Chương 4: Grandma's Loteria

Una's Loteria Some counted sheep to fall asleep. Una dreamed of them instead. It was a long time ago. The night was cloudless and cold. The yellow moon rode low in the west, Cerro de la Gallina rose in the east, and a great milky band of stars split the difference. Una was inside the majada (sheepfold), huddled with her flock. The walls were huizache branches woven through mesquite posts. The wind cut right through them. Una pulled Marcos' old sarape tight around her shoulders and snuggled close to Colorado.

She and the sheepdog had been inseparable since her older brother died. Outside the fold, a branch snapped and startled them both. Colorado rose with a low growl in his throat. Una fumbled for the escopeta (shotgun) with numb fingers. Something big was out there. Nearly sixty years had passed since that night on the agostadero (pastureland). Still, the dream came often. Una knew every note by rote. No amount of drinking or praying could keep it away. It was her penance.

In 1920, the Martillos had a homestead near Pinos, a dying town south east of Zacatecas. Once, it had been a wealthy Real de Minas (royal mining district). After La Toma de Pinos (The Taking of Pinos), the town was shattered entirely. The mineshafts were left to flood and all the investors fled. Nothing was left but dusty farms and worn-out old men. Una's father, Juan David, was one of them. He'd been a rich man before La Revolución, but he backed the wrong flag and lost everything.

To keep the Martillos afloat, he and Marcos became shepherds. They drove a hundred and fifty hardy, hungry criollo sheep between the basin at La Trinidad and the low hills of La Pendencia, where the sweet pastizales (grasses) grew. They were only partidarios. The flock was on loan from a big hacienda. For a cut of the wool, meat, and increase, Juan David carried all the risk. When a sheep was sick or a lamb was lost, he took the hit. It was hard work.

Juan David and Marcos traded off as they drove the flock; one was with the sheep day and night. There were still lobos (wolves) in those days. The fighting was winding down, but all was still in chaos. The schools were closed. Packs of wild dogs and wild people still roamed, displaced and dangerous. Juan David and Marcos kept the shotgun loaded with buckshot. Una Martillo was thirteen years old, already plotting her escape. She couldn't stand the feeling of slow, creeping decay that poisoned the town.

She felt the same way about the older men her mother Gloria kept awkwardly introducing. Una had a mind and a drive. She wanted more from her life than to be an ornament on some rich man's arm. She read every book in their house and borrowed more from the neighbors. She read Regeneración and dreamed of fire-eyed magonistas exiled in the cafés of Barcelona. She read Los cuatro jinetes del Apocalipsis (The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse) and fantasized about powerful men in the boardrooms of Europe.

Her favorite was La dama de las camelias (The Lady of the Camellias). Surely, she would find her own tragic love some day as she strolled down the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. Her older brother Marcos was tall and handsome, full of ambitions a shepherd's life could never satisfy. He wanted to move to La Capital and become a mechanic. Some nights, Una would join him on the drive and keep him company. They would laugh under the stars and dream out loud.

Marcos promised Una she could come stay with him in the city once he was set up. Nothing came of it. After the Great War, the spanish influenza followed soldiers home and caught fire everywhere. The sickness radiated from Veracruz in waves. Even backwater Pinos was not safe. Marcos, so big and strong, was the first to fall. The rest of the family survived el trancazo (the blow), but no one was the same. Juan David slipped into the bottle and wasted away.

Gloria fell into scandal and Abuela Dominica nearly died of shame. Una wore the black rebozo (mourning shawl) and spun herself in a skein of grief. She slept through Mass, ignored her chores, and froze her mother out. If anyone spoke a sideways word to her, she would get up and leave. She wandered alone in the hills for days and lived off tuna cardonas (prickly pear) and garambullos (berries of the blue candle cactus). No one knew what to do with her. With no rod or reproof, Una grew wild and unruly.

She came to loathe the sound of people. She listened to the chatter of the cactus wren, the Pe-cos! Pe-cos! cry of the scaled quail, and the endless wail of the wind. Eventually, Juan David was too hollowed out to make the drive. Una helped him a few times, but his health grew worse. There was no one left but her. Gloria told Una it was too dangerous for a girl to be out at night alone. Una almost laughed. What did she have to lose? Gloria was right.

There was a man out there, and Una was miles from help, alone in the dark. In between barks, she could hear the intruder move. She stayed perfectly still and strained her eyes to see through the gaps in the majada. The door was nothing but branches over a frame, tied closed with a piece of rope. It couldn't keep anyone out. She clutched the escopeta. She'd fired it before, but never at anyone. She didn't know if she could do it, but she couldn't let some thief take her sheep.

The man reached the gate and fumbled with the tie in the dark. She saw a flash of silver in the moonlight—a knife. Colorado went crazy. Una was too stunned to scream. Surely, he heard the dog. Why didn't he go away? The man cut the rope and ripped the gate open. The moonlight caught his eyes, just as she fired. The blast tore the night in two. The escopeta's stock kicked back into Una and bruised her shoulder. The air was full of gunsmoke. The sheep were already afraid; the retort sent them into a panic.

They bleated and screamed. The outer sheep dove for the center. The flock surged and crashed against the thorny walls until one gave out. The sheep bolted through the breach. Through the ringing in her ears, Una heard Colorado snarl and the man shriek. She cracked the escopeta open and pulled out the spent shell. The brass burned her fingertips. She rammed in another shell from her belt and pointed the gun. Colorado was in the way. The intruder was knocked on his back.

He held his arm up before his face, trying to keep the dog's jaws away from his throat. Colorado's teeth tore right through his shirt and ripped his arm to ribbons.

"¡Suelta, Colorado! ¡Déjalo!" (Release! Let him go!) Una had to scream. Reluctantly, Colorado released the man. His tail wagged like mad. The man gasped in the dirt, too hurt to rise. A dark stain spread across the left side of his chest. He gurgled as he sobbed.

"¿Qué querías, desgraciado?" (what did you want, bastard?) Una demanded. The man tried to answer but he could only sob. Una didn't know him. His clothes were ragged and he was filthy and thin. It seemed impossible that she'd just shot a man.

"¡Ayuda, ayuda, ayuda!" (Help, help, help!) The man begged, between wet breaths. Una had no idea what to do. The man was a thief or worse. She didn't want to touch him.

"¡Sálveme!" (Save me!) The man reached with his other arm. Colorado rushed forward and bit that one too. Una had to shout him down again. In the scuffle, she spotted the man's knife on the ground. It was chipped and cheap, the knife of a man without pride. Una took it away and left him bleeding in the moonlight. She tried to catch the sheep, but it was hopeless. The flock fled in a stampede. They would not stop until they were exhausted. She needed to go home for help.

With the shotgun in her hand and Colorado by her side, Una crept home. By the time she reached Pinos, she was nearly hysterical. She was certain the stranger had died by now. She'd killed him and committed a mortal sin. The commotion woke up everyone in town. Everyone asked questions at once and she begged them to go get her father. When Juan David came, Una wept and clung to him. It was so hard to explain what had happened. She showed them the knife.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. Juan David was pale and sick. As Una spoke, he became livid. He took the shotgun and a group of men with him and they set off for La Trinidad. Just after dawn, they dragged the wounded man back. He was barely alive. He had no coat, no papers, nothing at all. His shoes were worn through. He was in a bad way and could not or would not speak. They brought Una out to identify him.

"¿¡Este es el infeliz!?" (Is this the son-of-a-bitch?) Juan David demanded.

"Sí." The man looked so much smaller in the daylight. Una had already talked with the priest. She made her confession and received absolution. The shock and guilt had boiled away and furious anger remained. Three sheep and two lambs were dead, crushed in the panic. Many more were missing. It would take days to find them all. Her fingers were blistered. All because this desgraciado cobarde (cowardly bastard) had crept up on her in the dead of night. She looked around and saw much of the town felt the same.

Their fists were clenched and their faces were full of hate. The curandero (healer) came. He listened to the sucking sound of the chest wound and said the lung was done. He guessed the violador (rapist) would be dead before nightfall. Juan David did not want to wait. They brought the man to a cottonwood tree, gave him last rites, and strung him up. Una insisted she wanted to watch, but it was a mistake. It took a long time to die from hanging that way. The sounds the nameless man made as he died were wet and awful.

* Una woke with a terrible jolt and groped for her glasses. ¡Ay, esa revista pendeja! (Oh, that stupid magazine!) The sordid magazine had triggered her nightmare. She could still hear the awful, gurgling sound of the dying man. It took Una a moment to understand it was just Robin, throwing up in the bathroom. She padded over to check on him.

"I'm sorry, Tita," Robin gulped. He hurriedly flushed the toilet. His nose ran and there were tear streaks on his face. He looked so pale and sick in the fluorescent light that Una nearly cried too. She clenched her teeth. He needed her to be strong now." Ay, mi conejito (little bunny), it's fine, it's fine. Do you need a doctor?"

"I don't think so."

"I can make you something to eat." Robin shook his head.

"If you need me just call out and I'll come. Don't forget to brush your teeth."

"I won't." Una sat in her reading chair and worried. The Kit-Cat clock in the kitchen ticked as Robin brushed his teeth. Soon, the bathroom light clicked off. The tail tocked; it was 3: 16 am. She could never get back to sleep after the sheep dream. Una put the kettle on for tea instead. Just as the water was about to boil, she realized the whistle might wake Robin. She hurried over and took it off the fire. Moving too quickly made pain spike in her hip. With a grimace, she poured the water into a pot.

She let it boil, poured a cup, and let her chamomile steep. It all felt so sadly familiar. When Hector got sick, there were many sleepless nights, just like this. Her rosary was on the reading table, on top of the family Bible. She murmured a decade of Hail Marys, and ended with the Fatima prayer:"O my Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of hell; lead all souls to heaven, especially those in most need of thy mercy." The clock ticked on. No grace.

Some nights she could pray, tonight, the Lord felt very far away. After the shooting at La Trinidad, Una chose to make the church a pillar of her life. No more wandering, lost in the wilderness. She didn't like the direction she was headed. She needed someone to listen and forgive. Since that night, she'd tried to be righteous, as best she could. It only got harder with time. Una set the rosary aside and reached for the family Bible. The aged Douay-Rheims came with Dominica from Ireland as she fled the famine.

It passed from her to Gloria, then to Una. When Robin was born, Una gave the family bible to Lucinda. It came back after she passed. The covered edges were frayed and the gilt had faded. The words remained unchanged. Una laid her hand on the cover, searching for strength. Anger came instead. How was this part of the plan? Her Hector, her rock, gone. Her lovely, willful Lucinda snatched away. Now, He wanted Robin, an innocent child. How could He ask so much? The clock ticked on, impossibly slow.

"Please," Una whispered. She lifted the cover, closed her eyes and turned the gilded pages. Her finger fell on Romans 13: 12. The night is passed, and the day is at hand. Let us therefore cast off the works of darkness and put on the armour of light. Una glanced back at the kitchen. The clock's tail swayed and its Bakelite eyes flicked back and forth. 4: 24. Dawn was a long way off. The reading table had a drawer cluttered with sewing bits and bric-a-brac. At the back, there was a black velvet pouch.

Una took it out and held it in her palm. Again she closed her eyes and flipped pages. Ezekiel 13: 23: Therefore you shall not see vain things, nor divine divinations any more, and I will deliver my people out of your hand: and you shall know that I am the Lord.

"It's just cards," Una whispered. He wasn't fooled, of course. She had already set her mind on doing wrong, so why ask? The room felt empty, there was none of the certainty she needed.

"You tell me what to do then." The empty room swallowed her words. One last time, she closed her eyes and turned pages. Her finger landed in the middle of Ezekiel 23. With a scowl, she closed the Bible and put it away in the drawer. Confession would be rough this week. Una opened the black velvet pouch and took out the deck. The packet of cards was another relic, yellowed with time. Around a drawing of a rooster, the deck read: GRAN FABRICA DE NAIPES DE TODOS ESTILOS Clemente Jacques y Cia., S. A. C DE CINTURA No.

2 MEXICO D. F. With great care, Una shuffled the loteria cards. Like the Bible, they belonged to her grandmother. Abuela Dominica would have never allowed a tarot deck or an Ouija board in her home, those were clear conduits to Satan. Somehow, loteria was permissible. Whenever someone was sick or laid up in bed, she would make tortilla soup. Then, they would all gather around and play. Abuelo Rodrique was the cantor. He had an auctioneer's voice and he knew all the lines and rhymes.

They marked their tablas with pennies and the winner shouted ¡Lotería! and got to keep them. Wonderful memories. It was Gloria who taught Una the cards could be more than just a game. After Juan David died, Gloria took a mystical turn. She believed the cards could reveal if a man was lying, if money would come or go, or if a sick horse might get better. Once, a lover had offered to take Gloria on a cruise to New York City. She consulted the cards and refused.

That ship was the SS Morro Castle and her wealthy lover was one of a hundred and thirty seven souls who perished in a terrible fire. After extracting a promise to never tell Dominica, Gloria taught Una to read the cards as well. First, Una lit three candles. Then she shuffled the deck, and cut it seven times. After each cut, she appealed to Saint Lucia. Hear my prayers and obtain my petitions. Una focused on the question and brought it forward in her mind until there was nothing else.

How can I help Robin get better? She dealt the spread of seven cards, face down. One by one, she turned them over. First, El Gorrito - The Bonnet. Take care of those close to you. Someone needs looking after. Of course, Una thought. Next, La Pera - The Pear. Time was short. Una felt a tightness in her chest. She did not like the direction this was going. It wasn't too late to stop and put the cards away. But if she did, she would worry about that pear for days. She turned over the next card. El Pájaro - The Bird.

Nervousness, a danger of flying off before the work was done. What did it mean? The three flames drew higher. Perhaps a danger of not following through with the treatment. Una would be wary of an unexpected change in the plan. There was a sudden chill in the air. Next, La Palma - The Palm. Hard work was needed. Una nodded. It was a better card. The road would not be easy. There was some labor ahead. Labor meant agency. It was always better than helplessness. Next, El Soldado - The Soldier.

The path would be followed, there would be no exceptions to the rules. Another good card, more inclination to stay the course and follow the plan. Then of course, the toy soldiers from the game. She remembered how Robin's eyes had been so bright in the store. There was something there. Next, La Bandera - The Flag. Victory! Una's heart beat faster. There was one card left. Her hand trembled as she reached for it. It's only a game, she chided herself. It did not feel like a game.

The air was very still and the candles burned high. Una needed to stop this, she'd gotten carried away. Cards could not tell the future, only God could do that. She would put them away, forget the whole thing, and go to confession in the morning. The tension grew until she felt ridiculous. It was only a card. She turned it over. A skeleton held a scythe. La Muerte - Death.