Each of Us a Desert

by Mark Oshiro

  “What do I do next?”

  Her story awoke again. Loneliness. Panic. They intertwined within me, reached for her. I pushed them down.

  Next? I couldn’t answer that for her. I barely knew what I was doing. Who I was. What the future held for me.

  But I hesitated too long. She looked back down, then said, “I need something else. I’ll take some food, too.”

  She walked out the doorway.

  “Emilia!” I called, and I chased her out into the brightness. “Emilia, stop!”

  She slowed and turned her head toward me.

  “Please don’t leave,” I said, and a memory from her story flashed in me: Alegría leaving for the last time and Emilia not knowing she’d never see her again. I clutched my stomach. “Talk to me. I need to know.”

  “Know what, Xochitl?” she said. “There’s nothing more to tell. I gave you my story.”

  “You lied.”

  I had not intended to blurt it out, but once the words flowed from me, they sat between us, pushing us apart, widening the chasm.

  “Do you think you deserve the truth?” she shot back. “Is that what I owe you?” She came toward me, crossing the divide in a few furious steps. “You think because you’re a cuentista that you deserve everything there is to know about me?”

  “No, I don’t think that! But you just killed your father in front of me! And none of this would have happened if you hadn’t lied to me about him chasing you!”

  Her features twisted in anger. “I don’t owe you anything, Xochitl. I only have to get you to Simone and that’s it.” She fixed a scowl onto her face. “We’ll leave tomorrow.”

  She stormed off. I watched her leave; she had twisted her hair into two braids that bounced off her back. Then she disappeared into the crowds of Obregán. Gone.

  Sweat lined my skin, and I stomped back into the building to escape the sun, to get myself farther from Emilia with each step. Hadn’t I just helped her? Hadn’t I killed something to save her? She used me as a cuentista, and now she wanted to throw that in my face?

  Chavela was inside the doorway, and I sagged a bit when I saw her, my own shame rising up. She had to have heard us. But she smiled at me. “You need somewhere to stay tonight, chica?”

  And just like that, Chavela’s kindness wore down my ire. “For the night, I guess,” I said. “We have to leave in the morning. Have a journey to make.”

  There were two people next to the iron pot, and the savory smells hit my nose. They kissed each other, then continued cooking as we moved past them. “Anyone is welcome here,” she said, “as long as they can contribute something.”

  I pointed toward the entryway I had used earlier. “Let me clean up … the mess,” I suggested. “And I can help with a meal if needed. Or hunt for water.”

  Chavela chuckled at that. “One good thing about Obregán is that no one pays for water. I’m sure you’ve seen the public fountains and wells. They’re for everyone. But cleaning … that will help.”

  She got a broom for me, as well as a bucket of water. She added a few drops of another oil to the bucket, and a sweet, sour scent filled the air. I washed off the boards and swept away the gore as best as I could, and it wasn’t long before I noticed that the stench from the refuse pit was completely unnoticeable. Navarro stayed silent as I cleaned.

  “You’re passing through, ¿no?” Chavela asked me.

  “To Solado,” I said. “Where Emilia is from.”

  Navarro used a broom to push some of the filth toward the door. “Ah, sí. Solado. We know.”

  I frowned. “From Emilia?”

  “She has told us stories,” said Chavela. “She always said she was going to go back for Luz.”

  “Well, she’s taking me there,” I said.

  Chavela looked at me without speaking. She did not ask the obvious, though.

  “Where did you come from?” Navarro asked.

  “Empalme. You heard of it?”

  He nodded. “From the south. Not so far as Hermosillo, pero … eso es muy lejos.”

  “Why so far, Xochitl?” Chavela asked. When I lifted my eyebrows at her, she held a hand up. “I heard Emilia say your name.”

  “Are you visiting Emilia’s home?” Navarro said.

  I knew I couldn’t tell them the truth. They were still strangers to me. So I pushed away the urge to let it all come forth, to finally be true with someone.

  “Something like that,” I said.

  Chavela took the broom from me. “You’ll be in good hands,” she said. “She’s a good soul, that Emilia. You can trust her.”

  I frowned and opened my mouth to respond.

  “I can only say this,” she continued, raising a hand up. “We met once, me and Emilia. And I could tell from her stories that he was not good to her, that something horrible had happened. She will need to deal with this, Xochitl, and she’s going to need someone to help.” She paused. “Even if that means giving her some space.”

  I nodded. That made sense, but …

  Why did it have to be me?

  I cleaned off the ground as best as I could, and Navarro threw another bucket of water over the stain, which had dulled in vibrancy. He told me to let it sit awhile, so the three of us gathered in the shade on the eastern side of the building, and we talked for hours. They told me more about how they had come to Obregán, why they stayed, what the world was like outside the desert. “I’ve never been to Solado,” Chavela admitted, running her fingers through her long gray hair. “But I’ve heard it’s beautiful, in a terrible sort of way.”

  “We’ve been losing a lot of people to that place,” said Navarro. “It’s opened up some work here, which is good for a lot of us.”

  “Do you think you’ll ever go to Solado?” I asked, drinking down more water, thankful that my headache had finally subsided.

  Chavela shook her head. “I love it here too much. Look at what we have! This place is so alive, so vibrant, so interesting.” She laughed then. “Además, soy una vieja. I don’t think I could make a journey like that. You’re young. You seem like you can handle your own.”

  But could Emilia? Or would she continue to rely on me?

  When night fell, las estrellas above Obregán had to compete with the lights of la ciudad. We were still in the same spot, our backs against the wall of the abandoned building, the building of el olvidado, and I leaned my head back, took in the twinkling starlight. They had never quite looked like this, because I had never seen them from this place.

  It was new. And I appreciated that.

  Emilia came back as we stared at the sky above us, trying to find the brightest star. I almost missed her, but she paused before she darted around the edge of the building.

  “Go,” Chavela said. “Talk to her. If she needs it.”

  Inside, most of the people were curled up on their sleeping rolls, and a few of them were quietly talking to one another. Emilia stood next to her own bag, which Chavela had moved to the eastern wall. I approached her carefully, as her back was to me. “Emilia…,” I said, trying the name out on my tongue again.

  She didn’t react. I stepped closer.

  “How are you?”

  It was such a weak, ineffective question, but I didn’t know what else to say, what else could break through the wall between us.

  She had on different clothing: camisa and breeches, both of them the color of wet dirt, a shade or so lighter than her own skin. But those elegant boots were still on her feet, and I wanted to laugh. They seemed so impractical.

  I took a risk. I lifted my hand, let it graze her shoulder. She let me lay it there for a bit before she twisted away and focused on unpacking. “We should get some sleep,” she said. “Since we need to leave in the morning.”

  She wasn’t wrong, but the way she said it brought all my anger back. “Bueno,” I said. “We’ll leave just after dawn.”

  Emilia didn’t look at me. She stretched out on her roll, then turned to face the other wall.

  I wan
ted to know more. I had so many questions about her, her lies, her need for me. But as I unrolled the thick cloth on the ground, the memory of what she said prickled my skin.

  I don’t owe you anything, Xochitl.

  I had lied to her, too. I was overflowing with secrets. And Julio would have gone after her even if she hadn’t lied to me. Why had I said otherwise? Why had I been so cruel? My stomach rumbled at the memory, and I feel asleep to a deep shame. I was not who Emilia thought I was.

  I was worse.

  Chavela woke me up the next morning with a gentle nudge in the side with her foot. I had slept soundlessly: no restless tossing and turning, no sueños. When I sat up, I looked to my left.

  Emilia and her things were gone.

  Disappointment ripped through me.

  Images filled my mind:

  Alegría leaving.

  Omar on his bed, staring at his husband asleep next to him.

  Manolito standing over the burning remains of Julio’s shipment.

  They were so vivid, Solís. Is this what happened when a cuentista kept stories? Could I now recall these events as if I had actually experienced them?

  I rolled onto my back, stretched out my sore muscles. I faced a whole day of travel with Emilia, and I had no idea where we were going. I lay there, unmoving, unmotivated. Should I do this? Should I venture out into the horrible unknown with someone who was basically a stranger?

  “There are some warm tortillas and frijoles by the fire,” Chavela said, and I looked in her direction. “Relieve yourself out back, and then get some food in you before you leave.”

  I ran a hand over my belly, unsure whether the pain I felt there was the stories or my monthly cramps. “Gracias, Chavela,” I said, standing up. I did as she said, relieving myself in a small pit that opened up into the larger one. I returned to el olvidado and greeted some of the others, many of whom were readying themselves for a day of seeking work. I packed up my belongings, and Chavela was waiting for me near the northern entryway.

  “There’s one of our public wells a few streets over,” she said, taking my hands in hers. “And I want you to know…” She smiled at me, dropped one of my hands, and then reached out, caressing my cheek. “… you are welcome here, Xochitl. I don’t know what sort of journey you are on, but this place will always be here for you.”

  Chavela’s eyes sparkled. She meant it, Solís. She offered me a home, a place I could have as my own, and she barely knew me. What did it take to trust someone else like that? How had she maintained such goodness of heart after seeing so many terrible things?

  Maybe it was a choice. Maybe we all had one.

  I told Chavela that I would get water and return to wait for Emilia. Then I walked out into the sunlight, out into the crowds of Obregán. It was so easy to vanish into the flow of people, and that left me with a new sense of isolation. It didn’t matter that there were so many other souls around me. As I walked eastward, people brushed past me, never casting anything more than a quick glance, and then they continued on their way. I meant nothing to them.

  El olvidado.

  It made sense now, how people could become forgotten in a place this large.

  I refilled my goatskin bag with cool water at the well Chavela had described, then let it pour over my head, trickle down my back. I shook it off.

  You can do this, I told myself.

  “Xochitl!”

  I spun around, and Emilia was running toward me.

  My heart flopped at the sight of her. Was that excitement? Fear?

  Both?

  “Chavela said you were here.” Emilia bent over slightly, trying to catch her breath. “I … I didn’t want you to leave without me.”

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “Emilia, I don’t know where I’m going. I have to go with you.”

  “Oh.” She traced a pattern in the dirt with her boots, both of which were now coated in a fine dust. “Right.”

  The city moved around us as we stared at each other. People rushed by; a bell rang in the distance; shouts echoed off the walls. The din was overwhelming. Smothering.

  “We just have to—” I said.

  “I think we—” Emilia began, interrupting me, and then we both smiled, laughter spilling afterwards.

  “You go first,” I said.

  She grabbed my hand—my heart fluttered again—and she pulled me off to the side, closer to the red clay building and out of the way of the streaming crowd.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “This has been … a lot. A lot to deal with.”

  “I know,” I said, combing my hair out of my face.

  “And I didn’t expect any of this to happen. I never thought I could stand up to him, not after everything he’d done.”

  She continued to run the toe of her boot in the dirt. I knew exactly what she was referring to because … well, her story was still alive inside me. It shivered deep in my stomach: Loneliness. Abandonment. Terror. She had been so afraid to act, and …

  .… she felt guilty about it, didn’t she? She was convinced she could have done more, and done it earlier.

  “But you did it.”

  Emilia looked up at me.

  “He’s gone. El sabueso is dead. You’re free.”

  She nodded. “I just … I just acted. I didn’t really think about it. I grabbed the axe after you dropped it, and then got behind him and…”

  Emilia gulped, and then she focused on a spot on the ground. I let the horror pass, let the reality of what she’d done sink into her. She breathed in deep, then looked back to me.

  “What was it you just said?” she asked.

  “Uh … well, I said that he’s gone. And you’re free.”

  “I never have been,” she said. “I was stuck beneath the ground in Solado. Lied to. Trapped there. And when I was freed from that place, he kept me in his clutches.”

  I squeezed her hand. “No longer.”

  She let go and rubbed at her face. “So … what do I do now? What do you do when you’re free?”

  I hadn’t figured that out for myself. And was I free? Was I liberated from what held me back? Not yet. I had one thing to do, one thing left to accomplish.

  “You do what you want,” I said. “And it seems to me that you want to find Luz.”

  “I do,” she said, breathing out in relief. “I know it’s going to be dangerous to head back, but I can’t leave her behind.”

  “Vámonos,” I said. “We need supplies. And I need to know more about Solado.”

  She hoisted her sack farther up on her back. “I’m sorry that I took out my frustration on you. I don’t know why I reacted that way.” She paused, then narrowed her eyes at me. “Sometimes I feel drawn to you, and I don’t know why.”

  That flutter again. Did she feel it, too, as I did? It made no sense to me. I hadn’t known Emilia that long, but … was I drawn to her as well?

  Heat rushed into my cheeks and I looked away. “Don’t worry about that,” I muttered, then changed the subject immediately. “Well, let’s pick up some food. How long is the journey north?”

  If she wanted to talk more about what she’d just revealed to me, Emilia did not make it clear. Maybe she was thankful to discuss something else, because she jumped on the change of subject. “A few days if we don’t take long breaks,” she said. “We stopped a lot on the way down, but that’s only because my father visited so many settlements.”

  She went quiet then as I guided us back to El Mercado de Obregán. La ciudad was as alive as it had been the day before, as was El Mercado. We squeezed through people negotiating at the stalls, stopping only to try some colorful pastries from a panadería. Full of sweetness, we perused the available food. I picked out mostly things that wouldn’t spoil in a few days, that would keep our energy up and help us on the journey to Solado.

  At least I assumed the journey north would be difficult. Since I had left home, I had already traveled farther in a single day than I ever had before. I had walked for hours, and if Emilia was c
orrect in her estimation, I had more of those days ahead of us.

  But … how sure of that was she? How did she actually know the route back to her home?

  I didn’t question her aloud, and with our bags full of supplies, we joined the procession out of Obregán on the northern road, following behind a couple of carts loaded up with fresh vegetables and grain. We walked in silence as the tall buildings gave way to smaller ones, as the shadows shrank and disappeared, as people turned off the main road toward their destinations, wherever they lay.

  It took us nearly an hour to reach the edge of Obregán, and I could see enormous montañas in the distance. Here, the homes were spread farther out, laid closer to the ground, and there were more animales roaming about, like cattle, cabras, and perros. I saw camisas strung out to dry in the morning heat, children playing together, running between houses.

  We observed it all in silence, two strangers awash in our unfamiliarity with the world around us. I knew that it had to be uncomfortable for Emilia, who grew up in the shadows beneath the ground, to see children free in the open air. But it was strange for me, too, because life in Obregán did not seem constrained. People were free to come and go as they pleased. They were not bound to stay in one place.

  And then Your presence, Solís, was so minimal. I barely heard Your name. No one seemed to be terrified by the presence of las pesadillas. Where were they? Were none of the people here tormented by their refusal to admit the truth?

  Why were the stories around You and las cuentistas so different in Empalme?

  There was a final well next to the northern gate to La Ciudad de Obregán, and we slaked our thirst and refilled our waterskins as one of los guardias watched us. I expected him to say something, to demand payment, but he gave us a curt smile before he focused his attention on the north.

  That was it.

  With my goatskin bag full and Emilia’s canteen overflowing, we left La Ciudad de Obregán.

  We crossed the boundary into the desert, which stretched before us, las montañas far in the distance. Your heat bore down on us as You climbed the deep blue sky. It was always hot during the daytime, but I could tell that today would be particularly intense.