La Miserias looks different.
Granted, it’s daytime now, midmorning to be exact, so there’s more of the town to see than there had been last night. Still, something about it feels off. Like it’s not real. Like it’s hollow. Which, of course, is to be expected after last night’s massacre.
We walk down the main street leading to the square. The bodies are gone, but there are still people there, mostly old men. Some are sweeping up the debris. Others are laying down hay to cover the blood-spattered dirt.
Gabriela whispers, “What are we doing here?”
Good question. She’d asked it during our drive and I hadn’t had a proper answer then. I still don’t.
I motion her toward one of the side streets.
“Let’s go this way.”
A minute later we’re standing outside Yolanda’s house. Dorado, the chubby brown cat, peers out at us from the window.
I knock.
No answer.
I knock again.
Still no answer.
Dorado just watches us lazily from his perch on the windowsill inside.
I say, “Maybe we should try the back.”
Before we can move, though, a young kid appears down the street. He doesn’t look any older than ten years old. He reminds me of the kid who sold me those firecrackers, and for an instant I wonder what this kid might be peddling today. But he simply approaches us, his expression much too serious for a kid his age.
“Are you looking for Yolanda?”
We nod.
He says, “I know where she is.”
We follow him between several different houses until we come to one packed with people.
The kid squeezes inside without a word, leaving us alone outside. The few people crowded in the doorway glance back at us. A minute passes, and then Yolanda appears. She gazes outside, frowning, and shuffles toward us, leaning heavily on her cane.
“You girls were the last two I expected to see today.”
I say, “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
She gazes up and down the empty street.
“Why not here?”
“I’m sorry again about what happened last night.”
“You came here to apologize?”
“No. I came here to ask you a question.”
The old woman leans on her cane.
“And what is your question?”
“Last night you said you wondered when Morales will strike again. You said you wondered when more people will die. You said that it’s a bloody cycle.”
“Yes, I did say that. Is that your question?”
“No, my question is, do you want to break the cycle?”
In the sunlight the scars on her face are even more pronounced. She stares at me, studying my face.
“What are you saying?”
“You told me about the autodefensas, how they once stood up to the narcos. Why not stand up to them again?”
Yolanda closes her eyes and shakes her head slowly.
“As I told you, the autodefensas have been disbanded. They have become illegal. And besides, we are a small town. The weapons we have are simplistic. A few handguns, maybe, a few hunting rifles. The narcos have military weapons. How are we supposed to defend ourselves?”
One of the old men from the doorway has drifted outside to smoke. He’s the same old man Gabriela spoke to last night in the town square. He clears his throat and speaks in a low gravely voice.
“The boys have weapons.”
Yolanda glances back to glare at him.
“Be quiet, Antonio.”
I ask, “What boys?”
Antonio says, “The narcos. The ones here in town.”
I look at Yolanda.
“You have narcos in town?”
Yolanda sighs.
“There are narcos in every town. Narcos need a place to live. They aren’t all rich like Fernando Morales.”
“How many are there?”
Antonio answers.
“Two of them. Sometimes more. But two of them stay in the house on the edge of town. They’re young, about your age. They came one day and kicked the family out of the house and have been there ever since.”
I ask, “And they have weapons?”
The old man nods.
“I would guess so.”
I look again at Yolanda.
“Are weapons the only thing stopping you from protecting yourselves from the narcos?”
Yolanda shakes her head again, this time sadly.
“You two should leave. Forget about this town and what happened here.”
“Last night you told me about how towns like these once stood up to the narcos. You made it sound like this was something you wished happened again. Now, do you still feel that way?”
Before Yolanda can answer, Antonio grunts.
“I wish we did.”
Yolanda shoots him another glare.
“Thankfully that is not a decision for you to make.”
Antonio takes a final drag of his cigarette before dropping it on the ground.
“You are right, Yolanda. It is up to the town.”
He motions at the crowded house behind him.
“Why don’t we ask them?”