wondered if they were sleeping easy, the past few nights their dreams had been restless. “We have to get rid of the body.”

“I know,” Santiago said.

He lifted the body, draping the still warm man across his left shoulder. It was like carrying a scarecrow. Ines led the way. They were far from town; no one would see them. Ines closed her eyes, cleared her ears and listened. The air wailed gently, the river moved and leaves and branches shifted slightly with gusts of wind.

“There’s no one here, we can keep moving,” She said, leading on. Santiago watched his wife walk. She was slowing down time once more, if only she could’ve slowed down life and what the townspeople called progress. The people who left and went north left a void for a dangerous, invasive weed to grow. The money that they sent back to relatives grew the town, paved the roads, opened businesses, but it also brought the groups of people who lived in large homes, drove expensive cars, carried guns and killed for the fun of it. Ines, in her prime could’ve destroyed the men but fate and time did not line up, she had grown older with Santiago. She could slow down time, not stop it. She walked with determination towards the outskirts of their land, walking for miles, until they both lost track of the distance. They walked together until the reached the 88

desert, the land far away from the watered sanctuary of the lime trees, where the magic of the past did not cover, nor protect. This was where the path began for many, the direction of the north. It was here where people would gather in small groups, with only clothing on their backs, their birth certificates folded tightly and many gallons of water. It was here where people began their journeys to the north, where their stories in Mexico would end and where they could begin to re-write their pasts and write new stories. It was also here where they would bury Don Pancho. The two bug a deep grave in silence. Ines tossed the body in unceremoniously; no words, no acknowledgement. Francisco’s story ended in a grave on the outskirts of the old world and the new world. Ines and Santiago shoveled dirt on top of the crumpled man. The people that gathered here, many died a day or two from this point. They weren’t given a chance to rewrite their stories. People knew that and the still gave into the pull from the cold north where people told fables of opportunity and the chance to dream. Santiago’s eyes looked at the northern horizon, his steel heart was not captured in the magnetism. It never once pulled and it never would.

His place was in Mexico. He swallowed hard from his diaphragm and spit in the wicked direction that had claimed so many he knew.

Santiago broke the silence, shoveling dirt. “There are dreams here too.”

Ines knew what Santiago was referring to. “There are dreams everywhere, we create them.”

“Yes, but people think they can’t dream here. We dreamt for centuries, we dream now and we’ll continue dreaming here, even after people aren’t around anymore.” 89

“So poetic Santi,” Ines said, continuing her shoveling. “It’s like you’re trying to write a book of poems.”

“If I did, I would dedicate it to you.”

“I’m insulted,” Ines chucked. “I would think that the poems would be about me.”

Santiago stroked her back, strong yet supple. She was strong, physically and in ways that Santiago or the boys could not comprehend. She taught her strength to Monica in secret, much in the says Santiago showed Carlos his ways.

“There would be ones about you, the kids, and...,” Santiago stopped himself.

“Go ahead and say it, you know you want.” Ines tossed more dirt into the grave, her pile smaller than her husbands. The image of the dead old man had disappeared under the soil. The two felt more at ease once his face was gone. “Come, out with it. Your story isn’t complete with out constant references to those trees.”

“That’s not very nuanced is it?”

“You’re the one who went to school for literature, not I.”

“I didn’t finish though. I’d like it if Manuel finished his studies before going pro.

It’s nice that he’ll get to leave, I just hope he can finish university.”

“And?” 90

“Well, I know he wants to go pro. And I support that. There’s a recruiter coming in the next weeks. But It’d be nice if he got a degree. I never finished, and that always bugged me a little bit.”

“Didn’t your father get a degree in business? Is that why he went to Monterey?”

“Not really, he just went up north east to get the education. It was informal, he got a nice certificate but not a degree.”

“I never asked you why you never finished. This seems like the oddest time to even bring such a thing up. Look at us, talking so nonchalantly as we cover up a crime, and a cruel one too,” Ines said, her eyes piecing Santiago. She did not intend to wound him but he needed to be reminded of what he had done and the repercussions that would follow. For the time being, while they dug in unison, she would talk to him like she always had.

“I deserve that. It’s all right, better now than never. I never felt like I belonged there. I liked studying in Mexico City, but I felt lost, like my heart was a ship lost at sea.”

“You came back after a year. What made you return?” Ines had the answer drawn in her mind, the brown trunks with the twisted brown branches and green fruit. She asked because she wanted to confirm.

“I don’t know. Something called out. I came back home, my ghost ship heart in tow and two days later, you arrived,” Santiago said, unnerving Ines. “You showed up in that black dress, that pistol and you were holding a bottle of tequila you took from Don 91

Chente’s bar after you killed three men that followed you in there. You’ve never talked about that with me.”

The words danced on Ines’ lips. Her confession was long overdue, but this moment, it did not belong to her or her past. “I’ll tell you one day, one day, but not now.

I’ll need more time to tell you that one.”

Santiago paused his shoveling and took his wife’s hardened hand, the one that had killed before and would possibly kill again. In his youth he imagined his future wife as light skinned in appearance, colored eyes and easy to control. He could not control Ines, he preferred it that way. He returned from college a broken man, his height did not protect him from the arrows of racism and classism. Perhaps Manuel was punishment for his beliefs prior to setting out into the world, perhaps he wasn’t. Ines’ arrival in town two days after his return was his destiny, their destiny. He saw her mow down a man in self- defense, even if it was in cold blood it wouldn’t have changed anything. She laughed, took a drink from the bottle before smashing it to the ground. Santiago walked closer and closer to her until Ines had her gun under his jaw, threatening to shoot. He smiled and only asked for her name. Twenty long, hard years had passed since that fateful day and now he held that same hand that carried that black pistol. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. Ever.”

“It’s not easy for me to speak of. Thank you,” She said. Ines squeezed Santiago’s hands in response. “One day Santi.” 92

“We can talk about it when the kids are older and Manuel goes off to school.

He’ll be ready to leave off soon.”

Ines took her hand back. “And..

Santiago stepped back to shrug, a confused look on his long face. “And what?

What did I miss?”

“We have two more children did you forget them so quickly?”

“I think I came off wrong. Manuel already has prospects, there are people coming to see him. Monica will get married, she’s beautiful, she wont have time for school.”

Santiago looked towards the distance of their farm. “Carlos is still learning about the trees, once we put this all behind us he can take over.”

Ines started to huff and chuckle. “Ha!”

With one hand Santiago could count the times Ines had insulted him. It stung his pride to roll the count over onto the other hand. Ines continued to laugh until it became a small howl.

“Why are you laughing?”

She paused from her laugh. “What you said, it’s just so absurd!”

Santiago threw the shovel in his left hand to the ground, the metal trembling, sending an echo into the desert. 93

He spoke in a cold voice, chilling the hot desert air. “Stop laughing right now,”

“There it is, the man I love and know.”

“Why are you laughing? I didn’t do or say anything funny”

“But you did. Manuel, college? The boy runs around following you like a stray dog. A stray dog! He wants the lime trees. There wont be any trees in a few days. Carlos wants to run away. Look over there!” Ines motioned in the direction of the desert pointing north. “We’ll wake up and he’ll be gone. And you still haven’t even spoken about what you saw.” Santiago pointed his eyes in another direction. “Monica, Monica does, what

Monica wants. She’s even gone against me and what I had planned for her. But the most absurd thing that came out of your mouth is that you think this will be settled, ” Ines stopped to catch her breath. In the hot air of the night, Santiago could see her breath traced out under the the light of stars. They were far from the trees and their protection.

Did he create this coldness or was it always here? “We’re dead if we don’t leave. These aren’t small time men. This is very real. I don’t know if we can fight this man. We’ll die if we stay.” She finished her shoveling, the grave now complete, the man now erased.

“I’ll die. I won’t be leaving the farm but you and the children should leave.”

“We wont leave without you.”

“Yes you will. Don’t think for one moment that I’m stupid. I know who I’m up against. He’ll kill me and be happy. You all can leave and be alright. My death is what he wants. The man in charge has a weird code. Don Chente told me he finds killing women 94

and children distasteful. Leave tonight before they notice anything and go to Don

Pancho’s house looking for him.”

“I’m not going to leave you to be killed. You will not take the place of those birds for our sakes.”

“There is no other way.”

“There is.”

“God damn it Ines, I’m not going to watch you and the kids get hurt.”

“Santi, I’m telling you. There is a way.”

“What are you going on about? There is no way, not right now.”

Ines smiled the same smile she wore whenever she was victorious “Every single gun on the living room wall functions, they have been maintained cleaned and restored.

They are in working condition, I’ve seen to that over the years. When you sent us to the city, I bought more than enough metal, nails, fertilizer and other material to build little things that go “boom”. What I said yesterday, on your choice. I meant it. If you fight I fight.”

Santiago winced. Ines could read his mind at times, but not predict it. “I made that decision days ago. I sent you and Carlos to get supplies for the harvest weeks ago. You’re doing it again. I asked you never to do that to me.” 95

“I didn’t have a choice, I feared what you were going to do. I didn’t see everything. Clearly, I didn’t see what you were going to do to Pancho.”

“Ines! My life, my story! Don’t ever do that to me again. Why couldn’t you have used that ability on the man that came months ago?”

“I don’t love him,” She took a few steps back. “I don’t love him. I can’t read the future; I can read your heart. I know it’s complicated and tortured symphony too well. If I could’ve predicted all of this, I would’ve taken care of it myself.”

“What about the children?”

“You need to give them the power of their own choices. Let them make their own decisions.”

“I will not let my children, or you die with me.”

“We won’t die, if we don’t let them kill us. We strike first.” Ines pulled Santiago down for a kiss. They had not kissed with such reckless abandon in years. Under the moon and stars and adjacent to the desert that ate and created dreams, the two made love.

Their brown skin blending into each other and the earth beneath them.

She kept her fathers knife hidden in her bag; the silver one that sang a wicked song. In the back of her mind she sensed the maelstrom in the horizon. When she woke up, Monica could not find her parents. Manuel was sleeping in his bed, his headphones in his ears; the way he liked to fall asleep. Carlos had snuck back into the house in the early morning, Monica could tell he had been out drinking. He was in his bed, reeking of 96

alcohol with one shoed foot poking out from under the sheets. She searched the top floor of their home for her parents. They were no where in sight. She closed her eyes and listened, listened in the same way her mother had taught her. Two heartbeats that she recognized slumbered together miles away; her mother and father. This was her chance, while they were distracted. Her father kept the ceremonial dagger in a chest in his study, the room that had been off limits to all the children since she could remember. Even

Carlos did not have a place there.

As a young girl Monica raised the chickens and roosters. She learned how to incubate eggs, help eggs hatch if the egg tooth was not enough and general care. The older she got and the taller she grew she began to notice the differences between her families and others. She knew that the birds were raised for meat, Ines had always allotted her daughter the peace of mind of knowing that a bird would not suffer, all of it would be used and Ines gave her option of saying no to her plate of food. Monica had not eaten any animal products since she began her care of the birds and other animals.

She recalled the first time she saw her father take a bird. It was a lovely rooster, whose call had woken her up precisely at dawn, the moment she would go to feed them.

She could’ve simply fed then and returned to bed for another hour of rest but

Monica instead chose to watch them. On one morning she noticed her father take her favorite bird, the rooster who would sing to her to remind her of her duty. Santiago never returned with the bird. The disappearance of the rooster made Monica more critical. She began to question things not only in the outside world of school but at home. When Ines 97

would her to sit down and learn her ways, to listen, Monica would respond to her mother the teacher with “Why?”. Monica was too stubborn and analytical to finish the lessons that Ines intended to impart on her. Unlike Carlos and the trees, Ines gave her daughter the grace to choose her own path and Monica walked it only with Manuel.

Her curiosity urged her to follow her father into the trees, past the ones that produced her family’s livelihood and to the secluded grotto that sat on the edge of the plantation. Her small frame hid behind the trees, moving quickly, making no sounds; the way her mother had taught her, the way her mother’s mother had taught Ines. Her form was perfect. Santiago did not sense her amongst the lime trees that were his domain.

Silently and swiftly, she followed her father to his grotto. It had been implanted in the children’s minds that they were not permitted here. Only Carlos would be awarded the luxury of receiving an explanation and tutorial when he would come of age. From behind a tree she watched her father. He spoke words from a language people looked down upon. Monica knew a few of the words, having learned them from a friend whose family spoke it in secret. She paid attention in her courses and studied outside of class.

Books were her escape, just like her father when he was a boy. She looked on, the scene unfolding, her father cutting the bird’s throat. Blood letting was a ritual of the pre­ colonial people, the scene before her made sense. Except for the blade. Santiago’s silver knife effortlessly slit the bird open, it’s blood dripping into the base of tree. Monica heard a humming from the knife, like a child’s careless hum it sounded as if it were excited.

Monica began to feel a foreign power veil over the land, this much she could feel from 98

the tutelage of her mother. When she closed her eyes and listened in the way her mother taught her. It was said that some people were in tune with the land and could hear the land’s breath and heart beat. This was different. The little girl put her ear to the soil and sound frightened her. Thousands of hearts beat underneath the earth in tandem with one another. Small ones that belonged to chickens, larger ones that beat like the heart of a horse, donkey or cow. Dozens of heartbeats that beat like the hearts of her mother and father, her two brothers and the heart inside her chest. The beating intensified, she looked at her father who was at peace with his ritual. He didn’t hear the beating, he didn’t have the gifts her mother and she did. The sound continued, amplified by the presence of the knife whose hum was the calling out to the buried hearts. Louder and louder the beating grew until she covered her ears, darting to the direction of the house. The closer she got to the house and the farther she got away from the trees the more deafening the beating grew. The knife acknowledged her attendance by attacking her, did her father know the darkness that was attached to it?

When she arrived at the house she dashed passed her brothers, up to her room and slammed the door. She searched frantically for a set of earplugs her mother had given her. Hearing one heart was fine. Before she taught herself to control her gift she could hear the heartbeats of others around her all the time. A couple beating hearts were no big deal, but the hundreds beating in unison in the fields terrified her. She longed to comprehend things, she hated the unknown, anything she could not see. She hated the talent she had, to hear people in ways people should not have. The two jelly-like plugs fit perfectly in her ears, blocking out the sound as best they could. She hid the sheets of her 99

bed waiting for the sounds to stop. After a short while, the sounds dissipated into the ether. She removed the earplugs to confirm, down stairs she heard the commotion of her father returning. Then the singing began. From the leather bag that her father kept permanently fixed on his side, the quicksilver blade was singing out to her and the souls underneath the ground, forcing them to respond. She could not comprehend the song or it’s intent, something was shattering inside her mind and spirit. Alone in the darkness,

Monica covered her ears and wept into a pillow.

From the shadows, two arms shook her from her struggle.

“Monica? Monica? Hello?” Manuel shook his sister by her shoulders, staring into her wet eyes. She fixed her eyes onto Manuel’s tiny seas and the singing stopped. “What happened?”

“You can’t hear it? It’s was so loud, just so loud,” She said sobbing into Manuel’s arms.

“What’s loud?”

“Couldn’t you hear? The beating, the singing?”

Manuel looked confused. “I didn’t hear anything. You ran upstairs so quick like you saw a ghost or something and when you didn’t comeback I got worried.”

She blew her nose on Manuel’s sweater. Her brother pushed her back, removed the sweater and dried the tears. 100

“I can’t hear it. You know I can’t hear anything.”

Monica blew into the sweater again. “You shouldn’t have seen me like this.”

“And why not? We’re twins. You’re a part of me.” Manuel said, touching his sister’s face.

“We are, aren’t we?”

“It’s ok if I can’t hear what you hear. I know you and mom hear things and dad feels things. I feel nothing and I’m ok with that.”

Monica took her brother’s hand and put it to her chest. “That’s my heartbeat.”

“I know what that is.”

“Do you?”

“I think I do.”

“Manuel you are so kind. I’m jealous of you. You don’t have to carry this weight with you. I would trade places with you in an instant.”

“But that’s what I want. I want to be like you, like mom or dad.”

“You’re not. Don’t wish that on yourself.”

“Is it, because, you know. I’m different?”

“You aren’t different.” 101

“I don’t look like any of you, I don’t look like many people here.”

“You look like my brother.”

“If you say say so.”

“I know so, please don’t be that what way. The heartbeat you felt just now, you felt it didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“You feel it like a normal human being, be happy for that. You don’t have to live what I live with. It’s not a gift. Don’t ever feel like you’re missing something. You are you, and to me you are my perfect brother.”

“No masks?” Carlos asked.

“No masks Monica replied.”

She took the knife from the place it slept, in her father’s study among the rows and rows of bookshelves. The quicksilver blade slumbered in a black wooden chest on her father’s desk. The chest had strange carvings, markings that Monica did not know where they came from. They weren’t pre-Columbian, like the other relics that adorned the house. A year ago, she had taken a photo of the markings to compare them to images on the intemet-she found none. She was drawn to the room, the study filled with countless books- the unfulfilled destiny of her father’s studies. Ines told Monica that she was cursed to feel and seek out evil. She did not know if it was evil emanating from her 102

father’s blade and the rituals he did. Was the blade truly evil? Monica did not know but ever since the man with the gold plated gun, her father had killed more and more animals and he had begun burying them, not returning them to food. When the Peluche, their donkey was the only animal left the week before Monica had sent him away to live with like minded people in town. This was her only chance to get rid of the blade once and for all. If she were to seek out evil, this was it. She carried the blade wrapped in a blanket in her bag. She couldn’t touch the blade, she didn’t know if it really did bum her skin when she touched it or if it was all in her head, but her hand still tingled from trying to pick it up. She walked on the same path she walked with her siblings days before. All the flowers had begun to wilt and dry. Weeds had overtaken the path and were growing in the orchids. In all her life she had never seen the trees and surrounding area in such a desolate state. The fruit from the tree littered the ground. Animals picked at the rotting fruit, brown and squishy from decay and the sun. The smell of the outside was different, the tingle of the citms fruits felt polluted. She followed the river, walking as fast as she could. The sun kissed her brown skin but she felt cold. The blade gave a chill, freezing everything near. Under the hot sun close to the equator, Monica could see her breath.

Five miles out she began to hear the heartbeat that she could never block out. The screams and the beating from under the ground she had exorcised years ago when her mother taught her to refine her talent. She could block the hearts of the living in the same way she could seek them out. Every heart beat with a different rhythm, a different melody with lyrics that reflected the person. Monica blocked all heart beats but one. He was behind her by a few miles. He probably noticed her leave, maybe he woke up and 103

couldn’t find her. She picked up her pace, hoping to arrive at the deepest part of the river before he could reach her. She felt his heart beating faster; he was running now and she ran in response. Monica ran as fast as her legs could take her, each step was a another step closer to the deepest part of the river, the darkest part of the water, where she would banish the blade and pain it brought to the land. She ran and ran until she reached the water edge, any farther and the river would become part of the trail that led to the North.

Maybe her getting rid of the blade would stop Carlos from leaving as well? She pulled the clothed blade from her bag, even covered with cloth, the blade burned at her skin like dry ice would. From the distance and the opposite side of the river he appeared.

“What are you doing?” He said. Manuel was wearing a white t-shirt and was still in his pajama bottoms, his light brown hair danced with the wind and his face and arms were red from the high Aztec sun. His sea foam eyes froze over into icebergs, their tint reflecting his resolve.

“You know why I’m here. This has to be done. You know that,” Monica said, straightening up tall and regal as her father would. Monica has never used her height a weapon in her life but in this instance she had to be stronger than the brother she adored, she would not budge, this had to be done. She stood like the talented mountain. She was lanky, her limbs were long ,her hair was long and her face reflected the peoples her mother and father encompassed.

“Put it down Monica.”

“No.” She said to Manuel “You don’t know why this must be done.” 104

“That’s true. I don’t know why and I don’t know many things, you all keep to your secrets and keep them away from me. Dad and Carlos, you and mom. But what I do know is that you’re betraying our family.”

“You don’t know that. Dad has brought this on us, with what he’s been doing.

We’re all probably going to die. Even mom hasn’t spoken to me about all of this. The people talk in town. People are asking questions. The trees should’ve been burned days ago.”

“Put it down. Stop talking that nonsense. We won’t die. The trees wont bum and you definitely wont throw that knife into the river.”

“And why shouldn’t I throw it,” She yelled.

“That knife. It belongs to me,” Manuel said coldly, his otherness staring Monica down.

“No it doesn’t.”

Carlos walked closer to the edge of the river on the side he was on moving closer and closer until his shoes and ankles were submerged in water.

“Yes it does. We know what will happen.” Manuel moved deeper into the river, the water now to his chest. “Carlos will leave in less than a year. And two things will happen. Two fucking thing will happen.” Again he walked deeper into the river until only his head remained dry.” He will die on his way there. Most people get turned back but 105

not Carlos, he’s too prideful, too fickle. He’ll die of thirst, starvation or a person. He’ll be bones underneath the sun.”

“If you ever thought you were not your father’s son, think otherwise. You’re just like him with the words you said.”

“And all of that is true. If Carlos find his way to the States and let’s face it, he doesn’t let anyone tell him what to do, he’ll wander off, and if he succeeds what do you think will happen?”

“I don’t know. Let me hear your reply on our brother’s doom, Manuel Bautista,”

Monica replied in defiance.

“He’ll die. But he’ll die on the inside. He’ll be wetback, working in a restaurant, bussing dishes, cooking food or washing nice cars for rich people.”

“Let him live his life Goddamn it. He can do whatever he pleases!”

“He’s good looking and tall. If he’s not doing any of that, then he’ll dance in his underwear for those freaks he likes to hangout with. He’ll fuck them for money or something like that. Dying slowly and painfully. While I stay here and live.”

“You... you are a monster. Where is my brother? I didn’t hear your heartbeat up here. When did you die?”

“Too long ago,” Manuel said walking into the river until he was submerged.

Monica counted the seconds until it turned into a minute. She saw no bubbles rise from 106

the deep dark. Monica wondered if she should go into the river to pull Manuel out, and then he rose from the water, wet, his hair clinging to his face and his eyes as cold as ever.

He spoke with a gritty tone. “Monica, give me the knife.”

“No.”

“Give it to me.”

“I...,” Monica felt a strange magnetism pull at her hand. The blade was calling to

Manuel. A virgin feeling inside her told her to trust her brother, no matter how cruel he was. She could find another opportunity, when Manuel would let his guard down, when she learned to see though the mask he had been wearing in front of her for years. Her hand trembled as she passed the wicked blade to her brother.

“Thank you,” Manuel said. He unwrapped the blade and examined it with glory.

This was the first time he had seen the blade so close, feeling the silver out for the first time. His hand did not bum at the touch and Monica heard nothing from the blade.

Manuel held the blade strongly and held it to the sun and it glinted as it was held to the sun. Manuel held the blade triumphantly for another minute before winding his arm back and throwing the knife as far as he could into the river. It made a “bloop” and sank into the murky, deep depths. “I like baseball,” Manuel said.

“Why, why did you do that? After being so fucking cruel?”

“Because I wasn’t lying. The knife belongs to me and I did what I pleased with it.

We also both know that Carlos is on his way out. I’m entitled to feel however I feel about 107

it as are you, but we both know we can’t stop him. We both know what might and might happen.”

“I don’t want him to die.”

“No one does.”

“I know.”

“He’ll leave but not before those people come for our lives.”

“They will die, they will all die.”

“We’ll kill them, and they will come back again and again until they get tired. I’m going to fight with mom and dad. They haven’t asked me but I know what’s coming. Will you stay or go Manuel?”

“I’m going to stay, and I’m going to kill so many people.”

“No masks Manuel?”

“No masks Monica.”

The two walked in silence back to their home, where they both grew up. They didn’t walk shoulder to shoulder anymore. His face was square, hers was long, but in that moment they were both indistinguishable. As they walked closer to their home, three large figures with red scarves around their biceps stood at their door, with them, was the man with the gold plated gun. 108

He left the house after Manuel did. They weren’t mad at each other, but Carlos could sense that his brother still felt a little raw about the dirt. When they passed each other in the morning, Manuel was rushing to leave; he didn’t even change out of his sleeping clothes. They gave each other a silent nod and Carlos noticed the bruises on his brother’s face were still there. They would talk again, but only after some time, not until something beyond the bruises had healed. Carlos walked through the house. No one was home. His mother wasn’t cooking any food, Monica wasn’t in her bed, Manuel went somewhere in a rush, and their father wasn’t in his study. There was no work today.

There didn’t appear to be any work left. Carlos wondered when the bulldozers would come and finally set him free from the damn trees. He would leave in a few months. He knew the plan. When his father wasn’t in his study, Carlos liked to go inside and pick out a book to read. Before they had started their fruitless harvest, Carlos had found his father’s journal wide open. The black ink laid out the plan; “Move to the seaside. Start over with Santiago C.”. He hadn’t heard his first name spoken in years, let alone written.

Even his school records reflected the name he preferred. When the harvest began, Carlos wondered what would happen after the trees would be destroyed. Now he saw there was no escape, his father was already planning to continue the nonsense. Carlos wanted to work for a few years, work enough to save up for a visa, fly out and over stay it. He knew if he married someone with an expired document in the United States it would be easier to get status than to walk over. He gave himself three years. But with this new information, he now had only one year. The money the cartel paid would let the family resettle in a year. It was good money and Carlos knew his father would continue to pay 109

him. Even if he didn’t Carlos’ plan was always to work in town until he had a couple thousand dollars saved up. The plan changed after he saw what was written. “Start over”.

Those written words ached in the back of his head and a lump formed in his throat. Even after the cartel would come and bum down the trees, he would still not be free. He would have to leave on foot, not the ideal option, but anything was better than growing trees until he died. For now, he wanted to take his mind off things. Alejo had flown out of the country to shoot the movies that he did. Carlos had been offered a job filming the same type of movies, but he declined. He didn’t want his body plastered on the internet for the world to see, not the world around them, but the larger world out there. Here, Alejo was no one. No one knew what he did, how he made his money, or the videos and photos of him all over the internet. But out there, in the larger world that Carlos craved to be part of, people knew his name, knew his body and followed him. Alejandro’s Twitter account had over 30,000 followers. People from all around the world commented and favorited his photos. They knew Alejo by his stage name-out there he was someone; here he was no one, just one of the queers around town. Carlos didn’t want to be recognized. He wanted freedom, not notoriety, just endless freedom, and the United States offered that.

Tonight he could have some freedom, though. He pulled out his phone and opened up Twitter. Alejo had touched down in San Francisco and had posted a nude photo with his cast mates. Carlos favorited the photo with disgust, jealousy, and lust, the little heart animation popping up on the screen. He opened up Facebook Messenger and sent a long winded message to his girlfriend Astrid. A few minutes later, she replied with 110

“Call.” Carlos touched her face on his phone’s screen plugged his headphone in his ears and waited for her to pick up.

“Hey!” The girl on the other end said with excitement.

“Hey.”

“Sorry 1 had you call, I don’t like messenger. Why’d the split the messaging out the app? It’s like the want us to waste gigabytes on our phones, right?”

“I guess.”

“Did you see Alejo’s sexy photo shoot today?” Astrid squeaked.

“You know I don’t like talking about it with you.”

“Why not? He’s hot. His co-stars are equally hot, right? You think he’ll ever do a bisexual film? Not that would be hot, am I right?”

“What? No, he’s only into guys. Why would he do that?”

“Oh I don’t know. You and him say that now, but I could help him out in that area. Maybe the three of us together or something like that?”

“That sounds pretty awkward to me.”

“Oh my God, Carlos,” Astrid meowed. “You are such a prude, you know that.”

“I’m sorry, I’m old fashioned. I prefer only one hole at a time.” Ill

“Maybe we could do something tonight?”

“What are you planning?”

“Drinks and then my house? My parents aren’t going to be home all weekend. My brother has to see a recruiter a couple cities over. They’re all staying the weekend, so the house is mine.”

“What?” Carlos raised his voice. “Are they already here?”

“Figured you knew too. Your brother is the team striker. They’re here to see the team, they’re interested in Raul but they’re here mostly for Manuel, he’s the one that got the entire team on their radar. That tiny brother of yours plays a killer game.”

“I didn’t know,” Carlos said sullenly. He memory of him shoving dirt in Manuel’s mouth a few days ago was still on his mind. He had forgotten his brother’s birthday, the date, even the year. Manuel had mentioned mentioned the soccer recruiters but it all went in one ear and out the other until Astrid brought it up. Shame crept up from the ground, moving upwards Carlos’ body, strangling him gently.” I can’t believe I forgot. No one’s home. The probably all left without me.”

“Your families quiet. They let you do your own thing. Don’t take it personally.

It’s not like you wanted to go anyway. You didn’t know he played soccer until Raul told you a few months ago.”

“Can we talk about something else?” 112

“Sure. So here’s what I’m thinking. Drinks at seven at Migue’s place?

“We can do that.”

“Miss Anna is back, I’m so excited. I bet she’ll be glad to see us; we are her proteges!”

“I don’t know what that means but sign me up.”

“Migue also has some hot, hot news and I know he’s waiting to gossip all about it, that chismosa. And after that we can go back to mine for some fun. How’s that?”

“Love it. Seven it is. I’ll be there on time .”

“See you then.”

Carlos showered, got dressed and went into town to kill a few hours. The more time he spent away from the house and the trees, the better. He went to the mall to get a coffee. He browsed through the CD section of a chain electronic store. “Why even bother?” he thought. He ripped music and videos from the internet. He could get any song, book or movie for free. He didn’t know what the point of the store was. People evolved slowly, maybe it was for them. The store, and others like it were not new to him.

He remembered them being built as child. Older people used to avoid stores like those, used to avoid the use of smart phones, but they all eventually caved into the technology.

It wasn’t just the kids. Recently, he noticed that the parents of his friend, and even

Alejo’s parents opened up Facebook accounts. Astrid’s father even had a twitter page that advertised all the detail work his car business offered. Two months before the man with 113

the gold gun showed up on his front door, his mother had opened up an Instagram account where she posted inspirational quotes of the day and pictures of flowers. Carlos never saw his mother on a phone or even using the computer in the living room. His mother kept her secrets to herself, but a phone? Carlos was insulted that she hadn’t asked him for help. He took joy in helping older people cross over into the domain of technology. He held their hands with his tutorials into the new, new world. The old world needed to be abandoned, and technology was the vehicle. Everything and everyone was now connected.

When the sun began to set and the alarm on his phone reminded him of his obligation, he headed to the bar. He arrived at the slowest part of the night, before all the patrons arrived with their bullshit, their sorrows and their commotion. It was those couple of hours that he cherished with the people he called his friends. The bar was called

Bernardo’s on the outside but if you walked downstairs, past the old men, past their liquor and corridos, you entered another bar, this one called Migue’s. There was still stigma, things had gotten better, but not all the way. This was the fight that Migue,

Bernardo’s oldest son, and owner of the downstairs bar had fought to have. It was a time when people like Carlos weren’t even tolerated, if tolerated was even the correct word to use. Migue, Anna and others had fought for their place in town, their identity. This bar was the fruit of that fight. More gay and gay friendly bars popped up around town, still underground, still shrouded in whispers, but they still grew. Migue’s was the preferred bar for Carlos and his friends. 114

Bernardo ran the bar that saw most of it’s customers come in during the day to sing their sorrows in a drink and cry together. Migue’s bar downstairs served those who could only cry in private and sing their sorrows in low, muffled voices. Carlos entered though the door attached to the kitchen. The cooks and bar backs sneered as he walked by, they knew he was going downstairs. Two decades ago, they probably would’ve taken

Carlos to the countryside to rob and slit his throat. Migue and Anna had lost many friends that way, because of those two, All Carlos, Astrid and Alejo had to deal with was stares and some spit every so often. Carlos gave them all a nod, remained undeterred and went down stairs. The stairs were wooden and old, and they creaked as he descended. A delicate yet gruff voice called out from down stairs where “Flawless” was booming.

“Honey if you break any of them stairs you’re buying me a new set.”

“Fuck you, Migue,” Carlos teased back to the voice.

“I don’t know rich boy. You’ve been looking a little chubby these days. Fat means well fed.”

Carlos got to the bottom of the stairs where he was greeted with a wink by the owner, Migue.

“I’m not rich. If I’m rich, that’s news to me.”

“Your father sells to Whole Foods and Trader Joes. They pay a pretty coin my dear,” Migue said, dumping ice from a bucket into the trough on his side of the bar.

Carlos motioned to Migue if he needed help with the ice. Migue shook his head. He was 115

a middle aged man pushing past forty. Carlos didn’t know who was older, Migue or his father. Migue didn’t look his age, he looked like he was in his late twenties thanks to the expensive night creams he used and , according to Astrid, make up that did the final cover up, perhaps taking off five years or so.

“Stop fighting, ladies. No one has has even had a drink yet. Migue can’t you mix something up for us?” Astrid’s voice came from the booth across the room. Carlos looked at her, it had been a few weeks since he had seen her. She had gone to Mexico City to scope out colleges. She had offered to take him with her, but he declined. He didn’t want to reminded by what he couldn’t have. Her hair was dyed light purple, pink, and blue and she wore thick rimmed glasses even though she’d had surgery to correct her vision. Her arms were tattooed with hearts, skulls and writing from poetry books. He examined her slender, colored arms from the distance, noticing a new one.

“You got another one?”

“Well yeah, I mean it’s not everyday you go to Mexico City and not get a tattoo.

You would’ve loved the scene.”

“I prefer this scene,” Carlos said.

“And this scene loves you, baby,” Migue yelled from his bar.

“Anyway, tell me about day. Shit, tell me about your month! The rumor going around is that your dad fired all his men,” Astrid said, smiling. Carlos blushed in 116

response to her smile. Even with his dark skin, she could always tell when he blushed for her.

“It’s complicated,” He said.

“How so?”

“Sounds like good chisme. Girl, you better tell us before it gets busy in here”

Migue yelled from his bar.

“We’re the only people here, you don’t have to yell,” Astrid yelled back. Migue placed his hands at his hips, threw Astrid a side eye.

“I legit hate both of you right now,” Carlos said, getting up to move to the bar and motioning to Astrid to follow. The two sat down, Migue poured them some water. He placed Carlos’ glass gently while placing Astrid’s with a forceful thud. The girl dipped her fingers in her glass, getting them wet enough to flick water onto Migue who held the bar’s water spray nozzle and threatened to spray Astrid with a smile on his face.

“Hey, aren’t you going to take a bullet for me?” Astrid said to Carlos.

“Aw, looks like your boyfriend isn’t going to take care of you,” Migue said, his finger on the spray nozzle’s trigger. Carlos looked on unamused. “Alright, the girl gets it.

She deserves it any way,” Migue said with a wink and sprayed Astrid with a cold stream of water. “Whoops, “Migue said. 117

“Carlos, do something! Astrid giggled. Carlos continued to look on, his face still frigid and unmoving. “Give me that,” She said, taking the spray nozzle from Migue’s hand, pointing it at him.

“Girl, you ruin this make up and I swear up and down I will fight you in this bar!”

Migue said. A small grin grew on Astrid’s face as she closed one eye and readied her finger to press down. As her finger began to commit to the action and Migue’s face erupted into horror, she moved her arm at the last second, switching it in the direction where Carlos was sitting, spraying his with an unrelenting stream of icy cold water.

Carlos stood there, his eyes not blinking, his skin not feeling the cold water. Astrid and

Migue looked at each other and then at Carlos.

“Lighten up kid, we’re just trying to cheer you up,” Migue said.

“Is everything O.K.? You look like something’s wrong,” Astrid said.

Migue threw a small towel in Carlos’ direction. He caught it with one hand and used it to dry his messy, wet, jet black hair. He couldn’t hide the worry or sadness any longer. He had come to this place to escape, but he couldn’t take his mind off what had happened and what was coming. Something felt wrong and broken with the world. Being at the bar made him forget about the world upstairs, but somehow that too had crept and vined its way down the stairs with him.

“They finally came. The Bencomo guy finally sent someone.”

“What the fuck happened?” Astrid replied with shock. “Are you guys ok?” 118

“Yeah. But you know how it goes. They were supposed to bum it all down a few days ago but that never happened. They’re late.”

“Maybe they’re busy? When they say they’re coming, they always back it up”

Migue replied to the revelation. “No little old man come your way?”

Carlos shook his head.

“What does that mean? If they haven’t come yet, something must be off’ Astrid said.

“Well, the guy owns everything. It’s not impossible to think that he or any of his people are busy. He owns this place, the movie theatre, all the houses in town. He owns all the fast food joints. That other gay bar that we fucking hat, pretty much everything in town,” Migue said.

“Migue’s right. He owns my dad’s car business.”

“How does he own your dad’s business. Didn’t he open it up on his own?” Carlos said.

“He her father all the money. He also does that. If you talk to their lawyer, they draft up a contract and everything. That’s what my father and I did with the bars when we needed renovations, honey,” Migue said. 119

“What? What does that even look like? They’re a fucking cartel. CARTEL, like in the those fucking groups that decapitate people left and right,” Carlos said with a fire in his voice.

Astrid and Migue looked at one another once more, Carlos’ icy demeanor became more volatile.

“Will both of you stop looking at each other like I’m fucking stupid or something?”

“Carlos,” Astrid said timidly. “They have killed people. They’ve killed a lot of people, and in very cruel ways.”

Carlos tilted his head the same way a dog would.” I didn’t see anything, no one said anything, when did this all happen?”

Migue took a long pause before speaking, he sighed deeply, digging up the unspoken past that was not allowed to be unearthed. “The news doesn’t cover it, You also don’t see it on Facebook because or twitter because they can trace it back to you, but when they came to town a few years ago, all he had to do was make one example, one fucking example and no one said anything after that. They even left little nice to meet you cards on people’s doors. This was way before you started coming here, You and

Astrid were little kids when Bencomo and Los Rojos came to to town.”

“Why didn’t I know anything about this?” 120

Astrid bit her lower lip and looked at Carlos. Her heart broke for him. “You live on a farm and fruit orchard. You weren’t ever a priority for them, well, that’s what my dad said. They let all the farms just do their thing for a couple years before they decided to start using the land to grow weed and coca leaves. I know you guys had been threatened in the past and your mother always took care of them right?”

Carlos nodded. “My dad too a few times as well.”

Migue shuddered. “What is up with your family. Your mom just kills for the fun of it. It doesn’t bother me that much though, all cartel guys so it’s a win-win.”

“I think he’s fronted the money for most places. We didn’t have any of these food places or stores until he arrived. It’s alright too. No one pays any protection fees.

Everyone just pays rent or a mortgage, and even then it’s fair. And no one certainly gets their head cut off like in other places in Mexico. All they had to do was do that kind of things once, and people fell into line.” Astrid said, her words angering Carlos.

Carlos slammed his fist onto the top of the bar. “Why does he own everything?

He’s just one man.”

“One insane little man that no one, and I fucking mean, no one, messes with,”

Migue said.

“You’ve seen him?” Astrid said, her interest peaked. 121

“Well no, he always sends people. Different people, who do different things. I knew a guy, who knew a girl who knew someone who said that they saw him. He’s some tiny little bookworm from what I hear”.

Carlos lifted one eyebrow. “I doubt the man who’s in charge of the douche bag that threatened to have a train pulled on my mom is a book worm, let alone someone who can even read at all.”

“No shit?” Migue said stunned. “Who did he send? Tiny guy, bad accent, gold gun, about ye high?” Migue stopped his hand a little bit above where the top of the bar was.

“That’s the one.”

From above the stairs the three friends heard the sound of high heels creak down the old wooden stairs. She had arrived. Anna Munoz, the matriarch of the Migue’s bar.

She wore six inch heels, a red glittering dress and her hair towered towards the direction of the sky. She was the same age as Migue, taller than him but not as tall as Carlos unless her heels were exceptionally high that night. She was darker than Carlos, originally from the Yucatan, she had more African roots than Indigenous.

“We’ll hello everyone!” She yelled at the top of her lungs. The three friends clapped in unison at her arrival. “What’s this commotion going on downstairs, spraying each other with water again I see!” 122

“Miss Anna! I’m so glad you’re back. How was Monterey? Did you have fun?

Did the people love you? Astrid exclaimed.

The large woman smiled and winked back at the girl who giggled in return. “I try my best darling. Those queens in the northern states are sloppy, If I must be honest.”

“You can’t badmouth the hand that feeds Miss Anna. If those clubs in Nuevo

Leon heard their favorite emcee talking smack about them, you’d be out of a job so quick,” Migue said, shaking a finger at Anna.

“It would be a crime, a straight up crime if they didn’t hire me again. The good people would riot, and we know how our community likes to riot,” Anna said.

The four of them laughed, even cold faced Carlos.

“Migue, Carlos. You’re both looking well. What have I missed? How’s the bar”

“Same old shit,” Migue said. “Drama and chisme as well.

Anna clapped her hands together in excitement, her massive gold rings sparkled under the different colored strobe lights. Her emerald ring on her index finger glistened like a ripe lime. “Oh, do tell!”

“Carlos was just telling us about his troubles with the Bencomo man,” Migue continued.

“Oh, girl, tell me everything!” Anna took a seat next to the two teenagers and motioned for Migue to pour drinks. Migue pulled out an old tequila, one that was 123

typically reserved for special occasions. His job as a bartender meant he had to be a

reader of people. Migue found Carlos hard to read; he kept many secrets and did not wear

his heart on his sleeve like many of the other patrons that frequented the downstairs bar.

There was a silent pain in his eyes, that much was certain. He couldn’t offer much advise

other than being sarcastic, but Migue thought that maybe a good drink could help, even just a little. He poured the clear liquid into four glasses while Carlos caught Anna up to

what was happening and went into deeper details.

“That’s concerning,” Anna said after. “I think they’ve taken over everything in

town. Fifteen years ago, before I was the fabulous lady you see in front of you, I

remember them coming into town, red scarves and all. The Bencomo man, was the

Bencomo boy. The began with the businesses and a few years later they started to dabble

with the farms. They started with an orange farm and began to add slowly. Did they give

your father’s business any trouble at any point Astrid? Same question for you Migue.”

“Nope. The only thing I remember is my father signing paperwork for the

investment in the dealership. After that lawyer guy came we were able to open up two

more dealerships in other towns,” Astrid said.

Migue scratched his head, trying to conjure up any negative aspect about the

situation that he could. Nothing came to mind “Not that I can recall. My old man says

they were actually really nice. We ended up paying lower utilities and crap like that.” 124

“What did they want with them than? Cartels are usually involved with drugs, and cutting people’s head off, acid and other shit too. Why help people? “Carlos asked the group.

“Think of it this way,” Migue said, pouring more alcohol into the empty and near empty glasses. “Relying solely on drugs means working your ass to have people fear you, keep you in check. If you run everything in town, make people fee like your truly belong there, people will think twice about doing or saying anything.”

“No one says anything, that’s the agreement.,” Anna said.

“So why was he so aggressive with my family then?”

The group looked at each other, and then at Carlos until Anna spoke.

“Honey, there’s no easy way of telling you this. But...your father, well, people like to talk around town and they say things.”

“People always say things about my family.”

“No sweetie, it’s not about you, your siblings or that fierce mama you got, it’s about what your dad does. People talk and say he does crazy shit. Is it true? Does your dad do crazy shit on that land of yours?” Anna said.

Carlos instantly replied. “What? No, of course not. He might not be the most conventional man but he isn’t fucking crazy.” 125

“But do you think they know that? I mean, they haven’t been to your farm before.

They send different people to different places. If you got the gold gun man, it’s probably because they think you might be trouble” Astrid added.

“She’s right. They’re probably sending someone crazy because of the rumors in town,” Migue said.

Carlos glared at Migue.

“Don’t take it personally! People like to talk, to gossip, us especially. Now imagine how that looks like after a rumor like that is passed along and the story embellished,” Migue said in defense.

“Doesn’t matter to me. They can take the trees. I prefer it that way. You guys know how it is. He wants me to look over those trees. I don’t want to. That douchebag, he was rude, but he’s offering me a way out.”

“And once you have your little way out, what will you do?” Anna asked with a snap of her fingers.

Carlos shrugged his shoulders.” I don’t know, do whatever I want, I guess.”

“You can’t have it that way. You’re almost eighteen, what’s your plan honey?”

“Work, or something,” Carlos said.

“Work or something? Come on you have to do better than that. What about Astrid or Alejandro?” 126

“Hey! What about me?” Astrid scoffed at Anna.

“Honey, let me finish talking to Carlos,” Anna winked at Astrid, quieting her down. “You can work, but what will you do about those two? What’s your ten-year plan?”

“I don’t know,” Carlos said, taking a drink from his glass.

“You don’t know...” Astrid added sullenly.

Anna threw a hard look towards Carlos. “You kids and your kaleidoscope hearts.

Years ago people like me fought for your right to be whatever and whomever you want.

Now you don’t even know what you want. Come on kid, crave something. And don’t give me a cop out like “freedom”, that’s what everyone wants.”

“What does that mean Miss Anna?” Migue said. “If they want to be something, it has to have a name, a definition. What are you two? No labels doe not count.”

“Migue! We don’t subscribe to definitions or even gender roles!” Astrid protested.

“Gender? A seventeen-year-old GIRL is talking about gender?” Anna replied, tilting her head and staring the girl down. “You know what they did to people like? You know what they still do to people like me?”

“We all do,” Migue interrupted sadly. 127

Anna spoke once more. “Here I can be myself, we can all be ourselves. You kids nowadays are so indecisive Talk to me in ten to fifteen years and we’ll talk about your process. Carlos, who am I?”

“A woman.”

“Not what, who,”

“You.”

“Good, what does that mean?”

“I don’t know, only you know that.”

“Good answer, and who are you?”

“A man.”

“No, that’s not my question. Who are you?”

He felt something bum inside his stomach. Anna, the woman who had fought so hard to be herself, to carve her niche in town, what did she mean? Her words echoed in the darkness and emptiness inside Carlos.

Carlos looked directly at Anna and did not answer.

“You don’t have to know, but don’t pretend that you do. There is power in names, there is power in labels. Wear it with pride. It took years for me to say I was woman and even more years for others to accept it. Both of you,” She looked at the two teenagers, 128

small in front of her and in their alcohol. “You’ll both find your way, but with time.

Don’t get in the way of self discovery and progress by denying yourself and the world.”

Astrid and Carlos looked at each other for a long time, their eyes flowing into each other silently as their two closet friends looked on. He felt a desire for her that he couldn’t explain, and she in turn replied with the same stare of wanting more than this moment and more than what ever tiny arrangement they had made in haste. Voices from upstairs began to appear, the wooden stairs creaked with the sounds of people ready for a night of living.

“Ugh,” Migue sighed. “And so it begins. You all are sticking around aren’t you?”

The three of them nodded.

“I’m hosting so of course I’m not going anywhere,” Anna stood up and twirled in excitement before sitting back in her stool.

As more and more people entered the bar, it got warmer. Carlos could hear his heartbeat underneath the loud music. He hadn’t heard or felt the sound of his heart in a long time. Over the course of the night he would dance with Astrid, switch of to another guy, another girl. He danced with Anna. He got on top of the bar where Migue sprayed him with a water gun until he pulled his shirt off and all in attendance noticed, whistled and cheered. It felt like an orgy of happiness; freedom incarnate. People downstairs, underground, away from the rest of the town, danced to their hearts content. Men, women, everybody in between and beyond laughed and drank together. This was happiness, not upstairs among people who conformed to the world and its views. Here, 129

Santiago could not cast his net on Carlos. When the clock rolled over into the next day,

Carlos pulled his phone out. He hadn’t taken any photos all night. Anna was about to perform and he wanted to get a good picture for his profiles. He pressed his thumb to the home button to unlock; twenty seven missed calls and nineteen text messages from

Manuel.

CARLOS! WHERE THE FUCK ARE U???? THEY R HERE! THEYRHERE!!!

He looked up, Migue noticed his face and worded something over the music.

Carlos shoved through the bodies heading to the bar where Migue was pouring a drink from tap.

“Carlos what’s the matt-” The proprietor of the bar was cut off by a bullet from the distance. Blood covered Carlos’ face and he could taste something odd and unknown in his mouth. People began to scream. Astrid ran up to Carlos and was mouthing words.

The ringing in his ears swelled the front of his head and he felt dizzy, hot and faint. He grabbed ahold of Astrid’s hand. First there were more gun shots and then there was smoke. He held her hand tightly, tugging her in the direction his feet moved towards.

Carlos yelled at the top of his lungs the only that came to mind, the only thing the could do.

“RUN!”

Manuel and Monica ran into the orchids. Other trees, the ones that you could climb and that bared no fruit, lined the perimeter of the farm. Ines had requested them. 130

The children couldn’t climb lime trees, they were to flimsy, thorny and even a small child could uproot one. Santiago replied to her with transplanting grown trees that the small children could play in. Monica and Manuel scaled on of those trees and hid among the branches and the leaves. The looked at each other for a long time. They both knew who these men were, they knew why they were here.

“They have guns,” Manuel whispered.

“I can fucking see that. Do you know what mom and dad are doing? They weren’t in the house this morning.”

“They never came back. Are they ok? Can’t you tell? Can you do, that, that thing that you can do.”

“Alright,” The girl said, closing her eyes and focusing on the perimeter around her. She cast her art of listening. The four men’s hearts beat furiously with anger. A a mile away she could feel her father’s large, mountainous heart beat, even from this distance, a smaller heart accompanied his. “They’re close by, maybe a mile or two.”

“OK, thank God. I though they got to them. Maybe they’re here to begin the demolition?”

“No,” Monica quickly replied. “They’re mad, they’re here for something.”

“Alright, lets keep watching. Do you have a phone on you?” Monica shook her head. 131

“Damn it, alright. It’s ok, I doubt anyone else is carrying theirs expect Carlos.

Fuck! Did you hear him? Is he close by”

Monica shook her head once again. “He’s not near by. He’s farther off but he’s

okay”

“Good. That’s good. I hope he doesn’t come back,” Manuel said quietly.

The two siblings did not speak, they stared diligently at their house and the four men that stationed themselves at their front door. The man with gold plated gun checked his phone a few times, waited on the stoops of the front, occasionally disappearing for a

few minutes only to return. The other men, the armed men, kept their position consistent.

They barely moved, the only falter was when one of them lit a cigarette and smoked it

silently and slowly over the course of half an hour.

“Do you think they’ll leave?,” Manuel asked.

“They’re posted. And they’re armed. They’re not leaving until they get what they want.

“You think they’re after dad?”

“Maybe. If not him, then all of us?”

“I thought we did everything they asked of us.”

“I thought so too,” Monica said. 132

The two siblings waited in the trees until the sun was on the other side of the sky.

The afternoon sky began to wane into the classic orange, red and yellow hues that would’ve been an impressive site at any other time. When the moon began to show it’s

face in the sky, the two felt pebbles being tossed at them. Santiago and Ines were laying down on their bellies, Ines tossing small rocks at the children to get their attention.

Monica was alarmed she couldn’t sense them. Perhaps the thirst of being perched in the tree had taken it’s toll. Ines put a finger to her mouth for the children to see and motioned a hush with her lips. Both of the them nodded.

Santiago slid on his bely until he found a fresh plot of earth. He looked at Ines, who gave him the go ahead. The bear began to dig quietly. For over an hour he dug slowly and silently to not attract attention. The children could only watch as his excavation continued until he was done. A large brown chest had been unearthed.

Santiago opened it slowly until everyone could see what was inside; rifles. Ines crawled to him and picked out two of them. She slid to the directions of the children’s tree until she arrived at the trunk, planted her body behind it, where the men could not see and rose

a rifle into the branches, Monica took the rifle from her mother’s hand. Ines motioned to her daughter and Monica nodded. The two pointed their rifles and Ines held up her hand.

Three fingers, then two, one. When she brought the final finger down, both rifles fired in unison. The shots were loud and rang in the orchards who hadn’t heard the sound of gun

fire in almost one hundred years. The hundred-year embargo of fire arms had ended. Two of men fell headless. The man with the golden gun fired shots in their direction, each shot missing his blind targets. He ran in the direction of a black SUV. Ines pointed at his torso 133

and pulled the trigger, he jumped forward in the direction of his car, the bullet entering

and exiting cleanly though his thigh, blood squirting into the twilight sky. He cursed in

English, hobbled into the car and shut the door. Ines took aim at the window where the

driver was and shot once more. The bullet ricocheted, making only crack in the window.

The SUV drove off in a zigzag into the dark, escaping the bullets. The lone man at the

door fired erratically from his automatic weapons, a gun Manuel had only seen in the

movies. It was long, black and kicked back like a woodpecker. The sound from the first

shot burned in his ears. The only thing his ears could translate was the gunfire. Monica next to him looked into her scope and fired once more. A large piece of the mans

shoulder blew off. Monica aimed once more at her target and pulled her trigger blowing the man’s wounded arm off.

“Stay in the tree” She yelled. Manuel looked on as his sister jumped down from the tree and ran in the direction of the house.

“MONICA,” Santiago yelled.

Ines charged at her daughter, running full speed.

“STOP! There could be more!” Ines yelled a the top of her lungs.

Monica reached the man, picked up his weapon and tossed it onto the roof of the house. She patted him down in seconds and kicked him where his left arm once was. She ran into the house and returned with a kitchen knife. She ran up to the man, kicked him in the shoulder once more and propped him up against the house. 134

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YO-,” She said before being cut off by the man spitting

in her face. Ines arrived and Santiago followed shortly, who looked at the smiling man

and punched him in the face. He could feel the man’s nose give away and crumple like a

cheap sheet of paper. The man continued to smile and then he laughed. As the blood

seeped from his destroyed nose, the smiling man stuck his tongue out in defiance at the

family, he laughed once more and brought his teeth down with all his power. The artery now severed, he spat his tongue in Monica’s face as the stump in his mouth squirted warm blood all over. The smiling man laughed and coughed at the same time for a thirty

seconds before he went cold and still.

Santiago entered the house and returned with his pistol and a cloth for Monica.

Ines returned from circling the house, checking for more men. Santiago held the white cloth to his daughter’s brown face and wiped away the blood, still warm, stick, and black.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Monica said.

“Where did you learn to do that?”

Monica looked at Manuel, the same question was in his eyes, then to her mother whose eyes had the answer.

“Don’t worry about it,” Monica said.

Santiago looked at his wife. “Alright, I wont ask any questions. Santiago said. 135

Manuel walked into the house and returned with his cell phone. He called and texted Carlos many times, each one failing to reach their target.

“Mom, dad. Carlos isn’t responding? What should we do?” Manuel said.

“Nothing,” Ines replied.

“What? Why?” A startled Monica added.

“The man who got away will be reporting what he saw any moment. If he thinks we’re all here, he wont go looking for your brother. If they’re watching us right now, and

I fear they might be, than it would be the best course of action to stay put. We’ll only draw attention to ourselves if we leave.

Santiago added to wife’s words. “The last thing we want to do is leave in a hurry and take this fight to town.”

Manuel and Monica looked at one another and nodded. “We’re staying,” He said to their parents.

“No,” Santiago replied instantly.

Manuel squared his broad shoulders, straitened his posture and froze his oceanic eyes over once more. “You can’t tell me what to do. You haven’t before, and you wont begin now.”

Santiago’s fury roared inside him. The questionable child now stood defiant, and his defiance resonated the defiance he had shown Don Pancho days ago. Could he watch 136

his children get mowed down in front of him? They would be coming back in full force,

with more men and heavier arms. They were five, no four, Carlos would never agree to join in. Santiago was willing to lay down his life and die in the trees he loved, but he

loved his family more.

“Fine,” Santiago said. His eyes hardened like the earth when the high Aztec sun

would blaze over and harden the land. “But if I say leave, you’ll leave. Can you agree to that?”

His son and daughter looked at each other once.

“Can you use your words and stop doing that?” Santiago said.

The two nodded.

“All right, we need to prepare for when they come back. Monica You’re with me.

Manuel go with your mother,” Santiago said.

Each child followed their respective parent into different parts of the house.

Monica followed Santiago into his study, the forbidden room. Her nerves and head ached.

The blade was at the bottom of the river, probably flowing into the ocean at this point. He

would notice the blade was not in it’s cradle, and he would ask questions. Monica’s

throat hurt at the thought of lying to her father. He opened the large dual doors and

motioned for his daughter to enter.

“Take a seat,” He said, moving his head in the direction of an old chair. 137

Monica crossed her arms and stood her ground, inspired by Manuel.

“O.K., maybe not than, Santiago said. “Stand if you want.”

Monica looked at her father once more and plopped herself into the old white

chair, uncomfortable, creaking and old. She wondered what would’ve happened if she had sat more forcibly in the chair.

“Why are we here? Bonding time? Do I get a secret lesson like Carlos,”

“You know, if you had said that weeks ago. I would’ve been pissed at you. I think

I would’ve yelled at you.”

“So why not yell now?”

“Stop playing.”

“Yell, it’ll be good for you. You’re mad at us for different things, just get it out of you,” Monica said.

“No. I’m not going to yell at you.”

“Please yell, I promise you dad, it’s going to helo. I’ve yelled into my pillow countless times.”

“I’m not going yell at you and have your mother and brother think I’m insane.”

“Do it, every one thinks you’re crazy! do i t ! Yell!”

“You’re fourteen fuckin years old, I’m not going to yell at you.” 138

“And, come on, say it dad. Get it out of your system, so some emotion.”

“I’m also not going to yell at a girl, and a little tiny girl while I’m at it.”

“This tiny, little girl. Killed two men, grown men in front of you. Mom handed that rifle to me, not you. You would’ve failed. I aimed four times and hit my target four times. I protected your son, wife and trees before you did. They came for you and I’m the one who sent them running like the fucking rats they were. How’s that for your little girl?”

Santiago watched Monica smile in front of him. He remembered the time when she was nine. He had taken a cow to the killing part of the herding ground. His father had told him and the twin father’s had taught him that animals should be killed outside, not in a bam. They came from the land and their spirits should return to the land in the same fashion. He had picked a healthy steer to prepare, it had been month’s since they had eaten beef. Carlos had reached puberty and Ines requested the protein to feed the growing cub. Santiago had noticed his daughter trailing behind him for the past year. When she began to turn down her dinner plate covered in meat or dairy, he knew why she was doing it. He wouldn’t force her to do anything she didn’t want to. She was a child and had spied on the most intimate portions of his day, the sacrifices. This was a lesson that he had to show Carlos, and the little girl had spoiled that. Santiago had switched up his routine, cutting the animal’s throat slower and more angled so their necks would squirt.

He wanted to frighten his daughter. Her resolve only hardened. The land punished

Santiago for the cmelty to the living creature and by extension his daughter as well. That 139

year, the yield was abysmal. The Bautistas barely made any money from the harvests.

After paying the men, there was barely any money left. Santiago would mend his ways

but not before his first confrontation with his daughter. The year she had taken off from

animal sustenance, she became more enthralled with the creatures, a steer in particular.

She had given him a name and cherished him. When Ines said the time had come to bring beef to the table Santiago could not but feel a little relived that Monica would no longer have the steer, the avatar of the fantasy world Monica envisioned. The steer was taken to the killing ground on a school day. He led the animal to the grotto, gave it it’s final drink

and thanked it. He walked to the killing ground, not the orchards, the sacrifice was for the

family, not the citrus fruits and prepared to extinguish the beautiful creature’s flame. As he prepared a normal knife to steer’s neck, Monica stepped out. She was wearing her pajamas, tears rolling down her eyes. For the past year, Santiago knew she was behind him, knew she was watching, knew she was angry. This time, when it was most

important, she had succeeded in hiding herself, much in the same way Ines could blend in and out of landscape. She begged him to stop. He cut the animal’s neck anyway.

Years later and her eyes were mirrors of that day so many moons ago. He walked up to his daughter, a foot shorter than him but still tall in her own regard, opened his mouth and yelled. Spit flew out of his mouth hitting her in the face and the books behind her. His bellow shook the dust of the old books. His sun kissed winkles tightened as he roared until it stopped, his throat now sore. He walked over to the old liquor cabinet his grandfather had installed, now filled with water bottles and drank one in one gulp. The red vanished from his face, turning his body to the direction of his daughter. 140

“Thank you,” He said.

“Why this room?” Monica looked around. Every time she was in this room it was only briefly. If she had written down the amount of time she had spent sneaking in her father’s study, each trip would have been seconds, and when put together, would’ve totaled no more than fifteen minutes. This time, she was able to absorb the details of the wooden bookcases; Oak, she knew the wood, why wouldn’t she, all the business with the trees made her pay extra attention in her botany classes. There were oil paintings of white men and women, with wigs and different clothing. They had collected a thick film of dust but she could still make out the faces. She turned to her father and asked a silent question.

The question trembled on her lips. The heartbeats underneath the ground, the ones in- between the animals and the ancient ones; these were their owners. Santiago knew the question she had asked and nodded to Monica’s silent inquiry. As a child she had made it habit to name all the animals, she knew their heart rhythm and she could still sense them in the orchards. Now the heartbeats of the French family had a name; Baptiste.

“Are these... are they who I think they are?”

“Yes, they’re the one’s who held the land for bit before the riders came in and killed them.” 141

“Their surname, the freckles, the eyes,” Monica said, stroking the painting. She took the rag that her father had cleaned her face with and wiped away the dust.

“It’s not likely if that’s what you’re thinking about,” he said directly. Any hope

for reconciliation that Monica entertained was shattered

“I see,” She said gently.

“Let me tell you a story. Maybe you can understand us, them, me... just a little bit more?”

Monica sat back into the white chair, feeling the old wood crack a little bit.

Everything in the room was old and dusty. She remembered a time when her father would

spend countless hours here, reading in silence and among candle light, the windows in the room being very small. When the family renovated the house and added more technology, the room was never furnished with any electrical lighting.

Monica watched as her father lit a few candles and pulled a dusty old tome from the shelves. “It’s still dark,” She said.

He handed the book to Monica, who hesitated taking it “I’ve seen magic, I’ve felt

it. You call it a darkness and I call it a veil of light.”

“Dad...”

“I’m sorry. I told you I’d tell you about the people. I’m sorry for that.” 142

“Don’t apologize. You said I would understand you better,” Monica looked down

at the ground. “I’ll listen.” She took the book from her father’s hand.

“Open to the first couple of pages. It’s not really a book, like the others in here or

the ones you read in school. This is more like a log, records, receipts, genealogy, titles

and deeds. Other items too, like drawings and a photo or two.”

“So an old scrap book? “Monica said smiling.

Santiago returned with a smile of his own. ‘Exactly. Now, tell me what you know

about the area. What do they teach you in school? About Mexico, about the people. I

chose that school because you wont get a watered down version of the truth. There’s

more but I feel like you have a good understanding” The Bautista’s paid good money to

send all their children to private schools, the ones in the town that until recently, Santiago had avoided. Ines handled the visits and parent meetings and Santiago put his name on the checks.

Monica thought back to the Mexican history she had learned in school and in her

own research. “There’s not much to say that you don’t know. The land here was held by

the Spanish for a long time. At first it was the clergy. That’s how we have our last name right? They gave people their last names as a way of marking them. Everyone in town has a Spanish last name for that reason.

Santiago grinned with pride. He moved to another bookshelf, removing a history book from it’s oak shelving. He opened to page with a picture of painting. White men 143

were burning black and brown people, tossing their hair into fires, large dogs barking in

comers of the crude drawing. Monica felt her skin tingle. The only hate she had seen was

recent, but her blood and skin remembered. Santiago’s did too.

“Look at this one. I don’t have to explain it to you. You know what this picture

means and what it represents, right?” Santiago said.

Monica nodded. “The whole world felt that pain. Our brothers and sisters on this

entire continent have suffered,” Monica said.

Santiago’s brooding face returned. “We wear the last names as a reminder.”

Monica ruffled through the pages of the scrap book. “Why this book?”

“It’s a history book of sorts. It goes into great detail about the people who owned this land before us.”

“We owned this land dad, not them.”

“Did we? Remember that we worked this land. That doesn’t mean we owned it. I

can lie to you and say that we were also the rulers, maybe even claim that we’re

descended from an Aztec king as well, but that would be lies. We worked this land, that’s

all I know about us.”

“They didn’t own it though. They took it by force. They came over with muskets,

lies and disease. They didn’t earn this land. They stole it.” 144

Santiago saw fiery passion in his daughter’s eyes. She was worthy of more things

Santiago could provide. “I wont argue with you there. But the Spanish Bautista’s did own this land in a title.” Santiago flipped through some of the pages in the book. “See?” The name and area was clear on the brown, cotton piece of paper, a Spanish herald appeared at the bottom.

“It’s a piece of paper, so what?”

“It’s not the paper that I’m trying to illuminate. It’s the fact that they were acknowledged Which is more than I can do for all of you, your brothers and you.”

“How long did they have hold of area?”

“Too long.”

“Weren’t they ousted after the first revolution?”

“No, the Spanish Bautista family had a title. While many returned to Spain, many families opted to stay. The Bautistas were some of them. They survived through all the ups and downs of history, revolutions, coups, empires. And we remained here, working the land, sharing the same last name even after slavery was no more.”

“What changed?”

Santiago took another book from it’s sleeping place, a newer book of history, not that much dust had collected on it. “Mexico would be enthralled with war once again, this time with a new player Zapata.” 145

The name was burned in Monica’s mind. Many names had power to them , a face of rebellion and resistance, and he was one of them.

Santiago sat down to continue his story. “He rode into town, to that bar that Don

Chente owns. The one Chente claims where all the men toasted to Zapata and his arrival.”

“Was it?”

“The Bautista family burned it down after they found out the men of the town drank to Zapata and his honor.”

“Why did they do that?”

“Zapata rode into town promising to vanquish the evil, free the land and the people. Now let me tell you the truth. He didn’t want any part of the what was going on here. How could we complain about anything when our conditions were better than other

Mexicans. I will not lie to you, the Bautistas were kind to the people here. No one complained. What Zapata wanted was more riders.

“Did he get them from town like he wanted?”

“Yes. Your forefather promised one son from each family to fight for the revolution. But he tricked the men, he tricked all these families and the scar of that betrayal still runs deep. Many people lost their children because of that. That is why we’re not welcomed so cordially in town. 146

“What did he want in return from Zapata?”

“The land, that’s all he wanted. He didn’t care how he got it. Your forefather had many sons, but he didn’t send any of them off to fight. That’s what he used townspeople for.”

“They don’t teach us that. There’s always two sides to the story. I never knew that.”

“Your forefather had a daughter. She was in love with the Spanish Bautista family’s oldest son. He love her in the way that I love your mother. When her belly began to grow and she would not name a name, her father came to the conclusion that her

“virtue” was stolen. He knew Zapata was coming into town and so he rallied the men, not for Mexico but for a whore called revenge”

“What was his response?”

“Zapata agreed. Your forefather promised him able bodies. They rode onto this land in the middle of the night, firing guns in the air, they pulled the women from their beds, the babies from their mother’s chest and the other children too. They made the men watch as they shot them into a mass grave next to the grotto. If you listen carefully on windless nights, you can still hear their howls. The only one that got away was the son.

He tried to run off with your forefather’s daughter only to get caught. The rider who had him got drunk and he ran off in the middle of the night. 147

Monica took her father’s hand. Her hands were delicate but approaching his size.

“But dad, I saw that painting of him. He has features that explain Manuel. I know people talk and I know even you have your doubts, but from what I learned in biology is that that happens. It might be a long shot after so many generations and is probably one in a million but Manuel is that one in a million.”

Santiago closed his eyes and took a long sigh. “I know you looked at that painting and more importantly at the freckled son with light blondish brown hair, and green eyes.

But I feel like I need to tell you the truth. It’s not like the thought didn’t cross my mind. I asked myself the same question hundreds of times. When daughter was returned to her

father and family, now the sole owners of this land, this house. She didn’t return to give birth to her child, the one that you’re thinking about. Your forefather took his daughter and unborn grandchild out to the killing ground and he cut her down like an animal with the silver blade that has gone missing from it’s chest over there.

Monica heart began to race. He knew the blade was gone. She prepared for his rage but he continued with his story. “The family weren’t tributes, she was the first one,

and the only one if you think anything else. All those deaths, one after another, the trees did not bloom for a three years. In their place weeds and strange, poisonous orange

flowers bloomed. Mexico would go through the dance again and again. Zapata died April

10th, same day as Manuel’s birthday, betrayed by those he trusted.

“Where did the knife come from dad?” 148

“I don’t know, no one knows if it was here before Zapata, the Spanish, or way,

way before. I’ve tried my best over the years to bend what ever power it has to my will but it grew more powerful. I know you and Manuel got rid of it and it’s probably for the best.”

Monica’s heart shattered. Her father wasn’t wicked, a monster or evil. All she had to do was ask, all anyone had to do was ask.

Santiago lowered his head, the first time Monica had ever seen her father do such an action. “Now we have similar clans riding around the country, similar riders and destiny. Those men, the ones who came, the ones who will come and the man behind them, they’ll meet a similar fate eventually. If not by my hand or your mother’s than by yours. I am entrusting this to you should we fail. You will kill this man should we die. I can entrust this only to you. Carlos has my soul, Manuel has my heart and you Monica, you hold my love and that is a sword. When I hold that sword I cannot embrace you, but I do love you. Can you promise me this? That you will destroy this man and the red deity he serves?”

Monica looked at her hands. These were the hands that her mother told her would

slay evil. She had rejected that destiny thousands of times, walking away from the power that grew in her. She looked at her father, he was handing a sword to her, she would grasp onto it and know that his hands were now free to hold the guns that would shield their family. If he fell in battle she would destroy the man, whose emissary had come 149

onto their land and forced an ancient rebellion once again. She stood up, her eyes and

soul on fire and spoke. “Yes, I will.”

Manuel pulled the gun from the holster, cocked it and pulled the trigger. He missed the target by many inches, but still hit the wood.

“Good, not a kill shot, but the person on the other end will defiantly feel it,” Ines

said in triumph. The boy learned quick. He learned everything quick, his eagerness was what made Ines so proud of him. Whenever he decided he wanted something, Manuel just took it. When he wanted play soccer, he learned the game, excelled at it and was the captain within a year. When he got older the news of her son reached other countries and they came to see her boy play, her boy. He wanted to kill people now, and that was

something Ines could show him. “Again,” she said.

The boy pointed the muzzle, closed one eye and Ines stopped him.

“No! this is a pistol, not a rifle, you don’t close one eye. You need the peripheral vision to make a kill shot,” She exclaimed.

“Gotcha,” Manuel replied with a smile on his face. Hours ago, when they started practicing, his hand trembled at the cold iron weight. Now his left hand was numb but the numbness now allowed him to shoot with an abandon. He pointed once more and cleared the center of the target. “Yes!” The boy exclaimed.

“Don’t celebrate. Wood and flesh are different. “

“Sorry,” Manuel said. 150

“Don’t say sorry. Don’t ever apologize for anything. Ever!” Ines snapped at her son. The thoughts of the world around her infected her mind. The boy in front of her was her most precious child, not because of the differences but how similar they were. She appreciated that she had someone that she could look at instead of looking up at. And of course, he took what he wanted. Three years ago when Santiago and Ines had bought the children their first phones, Carlos had shown her a video of a honey badger with hilarious commentary. Carlos had to translate for her but she still found it funny. “Honey Badger just takes what it wants” was repeated many times. If Carlos, Santiago and Monica were all bears, what were Manuel and her? They were honey badgers, when they desired something, they took it and never apologized. She knew Carlos would eventually leave them and Manuel would take the trees. People feared her and would talk, she would answer their questions honestly if they simply asked. Is he Santiago’s son? Do you love him more? Where did you come from? These were all questions she would answer if someone would only muster the strength to ask. She looked at her abstract son, an amalgam of love. A young honey badger.

“You did good.” She patted him on the back and smiled. “I wish I had more time to train you. Monica wasn’t this easy. You learned so quick in six hours.”

“Why didn’t you show me in the first place?” Manuel asked directly.

Ines promised herself she would not lie and answer all questions truthfully.

“I could only train one person at a time. Monica showed the most promise in finishing what I couldn’t even start. And to be honest,” She looked over her beloved boy. 151

“You are too much of a liability. You run around doing what you want. I couldn’t teach you these things, you would be running around free and wild and you could easily end up

like one of those men in charge with the skills I would’ve shown you.”

“Why not Carlos? Is it because dad wants him?”

“Yes and no. Your father claimed Carlos the minute he was delivered. My job ended the moment he cut his cord.”

“Is it because I look different mom? You can be honest, I wont say anything, I promise. Why was I bom in a hospital a couple cites away while dad was working?”

Ines would be mother and tmth teller.

“You were bom in a hospital and not at home because I was stupid and went into town to visit with a friend while eight months pregnant. I slipped on the floor in the market because my idiot self wore the wrong shoes for the rain. Even all the midwives said it was that urgent, and they told me to go to a hospital. Vincente loaded me up in his truck and we drove to the city. You were bom and of course your idiot father was none the wiser. He finally noticed I didn’t come back when Carlos got hungry and went into the orchards with our old dog looking for me.”

Manuel looked down to to the ground embarrassed at how he had spoken to his mother. 152

“Your father came, rushing in, saw you, little perfect you and put together all these theories in his mind about you. You opened your little eyes and he handed you right back to me. He didn’t ask, if he asked I would answer honestly. There’s an explanation,”

She turned away. “And secrets, secrets that shouldn’t be kept any longer. You want to ask me that right?” Ines said.

“No, I won’t ask you about that. But why do I share your name though?”

This is Mexico, the mother’s maiden name is part of your surname as well. You were registered in the hospital where they put down my name as well. Carlos and Monica were registered after they were bom at home and your dad preferred to omit my name for my safety.”

“I’m sorry for bringing this up mom.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m glad I have you. Do you want to ask me anything else?

I’m sure you want to ask about the gun and tequila thing.”

“I don’t have to,” Manuel smirked at his mother. “I prefer to think that my mom showed up in town like the bad bitch she is after killing three dozen men.”

“Little off, but still true,” She said with a straight face. Mother and son looked at each other before bursting out into loud, cacophonous laughs.

Mother and son would shoot at more targets. Manuel had requested this, he wanted to be a better shot than Monica. He desired to protect what was his by right as 153

well. Ines saw this, and pride grew in her heart. The small boy that was bullied now fired

a rifle with deadly accuracy. She was convinced that if they lived, she would show the boy her ways, the ways of her people in Durango. She still feared what Manuel could do with all that potential. Would he kill more people? Would he defend them? She did not know. She knew many things but preferred to be in the dark about her children. She hated predicting them. Ines had known of Carlos’ cold feet for years. She could’ve said

something to Santiago, fostered him to stay or occupied him with something else. She

didn’t. All that knowledge and precognition and she had nothing to show for it. She didn’t sense the small man with the gold plated gun when he drove up to her land with his bravado and threatened her and her family. Years ago, before she met Santiago, she thought she could never love, never feel, never truly live. She lived like the boy in front of her now, so intent on what he wanted. When she came to town twenty years ago she was entrusted to uproot the seeds of discontent growing in the region. She had failed.

Now the dance of war spiraled and twisted it’s deadly folklorico once more. The seeds were cultivated in the mountains, where men talked and planned with people from the north. Growing into the country side and seeping it’s way into the cities. The country

burned at the pockets of violence spread across like tiny red dots on a map; a new plague.

For years Ines questioned if her failure in the mountains led to the cultivation and growth

of the violence. She knew she would pay the price for her failure eventually, she would

die, she thought. Along side her husband, their blood had to be the tribute to guarantee their children’s escape. 154

“Text Carlos again to check on him,” She said to Manuel. Carlos had been hiding at Astrid’s house. They had instructed him not to return until someone came for him. She knew they could hide him and that the cartel was not at the point of breaking down doors looking for any of the kids. That time would come soon, but for now she knew with a level head that Carlos would escape a death by a bullet.

“He say’s he’s okay. He wants to know when to come back.”

“He can come back when I go for him. Tell him to stay put.”

“Alright, he’s mad you know.”

“He’s a liability here. He has no practical skills. You and Monica can help us if they come back,” Ines looked at Manuel’s eyes swell with excitement at her words. She felt morbid at the thought of her child tingling with excitement that she had complemented him with words regarding death and violence.

“I think I’m a good shot now,” The boy said, firing the gun once more, grazing the target. The shot resonated across the lime trees, vibrating through the grounds all the way to their roots. The boy was worthy, Ines thought, as she watched him take aim, smile and shoot. Wood and flesh were very different, but not to the boy in her presence.

The black SUV sped back in defeat to the Bencomo estate. The car swerved through the dirt roads, jumping over rocks until it reached the paved roads of progress. In side Jesus Ramirez had tightened his snakeskin belt above the wound. He winced in pain, inspecting the wound. Clean; in one way and out the other. The hole left in his leg was 155

thick, a few millimeters across. The car came to a quick stop after the drive called in before the gates. Jesus heard voices from outside the car. His men opened the car door.

They all wore red scarves around their necks, the color of the Becomo family. The men patted down the seats, the driver and inspected the car from the outside.

“All clear,” One of the scarved men said, turning has back, walking away, waving his hand for the men to follows; they did. They were Jesus’ men, not this mans to control.

“You fuck!,” Jesus yelled. “Don’t turn our fucking back. Get the Doctor. Now!!”

He held onto his leg, the pain throbbing all over his body, like the snake skin belt had come back to life to poison him. His leg was blue, swollen and no longer carried feeling.

He looked at his arms, the blue and red veins more visible than before; he had lost too much blood. Jesus flung the door of the SUV open, propped himself up against the outside of the car and called to the men, blood tickling onto the ground. “Don’t turn your fucking backs. Get your ass back to here and take me to the doctor. My leg is fucked up.”

The tallest man came forward. He wore his red scarf around his neck. Massive eyes with long eyelashes looked down on his leader, looking smaller than ever. The snake eyed man grinned, looking back at the men before bursting out in laughter, triggering the men to laugh with him.

“You stupid, stupid American,” The snake eyed man said. The men behind him continued their laughs, breaking from the stoic faces Jesus forced them to have. The snake eyes man had always given him trouble. Jesus was given the gold gun which gave 156

him command over all the men. The snaked eyed man was given an iron ring, in charge

of the war front and three metals below Jesus.

“What did you say?” Jesus said, his arm reaching for the holster. He felt around his sides, no gun. He touched the other holster, no gold gun.

The snake eyed man walked back to Jesus, placing his exposed throat in his face, taunting him. His eyes wincing as if to say go for it, try.

“This?” The snake eyed man said, pulling out the gold plated gun. He placed the trigger on his finger tip, spinning the gun.

“That gun is not yours. Give it back right now before I take it from you.”

“No you wont,” The snake eyed man said coyly. He continued to spin Jesus’ gun on his fingertip. It didn’t fire, it wasn’t intended to fire bullets, only words of command and power. Jesus’ benefactor had given him the gold plated gun four years ago when the conquest of the countryside and the town near them began. He had his iron ring exchanged for gold. The iron ring went vacant for a year before the snake eyed man received it. The snaked eyed man now carried both gold and iron, two metals, one of them stolen. Jesus’ eyes bulged, vessels popping at the rage until his eyes were bright red and pink.

“Ruben, put my gun down. Call the fucking doctor. Your mother how is she? Last time we sent money to Morelia she bought a house? When I take that fucking gun from 157

you, I’m going to pay her a visit. How that visit turns out depends on whether you put that gun down and how fast you can call Maria.”

“You stupid, stupid American,” The man said, edging closer to Jesus, twirling the gold gun in his right index finger until the gun twirled a few inches out of Jesus grasp.

“This is my gun now.”

“That is my fucking gun,” Jesus raged through his closed teeth, the veins in his neck protruding out like earthworms after a rain. “I speak for Bruno when he reads, that gun is my proof!”

“You’re a failure, you’re a fucking American and Bruno passed the gun onto me.

Im his voice now. You, I don’t even know what you are. Do you even have papers here?

That makes you a reverse wetback right?” The man chuckled and the men, Jesus’ men , laughed, breaking their stoic faces. Jesus clenched his teeth and grinded them until a few began to shatter. He shook from the loss of blood, the injury and the insult. He broke character and yelled in English, the language that he hated.

“You stupid fucking Mexicans! I am gonna get that fucking gun back, make your mother suck it off and then shoot you in your fucking dick and watch you bleed!”

The men gave a strange look.

“I don’t speak English,” The man said, turning to group of armed men he now controlled. They all joined him in his laughter. 158

The doctor walked out from the house, walked over to Jesus. Maria Morales walked quick, efficiently and with grace, each step calculated two steps before. Maria’s mind worked like a game of chess, a game Jesus could never win at. She was his height, dark and around his age. She kept her hair in an afro and always wore a medical coat. On her chest dangled a silver cross, her metal. She whispered his name silently on her lips.

She walked up to Jesus and helped to balance him back onto the cushions of the car seats. “Where did they shoot you?”

“Thigh, right above the knee. Went out clean. She got me good.” He breathed out, taxed from the blood loss.

“Which one?”

“Left!”

“No, which one got you.”

“The mother, she got one and the girl got the other two.”

The doctor nodded at her assistants. They loaded Jesus onto a gumey, stuck an IV of blood into his arm and began to wheel him in the direction of the infirmary. Maria pulled out a fat syringe full of compressed synthetic cotton. She pressed down harshly onto the wound, opening it up and pressed the tip into it. She pushed the applicator, releasing the cotton bullets into Jesus’ leg. This was the first time he had seen this new tool. The expanding cotton felt odd but he felt the flow of blood calm down in an instant. 159

“Keep talking, how many people?”

“Mom, girl, saw the bastard too. I don’t know about the boys. I didn’t see them.”

“I’ll mark down three.”

“DO WE HAVE TO DO THIS NOW?” Jesus roared, the pain now attached to

each breath he took. The doctor nodded to a nurse. She pulled out a syringe, injecting the

liquid into Jesus’ side.

“That’ll help. It’s not a full dose. You still need to answer the questions. I can’t treat you any different. You failed a mission and came back.” Maria wrote on the paper fixed on her clip board. “You know how we work. Ruben is gold now.”

“Does that fucking prick think he can get the details from me now? How the fuck is he gold now? I’m not dead and no one had a vote.”

“It’s not him, It’s Bruno.”

“Fuck,” Jesus said underneath his breath.

“Ruben is in charge as lead, but Bruno is making all the decisions. You caused a scene at that bar you know? He took your metal away when you didn’t come back the time you said you would.”

“What? But they should’ve grabbed the girl. She was the backup plan”

“No, she got away. The boy was there too, he got away too.” 160

“Jesus fucking Christ, they got the fuck away.”

“That’s not all. They shot up the place too. That was very stupid. Trying to be at two places at once. A leader needs to be there for a fight. You messed up dearly tonight the way you handled the mission.”

“Don’t fucking lecture me,” Jesus yelled, looking up to watch her write on her clipboard.

“That’s not my job. Bruno will be down once I’m done with your surgery. You’ll answer to him in front of all of us. We’ll decide your fate there.” Maria clicked her pen.

“You, you know out ways.”

“Then why bother patching me the fuck up than,” Jesus eyes turned to the side, watching the walls of the mansion move as he contained to be wheeled to the operating theatre. He had fled the United states in search of adventure only to end up here, an enforcer. Now that, and the gold plated gun were taken away and we would die, perhaps in painful fashion. “Can you just end it now. I know the types of medications you carry around. They hide the cause of death. Give me the one causes a stroke or organ failure.”

“I won’t kill you.”

“If you don’t, Ruben at Bruno’s call will do it.” Jesus pinched his skin to see if he could feel. He broke the skin and the pain registered. “He’ll enjoy it too.”

“No. That’s for the four of us to decide. Jesus, you know our ways. We’re alchemists.” Maria looked at her assistants. They placed ear plugs into their ears. “ We 161

know how Ruben will vote. Edmund will vote the same way. I’ll vote for your life but I may be the only. Bruno could vote for death and if he does I’ll ask that I do it. I’ll make it quick. If he votes for you to live it’ll be spit and it’ll be up to...” Maria hesitated. “The

Red Man.”

Jesus scoffed at the idea of the Red Man. He was a figment of Bruno’s imagination, Bruno’s metal, was quicksilver; mercury. Perhaps Bruno played with it too may times and made himself go mad. Jesus did not believe in the Red Man, only the fury that Bruno carried when he spoke his name. “Thank you Maria,” Jesus said.

When they arrived at the operating room, Maria and her nurses cleaned up and put their scrubs on. She put a gas mask on top of Jesus’ mouth and as he fell into sleep Jesus wished he could wake from the nightmare that awaited him.

Maria operated for hours, finished, stitched up and alerted the council that her work was done. Jesus spent the next few hours asleep in the infirmary, guarded by Ruben

Cisneros, twirling the gold plated gun until Jesus began to stir.

The nurses wheeled the gumey into the library, the place where Bruno Bencomo spent his days.

The library was filled with thousands of books, read over multiple times by their leader and benefactor, Bruno Bencomo, head of the Los Rojos cartel. While they were called Los Rojos in the streets, and among other Cartels. The inner circle operated differently and were referred to as the Alchemists; Bruno The Mercury was the head of 162

business and the family, Maria Chavez-Morales the Silver, who did intel and was the doctor, Edmund Zaragoza the Copper, the head lawyer and lobbyist, and until recently

Jesus was the Gold, the enforcer, the face of cartel and the de facto leader of the guns.

This changed all in one day and now Ruben Cisneros now held the gold plated gun. He was no longer the Iron, he was the Gold.

The Nurses helped Jesus into a less elaborate chair, his old chair now seated

Ruben. Maria and Edmund sat in silence as their benefactor descended the long spiral staircase from the second floor of the library.

Bruno Bencomo came down the stairs, his black oxfords tapping against the wooden stairs. Tap, tap, tap, the stairs went. He wore black rimmed glasses, his hair was dark and messy, not kept together. He looked thin in the cardigan he wore. He looked weak and sickly, Jesus would place a bet if he could on the Mercury that Bruno kept around. It was customary for the Alchemists to carry the metal they represented. Jesus never saw Bruno carry around any “quicksilver” but if he did, it had most likely made in ill, in his body and mind, giving rise to this Red Man. He carried a book in his hand, he never closed a book until he finished it. Jesus took a long gulp at the fact that he had stopped Bruno from completing a book he was in the middle of. No one spoke as Bruno fumbled into his seat. His eyes were dark from the lack of sleep and his head bobbed up and down, his eyes cutting away at everything before them.

Bruno spoke. “You failed.”

“I know sir,” Jesus replied. 163

“They took a good portion of your leg, Maria, what did you replace the flesh

with?”

“Synthetic muscles and skin sir,” Maria said.

“And it cost a lot too right?”

“Yes sir. It’s all experimental, from Europe.”.

“Jesus, do you have anything to say?” Bruno asked. Bruno Bencomo was twenty- eight years old. A year younger than Jesus. They met in the United states as small children. That was years and many lives ago. They were here now in Mexico, Jesus had no words for his benefactor.

“No words. You can’t even bother us with an explanation. You know our ways.

Edmund, what are his mistakes?”

The old lawyer gruffed. “Jesus lost the men he took to the lime farm. The little old man that we send to farms with gift baskets went missing, right Jesus?” Edmund looked

at Jesus’ direction, his eyes were looking out a window, far away from this trial.

Bruno’s eyes opened widely. “The little old man that cried when we killed rabbits, he went missing?” 164

“Yes Bruno, he went missing. We can’t verify anything until we canvas the property but it looks like the father did him in at one point. Too much of a coincidence.

What does your intel say Maria?” Edmund asked.

“He killed him. The old man was a surrogate father to the farmer. He killed him

anyway,” She said, reading from her clipboard

“That’s insane!” Bruno said. “Go on!”

Maria flipped though more pages. “They buried the body a couple miles north of their property. There are two manzanita trees and a large cactus that is blooming next to his grave.”

“There’s no need to flip though pages Maria, we know how you got this information. I bet there’s nothing written down on that clipboard of your,” Edmund said, glaring at her.

“The monsters!” Bruno yelled. “I liked that old man, we even got him those little catch and release cages for the animals on his property. That’s unfortunate. Continue

Edmund.”

“That’s strike two. Jesus also sanctioned an attack on the bar that-“

Jesus shouted. “It was not an attack!” 165

Edmund shook his head and adjusted the copper tie clip and cufflinks he wore.

“Doesn’t matter. What ever you envisioned it to be, it turned into an attack. You weren’t there to lead the men. They killed twelve people. I’m up to my ass handling that. You asked them to nab the girlfriend, that didn’t happen. The son was there by coincidence, and somehow he got away. You did show the men photos of the people they were supposed to get right?” Edmund looked at Jesus once more, who was staring out the window again. “Any way, they didn’t grab anyone of use. They ended up grabbing ten people, what did you say to them? Now we have ten people downstairs that we have to take of, all on account of you.”

“Guests?” Bruno asked.

“Looks that way boss,” Ruben said, licking his lips.

“If we have guests, I have to entertain. In your opinion, my fellow alchemists.

Should Jesus, with no metal live or die?”

“He dies,” The lawyer said.

“Doctor?”

“Lives, he’s too useful for our cause,” She said, looking in Jesus’ direction. Jesus turned to her voice. Around his neck he wore a wooden rosary.

“Ruben?

Ruben grinned and spoke. “Death, I’ll do it too, “exclaimed with glee. 166

“Votes comes down to me,” Bruno sighed. “I hate when it’s up to me, he lives”

Edmund and Maria closed their eyes whiles Ruben looked insulted.

“That’s a tie, what happens now?” He protested.

Edmund scratched his head. “Damn it, you’ve never seen this so just shut up and be patient. You’ll see.”

“No! how do we break the tie?” Ruben protested again.

“Really? Son, I just told you to shut up. Now watch your tongue before Miss

Maria removes it from your mouth. By the looks of it she would be more than happy to do it, and I am more than happy to let her.”

“I’m not afraid of the woman,” Ruben jetted out.

“Didn’t you ever think as to why you or your men weren’t needed inside?”

Edmund said.

“That’s not important, we keep the grounds safe,” Ruben said.

“This is entertaining, you’ve spoken out of term and I should have your head for it but you were once the Iron, my guard, but there’s more. Grounds, yes, you kept that safe.

Me? No,” Bruno said “There have been seven men, seven. Sent to kill me this year alone.

You want to know who keeps me safe?” 167

Ruben looked around the room, his eyes darting everywhere trying to find whatever shadow he had looked over.

“Me,” Maria said. “I am more than enough PROTECTION for our benefactor inside of the mansion”

Ruben bit down on his lip and did not reply.

“See?” Edmund added “Told you boy. Now calm down before Miss Maria actually removes your tongue,” The lawyer said, smirking, adjusting the copper tie clip on his chest.

The room stood in silence as Bruno Bencomo stood. It was silent, a perverse silence where Jesus could hear his feint pulse and heavy breaths. His benefactor closed his eyes and muttered words that weren’t comprehensible. He struggled with Spanish when he came to Mexico but his language was even more of cipher. When his benefactor spoke in that ancient language it meant he was communicating with the Red Man, the being, as Bruno called it, that assisted in the decision making. His trances were calm and the words were soft but it was clear that Bruno was talking to the Red Man. It was all in his head, Jesus assured himself. Bruno would not hurt him. Jesus was an atheist, he denied the western gods and the old gods that that people in Mexico clung onto. There were no gods, no spirits, no deities in his opinion. The world was one chance, an ecological and biological anomaly that had given rise to life, to men, to him and perhaps even this Red Man. Everything had an explanation, even this Red Man. Jesus had studied biology and psychology in college. This Red Man had to be a part of Bruno’s psyche, If 168

he would be sentenced to death, it wasn’t the verdict of the Red Man but of Bruno

Bencomo. It didn’t matter if Bruno hid behind his Red Man.

Bruno stopped chanting, opened his eyes and pointed. “Hold him to the wall,”

Bruno said. Ruben spoke into his lapel, ushering a group of armed men that grabbed

Jesus violently and held him the the library wall. He looked at the small group in front of him, he was ready.

“Life isn’t just bullets, drugs and money. There are things beyond this, in a slip that we cannot understand,” Bruno said. Bruno pulled out a silver knife from the book he carried. It was sleek and thin, it radiated a white hue that Jesus had never seen before. He wondered if Bruno was going to cut his throat. “This knife called out to me, asked for the

Red Man. This is his power, for all of you to see. Maria who believes in God, Edmund who worships money, Ruben, you worship yourself,” Bruno pointed the knife at Jesus.

“And you, who believes in nothing, that’s the most upsetting thing. I could forgive all your mistakes but you even deny the possibility of the Red Man. Well, I’ll show all of you now. You went and fought that bear. He killed our dogs. He was supposed to win,”

Bruno said, giving the men directions with his eyes. They let Jesus go, letting him fall to the floor.

“You did your job. Now this needs to be corrected. Ruben will go back and kill that family. You’ll go and watch because I trust Maria’s opinion. Ruben won’t fail. I want you to see wolves in action, not dogs.” Bruno lifted the blade by it’s tip and flung it across the room it made a hard bang onto the the wall. A tiny drizzle of red liquid seeped 169

out from where it landed. All in attendance looked on in fear; the wall was bleeding. The

spot where the knife landed became dark with the red liquid, in the distance animals howled and the wind roared. The drizzle quickly became a stream and then a small river

of blood, pooling at the bottom.

“Our wolves will arrive tomorrow. But for tonight, I have guests to entertain.

Edmund, you’ll meet me down in the basement, whenever you’re ready.” Bruno

Bencomo walked away.

The knife still penetrating the wall- the bleeding continued. Ruben left, red in the

face. Edmund sighed, scratched his balding head. Maria waited until all were gone before pulling out her rosary, making the sign of the cross. Jesus fell. He crawled to her, pulling out some of the stiches and staples along the way, reaching Maria’s feet. He touched them gently and she helped him up. He looked at her metal, the silver rosary. She took her hand and caressed his wooden one. She began to pray Jesus joined her.

Carlos left Astrid’s house in the middle of the night. Her parent’s didn’t care that he slept in the same bed as her. They overlooked things that he wished others would

overlook. He couldn’t sleep. His dreams were invaded by a scene of animals fighting, and the figure of red had pointing its index finger at him, moving closer and closer as he tried to run away. Upset at the visions, he left for home. He changed into some darker clothing,

from the drawer of clothes he kept in Astrid’s room. He put on a hooded sweatshirt, pulling the hood over his head then realizing that his face didn’t give him way, his height did, no clothing could mask that. 170

He climbed the fence, hopping over it with ease and walking towards the outskirts of town. It would take longer but he would get home, where he belonged. An hour in and he saw Alejandro in the distance, not his Alejandro, his father’s. He walked up to the man.

“Hey,” Carlos said.

“You shouldn’t be out Carlitos. And you know why,” Santiago’s foreman

Alejandro said.

“That quick? Is there a price on our heads too?”

“Nope. They asked everyone in town to “look the other way while some construction was happening at your farm,” He lit a cigarette from his pocket.

“Can I have one?”

Alejandro looked at the boy in front of him. He’d watch him grow up, play with his own son. He was Carlos Godfather. If he had asked before all this trouble, he would’ve smacked Carlos in the mouth. He couldn’t protect him if his father couldn’t either. He popped the top from the box, letting Carlos take one and lit it for him.

“Your dad came to town a few hours ago.”

“He didn’t tell me. What was he doing?”

“He asked a few of the families in town for help. Gave some impassioned plea about survival and freedom.” 171

“What did people do?”

“Do you even need to ask that.”

“You too?”

“Believe me, it’s not like 1 don’t want to. Bencomo does nothing for me. I have a

family though. The others, why would they want to bite the hand that feeds them?”

Carlos understood what that meant. He was connected to Bencomo not only by their feud but in the activities he partook of in town. Everything was connected like the roots of the trees he hated.

“I’m headed there right now, it’s not too late to come with me,” Carlos said.

“Just like your father. You think you’re different, but you’re a mirror of him ya know,” Alejandro smiled. “I’ll consider it. You have my son on that phone thing you guys use. Communicate to me through there. Their tapping the phones, whatever you do, do not call anyone. They will be listening.”

Carlos nodded at Alejandro who nodded in return. Godfather and Son shook hands before Carlos continued on his way home. A mile before he reached his property, he pulled out his phone and tweeted privately at Manuel. Carlos sent a question mark and multiple tree emoji’s. His brother responded with a stop sign and multiple bombs and fire works. 172

“Fucking A,” He said to himself. Bombs, there were bombs on the ground. Fresh spots of dirt covered the grounds around the front grounds of their property. Manuel responded.

“HLD ON. OMW” He responded through twitter.

Carlos watched as Manuel appeared in the distance, zig zagging and hopping over mounds of dirt. He’d vault over a few of them and broke a sweat a a few of them. When he reached Carlos, Manuel looked relived.

“Hey,” Manuel said.

“There are fucking bombs in the ground, what the fuck?”

“It’s that serious, bro. “

“Yeah, no shit. How did you not blow yourself up?”

“Nah man, I was fucking with you, watch.” Manuel bolted and pounced on top of fresh mound of earth. He landed happily and gracefully, very catlike. Carlos shuffled backwards, falling in the process, holding his long arms out to protect his face.

“Jesus fucking Christ Manuel! I thought there was a bomb there!”

“There is.”

“Fucking A!” Carlos yelled.

“They’re remote stupid, mom and dad have the trigger.” 173

“Why the hell did you waste that time dancing through the fucking fields? They could’ve seen us or shot us!”

“We’re ok. Monica and Mom are on the second floor. They’re snipping in our direction. Pluss mom and Monica said they couldn’t sense anyone but you,” Manuel said, jumping onto another plot of wet earth. “BOOM!” He exclaimed, laughing, gesturing and explosion with his hands. This time Carlos did not fall backwards, not outward for

Manuel to see though. Inside, he was floored at how casually little Manuel played on top of a live bomb.

“What the fuck happened in a day and a half?”

Little Manuel sighed, “Too much...”

The two brothers walked side to side, walking back to their home where they both knew they would be making a stand with their father. They talked about life. Manuel asked Carlos questions and he answered all of them truthfully, about Astrid, about

Alejandro, about America. Carlos asked Manuel the same, his desires, dreams, and his

supposed destiny. They avoided taboo topics; the trees and the heritage. But they asked each other those forbidden questions in their own ways. Carlos looked at the limes trees, now with all the fruit rotten at their feet, brown, squishy, decayed, the same way he felt inside. Never once had he felt pride at the trees, looking onto his old trees, he now felt disgust. He looked at Manuel, his colored eyes stronger than when he had shoved a handful of dirt in his mouth days before. Silently, he looked Manuel in the eyes, acknowledged him as the Bautista heir and passed the trees onto him. 174

Manuel felt the shift, they did not need to vocalize what had just happened.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you Manuel.”

At the house, the brothers we’re greeted by their parents and sister. Santiago spoke to his sons.

“Carlos, son, I’m sorry for what happened in town. Is Astrid ok?”

“She is...” Carlos replied, his voice now breaking. No one in the family had seen

Carlos cry since he was a boy. “I know what happened to everyone else. People posted about it on Facebook and Twitter until Bencomo had the posts wiped.”

“He owns Facebook now?” Monica said. “How can one man have so much fucking power?”

“He’s likely well connected, that man that came, he had an American accent.

Groups like these do business with Americans all the time, they’re funded by them. Him being connected to websites like that isn’t odd at all,” Ines added.

“Is this even worth it? The man’s a fucking billionaire,” Manuel added, stunned at the revelation of power, absolute power.

“He’s not invincible. He can erase the posts, but he can’t erase whose seen them.

All mention in Mexico is gone but the information in America is trending. People there have been paying attention to shit like this since Iguala,” Carlos exclaimed. 175

Everyone looked at each other. The students, the missing students that the police and governor had killed. They were 43, not five like them. The Bautistas were armed but no one was coming, no one was watching. No one knew their story. The men that would come weren’t police officers, they were the soldiers of fortune, backed up by a benefactor that moved and operated in the shadows. They had insulted the man, they knew he would send his guns, not the police in town that Santiago knew.

“The Americans can get this on their news, Mexico will have no choice but to intervene. See!” Carlos pulled out a phone and showed everyone. Santiago didn’t understand the language but the chart showed a spike in interest in Michoacan.

“No,” Santiago said. “We’re not asking for help from the Americans, and strangers, and not over some phone.”

“Dammit dad, this might be the only way all of us fucking walk out of here!”

Carlos yelled.

The twins remained silent and Ines looked on.

“I said no,” Santiago repeated. Father and son looked at each other intensely with the their fires ablaze.

Monica and Ines looked at each other, their brown eyes in sync. First it was shock and then intent. Seventy-seven heart beats, all savage, violent and impure. The one at the helm was calm, calculating; they had arrived at the dawn of the new day.

“They’re here,” Ines said. 176

“Get ready,” Santiago said, grabbing his rifle.

Ruben Cisneros led seventy-five men into battle. It was the game he had known.

At his side was Jesus, the stiches and staples fixed by Maria. In his hand was her rosary.

Ruben noticed the wooden beads in Jesus’ hands.

“You’re fucking her aren’t you?”

Jesus did not answer.

“Be silent. Go ahead. I have the fucking gun. You’re on a field trip and I’m your chaperone.”

He ordered the vehicles to stop ahead of the farm.

Ruben spoke into his lapel “Have four of the SUVS go ahead. Ten feet apart and moving slowly.” Four of the black, bullet proof cars moved forward, slowly. Ruben smiled. “Watch,” He said to Jesus. His smile widened as the cars continued forward before the ground below them caved, erupting into fire, metal and smoke. Ruben smiled.

“Told ya. If it were you, you would’ve gotten the entire fleet blown up. Now keep watching Americano.” Ruben spoke into his lapel again. “Two more, this time don’t go straight. Zig zag around.” The man on the other line hesitated. “Do it,” Ruben said.

“All your men are going to die if you keep doing that,” Jesus said calmly.

“Keep watching my northern friend.” 177

The cars drove around without purpose until the bombs underneath went off once more. This time they were more potent, sending the large SUVs flying into the air like black asteroids crashing into the earth.

“That’s the power of pipe bombs. Tiny bitches if you ask me. How many soldiers has your country lost to them in Afghanistan Americano ?Let the fun begin, move them all in, they’re heavily armed in the house. Be ready for an easy fire fight, old weapons.

On my word,” Ruben said into the lapel.

The remaining cars moved close to the house. The armed men wearing red scarves exited, clad in bullet proof vests and helmets, their guns carried bullets that exploded into shrapnel upon impact, a guaranteed kill.

“Search the house, kill them all except the bear,” Ruben ordered. Two groups of armed men entered the Bautista home with their guns ready. Ruben stepped out side from the SUV. “Stay put Americano, I’m going to bring you their heads, show you how it’s done.” He said to Jesus, watching the injured man stare coldly back at him. He pulled out the gold plated gun and spun it around in the tip of his finger once more. The men returned from inside the house, and reported they weren’t inside. The trees, he thought.

They attacked from the trees when Jesus had failed. They hadn’t shot anyone yet; they were too armored to get a good shot. He spoke into the the lapel, instructing the men to look at the trees in the perimeter. They reported back that no one was there.

“Where the fuck did they go? We came so quickly.” He stepped outside the house, the sun now blaring in the sky. He ordered the men to come back. In the comer of 178

his eye, he caught glimpse of something covered partially with a cloth. Cell phone, the back camera pointed at the front of the house. He grabbed it, flipped it around. Multiple recording applications were running at the same, streaming the videos. He tossed the phone to the ground and smashed it. “Fuck!, everybody back in the cars. They’re not here.” The men quickly returned to the SUVS. Ruben entered his to a smiling Jesus.

“Well? That went well didn’t it,” Jesus said.

“Shut up. It went better than your plan to get them at their house and your little back up trying to snatch the boy and the girl at the bar.”

“Your super human power to detect metal didn’t work?” Jesus said in English.

“What?”

“Nothing”

The SUV drove down the stretch of road that led to the farm it was unpaved and rocky. A few miles out on the road they were stopped by a few people on tractors. The cars stopped, unable to continue. Ruben stepped out from the car.

“Move It along. Go back. There’s nothing for you in this direction.”

The man on the tractor spoke. “I’m sorry sir, we work a few of the farms around here. We’re here to to tear down the Bautista farm,” The tractor man said.

“A little early, Bruno does not play around does he. Fine. On your way,” Ruben replied. 179

A phone rang from the man’s pocket. He answered.

“Yes, sir. We are here already. No sir, they don’t.” The tractor man rose on his toes trying to look at the SUV. “I see sir.” The tractor man pushed the speaker button.

“He wants to talk to you and your men, he doesn’t sound too happy.

“God fucking damn it, Sir please, let me explain,” Ruben spoke to the phone.

Silence. The call timer continued and he heard a sigh on the other. “Every one out of the car, line up. Not you Americano, you stay inside,” He said, shutting the door on Jesus, He wouldn’t permit Jesus to see his failure. The men lined up in perfect order. “Sir, this is

Ruben. I am sorry to say that they got away. I do understand this was my first mistake, but it will be my last.” Ruben spoke into the phone in his hand. Silence continued. “Sir?”

Ruben said. There was a small laugh on the other side of the phone.

‘Do you like baseball?” The unknown voice said.

“Shoot them the fuc- “Was the extent of Ruben’s shout. The men grabbed the weapons hanging off to their sides but it was too late. The Bautista farm hands already had the bottles filled with gasoline lit, they threw them at the men, igniting them into a dancing, red and orange inferno under the hot Aztec sun. The red scarf men were engulfed in flames. Ruben felt the flames goes into his lungs. His skin boiled underneath the Mylar and bullet proof vest. The liquid in his eyes ruptured out. Carlos and Santiago

Bautista walked to the men rolling on the ground and threw more bottles. The drivers from the SUV’s exited in a frenzy, guns ready to fire. Ines and the other children began their volley of bullets from the other side of the valley, hitting the unarmored drivers in 180

their heads, exploding them like the rotten fruit that decorated the grounds. Once the men were dead, Santiago gave a thumbs up. Ines shot a bullet a foot above his head, signaling that they were safe, there were no other men and that she acknowledged his thumbs up.

Carlos looked at the car.

“Dad,” He said motioning his head to the SUV. Santiago opened the car door, to

Jesus in the seat.

“You.”

“Yes, me,” Jesus said, holding his hands up “Truce?”

“Kill him dad,” Carlos said. “Do it, throw a bottle into the car.”

Santiago looked at the group of men in front of him. The workers he had dismissed. He would not kill and unarmed man in front of him, no matter how vile he was.

“Why shouldn’t I kill you?”

“They’ll be back in another wave, this time with a woman. I can tell you what she will do.”

“I take it you want your life in exchange for this?”

“No,” Jesus said. “I want you to spare her when she comes to kill you.” 181

Bruno Bencomo finished his reading. He looked outside the window from the third story of the library. It was the afternoon. Ruben had not returned. Edmund had knocked on the library door a few times; Bruno had turned him away each time. It was clear what happened. Somehow, his wolves failed to get their job done. He spoke to the

Red Man and he replied with the howls and the cries of wolves aflame in an alchemic blaze. For the first time in many years, Bruno felt a bit of anger, it was exquisite and it turned him on slightly. He pulled the quicksilver knife, now a book mark. He wanted to fling it once more, see the walls bleed, show Edmund and the others that the Red Man did exist, but that would not be, he had guests that he had to entertain. He retired to his room to shower, dress and comb his hair. The night was young and was getting started.

He beckoned Edmund to his room.

“It’s time Mr Lawyer, the moon is full tonight.”

“Uh huh,” The old man said. Edmund had been his father’s lawyer. Edmund was the only on permitted to question Bruno. Money guaranteed silence but stupidly would shed light on everything. No amount of money could cover up the murder of the 43 students. He had known the group that was paid to do it. It was sloppy and well documented.

His group wouldn’t be around that much longer. In the past three years, Los Rojos had doubled their territory. Money bought many things, but ignorance and stupidity went punished. Edmund was always the safety net for decisions. He tolerated Bruno’s interests, the same interests as his father. He did, however, not respect the Red Man, but 182

that was not an issue, Edmund respected nothing but money, for that, the Red

Man let him live.

The two descended down the elevator to the metal lined basement.

Anna Munoz and seven other people from Migue’s bar were naked, their feet and hands bound with rope, attached to chains connected to the roof to hold them up. They had been in this state for days, left alone in the dark room. Maria had attached them IV’s to keep them Lucid. Bruno’s belief was that they had to embrace the pain, not fade out

from it. He also needed information from them. He turned on the lights, violating the pupils of the eight people who had not seen any for of light in over a day.

“You!” Bruno shouted in excitement. Looking at Anna. “You’re the one in charge

I imagine. They did call you queen mother after all,” Bruno looked between her legs.

“Not much of a mother but a queen, I will give you that. You slapped and gauged one of my men’s eye out. I don’t like that.”

Anna’s eyes adjusted to the light. When the stars and blurs settled into clear

images, she looked Bruno up and down, sizing him up.

“Honey, it’ll take more than a young school boy to insult me. C plus on the shade attempt,” She scoffed. She was naked, as were the rest of the people. She knew each one of them she had laughed with them, danced, drank and loved them. They were her people. 183

Bruno’s eyes squinted tightly. A third insult for the day. He pulled out the

quicksilver bookmark from the tome. He approached the nearest chained person, a man

and stuck the blade between his ribs. The man whelped like a sick animal through the rope in his mouth. Anna did not blink, she watched on unfazed. She had to be strong, for her people and herself, any weakness shown to this man would be insult to all those who had died.

“Am 1 not woman enough for you to have your go at me first?” She winked at

Bruno.

“Hoho,” Bruno exclaimed in excitement. “This will be fun, I can already tell.”

“Honey, throw whatever black magic voodoo you have at me. This bitch can take it”

The Red Man, who spoke and acted through Brunos’s fingers, trembled the knife stuck in the chained man.

“No,” Bruno turned to the wall “Let me have this, I can handle this on my own.

Please watch,” He begged the Red Man.

“Mz/'o, you’re talking to yourself, I’m over here” Anna yelled.

Bruno pulled the knife from the man. He felt around on his rib cage, looking for the most optimal spot. He shucked the knife downwards, once on each part of his chest. 184

“Blood is seeping into your friend’s lungs now. He’s awake and he’ll drown in his own blood.”

All Anna could do was watch, silently pray and meet her friend’s eye’s once more, calming him, letting him know what he would be at peace. Hee gurgled a wet noise, rattled and went still. No tears; she could not cry, not in front of the man in front of her.

“One down and seven of us left to go honey.”

Bruno walked over to the next man. Shoved his neck up and carved in the front, back, and finally the two sides. Four cuts removed all the flesh and splattered his blood on the floor. He grabbed the man by his hair, pressed down on his shoulder will force until his spinal cord snapped. The head’s eyes blinked uncontrollably and the lips shook from side to side. He tossed the man’s head at Anna. It hit her on the head. She felt the lips touch the side or her face . “He’s kissing me,” She thought. “David is kissing me.”

“Having fun yet?” Bruno smiled at her.

“Only when I’m dancing. Care to dance?” She asked.

The Red Man Raged. He spoke in the ancient language that came out of pool of black tar centuries ago.

“No, I have this! Bruno yelled into the ether.

“Girl, you crazy,” Anna said, roller her eyes. 185

“Your turn,” Bruno said.

“Oh my God, finally,” Anna said.

Edmund broke the silence that existed after Anna stunned Bruno.

“Bruno, we need the tranny to talk. Have one of them men rape...,” Edmund hesitated. “It, I’m sure one will be willing. I’ll write the check myself. This is going on for too long.”

“Bitch, I’m more woman than any of you can handle,” She yelled.

Bruno felt compelled by her words. He was entertained by her. Anna’s challenges were fresh but something about her radiated a power that made him feel at ease. But the work still had to be done.

“No rape. I don’t like that. It’s cheap. And even if I was, it’s too cliche. He smiled at Anna.

“Of course I wont die, I’m a mother fucking icon.”

Bruno clapped at her words.

“She can’t die for that either. I’d be too much of a villain if I killed her. They’re expecting me to kill her. She’d be another statistic. Edmund, you should be aware, as

Anna probably knows, that there’s a war on women. Women of color, transgender women, all women really. Killing her, would only be cliched.” 186

“Bruno,” Edmund said sternly, tapping at his watch. “We need intel from this thing if Maria is to lead the assault at sundown.”

“Maria? A woman? I’m impressed. You have a woman in charge somewhere!

Good job boy!”

“Miss Maria is going over to that farm in a few hours. She is going to raze it to the ground. She is going to bring me their heads and I’m going to put them on poles and parade them through town.”

“How medieval! What dress will you wear?”

“Bruno! Now! Either get the information our or kill it!” Edmund yelled.

“Fine,” Bruno said. “Let’s begin.”

“Oh good I was getting bored,” Anna said.

Bruno extended the long dark knife to Anna’s skin and traced it gently. Red drops pooled at the top of her skin but she didn’t feel anything, it was numb. She didn’t know if her skin was numb or if the two spirits inside her were being called to heaven.

“I just simply cannot understand you.”

“What’s there to understand? She’s a chick with a dick?” Edmund blurted from the comer. 187

“Shhhh,” Bruno put his finger to his lips, motioning at his lawyer. “Don’t be

rude.”

“Can we move it along? She must have some information that we can use. She

knows the boy and the family. She could be useful. I’m sure Maria would appreciate the

information”

“No,” Bruno snapped. “Not this one. Let’s not untie her.”

“Then why do we have it here? Let me shoot it.” Edmund removed his gun from

it’s holster and aimed and waited for confirmation. But it never came.

Bencomo grabbed her left breast, tracing it with the tips of his fingers. Anna’s nipples swelled, a combination of exposure and touch. He placed his other hand in between her legs. He took ahold of her penis, looked at it and examined it. Bruno puled the foreskin back and forth twice and proceeded to examine her scrotum.

“Like what you see? “Anna said.

Bruno slapped her.

He picked up the knife once more and shoved it into her armpit. She coughed at the shock of the knife. A stab wasn’t something new to her, the knife was so sharp, it buried itself clean. It felt like someone was pinching her.

“I see. The outside doesn’t match the inside,” He removed the knife from Anna’s

side and a flow of blood began to spill on the white marble floor. 188

“You’ve even added parts to yourself.” He grabbed her breast, introducing the knife into it. Anna winced at the pain, this time she felt it.

“Know how to treat a lady don’t ya,” She said, her voiced taxed.

“Sensitivity? Wonderful! Your surgeon kept nerves, impressive!” Bruno grabbed the metal chains attached to the celling and spun her around on the stool and more blood expelled from her gouged side. Bruno put his face directly in front of hers.

“You think this odd don’t you?.”

Anna nodded. “Crazy, absolutely fucking crazy” she said.

“Good girl,” Bruno said, patting Anna on her head.

“You’re wondering why you, right? I’ll be honest with you because you’re being so honest with me.” He sat in a chair and spun himself around four times before crashing his feet down onto the ground to stop the whirling. He slid the chair closer to her.

“Your body is so wonderful and your biology is so complicated. Your inside doesn’t match your outside and so you’ve fixed it. Amazing! Not many people have the guts to do what you did. Or still be alive, I mean, look at your age. You’re a survivor.”

“Aw, thanks babe,” She said, the shimmer from her dark brown skin now fading.

“I’m not transphobic. I’m ok with you feeling how you feel. But with your transformation, you’ve broken the order in my kingdom. I require strict, and I mean strict 189

diligence in maintaining a natural order. Your transformation is an affront to what I’ve imagined Look at the collective not the individual. You are too, too much of an individual, like that Bear, like his woman and like his son.” He walked over to her and stoked her hair. “You are the very incarnation of freedom. I can’t have that. Most people hide it, never truly acting on how they feel. There’s man in my the ranks who feels the same way. He has a wife and children, imagine how tom up inside he is.

“The poor thing, should I talk to her?” A weakened Anna asked.

“No thank you. If this were any other place, I’d encourage him to follow his, I’m sorry, her path. But that would be the freedom of choice. In my kingdom there is no freedom. Again, its about the collective not the individual.”

“Monarchy here ended with the French my dear,” Anna said

“That boy you know; his father is a thorn in my side. I was after the girlfriend.

She would’ve made a bargaining tool. But we got you, but I think it worked out for the best. Your teaching me something today. Something is wrong in the order of things and it is up to me to fix it!”

“Bruno,” Edmund interrupted. “We can’t use...it can we please-”

“Her. Don’t be disrespectful. I don’t appreciate your intolerance of others. Should

I have you switch places with her?”

Edmund smiled back at Bruno’s challenge. 190

“Now I feel offended. I appreciate the time and work and that you’ve put into yourself but that simply just won’t do. You have a role to play, as do I, as does Edmund

and the same for the dozen men around us. We are animals, and we must live like

animals. We need to kill, we need to eat, we need to procreate we need to survive. Now

don’t look at me that way, I’m not about to commit a hate crime. Those simply won’t do these days. Are you listening?” Bruno said smiling as he took the silver knife and cut

down the middle of Anna’s chest gently in the same way someone would touch a lover.

Anna thrashed at the silver lover’s tongue as her chest was exposed down to muscle and

fat. “Now don’t be that way, you are a guest. I did that to remind you, you,” Bruno poked his index finger into her wound.

Anna stared coldly at Bruno. “More bitch,” She said.

“There are no spirits inside you. There is no such thing as two spirits. Spirits are no such things. There is only the Red Man and he speaks to me through my hands.” He held out his hands and they trembled.

Before Anna was Anna she went by another name, another life, another country away farther south. She found freedom in Mexico and when she had saved enough for her top surgery Anna promised herself she would live forever. Her promise to herself still stood in resolution, even in front of Bruno, his silver lover and the Red Man that spoke to him. 191

“Now keep listening. You are an icon of freedom. How many have you inspired?

You cannot go around inspiring freedom. This is my kingdom; this is a kingdom of

sorrow. Everyone and everything belongs to me.”

“Honey, nothing you do or say can destroy me.”

Anna closed her eyes and let the strange man and his silver lover kiss her body.

As he cut away at parts of her, she remembered of two nights ago, when the lover she took to her bed accepted her, and whispered in her ear that he loved the way she smelled,

felt and that she was beautiful. The man laughed as he tore her outsides, ruined the image

she had for herself. She did not know if it was the blood loss but she heard smaller laughs

coming from the knife that kissed her body. When he finished, Bruno stepped back,

“My doctor will be in here in a moment to patch you up and then we’ll do this again and again. Even after I kill the bear family. I’ll do this hundreds of times with you until you are a vegetable. Just one more thing,” Bruno pulled out brass knuckles from a drawer. “This should be triggering. Being beat up. I saved this one for last. Are you ready?”

“Yes, honey, you throw everything your little heart desires at me. Girl, I am ready!” Anna yelled.

Maria entered and worked her magic at the damaged body in front of her. She had done this hundreds of times before. She felt nothing for her fellow woman in front of her.

She watched as Bruno played with the five remaining people. Those people, she would 192

not help. Bruno excused Edmund and Maria. The walked to the library to talk about the

approaching dawn.

“I’ve called the marines. They are ready to head out on your orders.”

“How many did the capital send us?”

“I undersold it, I don’t want them to think we’re having trouble. They offered thirty. I only took twenty twenty-five. I told them it was a smaller cartel. Don’t get more than five of them killed. It’ll raise suspicions.”

“Did they really kill them al?”

“Looks that way,” Edmund said checking his watch.

“Jesus?”

“Him too.”

“I see.”

“You should do intel, Maria, its safest.”

“I don’t have to. It’s farmer and his family. I know the formula; they’ve added people to their ranks from town. I wont alert Bruno. He’s not in the right state of mind.

Any more missing people and we’ll have the Americans asking questions again.”

“Noted. After Iguala, those nosy Americans will be up our ass. “

“Correct, have the marines outside, armed and ready for me. ” 193

Maria walked back into the mansion, down halls to her quarters next to her office.

In it she switched into bullet proof clothing before kneeling before an image of the saint

of death, made the sign of the cross and went off to greet the eventual dawn.

“She’ll come heavily armed, did you grab the guns in the SUV’s?” Jesus asked.

“Yes, we have all of them,” Santiago said.

“Did you pull the cartages from the burned one too? They most likely survived

the blaze.”

“We pulled what we could, only a little over half are usable,” Ines added.

“So how many people do you have? There’s the five of you. The four men and

me, it might be hard. But the armor piecing ammunition should be fine.”

“You? We were going to tie you up and leave you here,” Carlos yelled. “Wasn’t it you who threatened to have my mother raped.

“Words, they didn’t mean anything. You need another gun. I’m a good sniper.

Maria is the strongest person we have.” Bruno hesitated for a moment, noticing the face

of Santiago’s wife made.

“A woman? A woman has been sent?” Ines said.

“Deadly like you too I hear. I’ve seen her catch a bullet before and throw it back.

All you Mexican women are trouble.” 194

“Deadly...” Ines said fondly. “Like me.”

Jesus continued “After this, they wont send anyone else, they can’t. Ruben is

dead. They think I’m dead and the lawyer is old. Bruno will spin around waving those

skinny fingers, maybe throw a book or two but the lawyer will calm him down. I swear, they’ll quit after this. Then you can all leave. It’ll be tight, but Bruno doesn’t like to ask

for help. Even the lawyer wont be able to convince him.”

Santiago hesitated. “Why should we believe you? How do you know that will happen. For all we know, you could be lying to save face. People can’t catch bullets.”

Ines looked at her husband. “Some people can Santiago. I believe this man. We need to listen to what he says.”

“There are no trained men left and the capital only lends marines out once per year. If you kill them, they wont try anything. It’s happened to a few cartels before. More trouble than you’re worth kind of thing.”

“How can we trust you?” Monica asked.

“How can you prove I’m lying? Your brother there is recording. Would he be recording me if he thought I was lying? “

Santiago looked at Carlos. He had his phone running at his side from where he stood.

“Carlos what the fuck are you doing?” 195

“Let me do this dad, it’s too late. I already uploaded videos and pictures on the internet. See!” He held his phone out for all to see. Santiago and Ines could not read the

English.

“What does it say?” Ines asked.

“The bear of Michoacan,” Jesus said in his Californian English. Carlos ears pricked up at the accent so close to him. Jesus translated for the family.

“Why are they calling me that?”

“Everyone calls you a bear dad,” Manuel said. “Your big, brown, your hands are big. Not hairy though but you get the picture.”

“Even Bruno and the guys called you that too. Was it in the video kid?” Jesus said.

“Yes, your friend kept calling him the bear. People are following the story.”

“Interesting,” Jesus said. “The Americans must be watching.”

“Fuck the Americans” Santiago said.

“Fuck them all to hell,” Jesus replied.

Everyone except Carlos laughed. Their talk angered Carlos, Monica noticed her brother’s clenched fists. 196

“You can worry about that after we handle this,” She whispered to her brother.

“You can sneak out but not now, don’t let his words get to you.”

Alejandro returned with a large white board and markers from the study. Monica wheeled Jesus to the table. He smiled at her and she blushed. No one had ever made her

do that.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. They’ll be here soon, in a few hours.” Jesus drew the farm and the trees behind them. “Maria will press forward, from the main roads. She won’t utilize them correctly. She doesn’t know I’m here.” Ines eyes studied Jesus and they bulged every time they said the woman’s name. A woman was coming to stroke her

family down. “I know her, she thinks you lucked out with Ruben and to be honest, you kinda did. She wont use the marines to sneak in. If it were me, I would have them move

in small groups in order to pick you off.” Jesus continued to draw.

“Don’t forget that it was my mother who blew that hole in your leg and my sister that killed your men,” Carlos said.

Jesus sighed.” Very true, I could be talking out of my ass at this point, your sister killed all those men,” He looked at Monica. “You did great work; under different circumstances I think you could be someone.” Monica blushed once more and looked away in embarrassment.

Manuel walked to the table and punched Jesus in the thigh. “Don’t flirt with my sister!” he said, preparing another fist. 197

“Fuck, I wasn’t flirting, I’m almost twice her age!” Jesus yelled. “We need to keep going, Bruno is always OCD about things like this. Place your men at the ground

floor. Barricade around the house.” He drew around the house. “Here, here and here.

Make sure the barricades are thick. They’ll also have piercing bullets. They’ll snipe from the distance. This will be a long range fight. Every one should have a rifle. We need the best snipers, which I assume are your wife, your daughter...you?

Santiago shook his head.

“Your sons?”

Both boys shook their heads.

“Alright, I guess that just leaves the women and I. Isn’t that ironic.” Jesus laughed at his statement.

“You said not to kill her, why?” Ines grilled Jesus.

“I have my reasons,” He pulled the rosary out of his pocket. Santiago remembered the wooden rosary from months ago that Jesus wore around his chest when he came to this house months ago. “If she makes it close to the house, and she might, I need to be the

one to catch her, I can stop her. Are you getting this kid?” Jesus said, looking at Carlos who was filming on a tablet.

“Stop filming Carlos!” Santiago snapped. 198

“No, I like his plan. Maybe the Americans can stop this madness, they do tend to

get their way with most things.”

“Your people,” Carlos said.

“My people,” Jesus responded.

Alejandro emerged from the ground floor. “What should we do. The men are

armed and ready to go. What has the man said?”

The group formulated their strategy, moving all the furniture to the front of the house, padding it with blankets, pots, pans, mattresses, anything they could find to filter the power of the bullets. Those who were on the outside would wear the ill fitting bullet proof vests that were found in the cars. The vests were not enough for the bullets, but in conjunction with barricades, it would defend against shrapnel, which Jesus warned would be the biggest issue.

Carlos uploaded his videos onto the internet, their views slowly growing. The

interests and searches on the hashtag the Americans made was growing. He searched news sites; nothing, at least nothing yet. He checked his messages. Countless texts from

Astrid, she was worried and word had reached her. Alejo as well, his flight had come back the day before and came back home, against the advice Carlos had told him. He

shared his videos multiple times all through the night, trying his best to get the fire ignited in them. He grew more and more desperate as the morning sun arrived outside his window. 199

Maria, dressed in bullet proof clothing looked at the approaching farm. The

Humvees stopped when she gave the world. The marines exited with their full body amour and riot shields. They formed into a phalanx with two Humvee’s behind them.

This was her mission.

“Move forward,” She said. “Let’s begin.

The Bautistas and their allies formed into their ranks. The men downstairs behind the barricades. The women and Jesus upstairs. Carlos quickly put his phone and other devices all around the house and turned the auto record on. His phone was streaming live with all the tags the Americans had created. They would be voyeurs to their victory or

failure.

Monica shot first making a small crack on a shield.

“Again!” Jesus yelled. “Keep firing in the same place until it starts to crack! You too are beyond deadly, it should not be an issue. They’ll crack easily. These bullets are

strong.”

The men downstairs, fired the best the could, erratically and wild. The three

sharpshooters’ upstairs were more poised in their shots as the phalanx moved closer.

“Keep shooting!” Santiago yelled. 200

Jesus yelled directions downstairs. When they get closer, they’ll take their guns out and start firing, don’t let them get closer. Aim at their vehicles, it’ll be easier for you”

Ines and Monica kept aiming at the front of the shields until one finally gave way.

Monica took aim at the face behind it and shredded the head to a pulp with the high caliber rifle.

“Keep going!” Ines yelled.

Benito, one of Santiago’s men, took aim at Maria, less protected than any of the marines. He aimed his rifle the best he could and hired at the Humvee moving slowly.

The shining scope gave his position away, Maria side stepped, dodging the bullet.

Through his scope Benito could see the woman looking at him half a mile away. She hopped out of the moving car as the bullet exploded, shrapnel exploding inside the vehicle, killing the driver. She opened the driver’s door, pulled the body out and stopped the vehicle. His position now given away, Maria aimed her weapon in the direction of the house, pulling once, giving way to the barricade and then a second time, hitting Benito in his stomach, his insides splattering across the outside walls of the house.

“Fucking Christ!” Chuy, another farm hand yelled. He tossed his weapon to the

side and bolted behind the house, running as fast as he could away from the gun fight.

“Come back,” Santiago yelled. Chuy didn’t hear him. Chuy heard the whistling of

a barrage of spinning bullets. They tore him apart, blowing off his head, neck and upper part of his torso. 201

“You fucking bitch!” Alejandro yelled. He fired the best he could at the other car, hitting the tire and forcing the occupants out. Santiago’s bullet shot out the knee of the

driver and Carlos finished him off.

The women up top broke through another shield, this time Jesus pulled the trigger, detonating the soldier’s head, pushing the phalanx back momentarily before a new shield forced its way to the front.

Maria yelled “Now” making the men broke rank, scattering around in a circle, dousing liquid as they went from container they held. Ines pointed at one man and shot him down. Santiago took another one out. Manuel wounded one only for Alejandro finish the downed man. The circle incomplete Maria pointed her rifle at the wet ground. Jesus aimed his gun at her, his crosshairs had her exposed head in it, he felt the trigger but could not bring himself to pull it. Maria aimed and shot, igniting the liquid. The flames roared intensely and caught onto anything dry. The barricades caught fired.

“Upstairs!” Santiago yelled. They couldn’t fight the fire. Santiago stood post as as the two remaining men ran upstairs, Carlos followed suit, Manuel trailed last. Santiago heard the whistling he threw himself at Manuel, hoping to take the bullet. It was too fast, it caught he boy in the left bicep before Santiago could shield his body. The bullet shattered, leaving the boys arm dangling from the bone. His right eye had a piece of metal protruding out from it.

“MANUEL!” Carlos bellowed out. 202

“GET HIM UPSTAIRS NOW!” Alejandro yelled.

The group upstairs heard the name called. Ines put down her gun and ran

downstairs, her beloved son on her mind. Monica got up to leave before Jesus held her

down.

“No!,” Stay up here. I need you, there are too many of them. I can’t see them through the fire!”

She sat back down and continued to fire away, taking three men down. Maria

appeared in Jesus’ scope once more and once more he did not pull the trigger. He moved

onto another target and imploded his head.

Downstairs, Ines rushed to the boy. She let out a primordial scream, Maria heard

it and smiled at the pain in the yell. “In the house now!” She yelled.

One of the remaining men threw a smoke bomb upstairs and through the kitchen window.

“Down, go down! “Jesus yelled, Monica ran down the stairs.

Santiago placed the broken Manuel on the kitchen floor. Ines stayed glued to him.

He was barely breathing.

A man ran into the house, his automatic weapon in hand, prepared to fire. Carlos tackled him down. Ripped his helmet off and caved his head in with it. Santiago and 203

Alejandro heard movement from outside through the walls, they fired through them and heard bodies fall.

“Everyone inside, now!” Maria barked. She through more smoke bombs inside.

They detonated creating a deafening sound that plugged all ears up and conjured a haze that no one could see through. The flames caught ahold of the house and deadlier smoke began to fill the house.

Carlos and Alejandro caught two more men, they fell with hard thud. Monica ran downstairs only to feel two hands take ahold of her. Maria took to the side of the house, lifting herself above a shed, she jumped and caught ahold of the second floor window.

She climbed in, opened another one to filter out the smoke.

“Move downstairs, slowly. They wont hear you.” Her action plan racing though her mind.

A figure appeared.

“Maria,” Jesus spoke through the smoke.

She dropped her weapon to her side. Her jaw dropped, he was alive. Jesus held out the wooden rosary to her. She walked softly and gently towards it and took it.

“You kept it.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Did you pray?” 204

“Yes”

“Good.”

“Goodbye Maria.” he said, shooting her in forehead. She fell gently, the same way she walked. Outside, a small storm gathered. Maybe it was perfect chance, maybe it was a sign. Dark clouds formed and a shower began, cold and unyielding, it extinguished the fire and any hope left for all in attendance.

The smoke settled quickly, there was no one left, they were all dead. Jesus stumbled down the stairs to the kitchen. The boy was hit; he was tom up. The woman was catatonic and the bear and the oldest were arguing.

“Some one go the car outside. The one the woman was riding. You’ll find supplies in the back. Santiago dashed to the car, searched the back. A large bag full of medical supplies was there just like Jesus said. He rushed back the house where broken

Manuel was convulsing and Ines convulsed with him.

“Get him on top of the island, heat water up for me and bring me as much clean towels as you can. Carlos brought the towels and sheets, Santiago heated water while

Alejandro and Luis went off in search of Monica.

“You might not want to see this,” Jesus said.

“I don’t care. Help my son.” Santiago yelled. 205

Jesus had served in the military of the United states for a brief time, before he

deserted and fled to Mexico. He was a trained medic. He had never used those skills until now. He was a master of taking lives, not saving them.

The boys arm was damaged beyond repairs. He cut carefully until the arm was removed. He closed the wound up and bandaged it tightly. The eye was an easier fix. It couldn’t be saved either but its removal was easy. He had removed eyes in the past under different circumstances. Ines watched on coldly and grieved silently as Jesus, the man that had threatened her, cut away at her son’s body. As he removed flesh from Manuel,

Ines felt her soul being tom apart with him.

When he finished he called Santiago back in, only to find him gone. A half hour

later Santiago returned with the men and Carlos.

“Where were you? I’ve been done for almost an hour.”

“Monica, she’s gone.” Santiago said.

“Fuck,” Jesus exclaimed. Did you count the bodies?

“Twenty-five,” Luis, the farm hand said.

“Is that counting the woman?

“Yes,” Luis said.

“God fucking damn it,” Jesus yelled. 206

“Is she?” Carlos asked.

Jesus punched the bullet ridden walls. “I don’t know, there should be twenty-six bodies. If she was grabbed. I don’t know what might happen. Ruben and Maria are both

dead. Bruno might retaliate, use her a bargaining tool.”

Ines processed the words. She did not scream this time. She walked up to her broken son, so small in his injures. His left arm was a stump and bandages covered the right part of his face. She exited the house, entered the charred shed and entered the lime trees with a shovel. Luis followed her, a gun in his hands. He nodded at Santiago, promising to watch over her. Santiago watched over his boy while he slept. The rain did not stop, even in the middle of summer, the sky poured murky tears upon them. This was the kingdom of sorrow. The boys still lived, the boy still lived. His thoughts turned to his daughter, in the hands of his enemy.

Carlos entered his room, smelling of smoke, flesh and ridden with bullet holes. He unlocked his phone, opening the applications, moving videos onto the web, interest was up, but no one was paying attention anymore. He remembered the lessons his father taught him in the fields, how blood magic cast protection, how blood was the crux of everything. Carlos wondered if the trees were thirsty. He unlocked his phone and tapped away at the screen.

Edmund pulled the hood off Monica’s head. 207

“Young lady, I am impressed. Your little group killed all those men. And Miss

Maria. I guess she is human after all.”

Monica spat in his face. “Fuck off, “she shouted.

“No need to be rude,” Edmund replied, cleaning the spit off his face. “To be

honest with you, since I am legitimately impressed., ill let you in on a little secret. We’re

after your dad. You’re a bargaining chip at this point, someone is going to come in and

scare the shit out of you, maybe rough you up a bit but that’s the extent of it.”

She spat again. “I said fuck off!” she yelled.

“As you like,” The lawyer said, taking his leave.

Bruno entered the room, prepared to terrify the girl. When he entered the room

and met her eyes. The Red Man screamed in agony. Monica heard the red voice and her heart raced. Bruno threw all his planning away. The Red Man called on him to kill the

girl. He had never seen the Red Man afraid of anything. Monica knew in an instant that this was, it, the man and his red deity, she promised her father she would slay him,

destroy him. Something inside her grew, the trump card Ines had given her.

“Cut her down,” Bruno ordered the guard. “Take her outside to the courtyard”.

“Yes Sir,” The man said

“Take her upstairs, to the gardens in the back.” 208

Edmund poked his head in. “Bruno, what are you doing? You can’t take her out

for a walk. That’s odd, even for you. We need need this one, this is the daughter, the

bear’s daughter.”

Bruno did not reply. Monica was led to the massive, open garden in the back. The

guard cut the rope around her wrists. She stared the sickly looking man down as he

removed his jacket and shirt.

“The Red Man has commanded that I fight you. You are a thorn in his side. He

rages and it hurts me when he rages”

Monica looked on at the man and began to see the red behind him. This was the

moment her father had prepare her for, what her mother had prepared her for. “I will kill

you, and what’s ever behind you. I am my father’s daughter.”

Bruno laughed on. “There is only the Red Man, he speaks to me and my hands tremble!”

They sat silently in front of each other. Their only common thread was Carlos,

whom they both loved. They didn’t like each other that much after Alejo began flying out

for work and Astrid began visiting schools. The older they got, the more different they became. So many common grounds eroded into nothingness, the only constant, the only bridge between them was Carlos, who each of them loved. They tolerated one another,

only for the sake of the person they each loved.

“You got the same tweet right?” Alejo spoke first. 209

“Yes, word by word,” Astrid replied coyly.

“This isn’t a competition.”

“It sort of is. We’ve been going back and forth for over a year. I imagined it’d be

catfight when we met one on one,” Alejo rolled his eyes at Astrid only to her roll hers in

return.

“He’s leaving; he wants us to go with him. Did you see the video; did you see

what they did.”

“It’s all over my feed. Is Manuel still alive?”

“I don’t know; I really don’t know. I saw it too, it was the original video and a

link to a gore website of all things.” Astrid crossed her arms in the living room of Alejo’s

house and shook her head at the state of the world they lived in.

“I’m going, you should come too,” He said.

“We’ll end up fighting.”

“Maybe, or maybe we can make it work somehow, or maybe you’re right and it’s

a bad idea and everyone will have their heart broken. You brought a bag though. I saw

you toss it in the bushes but I saw you carry one.”

“If he’s leaving. I’m leaving too. College is one thing, an education doesn’t teach

you, let alone protect you from the world,” Astrid looked in the direction of the door, the threshold to the insanity outside. “Or protect you from it, the real, real world.” 210

“We can make it, the three of us. I’ve done it before. Only once but I know how to do it. We can even take a boat. We all speak English; we wont raise any alarms. We can make...something work eventually.”

“I’m not going to disagree with that. We’re different, our generation I mean. We see the world for what it is and rebel against it, I’ll rebel against it with you if it means

Carlos lives. Is that okay with you?”

“Yes, we should get moving before the sun arrives. He wants to sneak away before they come back at dawn,” Alejo said, lifting the sack he had used the very first time he crossed into the United States. One more time he would make the journey.

“Let’s go then.”

The two walked in the early morning hours headed in the direction of the Bautista farm where Carlos Bautista, their only common thread waited for them.

Santiago waited all night for Manuel to stir. Jesus told him the trauma was severe.

He would need to be taken to a hospital. There were no working cars, everyone was exhausted and Jesus warned that walking away from the house would only call attention.

They were most likely patrolling the areas around the farm and the town as well. Outside,

Ines dug graves. She would not eat; she would not drink. After finishing the last one, she laid i t , the rain falling and beginning to pool in the hole. She laid there all night with

Benito looking over her vigilant. No one spoke all night. Carlos remained in his room, 211

frantically uploading, tagging, posting all over the internet, trying to conjure up some virtual magic that would save them.

The morning sun was on the horizon behind the ash grey clouds, dawn approached with her deadly routine for the third time.

“I’m going to walk out there, let them take me. Can I ask you to do something for me?” Santiago asked his hand and man at arms, Alejandro.

“Anything,” He replied

“Take them. You and Benito, take the boys and Ines and leave. I’ll distract them the best I can,” Santiago said. Alejandro looked down and then at Santiago.

“Benito and Jesus can do that, I’ll stay put.”

“No amigo, I’m injured/. Should be you,” Jesus interjected.

“They can’t die, not here,” Santiago said underneath his breath.

“Everyone dies eventually, that includes all of us.” Jesus said.

They heard the rambling from an old pickup truck. Green, dusty, with a logo of smiling orange on it, it was Don Chente’s truck.

“Is he mad? He’s going to get himself killed!” Santiago yelled.

Jesus swallowed hard “He’s, he’s not here for that.”

“How do you know?” Alejandro asked. 212

“Santiago killed the brother. The other brother. This brother works for us too.

Have your guns drawn. Be prepared to kill him too bear,” Jesus’ eyes did not flinch.

Santiago silently agreed.

The old man pounded on the door. The last time he was here, at the house and not

in the trees, Monica had just been bom. Ines had lost a lot of blood. Chente brought one of his granddaughters that volunteered to give blood. That was fourteen years ago, when the world was different. The old man knocked again. Santiago nodded and Alejandro opened the door.

The old man carried a large black box. Dried tears caked his wrinkled, earthy face. He looked at his adopted son and sobbed. He placed the box down in front of the group, fell to his knees and let out a wail.

“Don’t open it,” Jesus said. “I beg you, this will destroy you if you open it. Don’t die on the inside, that’s how he wants to kill you!”

Santiago shook his head, he needed confirmation. With a steel-like resolve he approached the box, obsidian in color, cold and metallic in weight and material. The initials BB were carved on top of it. His large hands undid the latch. The metallic box masking the blood; Monica. He quickly shut the box, closed it permanently and banished the image from his mind. Vincente continued to sob in the comer. Alejandro’s face was white. Jesus turned away in shame. Santiago helped the old man up and into a chair.

“Where are they?” He asked his second father. 213

“Not far, half an hour or so.”

“Do they intend to have you die here, are they going to kill you?”

“No, the boy threw money at me. Assigned me to take over Pancho’s job. It shouldn’t have been me,” The old man sobbed. “It shouldn’t have been me.”

“Are they expecting you to leave the house in your truck?”

“Yes, they told me to go straight home unless, unless I wanted to watch. He threatened to make me watch.”

“Take Ines and Manuel in your truck, in the back, cover them. Take them far away.” Santiago said calmly. “Are they watching? Do they have anyone else?” He asked in Jesus’ direction.

“You killed Ruben and the men, killed Maria and the marines. All whose left is

Bruno and the cops from the surrounding areas. There are no trained men left. He’s called your police force. He’ll tape it as contingency against what your son is putting on the internet. They’ll say you went mad and killed your family. Your daughters head in that box right there, it’ll make the story that much more enriching, believable. But to answer your question, no. There probably isn’t anyone watching, the old man is the way out.”

“Good, “Santiago said. “Load Manuel up, I’ll get Ines.”

Alejandro picked up the small dreaming boy, broken and mangled, wrapped him up in a sheet and laid him in the back of the pick up truck. Santiago returned with a 214

catatonic Ines. He lifted her up, an action she never once had permitted to do before. She

did not want to be carried, not even after their wedding. She did not protest. Santiago placed Ines in the back of the pick up truck, shrouding her with a blanket. He stoked her

long brown face, even after all this time she radiated warmth and love. Santiago loved his wife with all his heart. He kissed her on the cheeks.

“Get him out of here okay? Far away.”

Ines looked at her husband one last time. Her hands caressed his face.

“I promise,” Ines said.

Don Chente started the engine. The car engine kicked, putted out smoke, driving

off into the distance.

He entered his house, Carlos walking down the stairs from his room.

“There gone aren’t they?” Carlos asked.

“Yes,” Santiago said. “You didn’t say goodbye, how come?”

“This is why,” Carlos held out his phone.

“Again with the phone and the Americans.” Santiago said

“Don’t rule anything out,” Jesus said. Iguala came to light because of that, shit, people in the middle east started a revolution because of a fucking phone.” 215

“Dad, the sun is rising, they’ll be here soon let me show you what this phone can do.”

Santiago watched as sunlight cut through the bullet holes in the walls. They heard police sirens, many cars had arrived.

“Bruno is here,” Jesus said.

Carlos punched a hole in the wall facing the oncoming police force. He took out tape and postured the phone in the hole, opening up an application and hitting play.

Outside, a band of cars had arrived.

“What do we do?” Benito asked.

“Nothing.” Jesus said. “We’re all going to die here.”

“Not like this, just watch,” Carlos said.

From his black car, the same one Jesus had shown up to the house months ago,

Bruno Bencomo emerged, his arm in a sling, an eye patch across his eye. He was bruised.

“Monica” Santiago thought.

“You people...” Jesus said. “She did that, didn’t she...what are you people?” He

looked at the father and son in front of him, monsters, bears.

“Keep watching,” Carlos said. 216

The group looked on as the police force opened their doors and positioned

themselves behind them and pointed their guns. Bruno stepped out, brandishing the

missing knife.

“Look what I have, bear and family.” He waived it around, the quicksilver blade

glistening in the dark dawn.

“The knife, how did he get it” Santiago looked to Carlos.

“I don’t know, let him keep talking, watch dad.”

“I’m not talking about the knife. That’s not the most important thing here.

Watch.” Another car drove through the dusty road, a large antenna on a pole situated on top. “Morning news!” The van stopped, a woman with a microphone emerged along with two cameramen. “This will be fun. They call you the bear of Michoacan. I think you’ve earned that.”

“Fuck you!” Carlos yelled through walls.

“You. You were the one who was at the bar. The oldest boy. Look what I have,”

Bruno gave a nod, a police man pulled Alejo and Astrid from the back of a cruiser. “I

found them walking here. Two bags. You’re planning on running away aren’t you?”

Santiago glared at Carlos. “What did you do?”

“Dad, keep watching.”

Jesus pulled out his rifle. Carlos grabbed the nuzzle. 217

“No!” He said.

“Let me put them down before he tortures them. You do not want to see this!” He

yelled.

The police man forced the two onto their knees. He removed the gag from Alejo’s mouth. His teeth were all shattered.

“Watch,” Bruno yelled. An officer opened Alejo’s mouth, pulling his tongue out.

Bruno slashed it off. “Keep watching!” with his good arm he held onto Alejo’s ear.

Ripping it off. Alejo yelled in horror.

“Let me shoot him please,” Jesus whispered into Carlos’ ear.

“No!” Carlos shot back.

“This is boring. You use this knife to cut throats, right bear? Boy, keep watching!”

Bruno tossed the knife into the air, letting it fall, catching it effortlessly by the hilt he grabbed Alejo by the hair, pulling it back exposing his neck. He fished the knife through his skin, flaying away gently and easily, removing flesh as he moved the knife,

carving muscle, fat and skin off. Arteries and muscles were exposed to the open air.

Bruno tossed the knife to the ground, placed his fingers at the base of Alejandro’s neck, penetrating his hand into the boy’s neck. He shoved his arm down his thought into his chest cavity, moving his arm curiously, he found what he wanted and punched inside the chest. Bruno removed his arm from it’s sheath, Alejo’s still beating heart in his hand. 218

“Take the girl’s gag out.” A policeman removed the rag in Astrid’s mouth. Her teeth were not broken. He took her by the hair, dragging her closer to the house. “Are you watching boy? Bear? Friends?”

“I’m watching, “Carlos said to himself.

Santiago and the others could not do anything but watch.

Bruno shoved the heart into Astrid’s mouth. She struggled to spit it out, Bruno used his good arm to force her to chew, pressing her jaw down. “Take her pants off,” He ordered. “I hate this kind of thing. I thought you should all know that, it’s vile, a very vile thing. But I hate you more,” Bruno yelled.

The group could only watch as men took turns with Astrid from behind. They left her mouth untied. They heard every scream, every plea, every prayer. When Bruno snapped his fingers. They stopped. A man handed Bruno a rifle. He walked behind her, shoving into her exposed, intimate parts. He winked in the direction of the house an fired, the bullet hitting the concrete steps in the front. “Wasn’t that fun? Now come on out,

Santiago, we have much to do.”

Carlos took the phone from it’s place, switching the camera to his face, the phone still recording, uploading. He spoke to it.

“Santiago Bautista is my father and he is the bear of Michoacan.” He placed the phone back into the crevice.

‘What do we do?” Benito asked. 219

“Jesus,” Santiago asked.

“Yes.”

“Take Carlos and run from the back, make a break to the tress. They will shield you.”

“Your black magic?” Jesus said.

“No,” Santiago said. “This is all Carlos’ doing.”

“It had to be done dad. If we hold on for another hour or two, we can-“

“No. You leave now. My story ends here. You and Jesus, go. Both of you too.”

Alejandro and Benito shook their heads.

“Fine,” Santiago said.

“Dad, I promise you, one more hour and it will work.”

“Leave now. The trees will protect you, what you created, I don’t agree with it, but it will still work. The trees, they are singing.”

“Kid, we’re leaving.” Jesus took ahold of Carlos’ arm.

“Son?”

“Yes, dad?” 220

Santiago took ahold of his son’s head and touched his forehead with Carlos’. “I

love you, whatever you do in life, I know you’ll make me proud.”

Santiago and his men stepped out side the front door. Bruno Bencomo ordered the cameras to begin filming. From the back door, Carlos and Jesus ran as fast as they could.

All eyes were on the bear of Michoacan. The two ran, leaving everything behind. The police began their barrage as the three men charged, firing their guns. Benito fell first, a bullet placed perfectly at his temple. Alejandro was the next one. They shot him in the

stomach, then the chest, pumping multiple shot gun shells into his body until he fell.

Santiago felt the sting of the bullet, like wasps pinching at his skin. He saw the Bencomo man and the red deity behind him, laughing taunting him. He charged like a bear, the bear of Michoacan. The police fired but Santiago did not desist he reached Bencomo, grabbed him by his throat, lifting him up, breaking vertebra in the process, before he could snap the neck he felt a warm feeling in his neck. The quicksilver blade had kissed his neck, the entirety of the blade now in his neck, he let the go of the man, who coughed blood. He

felt strange, weak, the cameras captured him fall, the cellphone in the house kept recording. There were limes on the ground, limes still growing, blossoms dying and blossoms blooming. This was the final sight he wanted to see. Santiago heard the singing

of the trees and the land as he laid on the ground. There was time before men, before their

guns, before their homes and progress where nature dominated. Streams flowed through the land, quenching the thirst of the land. Santiago closed his eyes, joining the river and the lime trees. 221

They saw the fall, live streamed on TV. The edited version of the events was placed on the internet, with the footage that that Bruno wanted the world to see. It was too late. The recordings of the events spread like wild fire. It began with one person commenting, tagging a friend. A chain of webs began, people recognized Alejo by his pseudonym, that blew the blogs up. Astrid’s treatment drew anger across the hemisphere.

People in different time zones woke up to their friends, families and colleagues, urging them to watch the most important video that they would ever see. They saw the men fall, they saw Bruno laugh and crown himself victorious in the kingdom he called sorrow. He considered the rebellion squashed. People watched on as they saw Santiago Bautista charge Bruno Bencomo, no, they saw him charge the world. The hashtags, #bear,

#mexico,#mexicanbear and lastly, #thebearofmichoacan began to flood the internet. They knew the Santiago by that name and no other name. As Bruno Bencomo sat in his car, watching the police bum down the limes trees, Astrid’s mother cried fowl. She watched the viewing of her girl’s abuse. She screamed and screamed until the neighbors came, they watched the video too, they called their families all over Mexico, all over town, all over the United States. The leader of the progress in town had murdered many people.

They formed a small group in the middle of town. More people joined their ranks from surrounding towns, people came in cars, on horses, by foot, they knew the town by name, they knew the Bautista farm from the video. News trucks rolled into town, their reporters eager to get the news, get the truth, something never allotted in Mexico. People made calls, to people who made calls to someone who knew someone who knew someone.

Within two hours of the fall, the man presiding the country of Mexico received a stem 222

and cold call. He sent the most powerful men, someone had to answer the real call, it wasn’t going to be him.

Edmund looked out the window of the Bencomo estate. A few men walked around the perimeter. The mansion had been built fifty years ago and had been in the

Bencomo family for the past thirty. He looked at the sun blaring in the sky. He saw smoke approaching. Hundreds of people from the town, strangers and another police force. They carried with them cameras, guns and an ideal. Edmund greeted them at the front door. Laughing hysterically as they took him.

Bruno Bencomo’s car drove to the estate that his father had won over after years of feuding with other groups, other clans and even family. The sun was setting in the kingdom of sorrow. There would not be another killing dawn in the kingdom. He took the eye patch off, looking at what remained of his eye. He wouldn’t see out of it again. The bones in the arm would heal but not the eye. He had dueled the girl for hours and almost lost a few times. The Red Man backed up his fight with the bear girl who carried with her the spirit of the land, the power that trumped his red deity. Yet he succeeded, in killing her and killing her family. He had crushed them with his vermillion massacre. A blockade was in front of his home. Hundreds of people waited for him, at the helm was the woman, Anna, on the outside of the estate. Marines moved forward, forcing the police escort off the road. They pulled them out, shackling them and throwing them into the backs of paddy wagons. The marines held rank, holding back the crowd. The woman, the individual, Anna, she pointed, shouted. She stood on the shoulder of someone yelling at 223

the crowd and pointing with a wicked finger, one that would make the Red Man proud.

The group broke through the barricade, people, different faces, different shades of brown,

all individuals in life except for their anger. The marines shouted, ordering them to hold back, they held onto a few of them, but there wasn’t enough of them. They took to the

side of the car, flipping it to the side, shattering the glass. They pulled him out. Bruno

Bencomo called out to the Red Man to strike them down, after all, if he was able to strike

down the girl, these people would be ants. As they pulled his body from the open wound

of the car, he heard the laughing. It wasn’t the people, it was the Red Man, who did not

answer his plea. They held him down, pulling him by his scalp. “Animals,” he thought, as they dug into his body ripping him to pieces, the woman, Anna Munoz watching on. She blew him a kiss and then it was dark.

Ines sensed nature correcting itself. She felt the subtle heartbeat of her son, and that of Carlos. No Santiago or Monica. The heart beat she had recently learned, that of the man with the red god, his faded too, more violently. She wanted to take pleasure in that- she couldn’t. The boy stirred, waking up from his dark slumber. He awoke to pain.

Ines placed her hand to his lips and shushed him.

“Baby, please be still.” Red tears fell down her face. She looked in the direction

Don Chente was driving. She banged truck until he stopped. He stuck his head out the window, puzzled.

“Don’t drive towards the cities. Drive north west,” She yelled.

The old man looked puzzled. 224

“Take Manuel and I back to Durango, back to the mountains, to the house of my

mother, of her mother, and her mother before her.”

Chente nodded. Anything for her.

Ines stroked her boy’s face and pulled out a knife she kept at her side. The boy knew what was coming, no pain now would compare to his mother’s. He sensed her

gone. Manuel had taught himself to listen for his sister’s heart beat, today was the day he perfected, today was the day it ceased to beat. With the dull dirty knife, she carved revenge into his left shoulder. He whispered.

“Where are we going?”

“To the house of my mother.”

“Why?”

“It is where I will show you everything.”

The pickup truck headed in the direction of the mountains of Durango. To the black house where Ines came from. The house of her mother, her mother before her and her mother before her. The sun set among the red horizon onto an unknown future.

The two walked in silence. A day out and they had reached a town. Jesus tossed money at Carlos.

“Water, and those tiny energy bars. You know what they look like” 225

Carlos gave no reply and walked away. He entered the small shop. The eyes of

the customers and owners were on their phones and on the small TV with an antenna.

“The Bear of Michoacan” they said religiously. They talked of change, of revolution and

of taking back their land. One man mentioned villa, one man mentioned Zapata and a

woman mentioned Juarez. Their names entered one ear and left through the other. The

Bear, that was the only name Carlos cared for. Alejo and Astrid had been his birds; like

his father before him Carlos needed to make a grand sacrifice. He knew the farm had

fallen, everyone was dead. At least Manuel ad his mother made it out alive.

He placed the items on the counter. The men didn’t look and quoted him a wrong

amount, much lower than the goods he had on the counter. He took them into his bag and took more items on his way out, the store occupied with news of the bear.

“Did you get what I asked for?”

“Yeah,” Carlos replied solemnly.

Jesus pointed to a direction. North

“That’s where we’re headed.”

“You have a bad leg.”

“I can walk on it. I’ll bum the nerve endings tonight. If I can’t feel it, I can

continue, right?”

“Where are we going?” 226

“You know where, the north. I know you want to go there,” Jesus said in fluent

English. The words parading in Carlos’ mind. He knew the words, he had an accent when he spoke the tongue. He could navigate it, he responded in English.

“No, I don’t want to go there.”

“Your choice kid. Let knew know where you want me to take you. I need to get

away too. Why not America? You were so up in arms about it, I’m told.”

“I wont let them claim me. I wont be the tragic immigrant character. I have a name.”

“What is it? Your name?”

“My name is Santiago Carlos Bautista Kreuz, I am the son of Ines Kreuz and the

Bear of Michoacan.”

“They’ll sing songs about your father. You’ve ignited the country, shit, you’ve ignited the continent. The country will bum again. Is that what you wanted? Was that your dream Santiago Carlos?”

“Let it bum, I could care less. All I care about is that people know my fathers face, they’ll know his face, know his story and how he overcame death and fought an entire army!”

Jesus’ face widened with a smile. “What will you do,” Jesus looked at the Bear in front of him. “Santiago Carlos?” 227

“I’ll let myself be my own compass, my own guide. That is my world. I’ll write my own world, my own freedom.”

The two men walked next to each other. Heading in the direction of the sun

Carlos created.