Treasure of the World

by Tara Sullivan

  I swallow and go on with my story. “My brother just vanished, Doña. Everyone thought he was dead even though we didn’t have a body to bury.” I leave out the fact that everyone blames me for the disaster, and I feel dirty for it. “I went into the mine to look for my brother.” I decide to also skip the mystery men in the tunnels because I have no explanation for why they were there at midnight using dynamite. “My tunnel collapsed, my light went out, and I lost my way in the darkness. I was down there for two days. Finally, I found myself in a cave with no way out, ready to die . . . and then . . . then Yenni’s brother, Santiago, heard me calling out, and threw me a rope, and they pulled me up and brought me here.” Tears are choking my voice, but my story is finished anyway, so I stop talking.

  There’s a long pause where no one says anything. Doña Arenal’s piercing gaze rests on me. A lifetime of being seen as lesser makes me wilt a little inside, but I keep my shoulders back and my head up. You faced down the devil in the mines, I tell myself. She can’t be worse than that.

  “Well,” says Doña Arenal, breaking the silence. “Well.” She smooths the front of her severe black dress and seems to change what she was about to say. “You can stay in the maids’ quarters tonight, but then you must leave. Say your prayers and thank God you’re alive, child. The rest of you, get back to work.” With that, she turns and sails out of the kitchen like a giant warship in a time of peace.

  I hear the collective sigh as the maids and I let out a breath. Then Yenni giggles.

  “What a story, eh?” she asks me, eyes sparkling. “You went down into the mines to search for your brother. Really? That’s why you were in there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well?” She pulls over a basket of laundry to fold and sits across from me at the table. “Did you find him?”

  I glance from her to the three maids behind her, all openly curious. I reach into my borrowed pocket and pull out Daniel’s clay angel. It’s the worse for wear after all it’s been through, with the tips gone off both of the wings and chips out of the hem of its dress.

  “No,” I say, putting the clay figurine on the table between us. “But I found this little angel he had with him.” I feel the hot prickling of tears behind my eyes and take another spoonful of broth to cover it. Having spent two days lost in the mine, I realize just how impossible it is that Daniel could still be alive after—what would it be now? Six? Seven days?

  Across the table from me, Yenni is folding small squares of black cloth into fancy shapes, lining them up on the table between us. I appreciate Doña Arenal allowing me to stay here, but Mami will be terribly worried about me. Now that I’m her only child, I need to get home to her as quickly as possible.

  But just then, the dishwashing girl speaks up. Her voice is so soft we would never have heard it if anyone else had been talking.

  “My brother said there’s a mining boy who showed up in town a few days ago who’s fighting for cash. Do you think that might be him?” she asks the room.

  “What?” I ask, my heart pounding in my chest. I can’t imagine Daniel fighting for money . . . He was never very strong. But still . . . a miner boy showing up just a few days ago? It’s too much of a coincidence. Could it be?

  “When was that, Juana?” Yenni asks.

  “The day the boy was first seen in the city,” Juana whispers to the wall, never pausing her washing, “was three days after the cave-in.”

  “The cave-in that killed your uncle?” asks Yenni softly.

  Juana nods. I feel nausea roll through my belly. Does she know that people blame me for that cave-in? Does she now blame me for her uncle’s death? I find I can’t make myself eat any more.

  But then my brain jumps to what she’s saying. My hands start to shake and I curl them into my lap.

  Could it be? Could it really be that Daniel is alive? And not only alive but here in the city instead of trapped in the mountain somewhere? Having just given up on him, it feels almost painful to hope again. But it’s possible, isn’t it? After all, I found a way out. Maybe Daniel did too.

  I frown. If he is alive, why on earth hasn’t he come home? Why didn’t he send word? He must have known that Mami, Abuelita, and I would be frantic, that César would have the men tearing the mine apart searching for him.

  Then I remember the last conversation we had together. I don’t know how much longer I can take it, he had said, and I had joked, You planning to run away to a green valley or a sparkling city? He hadn’t answered. My stomach drops.

  Would he actually have done that to us?

  * * *

  I wake up the next morning to hard sunlight coming through a glass window. I had spent a few hours last night with the maids in the kitchen but had gotten so sleepy that Yenni packed me off to bed ridiculously early. After my difficult hike down the mountain, I fell right to sleep.

  I prop myself up on my elbows and consider my surroundings. I’m in Yenni’s room in the maids’ quarters, with a plain wool blanket wrapped tightly around me. I untwist myself and struggle to my feet. After water and food yesterday I’m much better today, but my body still feels weak from my time lost in the mines and my twisted knee is killing me.

  I limp across the gardens to the kitchen. I see the cook and Juana, the quiet dishwashing maid from last night, but Yenni and the other maid aren’t there at the moment. Yenni must have gotten up before dawn to start work.

  “Sit down,” barks the cook. “I’ll get you something to eat.”

  “Thank you, Carmencita,” I say, pleased I remember her name. I take my place from last night, at the wooden table. The smells of the kitchen are amazing, and I find my stomach pinching painfully as I wait for the cook to finish what she’s making and bring it over to me. My stomach grumbles, embarrassingly loud. The stocky woman glares at me from across the room, as if hunger in her kitchen were an unforgivable offense.

  “Here.” She marches over and plunks a tin mug in front of me. “The tourists drink coffee, but I’ve poured you a cup of api.”

  I sniff the thick purple liquid in front of me. In our house we never had anything for breakfast other than coca tea. Food is so expensive we usually only eat once a day—sometimes twice if the price of mineral is high. I’ve never had api. I take a cautious sip.

  For someone used to clear tea, api is overwhelmingly rich: sweet, spicy, thick. I sigh with pleasure. Carmencita levels a glare at me from across the room. I worry she might have thought that was a criticism.

  “It’s wonderful,” I say sincerely. “What is it?”

  Her face softens.

  “You make it from ground purple corn, water, and pineapple. Some people make it with oranges, but that’s no good.” Her words are terse, but she seems pleased. “Then you add cinnamon, sugar, and cloves.” She turns away from me again, but her shoulders are relaxed and I can see she’s not angry with me.

  Pineapple? Cinnamon? It sounds like a lowland drink. They would have to truck all that stuff up here from the edges of the Amazon rain forest where it grows. No wonder I’ve never had it before. I relax and sip my api happily. I can feel my belly filling, so I am stunned when Carmencita turns around and places a plate in front of me.

  “More?” I goggle at her.

  She gives me a satisfied look and walks away.

  I stare at the plate. An entire roll of soft white bread and three squares of homemade cheese. It’s a feast. I can’t believe my luck and dig in hungrily. Of course, soon I have to slow down, but I force my near-starved stomach to hold as much as it possibly can. I’m not going to throw out the best breakfast of my life.

  I chew slowly and take in the kitchen around me.

  “Where’s Yenni?” I ask. “And the other maid?”

  “Out,” answers Carmencita. “Yenni and Gisele are at the market buying meat and vegetables for dinner.”

  Meat, I think, and try not to let my greed s
how on my face. Cheese for breakfast and meat for dinner? I’m in heaven. Stop dreaming about food and focus! I scold myself. I have a job to do: go into the city, find Daniel, and then get home to Mami as fast as I can.

  “Thank you for the food,” I say, finishing up the bread and cheese and drinking the last of the api.

  She takes my plate, stacking it by the sink where the quiet Juana is already elbow-deep in soap suds.

  I sit for a minute or two more, but then I start to get twitchy. Never in my life have I sat around while other people do work for me. I clear my throat.

  “I don’t know what I can do,” I say quietly, “but until Yenni gets back and can take me into town, I’d like to be useful, if I can. Is there anything I can help you with?”

  And I might be wrong, but I think I see a tiny smile on Carmencita’s face before she turns away.

  * * *

  Two hours later, chapped to the elbows in a giant tub of washing, I’m reconsidering that smile.

  I rub at a stubborn stain on the white tablecloth in the sudsy water in front of me, shoving it under the water and attacking it with the hard corner of the big brick of lye soap. Carmencita had given it to me when she set me up in this tiled room with a waist-high pile of dirty linens. How many people live here? The question was out of my mouth before I really had a chance to think about whether I wanted to say it or not. And that’s when Carmencita told me that Doña Arenal’s home was a posada—a place where travelers, like the Americans who were here right now, could come and stay. They paid for clean sheets every day and clean tablecloths and napkins every time they sat down at a table. She indicated the pile with her chin. So get to work, she had said.

  I’m glad of the work, really, though my arms are killing me and I tire much more easily than I should. It puts my body into a pattern, which leaves my mind free for thinking. And so I wash. And think.

  I think about Mami and Abuelita, far away, up the mountain. I think about Yenni’s kindness, and Carmencita’s prickliness, and Juana’s shyness. I think about little Santiago, off at school. I wonder about Doña Arenal, and the secret life of rich people.

  But mostly, I think about Daniel. I think about the way he’d make fun of me for being too weak to wash napkins, and then plunge his hands in beside me to make the work go faster; the way his eyes would have sparkled if he’d been served a breakfast like I was this morning; the stories he would make up about the people who lived here. I think about the angel that presses into my thigh every time my pocket bumps the tub.

  “Ana!”

  I whip my head around. Yenni is standing behind me.

  “You dreamer,” she says with a smile. “I called you three times.”

  “Sorry,” I say, hauling the last tablecloth out of the water and wringing it between my hands. “I guess I was caught up in the work.”

  Yenni makes a face.

  “I hate laundry,” she says, but she rolls up her sleeves and grabs the other end of the cloth. Between us, we twist the water out of it much faster. Yenni helps me heave the damp, heavy fabric over a line. She raises an eyebrow at the eleven tablecloths and half a hundred napkins hung on the various lines crisscrossing the little washroom. “You, on the other hand, seem to like it?”

  “Like is too strong a word for what I feel about this,” I say, making a face at her. Still, I swell with the praise. I had figured out how to get it done quickly and well. I’m pleased that I’ve impressed Yenni.

  Yenni laughs.

  “Well, okay, maybe you don’t like it,” she amends. “But you are good at it. It would have taken me all day to get this done, and you finished it in barely a morning. Come on.” She holds out a hand to me. “It’s time for lunch. Carmencita gives you extras when she’s pleased.”

  I wipe my hands and raise an eyebrow at Yenni. She laughs again. I like how much she laughs. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone to laugh as much as she and her brother do.

  “You won’t be able to tell she’s pleased,” Yenni admits with a grin, “but she will be, all the same. Come on.”

  Pushing my way through the forest of clean-smelling damp cloth, I follow Yenni to the kitchen.

  When we get there, I can see that Carmencita and Juana have been working the whole time I’ve been in the laundry. The kitchen is a confusion of steam, smells, and loud clanging noises. I sit down at what I’m rapidly beginning to think of as “my” spot at the table and watch in awe as Carmencita sends plate after plate of steaming food out the door to be served in the restaurant. Gisele carries the trays; Juana is working away ferociously at the sink again. Yenni gives me a wink and slips into the chaos, emerging a few minutes later with two plates of food. Handing me one, heaped high with meat, rice, and potatoes, she folds her slender form onto the bench and sits beside me.

  “So,” she says, digging in to her food, “how are you feeling?”

  I’m staring at the food in front of me, struggling to believe that it’s real. I’ve only eaten this well at weddings, and I’m ashamed to feel tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. I hope Yenni doesn’t notice.

  “Better,” I say, sounding only a little froggy. I pick up my knife and fork and clear my throat. “Thank you.”

  “Good,” says Yenni, “because later, I’m taking you into town.”

  I smile at her tentatively and wonder whether, despite the difference in our ages and despite the fact that she’s found a choice better than I can dream of, Yenni and I could be friends.

  * * *

  It’s midafternoon by the time the napkins have all been ironed and folded into the pretty shapes Doña Arenal likes, and then the tablecloths that I washed in the morning are dry enough that they can be ironed and folded too. Throughout the day, Yenni has flitted in and out of my working space like a friendly moth, smiling and offering words of encouragement.

  When the laundry is done, I say goodbye to Juana and Carmencita. I ask the women to say my goodbyes to the rest of the staff I’ve gotten to know. Carmencita gives me a small wrapped bundle to take with me and puffs up like a bird that’s been poked when I thank her for it. I don’t open it right away because I don’t want to be rude, but I hope she packed me a dinner like she did for Santiago. Then Yenni and I head into the main rooms of the posada to find Doña Arenal.

  It’s odd to walk through the echoing stone hallways. In my time here, I’ve kept to the servants’ areas. There, the rooms are clean, but plain. Out in the main areas of the posada, every wall has a painting or a woven cloth hanging on it, and there are statues and vases with flowers on the tables and in the alcoves of the walls. The floors are intricately tiled, the vaulted mosaic ceiling stretches high above my head, and there are lush green plants in ceramic pots surprising me in the corners. I wonder at the plants. I reach out a finger and trace it gently along the edge of a leaf.

  “Ana?”

  I whirl, an apology already forming on my lips. Thankfully it’s only Yenni.

  “There.” She points with her chin. “The doña is in the dining room.”

  Doña Arenal is working on a thick ledger at one of the far tables. It’s between mealtimes, so the tourists aren’t here, but even without it being filled with fancy people and foreigners, the dining room makes me catch my breath. It’s on the second floor of the posada, and one whole wall of it is windows. Through them, you can see right over the outer wall. To one side, the city of Potosí stretches off into the distance. To the other, the Mountain That Eats Men looms like a hunchbacked giant.

  “It’s a great view, isn’t it?” Yenni whispers.

  “Um . . . absolutely,” I manage. I don’t want to disagree with her, but seeing the mountain on one side and the city on the other makes me feel like they’re two different worlds, with no bridge between them. It makes me feel even more like I will never have a future anywhere else.

  If I’m honest with myself, I’m going to miss the
posada terribly. It’s been warm, comfortable, and safe, and I had easy work to do. Yes, Carmencita is prickly and Doña Arenal is stern, but Santiago and Yenni have been nothing but kind to me and no one has judged me for having gone into the mines. I know that none of that will be true once I get home. Though I feel stupid to admit it, it’s hard to leave.

  Doña Arenal has seen us come in and is walking over, her face severe.

  “Doña,” I say politely when she reaches us.

  “What is it?”

  “I just wanted to come and say thank you again for all you’ve done.” I practiced this speech in my head all morning. “You opened your doors and fed me. I know that God will reward you for your mercy and kindness, and you will be forever in my prayers. I wanted to let you know I was leaving.”

  She softens. “I’m glad you’re better,” she says, “and I’m sure your mother will be relieved to see you. Safe journey home.”

  I don’t correct her. I don’t tell her that I’m leaving the posada not to head straight home to my mother but to go into the city of Potosí to search for a street fighter who might be my brother.

  “Thank you, Doña,” is all I say.

  13

  Yenni hustles along the streets of Potosí. I have to almost jog to keep up with her.

  “We have to go quickly,” she says. “I need to get back in time to help with the dinner rush.”

  “Okay.” I don’t want to get her fired, but in the past I’ve only come to Potosí for church and festivals. I wouldn’t know how to find my way around this maze of cobblestoned streets without her.

  My knee throbs with every step. My brain whirs—Am I about to find Daniel? Is he okay?

  I swallow my questions and stick to Yenni like a shadow.

  We walk through the streets of the mining neighborhoods of Potosí that I’m a little familiar with. Then Yenni takes me through neighborhoods I haven’t been to before, ones where I don’t feel comfortable. The streets are dirtier here than in the rest of the city, the houses shabbier. From a shadowed doorway a man whistles at us. Yenni ignores the man, her mouth a tight line.