“That is what one of the men said before they opened fire. When men like those come to kill, they do so with a purpose more than just killing. They want to make a point. And they make sure their point is known.”
I ask, “How can they get away with that?”
Yolanda smiles.
“You are not from around here, are you?”
She squints at me.
“You sound American. Are you American? If you are American, then I cannot imagine you write for any newspaper in this country.”
I say nothing. Gabriela says nothing. Yolanda issues a heavy sigh and goes back to petting the cat.
“The cartels can do whatever it is they please, especially in towns like this one. We have no local law enforcement. We are just common people. We do not have much money, so politicians do not care about us. When President Cortez entered office last year, he promised to do something about the cartel violence. He ran on that platform. The cartels did everything they could to try to stop him—they even murdered his son and his son’s family—but he still won.”
Yolanda nods to herself, still petting the cat.
“Many years ago the people in towns like this stood up to the cartels. They called themselves autodefensas. They were tired of the cartels coming into their towns and doing whatever they pleased. They started to fight back.”
I ask, “What happened?”
Gabriela answers.
“They were eventually disbanded. The movement became too large, too unruly. Some of the men started acting just as bad as the cartels. They would steal from the people. Some raped women. In some cases, cartel members even joined the groups so that they could be on the inside. Nobody knew who was in charge. The government needed to step in. They said that those who wanted to still fight against the cartels could do so but they would need to join the Army and register their weapons. Many of them did, while a few refused. Those were arrested.”
I glance at Yolanda.
“Where did this happen?”
The old woman says, “It started in Michoacán. But a few similar groups popped up around the country in different states. There are more regular citizens than there are cartel members. But the cartel has a lot of money, and they have a lot of weapons, which makes it difficult for a town such as ours to fight back.”
There’s a silence. The only sounds are the continued sobbing out in the town square and the cat purring on Yolanda’s lap.
The old woman watches me. For a moment, it feels like Gabriela isn’t even in the room with us, that the cat isn’t even there, and it’s just Yolanda and myself.
The woman says, “I wonder when it will happen again.”
“When what will happen again?”
“When Morales will feel the need to prove a point. When he will send more men to kill the people of this town. Tonight is not the first time it has happened, and it most certainly will not be the last. I wonder when it will happen again. I wonder … I wonder how many people will die next time.”
Twenty-Eight
I drive us back to the city.
Gabriela is too shaken to drive. At least, that’s the impression I get. She doesn’t say it so much as displays it with her actions. Her hand trembled when she gave me her keys, and when she slipped inside the car she slumped down in her seat and stared out her window and didn’t say anything.
A half hour has passed since we left La Miserias and it’s at least another half hour to go before we hit the city.
I clear my throat.
“How do you feel?”
Gabriela doesn’t answer.
I let it go for another minute, just driving, trying to figure out what I can possibly say to the girl to get her to come around.
But then she shifts in her seat and looks at me.
“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
Her voice is so soft I can barely hear it over the tires humming on the highway.
“You don’t think you can do what anymore?”
“Just … this.”
She motions at the car’s dashboard, as if that explains everything. Which in a way it does. I know exactly what she means, but I want to hear her say the words.
“What’s this?”
She takes a heavy breath, staring hard at me now.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. I thought I could do it—I’d done it for months already without any problems—but after tonight …”
She shakes her head as her voice fades away. She leans back in her seat, places her head against the headrest. Doesn’t say anything else.
I check the rearview mirror once again to make sure we’re not being followed.
“Earlier today teenagers with guns came at us. Do you not remember that happening?”
She issues a soft, desperate laugh.
“Of course I remember that happening. And that was scary, but this …”
She lifts her hand, wobbling it back and forth, as if the missing words will somehow appear in her palm. Then she drops the hand and sighs.
“Before it didn’t seem real. I mean, I know it was real—I was right there when it happened, saw everything with my own eyes—but for some reason it just didn’t feel real. But tonight … I thought those men were going to kill us.”
She shakes her head suddenly, sitting up in her seat.
“No, I thought they were going to rape us before they killed us. And that … that realization somehow made it all the more real. All the more worse. Stupid teenagers with guns are one thing. But corrupt cops …”
She shakes her head again.
“I sound so weak, don’t I?”
I don’t answer at first. I’m not sure what to tell Gabriela. The fact is I don’t know her very well. She seems tough, seems dedicated, but sometimes those things can be simple facades. The people who act the strongest are sometimes those who are the weakest. They hide behind bravado so long they soon
