The dust rose on the dirt road as if the people themselves wanted to warn Alma Villaseñor that something bad was coming towards her.
It was almost three o’clock in the afternoon and the sun of San Jerónimo del Valle fell with a white fury on the parched hills. Alma advanced slowly, with a bundle of wood strapped to her back and a hand holding her enormous eight-month-old belly. The other hand held the washed-out blue shawl that covered his head. Each step cost him a punch in the waist, but he kept walking. There was no gas in her house, and the child in her—or the children, because the village doctor had suspected there were two—were not going to wait for her to rest.
Then the truck appeared.
Black, shiny, so polished that it seemed not to belong on that dirt road. He braked in front of her, raising a dry cloud that hit his face and got into his mouth. The tinted glass came down with a soft hum, and Alma felt the blast of icy air come from within, smelling of expensive leather, imported perfume, and a life she once believed would be hers, too.
Behind the wheel was Mauricio Salgado.
Her ex-husband.
Light suit, scandalously thin watch, dark glasses. Everything about him screamed wealth, but Alma knew all too well the rottenness behind that appearance.
“Get out of the way,” he snapped. You’re going to fill my truck with dust.
In the passenger seat, a blonde woman with perfect lips and red nails looked at her with disgust. She wore a cream dress, huge glasses and a diamond bracelet. She was one of those women who didn’t seem to touch the ground when she walked.
“Is she the ex?” He asked in a honeyed voice. I thought you were exaggerating, Mau. It looks worse.
Alma did not answer. She barely straightened her back, although the weight of the wood and the pregnancy burned in her spine. His dark eyes locked on Mauricio with a calmness that irritated him instantly.
He hated that look.
He remembered her from the last night they spent together, when he announced that “things were going to change” and that he needed her to sign some papers “to speed up a project”. Alma refused. Two weeks later, Mauricio disappeared with the money from the account that his father had left and with documents that he should never have touched. Since then, everyone in the valley thought he had won: he bought land, closed deals with investors from Monterrey and Guadalajara, promised luxury hotels, golf courses, and “progress.” And in the meantime, Alma survived alone in a small adobe house.
What no one knew was that Don Hilario Villaseñor, his father, had been more astute than anyone else.
“Are you going to move or not?” Mauricio shouted, hitting the steering wheel.
Alma took a deep breath.
—The path belongs to everyone.
The blonde let out a chuckle of contempt.
“Oh, how brave. My love, tell him to step aside. Either you tell them, or I tell them.
Mauricio was about to get out when the truck’s Bluetooth rang. An international call appeared on the dashboard screen. He turned pale instantly.
“Answer,” the woman ordered. Surely it is the reservation in the city.
Mauricio pressed the button with tense fingers. A man’s metallic voice spoke in Spanish with a foreign accent.
“Mr. Salgado, the council has already reviewed the deeds. There are inconsistencies. If you fail to file today, by midnight, the original waiver of rights signed by the rightful owner, the trust is canceled. In addition, our lawyers will proceed for document fraud. There will be no further extension.
The call was dropped.
Inside the truck there was a thick silence.
The woman slowly turned to Mauricio.
“What does fraud mean?”
He did not answer.
And then his eyes went to Alma, no longer with contempt, but with something worse: necessity.
Alma felt the rubbing of the paper hidden under the inner lining of her shawl, just at chest height. There he carried, sewn by hand, the true writings of the spring, the highlands and the old mill. Everything that Mauricio thought he had stolen from her.
“Get in,” he finally ordered, getting out of the truck. Let’s fix this in the square.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.
“Yes, you go.” Because if you don’t sign, I swear you’re not only going to be homeless. I’m also going to move influences to take those children away from you as soon as they’re born. Do you understand?
The threat made his blood run cold.
Not out of fear of him.
But because he had just touched the only point that could break it.
Alma stared at him in silence for a second. Then he continued walking towards the square, without haste, without bending. Not because he obeyed, but because he had already decided that it would all end that day.
The Plaza de San Jerónimo was half empty due to the heat, but it was enough for the black truck to park next to the kiosk for people to peek out from the doorways. Don Chuy stopped fixing bicycles. Doña Tomasa left the grocery store with her hands full of flour. The boys who played dominoes kept chips. Within a few minutes, the entire village seemed to hold its breath.
Mauricio wanted to put on a show.
I needed it.
He wanted to humiliate her before begging her.
He opened the passenger door and let his fiancée get out first. The woman – whose name was Rebeca, according to what Alma heard when Mauricio introduced her to the town days before – adjusted her glasses, observed the crowd and smiled as if she were entering a theater.
“Well, here it is,” Mauricio said, raising his voice. The owner of misery and drama.
He pulled a leather folder out of the glove compartment and then a wad of bills.
“There’s more money here than you’ll ever see in your life, Alma. Sign the waiver, take this, and disappear from the valley.
The bills fell to the dusty ground in front of her.
No one moved.
Alma looked down at the bills, then at Mauricio, and finally at the town hall, where under the shade of the arch was Don Lázaro Méndez, the town’s notary, with his old briefcase under his arm.
He nodded slightly.
It was the signal.
Rebecca, impatient, took the glass of iced coffee she had been carrying from the road and threw it against Alma’s sandals. The sweet, sticky liquid soaked her feet and stained the hem of her dress.
“So you can clean yourself, even if it’s just a little,” he said with a grimace.
An indignant murmur ran through the square.
Mauricio did not stop his fiancée. On the contrary, he seemed to enjoy it.
“Sign now, Alma. Don’t waste my time.
She raised her face.
“Money doesn’t buy honor, Mauricio. And even less the honor that you have already lost.
The phrase fell dry, exactly.
Mauricio’s smile broke.
“Honor?” He laughed hysterically. Look at how you live. Look at how you are doing. You are alone, pregnant, carrying wood like a beast. And you talk to me about honor? Sign on, or I’m going to prove to all the people that you’re just a stubborn, starving woman.
He took a step towards it and violently kicked a branch of the bundle of wood that had come loose. The wood split in two with a snap.
Then Alma, very slowly, dropped the bundle of firewood to the ground.
The noise echoed throughout the square.
With both hands he undid a seam on the inside of the shawl and took out a package wrapped in plastic.
Mauricio’s eyes widened with such obvious terror that even Rebeca recoiled.
Alma removed the plastic.
He showed the leaves.
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