The nahual smiles, showing off its yellowed teeth, as it stands under the streetlamp. He wears a black leather jacket, smokes cheap cigarettes, but he is still a nahual. There is the whiff of mountains about him and the glint of the coyote in his eyes. I’ve never seen a nahual, but I heard of them through my great-grandmother. Old-lady stories. Folktales. The tales steer me to the other side of the street, avoiding him. He notices, the corner of his mouth twitches, but I head down the steps towards the subway.
Safe, sitting inside the orange subway car, the smell of the mountains and the matorral fades and I am once more in Mexico City. A boy walks down the aisle selling bubble gum. A teenager bobs his head up and down to the music from his headphones. A man reads a newspaper. Once more nahuales are stories, very old stories, and nothing more.
And yet I place three nails in my bag the next morning.
Three days later I step out and feel the city changing. The scent of pines and shrubs where there ought to be only smog.
I look at the homeless man sprawled in an alley and wonder if his grey shape betrays another nature.
I take the underpass to the subway, quickening my pace. When I emerge, I almost bump into him.
The nahual from the other night with his black jacket. He’s with two others this time. They’re also dressed in leather; they also smoke cheap cigarettes that stain the fingers.
The one in black smiles at me and he says something I can’t make out. Maybe he’s trying to put a spell on me.
I can deal with this.
I duck my head and toss the nails behind me, and they do not follow.
I turn to look at them as I reach the steps. They’re laughing. It resembles the barking of wild dogs.
I place the rosemary and the knitting needles under my bed for protection. I carry nails to ward my tracks. But that doesn’t make them go away. They remain there, waiting by the subway station.
In my great-grandmother’s time, in her hometown, they tied a poor, bawling goat to a post to lure the nahual, then dropped a crucifix at its feet when it appeared. My great-grandmother shot the nahual in the head herself. It had killed her sister. The only thing she regretted was the bawling of the goat as the nahual tore its belly open.
It is impossible to attempt that these days. Where would one get a goat? How could one fire a rifle? The only rifles I’ve seen are in the sepia-coloured pictures of my great-grandmother’s youth, she with the weapon against her shoulder, staring squarely at the camera, the corpse of the nahual at her feet. A dark mountain range behind. A land of forests and monsters.
I lower my head, I try to hide between the folds of my clothing and walk faster. Faster, faster. The click of my shoes against the cement. Their shadows behind me until I slip into the subway car. Until it pulls from the station and I can breathe again.
The walk from work to the subway has become unbearable. Each night they are there. Sometimes they sit, hunched down, drinking from green bottles. Other times they lean against the wall, arms crossed. But they’re always there.
The nails will only do so much and I fear my method of protection might be losing its strength. Meanwhile, their grins seem to grow wider. I can almost hear the snapping of their jaws as I rush forward, trying to move as quickly as my heels will allow.
I never understand what they say to me. I don’t want to understand. Garbled nonsense which might be a threat. Or an entreaty.
I take a taxi one Friday, unable to face the walk to the subway. But I can’t afford one each night. Only the subway can take me to my apartment.
The nahuales, not content with inhabiting the outskirts of the station, have made the neighbourhood their home. Shadows and cracks appear where they have never been before, and the buildings resemble mountains. One day I fear I shall walk out the door and find myself deep in the matorral, the dense thickets making it impossible to make my way back.
Fear has made me look for different routes. But eventually, just like all rivers lead to the sea, I must make my way into the station. And they’ll be there. It does not matter if I approach it from the north or the south, if I take the underpass, or round the streets. They find me.
They have grown brazen in their approach. No longer content to whisper and watch me, they sniff and touch a strand of hair as I walk by. Sneak a hand up my arm.
They are so close I think I see the ticks in their matted hair, which is like fur. Their eyes are narrow, opportunistic.
Their voices, as I descend into the station, bounce off the walls with vicious glee.
The rain comes and seems to flush the nahuales away. Once again I can walk to the station, heels splashing in the puddles.
I am relieved.
But then I spot it, gnawing at garbage: a great black dog. It growls at me. Two other dogs appear and join the black one.
I take a step back.
It takes a step forward.
I run, back through the underpass, back to the street. I take off my heels and run barefoot, nylons tearing and sweat dripping down my neck.
The pack chases me across a forest of tall pines. I wade through a stream and emerge on the other bank, until I reach the safety of a café and rush inside. I look out the window and see the dogs’ eyes in the dark. They glow yellow, like the stub of a cigarette.
I hear laughter and three men walk from the shadows. The one in the black jacket opens his mouth and smoke curls out of it, like incense rising in the night. He smiles at me.
I wait for an hour before I leave the café, but I do not seed my tracks with nails.
When I get home, I climb into bed without taking my clothes off and press my bag against my chest. I think of the goat tied and bawling in the dark.
The moon shines yellow and round through the curtains. The din of traffic grows distant and the night is blacker than ink, all the city lights blotted out.
The door creaks open as a black dog nuzzles his way into my bedroom. Two other dogs pad behind him.
The black dog sniffs and approaches my bed. Its bark is close to laughter.
I draw the sharp knitting needle from my bag and grin before plunging it into his neck.