Within seconds, Rosa and I were pulled to the ground. Hands ripped at my clothes. The large white bra that Lupe gave me was wrenched so hard I felt my shoulder pop as a sharp pain shot down my arm. My pesos were cast aside with my pants and my brown shoes. Beside me, I could hear Rosa screaming and cursing in a way I’d never heard before, calling them animals, monsters, and cowards. One man, whose wretched stench I will never forget, forced himself inside me, and I howled as my own unyielding flesh tore. It felt like a knife heated over coals was scraping away inside me. Another man above pulled at my hair, forcing my face toward his sweaty flesh. I gagged and choked, but he continued until I vomited. A sharp slap stung my cheek. Gasping for air, I gazed up at those stars that Rosa and I, just minutes before, had looked to with such hope. Then suddenly a throaty laughter above from someone who pushed Manuel on top of me.
“Come on big brother. Let’s see how much your little sister loves you.” Then they lifted him up, pulled down his pants, and shoved him onto the ground. Yanking me by the hair, someone shoved my face into Manuel’s groin. I could hear them jeering and chanting as they forced my face against his flesh.
But beneath that harsh cacophony was a softer sound, a tender, hopeless moaning as Manuel sobbed. Then I felt his touch, Manuel’s gentle fingers stroking my arm and my shoulder, while the cruel hand clutching at my hair slammed my head up and down. I heard Manuel whispering, “Te quiero, Alma. God help us. I love you.” Words that I clung to as Manuel was wrenched aside and kicked repeatedly, while two others rolled me onto my stomach, pulled me up from behind, and pounded away. My knees and hands were torn and bleeding; my jaw and shoulder throbbed with each rapid-fire beat of my heart.
But inside . . . in my mind . . . I felt numb. There was nothing left to fear. I closed my eyes and waited for the end. I came to when someone kicked me, and I rolled toward Rosa. I could hear her soft, gurgling moans beside me. Rapid footsteps receded in the distance, and then silence. I listened hard for sounds of Manuel. Feebly I tried to call out his name, but my mouth wouldn’t move, so I groaned as loud as I could. A deep, dark inhuman growl moved down my throat and reverberated in my chest. Again, I listened. Nothing. With great effort, I turned toward Rosa. Her face was swollen, her head tilted at a strange angle, and her chest was covered in blood, but she forced her eyes open and stretched out her arm until our fingers touched. My hysterical sob sounded more like a grunt.
Forgive me, I pleaded with my eyes. Squeezing my hand tightly, she whispered something. I strained to make out her words. But it was her eyes that saved me. They burned as bright as the stars that night. I focused on that light, let it wash over me and fill me with warmth, and then I let myself go.
12
Woman with the Eyes of a Saint
Rosa was milking the goat much too fast. I opened my mouth to tell her to slow down, like Mamá showed us, to squeeze slowly and rhythmically like a horse’s heartbeat, but my jaw wouldn’t budge. I strained, but it held tight as if frozen closed. Then from somewhere deep in my chest, a moan rattled up and vibrated in my ears. I tried to open my eyes, but even they seemed wedged tight. I tried again. Then a sliver of light.
I turned to the outline of a woman close by my side. Only a dark silhouette. The pain of light. I closed my eyes.
She was touching my hand. The rapid-fire squishing sound continued as tightness squeezed my arm, then a long hiss and the pressure was gone.
Where was Rosa? And what was the goat doing in the house?
I heard a woman’s voice speaking . . . in English? Then, in Spanish, “Squeeze my hand twice if you understand me,” the woman whispered in my ear.
What silly game was this? I pried my eyes open and strained to focus. She had a round dark face, kind eyes, like la Virgen. I squeezed twice.
“Ah, bien. Very good. So, you speak Spanish.” She leaned in. “You’re in the hospital in Nogales . . . Arizona.” My eyes widened. ¿El norte? I was in el norte? I tried to push myself up, but every inch of my body pulsed with pain. I tried to speak again.
“Your jaw is wired. You can’t speak, but when you are stronger, you can write messages on this board. Aquí.” I heard her pick up something beside me, then set it down. “For now, just rest.” She paused, and then a deep sadness carried the next words to my ears. “And try not to worry. Está bien ahora. You’re safe now.”
It was the sadness that brought me back, though not with great clarity. Something unbearable had come to pass, of that I was certain. I could feel it in the depth of my bowels, though I couldn’t name it—and I was responsible. That I knew. Try as I might, nothing crystallized before me, no specific cause for shame, but lurking beneath the surface was a deep-souled feeling that I had been thoughtless and self-centered once again.
Always the first to fly into Papá’s arms. Did Rosa, Mamá, and the boys watch with resentment? What an enormous burden, what
