“What is this place?” I said as Chavela approached me, a canteen of water in her outstretched hand. I took it and drank the cool water down, then sniffed. The smell was not so bad indoors, thanks to the floral oil that Chavela had given me, but the glory of Obregán seemed to have skipped over this place. I was reminded of the homes that had been abandoned over the years in Empalme, and a memory struck:
Emilia. Cowering in rags in one of those empty homes.
“It’s where we live,” Chavela answered, and shook me free from Emilia’s story. “El olvidado.”
“El olvidado?” I took another drink from the canteen. “I don’t understand.”
“Obregán is a big place,” said Navarro. “And some of us fall through the cracks. No familia. No homes. No one to catch us.”
“How is that possible?” I asked, and the people who had been hiding beneath the floor spread about, going back to their lives as if nothing had happened. “You have no one? Nowhere else to go?”
“Life is complicated, chica,” said Chavela. “I came here with my family years ago. They’re all gone now. Dead, or moved on.”
“I came here for work,” a man said, his face folded with wrinkles. “It dried up. I found my way to this place.” He gestured around him.
I heard a boot scuffle on the ground, and Emilia was there, standing in the door her father had destroyed. She stepped forward into the space, out of the bright light of day. Her face was drooping with exhaustion, her gaze far in the distance, in another world, in another time.
“Emilia?” I stepped toward her, a hand outstretched. “Do you need help? Can I clean off your clothing?”
She gazed down, examined the mess, pulled it back and forth, then looked back up to me. “It’s stained,” she said, her words clipped. “Ruined.”
I took another step. “I know. Can we help you?”
“What do I do next?”
Her story awoke again. Loneliness. Panic. They intertwined within me, reached for her. I pushed them down.
Next? I couldn’t answer that for her. I barely knew what I was doing. Who I was. What the future held for me.
But I hesitated too long. She looked back down, then said, “I need something else. I’ll take some food, too.”
She walked out the doorway.
“Emilia!” I called, and I chased her out into the brightness. “Emilia, stop!”
She slowed and turned her head toward me.
“Please don’t leave,” I said, and a memory from her story flashed in me: Alegría leaving for the last time and Emilia not knowing she’d never see her again. I clutched my stomach. “Talk to me. I need to know.”
“Know what, Xochitl?” she said. “There’s nothing more to tell. I gave you my story.”
“You lied.”
I had not intended to blurt it out, but once the words flowed from me, they sat between us, pushing us apart, widening the chasm.
“Do you think you deserve the truth?” she shot back. “Is that what I owe you?” She came toward me, crossing the divide in a few furious steps. “You think because you’re a cuentista that you deserve everything there is to know about me?”
“No, I don’t think that! But you just killed your father in front of me! And none of this would have happened if you hadn’t lied to me about him chasing you!”
Her features twisted in anger. “I don’t owe you anything, Xochitl. I only have to get you to Simone and that’s it.” She fixed a scowl onto her face. “We’ll leave tomorrow.”
She stormed off. I watched her leave; she had twisted her hair into two braids that bounced off her back. Then she disappeared into the crowds of Obregán. Gone.
Sweat lined my skin, and I stomped back into the building to escape the sun, to get myself farther from Emilia with each step. Hadn’t I just helped her? Hadn’t I killed something to save her? She used me as a cuentista, and now she wanted to throw that in my face?
Chavela was inside the doorway, and I sagged a bit when I saw her, my own shame rising up. She had to have heard us. But she smiled at me. “You need somewhere to stay tonight, chica?”
And just like that, Chavela’s kindness wore down my ire. “For the night, I guess,” I said. “We have to leave in the morning. Have a journey to make.”
There were two people next to the iron pot, and the savory smells hit my nose. They kissed each other, then continued cooking as we moved past them. “Anyone is welcome here,” she said, “as long as they can contribute something.”
I pointed toward the entryway I had used earlier. “Let me clean up … the mess,” I suggested. “And I can help with a meal if needed. Or hunt for water.”
Chavela chuckled at that. “One good thing about Obregán is that no one pays for water. I’m sure you’ve seen the public fountains and wells. They’re for everyone. But cleaning … that will help.”
She got a broom for me, as well as a bucket of water. She added a few drops of another oil to the bucket, and a sweet, sour scent filled the air. I washed off the boards and swept away the gore as best as I could, and it wasn’t long before I noticed that the stench from the refuse pit was completely unnoticeable. Navarro stayed silent as I cleaned.
“You’re passing through, ¿no?” Chavela asked me.
“To Solado,” I said. “Where Emilia is from.”
Navarro used a broom to push some of the filth toward the door. “Ah, sí. Solado. We know.”
I frowned. “From Emilia?”
“She has told us stories,” said Chavela. “She always said she was going to go back for Luz.”
“Well, she’s taking me
