No hay paredes
para detenerme
There are no walls
to stop me
I kept an eye on Eliazar as I walked; he had begun to slow down, and I worried that the heat was getting to him. I spoke to Rosalinda for a little bit when she saw me massaging another cramp in my lower stomach and fell back to match my pace. She told me that if we found la garra del diablo, she would brew me a tea that helped with monthly pain. The roots of the plant made for a bitter taste, she explained, but it would be worth it.
I did not tell her the other reason for my pain.
As we talked, I sipped at my water, which had remained cool despite the heat. I did not want the tightness in my head to come back. I reminded Emilia of the same. This was, after all, the reason she asked me to come, to help her survive this trek.
She said nothing about whether we were heading in the right direction. Perhaps You are still guiding her, I thought. I wasn’t sure I actually believed that anymore.
Rosalinda told me more about her life, how they made tortillas out of a white flour where she was born, and Felipe often interrupted to add in his own bits to her stories. He made reference to an escape; Rosalinda shushed him, and they did not speak further of it. No matter; the talking passed the time and kept our minds off the heat, off the persistent fire in our muscles, off the fear that we would be walking forever.
Maybe this was our punishment. Nuestra pesadilla. To walk and walk and walk and never know if it was going to end.
There was a rustling overhead, and when I looked up, a brilliant flock of palomas flew by. They spun and twirled together, and the others gasped at the sight of them. Eliazar said this was a good omen, a sign that we were still on the right path.
Perhaps. And perhaps You were teasing us, reminding us that we did not have the gift of flight, that we were forever bound to the earth, that we would live and die down here.
We pressed on.
And I kept these thoughts to myself.
Why did You punish all of us, Solís? If You despised what humanity had done to Your world long ago, why punish all those who came after? Why not wipe the slate clean, start over, and fix the mistakes from the first time around? Or do You not believe that You made any mistakes, that all of this was our fault?
If Your creation was perfect, then why do we do such imperfect things?
I was told so many stories, and the farther I walked from Empalme, the less real they became.
I was born to a body meant to help others. But I am so selfish, Solís. I give and I give and I give myself: to You, to mi gente, but why did You put me in a body with such unending desire? That wants so much that it cannot have?
Raúl was impatient.
Mamá had a temper.
Papá could disappear into himself and forget that anyone else was in his life.
Then there was Manolito, who had so many secrets. Or Rogelio, who drank himself into a stupor to dampen how much he hated himself. Or Marisol or Lani or Soledad or Emilia or Omar, who all lived imperfectly in an imperfect world. Or los pálidos, who had stolen an entire aldea from those who had built it up.
I now knew the secrets You purged from my body every time I completed the ritual. Maybe that was the point of it: I forgot because if I remembered, I would know the truth about this whole rotten system.
They had broken the rules of Your world, and I was there to fix them, to repair them so that our nightmares would not become flesh, would not destroy us. I existed so that You wouldn’t burn us up again.
But there was so much more, wasn’t there? Obregán was full of people who appeared not to believe in You, at least not as I did.
Yet they stood.
They sold Your power.
They were unpunished.
How was this fair? Just?
Were we isolated by design? Did You stick us so far apart because if we met one another, if we compared all these stories, we would figure out the truth?
It feels strange to say this to You, but I have to.
Your world is imperfect, Solís. It is designed to make us feel misery, designed to make us doubt ourselves, designed to force us to choose between one terrible thing and another. What are we supposed to do? How do I make You happy when it is so very impossible to be happy for myself?
It is hard to tell You this next part. But I have to. I have to tell You the whole story.
I hope You are still listening.
You were sitting tall above us when Eliazar first fell.
He had been walking nearest to Rosalinda, who was talking to me about Hermosillo. Felipe was pestering Emilia with a million questions about Solado. They both seemed to be enjoying it despite the terrible heat.
The land was flat, and las montañas were finally closer to us. It would not be long before we started our ascent for the day. Eliazar was quietly listening to our responses when he stepped wrong, his foot grazing a large rock he had not seen, and he pitched forward. Rosalinda was quick, and she caught him before he hit the ground. He slowly lowered himself to one knee, panting. I stuck out a hand to steady him, and my fingers lightly brushed against his neck.
He was cool. Sweaty. Soaked with sweat.
It was bad for the body to suffer a drop in temperature like this. “Drink some agua, Eliazar,” I insisted. “Catch your breath.”
Rosalinda crouched down next to him and handed over her canteen.
