We’re all inside when the knock comes.
“Doña Montaño? It’s César Jansasoy.”
We hurry to open it.
“Come in, come in!” says Mami, relief plain in her voice. She pulls over Papi’s old stool and asks him to sit.
César sits stiffly on the stool, glancing around. He pulls off his helmet and sets it on his knees.
“Did you find Daniel?” I ask, echoing my earlier question.
César shakes his head. “Not yet. But, with your permission”—he glances at Mami—“I’ll come by here on my way home after work and update you on the progress every day. That way you won’t have to send Ana to the mine to ask after me.”
I duck my head as Mami and Abuelita’s twin glares settle on me. I know they’ll scold me later for bothering César at work, but for now Mami just thanks him sincerely for his willingness to go out of his way for our family.
“No trouble, no trouble.” César waves off the thanks.
“Ana, go make some tea for our guest,” says Abuelita, and I scurry outside to do so. After all that César has done for me, the least I can offer him is a cup of tea.
As I sit by the pot, waiting for the water to boil, I think about how nice César is. I like that he always answers not yet when I ask about Daniel instead of no, and he always made sure to keep me safe in the mine.
He always made sure to keep me safe. My thoughts stutter to a stop. Is César still working to keep me safe from the miners who might do me harm? Is that why he’s walking three hours out of his way, round-trip, to come talk to us? Do enough of the miners blame me for what happened that it’s not safe for me to go back near El Rosario?
My thoughts drag up questions like an ore bin. And though I sift through the giant slag heap they make in my mind, I can’t find answers anywhere.
* * *
Four days.
It’s been four days since my father died and my brother vanished into the Mountain That Eats Men like heat through an open door.
Two nights that César has come by and assured us that every man in the mine has been searching for him, and yet, has found nothing.
Today was my second day with Mami and Abuelita, spending every moment that there is enough light to see breaking rocks to try to earn enough money to cover the costs of Papi’s funeral. Another day I’ve skipped school.
Four days, where without a man’s income, we have slowly run out of food.
Of course we didn’t buy meat, sugar, or any other luxuries. That wasn’t so bad. But this evening, after two days of backbreaking work, we walked down to the base of the mountain and handed over so much of what we’d made to the cemetery man that we couldn’t buy bread, just a few potatoes and some greens. And even that didn’t pay off our debt all the way. After dinner tonight, all we will have left in the house is a big bag of coca leaves. It’s true that chewing coca makes you less hungry, but that’s not the same as being full.
Mami sends me out to the cookstove to wilt the few greens into a soup. She says the iron in the greens will keep us strong. Abuelita snorts and tells her that there is more iron in meat and that would keep us all stronger.
Four days with Daniel missing.
I’ve just taken the soup inside when César shows up, right on schedule. Mami offers him a bowl of soup. He sips it politely while he gives her the update: still no boy; still no body. I can’t tell if he notices how thin the soup is. I can’t focus on the conversation he’s sharing with Mami and Abuelita. My thoughts keep twitching to Daniel, to the fact that they still haven’t found him. As soon as I possibly can without being terribly rude, I grab the dirty dishes and head outside.
I plonk them angrily into a shallow plastic tub and slosh water from the barrel over the bowls and spoons. Then I add some soap flakes and scrub at them with sand. I’m taking all my frustration out on the bottom of a bowl when César comes out of the house.
“I’m heading home now, Ana,” he says. “Good night.”
I want to tell him I appreciate what he’s done for us. I want to apologize for being rude. But when I open my mouth, what pops out is, “Do you think Daniel is dead?”
César lets his gaze drift away, over the edge of the mountain to the orange-and-rose-banded sky and the last hint of the setting sun.
“Like I told your mother: the men have cleared the rubble from the affected tunnels. The mining cooperative has closed the inquiry.”
I scowl into the wash water and scrub even harder at the bowl. “So no one’s searching for him? Everyone has given up on him?”
César considers me. “Your mother is worried about you,” he says. “The mountain has taken her husband and her son. It would crush her to lose you too. She wasn’t happy to hear that you went, alone, to the mine to ask about a boy who is likely dead. She knows how superstitious miners can be. You must promise me, Ana, not to come asking at the mine again.”
This is all true. I nod. There’s no point in asking the miners anything more. I know how they feel about me.
César turns to leave. I realize that he still never answered my question.
“Don César,” I call after him. He pauses. “Are you still looking for Daniel?”
For a long moment there’s a quiet where I stare at his shoulders and he stares off into the distance and I think he really isn’t going to answer me after all. Then: “He disappeared on my watch,” César says softly. “Even if I can only bring your mother a body to mourn, I look for Daniel every minute of every day I am in the mine.”
Though it’s the answer I wanted, it crushes something inside me to hear that even César is now thinking of the search in terms of a body, not a boy.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
César nods once and then walks away.
He has only just vanished out of sight when Mami comes bustling out of the house.
“There you are!” she exclaims. “Aren’t you done with those dishes yet?”
I glance down at the very, very clean bowl in my hands.
“I’m done,” I say, and toss the wash water onto the rocks by the door.
* * *
That night I find I can’t sleep.
I lie there, listening to the even breathing of my mother and grandmother, and I can’t stop the angry, twitchy feeling that comes over me any time I think about Daniel being gone for so long. Maybe they’re not looking hard enough, I think. You don’t try as hard when you think you’re searching for a corpse.
Then again, if they’re not right about Daniel now, they will be soon. If he’s in the mine, trapped, tomorrow he’ll start his fifth day with no food or water. Even if he wasn’t hurt at all by the initial cave-in, waiting will be enough to kill him. I can’t leave the search to people who think he’s beyond saving. I have to do something.
My eyes catch on the shadow of Papi’s miner’s suit, neatly folded in the corner with his helmet on top since the funeral. Getting to my feet, I run a finger over the stiff material. Slowly, barely believing I’m doing it, I pull it toward me. The suit slithers over me like a scaly second skin. I shiver, but lace the boots tightly. Then, setting the helmet on my head and putting some coca leaves and a bottle of water in a manta, I sling the bundle over my shoulder and sneak out of the house.
Just one quick look, I think as I start down the road.
Luckily, I only promised César I wouldn’t ask questions at the mine.
He never thought to make me promise not to go into it.
* * *
The entry lot to El Rosario is deserted when I arrive. They still must not have found a guarda to replace Mariángela. Still, just because there’s no official guard that I can see and it’s not an official shift time doesn’t mean that someone might not come by at any moment.
We call our twelve-hour day a “shift,” but the hours are hardly that official. The men who work in our cooperat
ive decided to claim this entrance and its tunnels and work from six in the morning to six at night. But there are more than two hundred cooperatives on the mountain, and each of them organizes differently. Plus, there are thousands of men who work the mountain who aren’t a member of any of the cooperatives. They hire out as laborers and they get paid by the day, not a fraction of the profits. Some men work sixteen-hour shifts. Some even work twenty-four, working deep in the mountain and fueling themselves with nothing but coca and alcohol. It can take six hours just to climb back to the surface from the lower tunnels, so it kind of makes sense, but I shudder to think what it must be like to routinely go that long in the heart of the rock.
Out of habit, I glance up at Victor’s house on the ridge. There are no lights on, which strikes me as odd. I realize I haven’t seen Victor at all in the crazy days since our fathers’ funeral and make a mental note to go visit him soon. But I don’t have time to think about that now. I need to get moving. Victor’s isn’t the only house within easy walking distance of the mine. César’s house, I know, is only about fifteen minutes away. If he were to catch me here, that would be super-awkward. And if someone else were to catch me here . . . I have no idea what they’d say—or do—to me if they found me lurking when they think I’m to blame for what happened five days ago. I hurry my steps.
I take a deep breath and reach up, grasping the edges of my helmet. My fingers fumble the knob and the lighter. My hands feel like they belong to someone else. Then the lit helmet is on my head and I’ve crossed into the mine.
For the moment, I’m alone in the entry tunnel.
Breathing hard, I clomp forward. Papi’s boots are far too big on me and the suit sags uncomfortably. I try to move as quickly and quietly as possible. By the time the moonlight from the outside world has shrunk to the size of a silver coin, I’m feeling a creeping panic. I had forgotten how much of a nightmare it is to be in the mines. And with every echoing step farther in, I’m super aware that the nightmare could easily get worse. Though I still haven’t met anyone else, I have no guarantee that the mines are empty, or that I haven’t been seen.
I turn the corner and find myself face-to-face with the devil that has haunted my dreams. He sits there in all his demonic glory, naked and aggressive, draped with strings of colored paper. Dark patches mark where he’s been splashed with alcohol. On the walls around him are char-drawings: places where the miners have held their lamps right up to the rocks, burning prayers for safety or little drawings of the devil onto them to hopefully buy another day of life by pleasing him.
Forcing myself away, I shuffle quickly to the vertical shaft opposite the devil. César said the miners have cleared the rubble from the affected tunnels and searched the whole area around the cave-in, so I don’t bother looking in or around zone two. Instead, I’m going to check the places the others haven’t. When I begged César to tell me every detail of the cave-in, he had told me that Papi and Daniel had been working in zone seven that day, so that’s where I’m heading first.
When I tip my head into the yawning hole in front of me, the weak light from my lamp bounces off the rough sides of the narrow shaft, but doesn’t come anywhere close to showing me the bottom. A quick peek down the black hole shows me that the first foothold is much lower than I’d like. Taking a breath to steady myself, I sit on the edge and turn, straining my arms to hold my weight as I grope around with my feet for the little ledge. As I do, my eyes catch the devil’s, right across from me. I consider making an offering to the Tío but decide not to. He’s taken enough from me already. His light-bulb eyes and the broken glass in his mouth catch the light from my helmet, and for just a second, my flame flickers.
He knows I’m sneaking around his hell without permission, I think. My feet scrape against the ledge I was looking for. I turn away from the devil and let go.
The trip down the shaft is truly frightening. The handholds and footholds are shallow and smooth from years of miners using them. My fingers are sweaty and Papi’s boots slide around on my feet. Half the time I have to support my weight by bracing my arms against opposite walls as my feet scramble for purchase on the worn outcroppings. Step by awful step I lower myself, fighting the pull of gravity and the will of the devil that wants me smashed in a red smear at the bottom. César rarely had me work these zones, and though I’m grateful he kept me to the more stable areas, at the same time I wish I had practiced this at least once or twice. Maybe with someone at the bottom to catch me if I slipped.
After what I know is only minutes, but feels like much longer, I see the floor of the zone five tunnel less than a meter below my feet. I let myself drop the rest of the way, and land in a crouch.
To my left, the floor plunges lower and winds out of sight. At the bottom of the slope, I see the eerie reflected glow of acetylene lamps leaking around the corner of a wall and hear the pinging of spikes on stone. To my right, there is only darkness. I freeze. It’s the middle of the night. There shouldn’t be anyone down here. Who are they? What are they doing? For a brief second my curiosity tempts me to sneak closer. Then I remind myself that, down here, alone, with no César to protect me from them, those men are more dangerous to me than the dark. Should I give up on this whole crazy idea? No. I know if I leave, I’ll never find the courage to come down here again, especially now that I know there are men working overnight.
Tiptoeing to prevent my boots from clomping and giving me away, I turn right.
The zone five floor slants steeply beneath my feet, and my lamp gives me nothing more than a small pool of light to walk in. I run my fingers against both sides of the passageway as I go, to remind myself that they’re not closing in on me. I study the floor carefully and try to slow my breathing. I’m already sweating in my suit from the heat, and the farther I get from the entrance, the more frightened I feel.
It’s a good thing I’m looking down, because suddenly, in the very center of the floor, a great hole gapes in front of me. A rope pulley has been rigged over it: it’s not a random hole. It’s the entrance to zone seven, where Daniel was last seen. I lean over it and tip my forehead, but the depth of the hole swallows my light as if it doesn’t exist. I feel dizzy and lean away again, sitting down heavily.
Is the air harder to breathe here, or is it me? I can’t tell. My light is still burning, so I tell myself I just need to keep going. If the flame can breathe, there’s enough oxygen for you too, I remind myself, and scoot on my behind to the edge of the shaft.
It’s wider than the one linking zones one and five, so I won’t be able to brace myself against the walls. I sit on the edge for a moment, my feet dangling in open space. A torrent of hot air washes up at me from below, causing my headlamp to flicker again.
The breath of the devil.
Shaking off the thought, I reach out and grab the two ropes of the pulley and tug them toward me. I consider them for a moment. They carry buckets of ore up and down day after day. The full-grown men probably use them to steady themselves as they climb down. They should absolutely support my weight. Then again, ropes break all the time.
I take a deep breath and push off from the edge.
For one heart-stopping moment I swing in empty space. Then my back hits the opposite wall of the shaft. I twist around until my boots are scraping the sides and then lower myself down, hand over hand.
I have no idea how deep this shaft is and now I’m really regretting not telling anyone where I was going. If I vanish, I will never have said goodbye to Mami or Abuelita. And even if they guess that I came down here looking for Daniel when they see Papi’s gear missing, no one, not even César, will have any idea where to start looking for me.
This is insane, I decide, and reach up instead of down, set to haul myself to the surface instead of continuing to risk my own death to prove someone else isn’t dead.
I’m just tensing the muscles in my arm to pull myself out of the shaft when the beam from my headlamp sw
ishes past a dark patch on the tunnel wall. I let the spin of the rope pivot me around and stare. There, burned into the side of the tunnel with the flame from an acetylene lamp, is the letter D.
I have no idea whether it’s my Daniel who has graffitied the wall or some other boy with the same initial who did it five, fifty, or four hundred years ago. Though he’s a mischief-maker, I can’t really picture my brother, with his weak arms and bad lungs, hanging from this rope like I’m doing now and deciding to scorch his initial onto a wall. It might not even be a D, come to think of it. It might be a lopsided O, or even a circle that was supposed to be part of a larger drawing. Still, I take it as a sign. I relax my grip again and slide farther down the rope.
When my feet land on the floor of zone seven, I prowl the dips and ridges like a hunter, swinging my light, searching for any clue of what happened to my brother, picking my way over the uneven floor. Climbing over a boulder, I trip in my too-big boots, landing heavily on my hands and knees. I’m about to heave myself onto my feet again when my light catches the edge of something caught in a crack at the base of the wall.
I reach in and, to my amazement, pull out a little mud angel. Fingers trembling, I turn it over in my hands. There’s no doubt. It’s the one I made for Daniel the day before he disappeared—I can still see the swells and dips of my thumbprints where I pinched the wings smooth.
My laugh is as shaky as my fingers. This little mud angel would never have held up in a cave-in. The fact that it’s still in one piece lets me hope that maybe, just maybe, my brother is too. But what on earth is it doing all the way over here? This is nowhere near where cave-in occurred. Nowhere near where they’ve been looking for him.
There’s a part of my brain that says he could have left this here before the disaster, but I shush it. For the first time in days I have real hope, and I can’t wait to take this home and show Mami and Abuelita. At the very least, this should give César a direction to start a new search.
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