The two boys looked at me as we walked. The farther we got from the camp, the braver they became, as if distance gave them strength. The younger one, who looked to be about eight years old, had sturdy legs and a protruding stomach. He waited for me to pass and then followed me. I walked between the tromping men, my feet so silent it was as if I wasn’t there. We trod beneath the oak trees with their majestic branches, and I listened to every move the boy behind me made. The other brother walked in front of me but glanced back often, looking at my face, examining my features. Belen led the way along the narrow path through the woods. Tree branches and bushes almost covered the slim trail we followed. Celso brought up the rear. No one smiled at me, attempted to talk to me, softened their gaze when they looked at me. I had no friends among these men and boys with their unblemished faces. There was no one to trust here.
About three hours into our march, I felt the first acorn hit the back of my neck. If Jeremia had taken out his slingshot and pelted me, I would have slipped away, run on silent feet through the woods, sneaked up behind him and thrown a handful of nuts at him, bombarding him with multiples in return for his individual missiles. I glanced at the man behind my brother and understood that if I slipped away, he would come and find me and perhaps return to the camp to take out his anger on Jeremia or old Nathanael.
As I continued to walk, I felt heat from my chest creep up my neck and into my face. The helplessness of fear and anger stung my eyes. I would not give in to this feeling.
Zing! An acorn flew by me.
Zing! Another hit me on the back of the head.
The littlest brother giggled, and the man behind me started to laugh. The brother in front of me looked around, as if trying to understand what was so funny.
I slowed down just a bit. Littlest brother sneaked closer, became braver and hit me on the cheek. It stung, but I said nothing. Try it again, little brother, try it again.
Zing! Another hit the back of my neck.
He was very close, and as we crept along, prey and aggressor, I thought of my mother’s description of Mateo: loving but mischievous. This little boy was about as sweet as an unripe lemon.
Celso’s laughter encouraged him, and he became braver. He stepped up right behind me, and I felt how close he was by the sharp sting on my shoulder blade. When the acorn hit the violin case, Mateo laughed at the hollow sound it made and then forgot to watch where he was going.
I stopped, whirled around and snatched the slingshot out of his hand before he’d noticed how close we were.
“Hey,” he said, “give that back.”
“Stop hitting me or I’ll snap this in half.” I held the slingshot over his head.
“Dad and Uncle Celso will make you give it back. You can’t feel those hits—look at you. You’re a monster.”
I weighed that comment, considered taking offense and then laughed. I was still laughing when his face contorted, and his eyes stretched wide as he screamed. He screamed again and again, backing away from me, his hands in front of him. Belen ran back, pushed past me through the thick leaves of the trees and held Mateo against him.
“What did she do to you, son?” He kneeled at Mateo’s side, his arm around him. “Did she hurt you?”
I no longer laughed. I lowered the slingshot and held it at my side.
“She made a face at me. She snarled at me. Sh…Sh…She was going to hurt me.”
And then I remembered Nathanael’s warning. Never smile, he had said. Never laugh or grin at someone who isn’t used to your face. When you smile, your teeth are bared, your face splits open, and you become an animal, with teeth and gums exposed. I was careful not to smile as my father looked at me. His face became a burnt red color, the underside of a cardinal’s wing, and he spoke low, his lips tight.
“If you ever threaten this boy again, I will finish the job I began when you were born.”
I clenched my jaw. When I felt a tug, I looked down and saw my other brother, David, pulling the slingshot out of my hand. Even though he looked like the other two, his eyes were gentler, more searching, more willing to crinkle and laugh. He held the slingshot up for his father to see.
“Mateo shot seeds at her.”
Belen yanked the slingshot out of David’s hand and gave it back to Mateo.
“He may do what he likes to her. She’s not like us.”
David narrowed his eyes. Mateo gloated and fit another acorn into his slingshot, but rather than walking behind me, he joined his father and the two marched on, leading the way.
David walked between me and his father as we continued our passage through the woods. I pushed fern leaves aside, felt the scratch of thorny branches against my legs, tugged my feet through vines. As we walked, I wrapped a shield around myself and prepared for my new life.
On the first day of our journey, we met no other people, and I marveled that my mother had walked this distance all by herself for fifteen years. I understood the dedication she’d shown, the sacrifice she’d made. She truly had loved me. We slept in the vines and bushes, under the arching trees. My stomach rumbled with hunger. I tried to silence the sound by sleeping on my side, but the noise of emptiness reverberated against the ground. Because we had left the camp in such a hurry, I’d packed no food, and they offered me none during our travels. As my stomach continued to groan, I felt something pressed into my hand. My fingers closed around the object, and I brought it up to my nose. It was a piece of flatbread. I ate it in three bites.
On the second day, we passed a small village. About ten huts were grouped together in a rough circle, and children, barking dogs and smiling villagers appeared and disappeared between the huts. I hoped that this village was ours, because I could feel the acceptance.
Children ran out of the woods to greet us. They looked at my face curiously but were not afraid of me. They took our hands and pulled us into the center of the village, where sitting logs circled the fire pit. We were given bowls of rice, cooked vegetables and bits of meat. I ate the food while turned to the side so they could not see me placing the food at the back of my throat, away from my mouth, away from the openings that would make it spill out again.
When I looked around the village, I saw another woman like me, with slits in her face, openings between her nose and mouth, but also with one eye that looked always down. She smiled at me and raised her hand. I raised my hand in response, but Belen moved in front of me, blocking my view. While I ate my dinner, I saw two boys playing together by the fire pit. One of the boys had only one arm, and the other had a sore at the back of his head.
I wanted to stay in this little village where the disfigured children played around the fire pit with the other children and where the parents could watch them. But after we ate the meal in the early evening, we continued on our way.
The path we followed started to widen, and I noticed now the difference in the trees. My legs and hands were no longer stung by the thorns and brambles, and spaces appeared over our heads. More and more people passed us, people with markings and symbols on their arms and faces, people with their hair cut into strips on their heads or braided in long lines down their backs. They looked at me with the same curiosity with which I looked at them. Sometimes Belen and Celso stopped to talk with these people and sometimes we passed them without a word.
On the third day, we stopped in another village and were given a meal, but I did not want to stay in this village. The children hid behind the huts or trees when they saw my face, and one little boy stood in front of me, pointing and screaming.
I was offered rice here, but there were no vegetables and there was no meat, although I could smell something roasted coming from Belen’s bowl. I did not sit on the log beside my little brothers but on the ground at their feet, dipping my fingers into the rice, eating as fast as I could in case they decided to take away what little food I had. Here I felt like an animal, squatting, skulking, shoveling, while they watched me as though I might eat their children.
The night before we reached our village, Belen and Celso built a fire in a small clearing. They sat near the warmth with the two boys while I sat behind them, just beyond the fire’s reach, trying to see clues to my mother in the shapes of the boys’ heads. They said little, but I did hear my name and saw Belen glance back at me.
Celso stood from his place by the fire and walked to me. I kept my chin on my knees, my arms wrapped around my legs.
“Your place is with us now,” he said. I looked at his brown boots, thick and durable, perfect for the walk through the woods. “You’ll not go back.”
I barely felt the edge of the fire’s warmth. My place might have been with them, but it was not equal to them.
“And if you run, I’ll hunt you down. Your father may be weak, but I’m not.”
I looked up. The sky was dark, the trees shadowed and black around the outside of the fire. I could see nothing of his face.
He returned to the campfire and sat down beside Belen. The boys glanced back at me. I turned on my side, lay down on the ground and rested my cheek on my hands. Hot tears dampened the fingers under my cheek, but the tears made no more sound than snowflakes might.
This was my life now.
We reached my family’s village, Astatla, in the afternoon of the fourth day. As we progressed through the forest, the pine trees thinned and disappeared, replaced by stunted magnolias that were more spread out, less dense. A thick, rotten smell filled the air. My head hurt from the reek, and my hand moved to cover my nose. Death. Decay. A world filled with rot. My eyes stung. I was hungry, but this smell made me queasy.
I heard the village long before we came to it: dogs barking, children yelling, an occasional shout—and absolute silence from the insects and birds. I had never experienced it before, that silence. It was peculiar and indescribable. The emptiness made my heart feel hollow, lonely, even though there were people everywhere.
We walked along a road now, and as we neared the first houses of the village, I noticed many smells. Some were good smells, like the cooking of soups, but behind those good smells always lay the heavy reek of filth, latrines and unwashed bodies. I could feel my nostrils flare. How could people live under this haze of stench? My hands felt unsteady and continually flew to my throat or clutched at my clothes. I tried to control them.
The wide dirt road was lined with houses constructed of flat pieces of wood that fit together snugly. They had metal roofs. For a minute I felt some excitement—maybe I would be warm, dry and protected. Our huts in the woods, made of sticks, logs and mud, always developed cracks in the winter that let the cold air creep into our blankets and bones.
I’d never seen so many people before and couldn’t believe how long the dirt street seemed to be. Children took breaks from playing with balls to stare at me. Women paused as they carried heavy loads of water, wood or clothing and watched as I walked by. I stared also.
Everyone was beautiful, with smooth faces, sealed mouths and unsplit noses. No wonder they thought me a monster. I wanted to cover my face, hide it behind my hand, but instead I looked ahead and met their eyes.
When a beautiful man glanced at me and then glared with narrow eyes, I felt a moment of panic. I’d seen him before—but I knew that wasn’t possible. His hair hung to his shoulders in graying black waves, his eyes watched me from beneath dark lashes, and his muscles twisted just beneath his skin. It was Jeremia—Jeremia without a missing arm. Jeremia older. When I walked past him, he hissed. Jeremia released his anger by disappearing for days at a time. I didn’t want to know how this man released his anger.
My father’s house was near the end of the long street. As we walked, we gathered an audience. I trailed behind Belen, Mateo and David, my shoulders tense, my hands sweaty around the scarf that held my mother’s gifts. I followed them to the house but stopped outside the door.
This was where I had been born. This was where my mother had lived. This was where she had baked the bread, cared for the boys, loved, lived, died. The outside of the house was brown. Two steps led up to a faded yellow door, the color of fall leaves. Two glass windows gave the dwelling a face, but I saw no friendliness in its expression. No flowers grew around the house, only straggly clumps of brown grass and a few withered plants, which might have bloomed at one time but were so ragged now that I couldn’t recognize them.
Mateo prodded me in the back. When I turned to look, I saw a pack of children gathered behind him.
“Snarl,” he said. “Make that face again. Show them that face.”
My head was so filled with the stink in the town that I couldn’t concentrate. I shook my head to clear it and then wrinkled my nose. I felt my mouth pull up, split open from nose to lip, and the children gasped. Mateo pointed a shaky finger at me and shrieked, “See, I told you. I told you.”
Belen stood with his arms crossed while Celso pushed me aside.
“You don’t go in the house,” Celso said. He continued to push me, and I submitted to his hands. He was forceful, and as I saw the other men gathered around, I understood why. He was in charge here and must prove this to the onlookers. The house faced the dirt-packed road, and a line of people stood along the edge of the street, watching. There were no trees to hide me. My shield had dissolved, and tears tickled my nose.
“This is where you will stay.” Celso pointed to a structure next to the house.
I didn’t understand what it was. This miniature house was low to the ground, with a large opening. A hard black flap fit over the hole in the front. If I curled into a ball, perhaps I could squeeze myself between the walls. I heard laughter ripple like heat through the crowd.
“Doghouse,” someone said.
Doghouse. Warmth crept across my chest, up my neck and into my cheeks.
I crossed my arms and planted my feet. Never in my life had I felt this hungry, this insubstantial. I looked at Celso and then glanced at Belen, standing behind him. I shook my head. My tears would fall any minute, but I would not crawl into a house constructed for animals.
“You’ll do as I say, girl,” he said. His hand flew through the air and slapped my cheek. My head snapped back. I felt a burning in my cheeks, but I swallowed the need to crouch low, hold my face, cry and ram my head into Celso’s stomach. I had learned that Belen would not stand up for me, so I stood on my own, holding my arms closer to my chest, letting my eyes fill.
“Get in the doghouse,” Celso said through gritted teeth.
I glanced at the line of people watching us. They smirked, their mouths drawn up into petty smiles. I saw no kindness, no mercy, no forgiveness.
Celso was wearing a plaid shirt with shiny snaps down the front and at the cuffs of the sleeves. He opened up the snaps on the cuffs, rolled the sleeves up to his elbows and waited. Maybe I should have gotten into the doghouse. I knew that if I submitted, though, that would be my accommodation forever. I’d had better shelter in the woods.
The blow hit me so hard, I gasped. The world spun around me and tipped; I clutched at my stomach. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see straight. A kick from his boot landed against my side. Flashes of light twirled around my head.
As the world spun and I hit the ground, I wondered what had happened to the dog, why its home was empty.
When I awoke, it was dark. The line of people had disappeared. Artificial lights shone from the windows of the houses, and I heard the welcome sounds of the forest. Birds screeched, crickets chirped rhythmically, and bats flitted against the sky. I breathed in as deeply as I could without choking on the smell. This, at least, was a world I knew.
I sat up and inched my fingers across my chest and stomach, feeling for wounds. My right leg rebelled. I tried to straighten it, tried to pull my foot forward where I could see it, but it was stuck to the ground. I rolled onto my hands and knees and crept backward. I groped down the side of my leg and yanked my hand back when I touched the cold unforgivingness of metal.
Nathanael, Jeremia, Eva and I used to joke about being trapped in the camp, locked away in our forest jail, but Nathanael had told us as we sat around the fire and played games or listened to stories of the civilized world that he would always choose this forest jail over the town we’d been banned from. Why? we’d asked him. Why choose this seclusion?
“People can be cruel,” he’d said. Perhaps Belen had allowed Celso to chain me to the ground because it was expected, because he was on the town council and had to set an example—even if that example was his own daughter.
I lifted the flap covering the opening to the doghouse and felt inside. A worn, fur-covered blanket that smelled of urine and worms lay crusted and stiff on the ground. The blanket was beginning to disintegrate, becoming one with the dirt, but I pulled it out and shook it. As I wrapped it around my body, I remembered the violin lashed to my back. I pulled the strap over my head and held the case in my hands, weighing it, considering. There was nothing to do, no one to talk to, no baby to care for, no little sister or big brother to tease. Do I feel sorry for myself? I wondered. Do I crawl into the doghouse, curl around myself and weep?
I opened the violin case, fit the violin against my shoulder and began to play. Light and clean, the notes lifted into the air and spoke of me staked to the ground. I didn’t play my mother’s lullaby or any of the other tunes I’d pieced together. I played a song all my own, and it came to me on the soft wings of bats.
The door to the house opened and a rectangle of light stretched into the street, illuminating the rough, bumpy ground. David stepped out of the house and sat in the doorway, his shadow long and lean. My music mingled with the darkness and brought a bit of beauty back into my life. I don’t know when I finished playing, but David was gone from the doorstep by the time I put down the violin, and the moon was hidden behind the houses to the west.