“We are looking for somewhere to settle down,” said Rosalinda.
“There’s a camp beyond las montañas that we should try for,” Emilia said. “It’s pretty far, but if we make good time today, I think we can make it.”
I gazed north. “Beyond those montañas?”
They seemed so terribly far, Solís, much farther than we had traveled the day before. And that was before the others had joined us.
“We have rested well,” said Eliazar, as if he could read my thoughts. “I think we can make it. We’ve made it this far, ¿no?”
I wanted to believe him. I chose to, because what was the alternative?
I didn’t want to imagine that. This journey had a purpose, and I told myself then that I would do anything to make it.
“There’s another well beyond the end of la granja,” said Jorge. “Stop there. Fill up again, as much as you need. I don’t know of any sources of agua to the north, aside from those deep in the ravines of las montañas.” He scratched at his head. “And that’s half a day away.”
“Thank you for letting us stay,” said Emilia. “May Solís look down upon you with joy.”
We headed out to the east at first, cutting through the fields as we had done the night before. When we popped out at the other end, Emilia directed us north on a worn trail. For the next hour, the stalks were tall enough to block out Your light, and so we all walked as close as possible to them, relishing every moment in the shade.
The fields eventually ended, as did the shade. We were silent again, focused on making good time to the well, trying to ignore how bright the sun was. The land shimmered in Your light, and the desert spread in all directions, a ceaseless brown punctuated with the arms of the saguaros and the branches of the occasional paloverde. Low bushes sat still on the ground. We were the only creatures awake anymore, as most had scurried to find shade as You moved through the sky.
We were a defiance, weren’t we? We made the deliberate decision to be under You when most hid in the darkness. I don’t think we appreciated that then. No, Emilia and I were focused entirely on the walk: putting one foot in front of the other, taking sips of water every quarter hour, making sure our footing was good as we climbed out of gullies.
The pain came back before we reached the well, though, and I felt the stories awaken. It was becoming harder and harder to determine whom they belonged to. Each emotion blended with the next. Who felt regret? Was it Lani or Lito? Which story belonged to the lonely one? Was that Emilia or Ofelia or me?
A spike ripped through my lower abdomen, and I clutched it, trying to breathe through the pain.
Just walk, I told myself. Focus on the end. Because this will end.
“¿Estás bien, niña?” Eliazar asked, reaching out as I rubbed my belly.
“Only a cramp,” I said. “I bled the other day, so it’s probably that.”
He nodded at me. “Do you need a break? Some agua?”
I shook my head. “No, no, we should keep going.”
I massaged the spot for a few minutes as we walked, and I caught Emilia looking back at me, trying to disguise it in a stretch.
I smirked.
She winked at me.
A new sensation filled my belly, one that did not belong to any of the stories, but was mine and mine alone.
Desire.
She was so beautiful, Solís. It had taken me a while to admit that, but I did not let it bloom into anything else. This was not the time. Emilia had her own life to live, and after Simone, I probably would not fit into it.
Still, it was nice. To desire someone.
The sun was firmly in the sky when we made it to the stone well. After Felipe filled up on water, I shamelessly dipped my head under the stream of the pump. I let the cool water pour over me and wiped at my skin and the stickiness that still clung to it. We filled up our stomachs again with enough water to make us burst, and Rosalinda laughed when Felipe burped loudly. The sound echoed out into the desert.
There was one lone field of maíz out here and perhaps the only shade for a long while. The others were talking and joking when I made for it. “¡Ya vuelvo!” I called out, and Emilia raised a hand in acknowledgment.
I didn’t know why I went in that direction, Solís. I moved to the east, through the stalks, letting the leaves scrape at me, and I assumed the pressure down below meant I needed to relieve myself again. But then I was moving quicker and quicker, pushing past the maíz, and something ripped into my arm, tearing the skin, and I didn’t care.
There was one here.
La poeta had left another one.
I plunged to the ground and tore off my pack, then pulled out la pala, and I was furious, almost sick with elation as I dug into the earth, deeper and deeper, and there it was, another drawstring pouch, the leather as worn as the previous poema, and then it was in my hands.
Excitement ripped through me as I opened it and saw the wrinkled edges of a scroll. I unfolded it, let my eyes course over the writing scratched into the paper, committed them to memory as fast as I could:
Veo el sol y veo Solís.
¿Pero quién me ve?
Me estoy escondiendo en
las sombras
En el dolor
Solo quiero ser vista.
I see the sun and I see Solís.
But who sees me?
I am hiding in
the shadows
In pain
I only want to be seen.
I rolled it up, stuffed it back into its pouch and my pack, but I was repeating that last line, over and over again, soft like a whisper, like a prayer to You.
Solo quiero ser vista.
I only want to be seen.
I had been nudged back onto the right
