Then again—I had never been past the safety of los lobos before, either.
I looked down the trail, and I thought I saw Manolito, tucked behind one of the thicker saguaros, and when I shut my eyes tight and opened them again, I saw nothing. Was the doubt playing games with my mind? Was the heat getting to me?
I drank more water.
I kept moving.
I rounded more corners that looped back on one another so consistently that even though I’d walked a thousand paces, I still hadn’t progressed that far up la montaña. The incline was not so bad, but my muscles twitched, an early warning sign that cramping could arrive soon. I drank more water. Ate another strip of meat. Briefly squatted to relieve myself again.
More yellow. Not a good sign.
The sun was near the horizon to the west when I finally noticed that the heat was beginning to fade away. It was gradual, and my mind was focused on the climb. I wiped at my arms, felt the grime of salt and sweat, and I wished for another oasis. I wanted to bathe the filth from my skin, douse my body and wash it all off, and a flash of memory came to me: the deluge. The blood. The blame and the guilt. Were they mine? Or was Lito’s story awakening in me, desperate to be set free?
I pushed it back down, I walked farther away from Empalme, and I did not look back.
This was the only way that wouldn’t kill me. That’s what Marisol had told me.
I hoped she was right.
Then the vista came upon me so suddenly that I only noticed it when the pressure on my legs faded. I looked up and gasped, mostly out of relief. The land had flattened before me, and my legs knew that they were done for the night, and I collapsed right there, lying flat on my back and panting, an elation ripping my insides, then slipping into joy.
I had made it. One impossible part of this impossible journey just became real. The joy spread through me, and I gripped the dirt, connected myself to what I had walked, and I lay there as You began to fade, to drop beyond the horizon, and darkness slid into the world.
While You were gone, we were unseen. This was why we celebrated at night, under the stars around us. We were hidden. Unwatched. Free. My breathing slowed, and I urged my body to stillness, listening.
Silence was back, but this time, it held the anticipation of possibility. What would awake? Who would join me?
I slowly lifted myself with my palms, then pushed, my legs and arms aching, and I ignored the pain, the muscles screaming in my body. Your light was nearly gone from the sky now, and the darkness was so calming, so welcoming. The shadows that stretched from the rocks and árboles were not intimidating. Se sentián como amigos. I looked up, hoping las estrellas would come out soon, would bless me with their gentle twinkling.
Not yet.
I walked slowly across the vista, toward the north, hoping Marisol’s information was right.
It sprung from the desert like an eruption, as if the earth itself had spat it out in a fury of creation. Lights sparkled from unknown sources, and what buildings I could make out all seemed to lean against one another. How were they so tall? How were there so many? It was as if you could fit a hundred versions of Empalme within it, and somewhere, in that mangled, complicated mess, las cuentistas waited for me.
La Ciudad de Obregán. It was finally within view.
It felt silly to think about how little I had seen of the world, but as I stood on the edge of la montaña, what else could I consider?
There was una ciudad awaiting me, a place so monstrous and large that it must be un sueño or a trick of the mind.
But it wasn’t. Papá had been there once, as had Marisol, and yet, their stories paled to the reality. Nothing compared to the actual sight, and this was in the evening. What would it look like in the daylight?
A part of me wanted to let that mysterious pull guide me to Obregán. I had to resist, though, because while I may have been foolish enough to journey during the heat, I refused to risk my life when las bestias took over at night. It was possible that all the stories were exaggerations, that it was all just a myth. Still, I needed rest. I needed to get some energy back if I was going to face El Mercado de Obregán.
Was an answer really that close?
Was this worth it?
I stayed on the north side of the vista, spread out my sleeping roll, and then walked far enough to the east so that I would not be relieving myself close to where I slept. I dug a hole in the ground with la pala, then used it, making sure to cover it back up again when I was done. I cleaned myself and my hands off with a little water that I could afford to wash with, because now I was so close to another source.
I fell back down on my roll once I had finished, and my whole body thrummed with a soreness, the kind that got even worse after a night of sleep. I wasn’t looking forward to that, Solís, but I was sore because I had chosen to be.
I ate again, but this time, Obregán, my destination, was in sight. I devoured a decent portion of the food I had brought, saving some of it, just in case.
I could have built a fire, maybe roasted a few of the vegetables that I had packed, but I didn’t want to bring more attention to myself while I was alone. So I ate quietly, listening as the rustling around me revealed how many other creatures woke in the darkness.
Like the time immediately before sunrise, los
