Lotería

  “She’s not—”

  “And I heard her singing! She was calling to me! She guided me here!” His voice rose with every word.

  “No!” Clara cried. “Esteban—listen to me. It wasn’t her. It was a parrot.”

  “What?”

  “It was a parrot,” Clara repeated. “Not Chita. I saw the parrot.”

  “I don’t think that’s right.” Esteban shook his head, then went on chattering. “Clara, I can’t wait to see her. And I know she’ll be so happy to see you, too.”

  She struggled to pull free of El Diablo.

  “Help!” Clara yelled. “Someone help! He’s kidnapping us!”

  The crowd ignored her cries, graciously moving aside for El Diablo. Some even bowed their heads or curtsied.

  “This is my home,” El Diablo told Clara, his voice silky smooth. “And everyone here is a guest of mine. They will pay you no mind. Now please stop making this so difficult. It won’t change a thing.”

  Clara knew he was probably right, but she wasn’t about to make things easier for his sake. She continued crying out and struggling until they reached the king’s tent. El Diablo walked up to the guards and said, “With apologies for the delay, please tell him I bring him two offerings today.”

  One of the guards nodded and slipped in through the tent flap.

  “You can’t do this,” Clara told El Diablo. “We don’t belong to you.”

  The guard returned and held the tent flap open. El Diablo stepped through, dragging Clara and Esteban behind him.

  The tent was much larger on the inside than it was on the outside. It looked like a proper throne room, with a black marble floor polished to such a shine that it gave the impression of walking on a mirror. The walls were covered in gold leaf, which reflected the glow of floating pockets of fire lighting the room. The walls rose and met in a domed ceiling far higher than the tent appeared to be on the outside. Gems were encrusted in the ceiling in various geometric patterns. Esteban noticed there were also diamonds buried in the polished surface of the black marble floor. A low hum of conversation issued from elegantly dressed people speaking in hushed voices; servants moved among them, carrying food on silver platters and pouring drinks from crystal water pitchers; a large table against one wall held a feast fit for a king and all his army.

  On a dais in the center of the room stood a large golden throne flanked by lush palms. Two enormous guards dressed in full battle array stood on either side of the king, who was no older than Clara. He had piercing green eyes and jet-black hair. His skin was smooth and seemed to glow, reflecting the warm light from the fires lining the walls. He wore a thick blue tunic studded with sapphires, and on his head sat a silver crown with jagged peaks that splintered the light in all directions.

  “My king,” El Diablo said.

  Clara dug her heels in as he dragged her forward, but the marble floor was as smooth as ice and offered no grip.

  “You mentioned something about an extra offering today,” the king said.

  “It is your lucky day.” El Diablo shoved Esteban forward. “This child is eight.”

  “And the girl?” the king asked.

  El Diablo tightened his grip on Clara’s arm. “She is eleven. Combined, that’s a lot of years.”

  “Good,” the king said. “Take them.” He gestured to one of the giants at his side.

  With a heavy clang of metal, the giant stepped off the dais and grabbed Esteban.

  “Ow!” Esteban squirmed in the guard’s iron grip. “That hurts,” he whimpered. “Please stop.”

  But the guard didn’t release Esteban. Instead, he reached for Clara, crushing her arm in his giant hand.

  “I thought you loved children,” Esteban said to the king.

  “I do,” the king replied. His lips turned upward, into a grin that could only be described as sinister. “Very much.”

  “Well…I’m off, then,” El Diablo said.

  The king nodded.

  “Wait!” Esteban called out. “What about my mother? When do I get to see her?”

  El Diablo walked away without another word.

  Esteban turned to the king. His voice was barely a whisper. “When do I get to see my mother?”

  The king frowned. “Your mother? I don’t know anything about your mother.”

  Esteban groaned as the pain took shape within him, first as a knot in his belly and then spreading through his body.

  “Esteban?” Clara attempted to reach him, but the guard kept her firmly in place. Esteban began to cry.

  A sheen of sweat coated his skin. “I don’t feel so well.”

  And with that, all the anguish that had been dulled by the polvorones exploded within him. He dropped to his hands and knees and proceeded to be sick on the marble floor.

  A servant girl raced over to clean up the mess.

  Without another glance at the boy on his knees, the king called out, “Bring in the next one!”

  Esteban was sobbing now, overwhelmed by the weight of his premonition. Clara struggled in vain to free herself from the guard’s grasp as they were led toward a spiked metal door.

  “What’s happening?” Esteban cried. “Where are they taking us?”

  Clara knew what was happening, but she wasn’t going to break her cousin’s heart again by disclosing what the spider had shared with her.

  The spider!

  “Wait!” she called out, remembering an important detail the spider had given her.

  But the guard continued dragging her toward the metal door.

  “Stop!” she yelled. “I have something to say to the king!”

  Another guard reached for the door handle.

  “Your Highness!” Clara screamed. “I have important information! It could save your life.”

  The king turned toward them.

  “Halt!”

  Everyone froze, and in the silence that followed, the king spoke.

  “What did you say?”

  “I have important information,” Clara repeated.

  “Well, what is it?”

  “Someone is plotting against you!” Clara said. “And I have details.”

  “Bring them back!” the king commanded.

  The guard did as he was bidden.

  “So.” The king’s eyes glinted sharply. “What information do you have?”

  Clara shook her head. “Nothing is free in this world. You need to give me something in return.”

  The king narrowed his eyes. “What do you want?”

  “Our freedom,” Clara said. “You let us go home, and I tell you everything I know.”

  The king was silent. He stared at Clara without blinking. His sharp green gaze drilled into her, but she kept her eyes steady and refused to look away.

  “Very well. I will grant you your freedom.”

  Clara felt buoyant with relief.

  “Well?” The king’s eyes flashed.

  She took a deep breath and approached the throne. Into his ear she whispered everything the spider had confided about El Diablo’s plan to attack.

  “Is that so?” he asked.

  Clara nodded.

  The king said nothing for a long time.

  “Treachery!” His voice bounced off the chamber walls with such force that Clara flinched and Esteban let out a cry.

  “No more visitors!”

  The king barked orders. “Send everyone away. And bring me my generals!”

  “What about us?” Clara asked.

  The king dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Take these two to the tunnel. And bring me El Diablo!”

  “Wait!” Clara cried as the giant guard pulled her away and back toward the metal door.

  “We had a deal!” she yelled, but it was in vain.

  The g
uard heaved open the metal door, revealing a black river running through a tunnel stained with shadows and decay. A small canoe bobbed in the dark water, tethered to a ladder next to the door. Clara and Esteban were unceremoniously dropped into the boat.

  The king’s throne room was promptly cut off as the door closed heavily with a thud.

  Life and Death gazed into the silver circle between them, watching the children plunge into darkness. The moment called for silence, and the friends honored it in stillness.

  “What a tragic result,” Catrina finally said. She swept the mirror into her bag as Life packed up their tablas.

  “And you must now redeem your prize,” she went on. “A long life for the child.”

  Life sighed and shrank the deck into a single card, El Catrín.

  Catrina gathered the frijoles before adjusting the crown of never-wilting flowers on her head.

  They rose from their makeshift table. Life folded the monogrammed red handkerchief neatly into a perfect square and returned it to his jacket pocket. Then he offered Catrina his arm.

  Laughter spilled from one window; from another, a baby’s cry was hushed. A car rumbled along the street, bumping over potholes. The city was just as alive at night as it was during the day: streetlamps took the place of sunlight, casting diners in a soft orange glow matched by flickering candles on restaurant tables; peals of laughter mingled with love ballads; wings dominated the sky as bats replaced the birds.

  “I will miss this town,” Catrina sighed.

  “As will I,” Life agreed.

  “And I will miss you.”

  Life reached over and squeezed Catrina’s hand resting on his arm.

  “Shall we?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  Life and Death were not subject to the constraints of time and place. For beings such as them, moving between worlds was a simple matter of snapping one’s fingers. Thus, with a snap, the colorful facades and giant jacaranda trees were quickly replaced by the darkness of a dripping tunnel.

  “Watch your step,” Life said as he led Catrina to a canoe tethered to a hook in the wall. Clusters of green flames hovered along the tunnel wall, casting an eerie light onto the black river.

  The two companions took their places, and the boat began to move, retracing the path it had followed for centuries through the inky water.

  Life and Death were silent; the only sound was that of water splashing along the canoe and the crackling of fire. A whimper made its way toward them, but it quickly receded, lost to the watery tunnel.

  Catrina plucked an embroidered fish from her dress. It leaped into the river, where it glowed like an underwater lantern, projecting an orange halo of warm light along the tunnel walls. Critters scurried around and overhead, fleeing the passing light.

  “It’s rather dismal in here,” Catrina noted.

  “That is an understatement, my dear,” Life replied. “But where are the children?”

  No sooner had he asked the question than the glow of the fish provided the answer. The tunnel opened out into a massive cavern containing a black lake. A cone of cold, misty light spilled from an opening in the cavern’s domed ceiling, revealing hundreds of small floating islands. Made from little more than twisted plants and roots, they were just big enough for one child each.

  The children were subdued, their eyes haunted, their bodies still and quiet. Those on the islands closest to the entrance were newly arrived. Their eyes still held the glow of youth; their bodies looked strong and healthy. The children farthest from the entrance wore a lifetime of wrinkles and gray hairs. Their withered bodies were weak and frail.

  “This is outrageous.” Catrina’s voice fled through the opening overhead. “An atrocity!”

  A red canoe traveled from island to island. It was empty except for a black urn that contained a long silver needle. One by one, each child held out a fingertip as the canoe approached them. The needle rose from the urn, then hinged to position itself directly over the soft flesh of the child’s fingertip. Swiftly it pierced the skin, extracting a drop of blood and sucking it into the urn before moving on to the next child.

  The fingertips of the children who had been there longest were callused and scarred. They scarcely felt the prick of the needle. The newer arrivals, on the other hand, had skin that was still soft and tender.

  “Ouch!” a child gasped as the needle collected her blood and, with it, a year of her life.

  Following behind the red canoe, a green vessel delivered a small ceramic bowl containing a meager meal of beans and rice. As the child gathered her food, a sigh escaped her lips, floating across the water toward the boat with Life and Death. The sigh quickly sank into the dark waters and was silenced.

  “There!” Catrina pointed at an island just big enough for Clara to sit cross-legged.

  “Don’t cry,” Clara whispered. She reached out her hand toward Esteban’s small island, but the distance between them was too great.

  “It’s going to be fine,” she added.

  “No, it’s not!” Esteban cried. “There’s nobody here to help us.”

  “I’m here,” she said.

  Esteban nodded. “But there’s nothing you can do.” His small voice filled the cave with profound sadness. “We’re stuck here.”

  The red boat with the urn drifted up to them, and the needle rose to prick Esteban’s finger. He moved away, trying to evade it, but the needle followed him and quickly found its target. His blood was drawn into the urn. As soon as the deed was done, the green boat delivered a bowl of food to Esteban.

  The red boat then approached Clara’s island, and the urn collected her blood. The days drained from her body, like air being stolen from her lungs. Her skin tightened, her fingertips wrinkled. An emptiness grew inside her, vast and heavy with despair.

  How had she ended up in this hopeless place? She thought of all the wild twists and turns, the events that had led her, almost by the hand, to this very cavern. How could she have done anything differently? What choice did she have?

  The hollowness inside Clara spread, and as it did…it revealed something.

  To believe—despite everything. To have hope. That was a choice.

  “Esteban,” she said. “You’re right to say that we’re stuck here.”

  Esteban whimpered.

  “But you’re wrong to think there’s nothing I can do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look, I made you a promise, remember? I told you I would always take care of you.”

  Esteban nodded.

  “When you vanished from the garden, I didn’t break my promise, did I?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “No. I followed you into this bizarre world.

  “And I followed you through that wild jungle, past that ridiculous wall of vines, and into the enchanted castle.”

  He blinked back tears.

  “And even though there was nobody there to help me, I managed to escape that awful spider’s lair, and I found you at the Mercado Rojo.”

  “What spider?”

  Clara laughed as hope bloomed within her. “Don’t you see? There was always something standing in my way—all these unexpected and dangerous things. But they didn’t stop me. I still tracked you down. Do you know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I made you a promise.”

  Esteban sniffled.

  “And I’m going to keep it,” Clara added.

  “But—but what are you going to do?”

  Clara squeezed her fingertip where the needle had pricked her. She gathered another drop of blood. Before the pinprick dried on her fingertip, she drew a figure eight on her palm. Then she touched it. A butterfly with ruby-red wings rose from her hand.

  “What is it?” Esteban asked.

  “It’s right here. Can’t you see it?
”

  “It’s too dark.” Esteban squinted into the darkness.

  “Oh…,” Clara sighed. “Well, it’s…It’s supposed to be—”

  The tiny dragon rose out of Clara’s pocket and blew a spot of fire onto the butterfly’s wings.

  “A butterfly!” Esteban cried.

  It was an impossible thing, and yet there it was: hope dancing brightly in the darkness.

  Quickly, Clara drew another, and another. The dragon breathed on their wings, making each of the butterflies glow. Children on the neighboring islands began to notice the growing kaleidoscope of light; their faces gazed at the swarm in wonder, and a quiet murmur of laughter rippled among them.

  “They’re beautiful,” Esteban said, his face reflecting the glow of dozens of blinking wings.

  “We may be stuck,” Clara said once more, “but for as long as we’re here, this place will be filled with so much magic you won’t even care.” She squeezed another drop of blood and with it drew a cluster of roses.

  The dragon sprinkled them with snow, and the crystalized flowers beamed with silver light.

  “We will have birds and fish, unicorns and fairies.” She turned to Esteban. “We will have a galaxy of stars!”

  And the little dragon blew sparks of fire into the air.

  Esteban smiled, and his grin spread to the faces of all the other children.

  “You see?” Clara said. “We’re going to be fine.”

  It was then that she spotted Life and Death.

  There is a moment in everyone’s life, right before we veer in an unexpected direction, when we sense that everything is about to change. The moment may be subtle, and we may not even realize what’s happening. But our skin tingles, and time slows down. Our next breath heralds a fundamental shift in the world as we know it. And so it was with Clara as she watched Life and Death approach.

  Life brought the canoe to a halt before her. He removed his hat and bowed.

  Catrina, flush in all her beauty, inclined her head as well. In a barely audible voice, she sighed, “Poor children.”