Deep under the branches, a small girl cowered on the ground, naked, hugging her knees. Beside her crouched a young boy. They both turned to stare at me.
My heart exploded with happiness. “Alicia and Antonio!” I gasped.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Alicia scrambled from under the bush and climbed into my arms. She clung to me with little fingers that dug sharply into my skin.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She whimpered, searching back over her shoulder, her big eyes wild with fear, lips trembling. Black mud covered her round face and tangled black hair.
“You’re safe now,” I said softly, hugging her naked body close. Alicia clung to my neck as I reached for Antonio and helped pull him from under the bush. I tried to hug him, too, but he grimaced and cried out in pain.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. As I spoke, I saw that the bottom of his shirt dripped blood.
Antonio grunted.
Before I could look at his wound, men’s voices sounded close behind us. “We have to leave, now!” I whispered, helping Antonio to stand. “Can you walk?”
He nodded and stumbled after me, grasping his side. I carried Alicia roughly as we escaped through the trees up a long, steep hill. She weighed heavy in my arms. At the top, I had to set her down to rest. She tried to cling to my neck, but I took her hand firmly. “You must walk,” I said. “I can’t carry you.”
Antonio breathed heavily beside me. I needed to look at his wound, but the voices sounded even closer behind us. “We can’t stop yet,” I whispered. “Can you go a little farther?”
Antonio answered with a grimace, and we kept rushing through the trees until the voices grew distant. Antonio’s ragged breathing begged me to stop. I looked around. Here we were offered little protection. Ahead of us the forest opened into a large clearing with only a few scattered trees and shrubs, but on the other side stood a thick forest that would keep us away from the roads and hidden from military convoys. I knew that by crossing the clearing we risked being caught out in the open. But we had no other choice, so I continued on.
Most days, campesinos from the cantóns walked these trails, returning corn, fruit, coffee, vegetables, and herbs from the countryside. That day nothing moved. All life had disappeared as if by some act of God. But this was no act of God; this was the work of the devil. A deadly silence slowed even the breeze.
Antonio hobbled beside me, bent over in pain.
I pointed. “We need to make it to those trees to be safe,” I said. “Then I can look at your wound.”
Antonio nodded and forced a pained smile, never once allowing a single word of complaint.
I looked at my brother with a new appreciation. Because the ground here was flat, we moved faster and had crossed half of the clearing by the time I heard the helicopter. It was a faint beating sound echoing through the air like a grasshopper, quickly growing louder.
I grabbed Antonio’s arm and tightened my grip on Alicia’s hand. “Run!” I shouted, pulling them behind me as we rushed toward the distant trees. We were caught in the open with only a couple of trees for cover.
Soon the helicopter thumped like a loud drum as it appeared over the hills behind us. We ran harder, Antonio gasping in pain from trying to keep up. It was almost dusk, and I hoped the helicopter would pass without seeing us, but the big machine banked sharply. I ran toward the nearest tree, pulling Antonio and Alicia along, but it was too late. The loud burping of a machine gun sounded, and to my left dirt exploded. The helicopter roared overhead, banking around for another pass.
Alicia screamed and Antonio stumbled forward, his face twisted in pain. As the helicopter approached again, we ran under a lone tree, trying, all three of us, to huddle behind its thin trunk. This time the machine gun spit bullets into the branches above us, raining leaves and chips of wood onto our heads. Then the helicopter thundered past once more.
Fear blinded me and robbed my breath as I dashed with Alicia and Antonio toward the next tree, trying to escape the monster roaring overhead. We made it to the tree, but it was too small for protection, so we continued as the helicopter turned again to let the machine gun hammer at us.
We kept pushing forward toward the thick forest, expecting bullets to rip us apart as the helicopter passed overhead once more. But still we lived, each new breath a miracle. Now only a narrow stretch of open ground separated us from the cover of trees a stone’s throw away. I broke into the open and ran as fast as I could. “Keep going!” I screamed, dragging Antonio and Alicia. This time the helicopter slowed and hovered over us, its long blades whipping up a storm of dust and dried grass that blinded me.
We ran, tripping and stumbling and holding on to each other. Alicia screamed and Antonio cried out in pain, but we didn’t stop. All around us the air shook with explosions and the helicopter’s deafening thumps. Chunks of dirt stung my skin, but I kept on my feet, fighting toward the trees now only a few feet away. The boiling dust churned about us, choking us, but also hiding our movements.
And then we were safe under the trees. In the gathering darkness, the gunner fired into the upper branches, but I knew that he couldn’t see us. Once again the forest had saved me. I listened as the helicopter circled twice and then abandoned its mission. The pulsing of its blades faded away down the valley.
Antonio collapsed to his knees, gasping for air. I knelt beside him and lifted his blood-soaked shirt. A hole the size of my thumb showed where a bullet had pierced his side.
“This isn’t too bad,” I said calmly so that Antonio wouldn’t be afraid. I looked around. Nearby, a narrow stream of water flowed, and I spotted herbs that might help treat his wound. Antonio turned as I lifted his shirt still farther, and my heart stopped. The bullet’s exit had left a ragged and ugly opening the size of my fist.
“Lie down,” I said, my voice shaking.
I couldn’t rip my tightly woven corte or huipil, so I tore away the bottom of Antonio’s shirt and soaked it in the stream. Gently I cleaned his wound, but I knew he needed help I couldn’t provide. I rolled some epazote in my fingers. The small plant was known to heal cuts, and I hoped it would help Antonio’s wound. I placed the epazote into the wound before smearing it over with trementina, the same white pine resin that Papí had burned when he gave his thanks at the caves. At the caves, trementina had helped to heal the soul. Here it covered Antonio’s wound, and I prayed it would help protect and heal the body.
Even when covered with trementina, the wound kept oozing blood. I dipped part of my corte into the stream to wipe Antonio’s forehead and squeeze water into his mouth. All the while, Alicia watched us, her eyes wide with fear. When Antonio fell into a troubled sleep, I turned to Alicia. “How are you, Ali?” I asked.
Silently she glanced at Antonio and back toward the cantón.
“Did you see Antonio get hurt?” I asked.
Alicia only stared at me.
It was nearly dark, and I knew Antonio couldn’t continue, so I forced a smile. “How would you like to stay here tonight, Ali?” I asked.
Still Alicia stared quietly.
I left Alicia beside Antonio and climbed a nearby cereza tree to gather large black cherries. It had been a long time since I ate, and maybe even longer for my brother and sister. I kept calling to Alicia so she would know I hadn’t abandoned her. By the time I finished collecting cherries, Antonio had woken up. It was completely dark, with only a small moon for light. Antonio refused to eat and fell back into another heavy slumber. Alicia ate greedily, but after she finished, she sat and stared at the ground.
“Were the berries good?” I asked her.
Alicia didn’t answer. I realized then that she hadn’t spoken a single word since I found her naked beneath the bush. Her eyes were distant and preoccupied. I took the hairbrush from my huipil and sat behind Alicia and began to gently brush the mud from her matted and tangled hair. She sat rigid at first, but then slowly she closed her eyes and leaned back against me. I kept stroking the brush through her thic
k hair.
After Alicia fell asleep, I sat and watched Antonio groaning and shifting in labored sleep. He breathed fast, and when I touched his chest, his heart beat like a drum. I wished desperately that Mamí or Papí could have been there to tell me what to do. Antonio needed help as never before, and I could do nothing. We were too far from any cantón with a curandero to help us, and I wasn’t even sure a curandero could help Antonio now.
All we could do was sleep. I unwrapped my corte from my waist and laid it over the three of us like a small blanket. I closed my eyes and felt myself drifting away. I don’t know how long I slept before I awoke in the black darkness. Alicia whimpered beside me, hugging her knees and shaking as if the warm night air were cold. Antonio moaned fitfully and finally rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself to his knees with a loud grunt.
“How do you feel?” I asked.
“I hurt so bad,” he moaned. “It’s like my stomach’s on fire.”
I could not show my little brother how helpless I felt. Carefully I peeled the trementina from his wound and washed away as much blood as I could. The ground under the wound was matted and soaked with blood. Then I wiped cool water on Antonio’s forehead, trying to make up for his weakness with my deliberate movements.
I hadn’t wanted to talk of the massacre in front of Alicia, but because she slept now, I asked Antonio, “Can you tell me what happened?”
Antonio gripped his stomach with both hands. “We were working near the cantón when the soldiers came from every direction. Only a few of us escaped. I ran to the trees but heard Alicia screaming behind me. She had been bathing in the stream.” Antonio grimaced. “I shouted to her, and that’s when I was shot. At first I thought a bee had stung me, but then I saw all the blood. I ran back and carried her to the place where you found us.”
I took Antonio’s hand and looked at him in the darkness with a great love. This was my brother who had been such a follower. And yet here he lay wounded in the dark from having saved his sister’s life. Today he was no follower. “I’m so proud of you,” I said. “Mamí and Papí would have been proud, too.”
My words seemed to ease Antonio’s pain.
Our talking woke Alicia, and she sat up fearfully. I pulled her to my side and hugged her. We had faced hell, but we were still a family.
I tried to stay awake in case Antonio needed comforting. A foul smell came now from his body as he fell in and out of consciousness. He drew in shallow breaths. Sweat dripped from his forehead and pain twisted his face.
I lay awake, listening to the sounds of the forest and to Antonio’s moans. Several times I dozed off, waking to the sounds of frogs, crickets, and the breeze. Antonio’s labored breath interrupted the harmony of the forest. With each effort he pulled air into his weak body as if through a narrow straw.
Sometime before dawn I dozed off once again. When I awoke next, I heard only the sound of the crickets and nothing more.
Antonio’s struggle had ended.
I knelt beside his lifeless body, tears wetting my cheeks. Even in the dark, I saw that the pain had left his face and a calm peacefulness creased his lips. I remained beside Antonio until Alicia awoke, then I held her close.
“Antonio has gone,” I said. “Do you understand?”
Alicia stared at Antonio without answering, but her big eyes blinked hard. Finally I stood and removed Antonio’s shirt, ripping away the cloth stained by blood at the bottom. I rolled up the sleeves and pulled the ragged shirt over Alicia’s small, naked body. The shirt fit her like a dress.
Then I grabbed a stick and dug another shallow hole with hands already blistered from digging other graves. I stabbed angrily at the ground. This wasn’t the sacred ground where my brother ought to have been buried. Why was this happening? Everybody was dying, and I was left alive to endure it. Was God mad? Was there something else I could have done to save Antonio’s life? That thought haunted me as I rolled my brother into his final resting place.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Morning sun glinted through the trees as Alicia and I walked away from Antonio’s grave. I refused to look back as we walked north toward the Mexican border more than two hundred kilometers away. Such a journey frightened me, but what other choice did we have? I no longer felt safe in any cantón or pueblo.
I would rather have waited until dark to walk, but I was anxious to get away from this place where Antonio had died. Inside of me I longed to weep and wake up in Mamí’s arms and hear her tell me that this was only a bad dream, but for Alicia’s sake I forced myself to be strong.
We didn’t walk fast, but all day and into the next night we followed narrow walking trails, stopping only to pick cherries, eat roots, and drink water when we crossed streams. Blisters on our feet made us limp, and we stumbled with weariness. Finally, late the next night, Alicia could walk no farther and I found a thick patch of shrubs to sleep under. Our stomachs ached from hunger, but that didn’t keep us from sleep.
For the next three days we followed rocky foot trails through the rolling hills, trying to walk mostly at night. We ate only berries and plant roots, and slept during the day. I tried many times to coax words from Alicia, but she refused to speak. Whenever we stopped, she sat as if in a trance while I brushed her hair and hummed familiar songs to her.
We met no one until the fourth day of our journey. Early, before the sun rose, I heard a woman’s voice ahead of us crying out weakly in Quiché, “Help! Please, someone help me!”
Thinking that this might be a military trap, I grabbed Alicia and was about to run when I paused to listen more closely.
“Help me. Please!” the female voice called again.
I gripped Alicia’s hand tightly and moved forward. There on the ground near the trail, I found a young pregnant woman lying stretched out on top of a corte. Her stomach bulged like a huge melon, and she wore no clothes below her fat waist. Her bare legs and bent knees were spread wide. From where I stood, I heard her heavy breathing and saw her face twisted in pain and dripping sweat.
“Please help,” the woman gasped, noticing me. Even as she spoke, she grimaced with pain and held to her round stomach.
“What can I do?” I asked, approaching her and kneeling. “I’ve never helped anyone give birth before.”
“Catch the baby,” she cried.
Obediently I kneeled between her legs, but I still wasn’t sure what to do. In our cantón, young girls learned many things—to weave, to carry water, to grind corn, to sweep dirt floors, and to make tortillas. We helped our mothers with many chores, but not with birth. That was the job of the midwives, and not even the men were allowed to help.
In our cantón we would hide with other children in nearby bushes while the midwives helped our mothers give birth. We giggled and stared with wide eyes, imagining the terrible things that made our mothers scream and grunt. Sometimes we whispered to each other, guessing what was happening. The boys were mean and said they were killing a pig.
The woman lying in front of me relaxed for a few minutes as if her pain had disappeared, then again she stiffened and grunted and cried out in pain. Desperately I asked, “What hurts?” But the woman couldn’t answer.
When the pain left her the next time, the woman said, “Soon. Soon.”
I stared. How could a baby be born through such a small opening? Still I waited. Each time the woman stiffened, she screamed louder until I believed she was dying. But finally she screamed, “It’s coming! It’s coming!”
I looked and saw the baby trying to push out from between her legs. It frightened me. It was like her stomach or intestines coming out. I looked back and saw Alicia watching, her eyes and mouth opened wide. There wasn’t time to explain to her what was happening, but I think maybe she thought she was watching another death.
Again the woman grunted and held to her thighs. She strained harder and gasped deeply, as if trying to catch her breath. Sweat dripped from her face in huge drops. The bulge grew larger, like something arriving from a different worl
d. The baby looked like a ball pushing out. Now the woman panted fast. “Catch it,” she shouted.
Trembling, I reached out my hands. Suddenly the head of the baby popped out, then one shoulder, and then the next. With each grunt the baby slid farther into my hands. After the chest and stomach squeezed out, I helped pull. Slowly the legs slid from the mother, and suddenly I found myself holding the whole baby, a baby girl. Bloody birth fluids and white paste covered the wrinkled little body, and a long twisted cord ran from between the mother’s legs and attached to the baby’s stomach.
“What do I do?” I pleaded. “She isn’t breathing.”
The woman forced her head up and looked. “Clean her mouth with your finger,” she grunted.
Afraid the baby was already dead, I ran my finger through its mouth. My finger pulled out thick slime, but still the baby didn’t breathe. I wasn’t surprised. The baby appeared dead from the beginning, like the dead lambs our sheep aborted in the fields.
“Hold her upside down and hit her backside,” the mother grunted.
I lifted the slippery baby up by its ankles, afraid I might drop it. Awkwardly I swatted its back and bottom. Still it hung motionless, but suddenly it gasped and a loud urgent cry pierced the air.
I jumped, nearly dropping the baby. Nervous fear and relief made me laugh. “What now?” I asked.
Again the woman strained to raise her head. “Cut the cord,” she whispered, her voice weaker. “And tie a knot, or the baby will bleed to death.”
I looked around me. “How do I cut the cord?” I asked.
The mother was too tired to answer me. I looked around. Alicia sat quietly, watching me with big eyes. I laid the crying baby on the corte between the mother’s legs, and then stood. What could I use to cut the cord if I had no machete?
All I could find was some magüey, a broad-leaf cactus. I broke off a stiff leaf, careful not to cut myself with the sharp ragged edge, and quickly returned to the mother, who had closed her eyes but still breathed fast like a tired cow.