The Man With the Barbed-Wire Fists

That night Raphael lay still and listened to the bruja’s weeping.

He had heard of her as a boy in Mexico. The story had come from the lips of his grandmother. ^“You must be a very good little nino, Raphael,” she had said. “If you are not, La Llorona will come for you.”

“Who is she, Grandma?”

“She is a very bad bruja. Long ago, someone stole her babies. Now she steals children who are bad, because she knows that their parents will not miss them.”

Raphael wasn’t the only one who knew the story. As the children of C-Town fell ill and the doctors failed to help them, more and more people remembered the tale. Raphael’s neighbors had not spoken La Llorona’s name in years, except in jest. But death made things different, especially the deaths of so many. The priest at the little chapel near the highway tried to stop the talk. He said that it was all superstitious nonsense. But the priest only came to the chapel once a week, and soon it seemed that the stories were more than just rumors.

Epifanio Garcia said that he saw La Llorona in the grove one evening, spying on his shanty. Epifanio and his wife had two babies, and he was determined to protect them. He chased La Llorona through the grove, but he could not catch her. He said that every tree which the bruja touched was instantly blighted, its fruit suddenly heavy with huge black bugs.

Rosita Valdez said that she was walking to Mass when she came upon La Llorona drinking from an irrigation ditch. Rosita was so frightened by the evil one’s muddy leer that she ran home without stopping, and that was something, because Rosita was barely five feet tall and weighed nearly two hundred pounds.

Epifanio’s babies fell ill and died. Rosita’s daughter died, too.

Not everyone who lost children saw the weeping woman. Raphael never saw her. But everyone heard her, even over the children’s cries. Each night her wails haunted the camp, sawing through the dead trees along with the summer wind. The poor little ones feared La Llorona so much that they could not sleep at night for the terror of her. They shivered and wept and begged for God’s mercy. But God did not help them. He did not heal the sickness that stole their appetites but somehow left them as fat and bloated and bald as giant babies. And He did nothing to stop La Llorona.

The lawyers said that the sickness came from the water, but Raphael did not believe them. He knew that La Llorona was making the children sick so that they could not escape when she came for them.

She came for Raphael’s children over the space of a month. Poor little Paulo was the last to go. His final days were spent in agony. He cried and cried, promising his father that he was a good little boy and that La Llorona would not take him. Raphael wiped his son’s tears and said that he would stay with Paulo always.

Paulo was the youngest. Raphael sent him to school whenever the family was going to be at one colonias for a long time. When Paulo fell ill, Raphael brought him books to read, and Paulo taught his father how to read them, too. They slept together, holding each other close in the tiny bed.

Night after night, Raphael listened to his son weeping.

He listened to the wind weeping.

He listened to La Llorona’s cries as she walked the dirt streets of C-Town. Each night she came closer, her sobs louder in the tiny room. One night Raphael felt her breath on his face, her tears on his cheeks, and then he heard Paulo take his last breath.

Raphael awoke to the sound of a plane overhead. It came in low and shook the shanty. He ran outside, naked, and watched it fly over the dead grove.

It flew on, releasing no spray, silver wings gleaming in the morning sunlight. The roar of its engines became a hum, then the sound of an insect, then faded away to silence.

Raphael dressed, grabbed his machete and the letter he had written the night before, and headed for the chapel, where there was a mailbox.

He walked through the empty streets, listening to the silence. Everyone but Raphael was gone now. Many left when the sickness started. More left after Epifanio and Rosita encountered La Llorona. The rest abandoned their homes after the lawyers came.

One of the lawyers had talked to Raphael. He was a polite man, but he had bad ideas in his head, and Raphael had refused to sign the papers that so many of his neighbors had signed.

“Mr. Baca,” the lawyer said, “I know money cannot replace the loss of your children, and I know that appearing in a courtroom can be a frightening thing. But unless we fight them, the people that did this to you will do the same thing to other people, as well.”

Raphael didn’t know how to explain it to the man. C-Town had been a good colonias before La Llorona came. The fruit was delicious and the water was plentiful, and his family had made the most of both resources. They had worked in C-Town every season for the past ten years, and they had never fallen ill before.

C-Town was not the real name of the place, of course. That was the name the lawyers used — Cancer Town, the place that killed little children by poisoning their blood.

Raphael tried to explain that La Llorona was taking the children, but the lawyer could not understand. He was too intent on explaining things to Raphael. He said that the corporation that owned the land was attempting to declare bankruptcy to avoid his lawsuit. He said that there would be no more work in C-Town, and that Raphael should not stay, because C-Town was a very dangerous place to live, even for adults.

Raphael agreed. C-Town was dangerous because La Llorona was there. But he would not leave. He had nowhere else to go.

One day, long after Raphael’s neighbors had moved on, a man came from the corporation that owned the land. The man told Raphael that he would have to move. Raphael tried to tell him about La Llorona, but the man was just like the lawyer and wouldn’t listen.

Raphael asked if the man knew of anyone who would listen to his story. The man thought about it for a long time. Finally, he gave Raphael the address of the Department of Agriculture. Raphael thanked him very sincerely. The man must have been pleased with that, because his smile became very broad, indeed.

Raphael wrote many letters to the Department of Agriculture. He never received an answer. He thought that it must be his fault. He was a good reader, but he had trouble writing. His printing was not nearly as neat as that of his teacher, Paulo, and sometimes he did not know the right words to use.

Still, he thought that his latest letter was the best yet. In it, he told the Department people not to listen to any lawyers. He promised that he would tell them all about La Llorona and the dead children if they would only come to C-Town.

The afternoon was cloudy, the sky the color of a wet stone.

Raphael cut across the grove, hurrying to mail his letter before a summer shower hit. It was very still among the trees. Raphael’s boots crunched over dead twigs. His steps came faster and faster, and he found that his throat had gone very dry.

“Thirsty, Raphael? My fruit is so gooood. Sweet and juicy, Raphael. Come and taaaste… ”

The bruja seemed to be standing next to him. Raphael’s gaze darted through the grove. He saw nothing, but heard everything. A ripping sound, flesh being tended from bone. A scream. And then another sound, a moan of pleasure as La Llorona sucked at the horrid fruit.

Raphael ran. The sky was darker now. Above him, dead branches creaked against a rising wind. One broke loose and crashed to the ground in front of him. He tripped and fell, his hands skidding over wood that was pitted and hollow with the efforts of many insects.

The weeping sounds washed over him as he lay there. Not just the cries of La Llorona. A dozen tiny sobs rang in his ears, each choking with pain and fear. Raphael rolled away, eyes closed.

He felt something grabbing him, holding him still.

The branches. The grove was coming alive…