Noah walked toward the figure as it advanced forward. The stranger was speaking loudly in order to be heard, his arms flailing animatedly, but Noah did not understand the jumbled hybrid of Spanish and English. The man was about a foot shorter than Noah, thin with a head that seemed slightly larger than the body it was on. He had a wide, uneven mustache, though Noah wasn’t sure if it was only because that was the only facial hair that would grow. The stranger sounded terrified, screaming
“¡Fuego!”
before making the sign of the cross across his chest and kissing his fingers.
“Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you.” Noah held his hands up to show he wasn’t a threat.
“The woman, she’s hurt?” The man breathed heavily, his face red and swollen from crying. Noah shook his head.
“She’s fine. We’re looking for the children. For a boy.” He reached into his pocket and the man flinched.
“It’s okay. I’m just going to take a picture out of my pocket, okay? I’m not going to hurt you.”
The man hesitated, then nodded.
Noah took the creased article from his pocket and held it out unfolded. The man cautiously leaned forward, watching Noah more than the photo, and when Noah didn’t move the man glanced quickly at it. Then, for longer.
“
Si.
I know this boy. Elias.”
Noah’s heart stopped beating.
“What do you mean? Where’s Eli? Where’s my son?”
“The
madre?”
he said, pointing at Rachel. “Is she Tletliztlii?”
“What? No. Not at all. She’s my girlfriend.”
“Good. We must get her inside before the sun gets stronger.”
They lifted Rachel and brought her inside the classroom. It was small, covered in paints. It took a few minutes for Noah’s eyes to adjust to the lower light, and the first thing that came into view was a purple papier-mâché elephant that stared at them from its perch on a desk. The man kept casting nervous sidelong glances at it while he poured Rachel a glass of water. She drank it quickly and without question, then thanked him.
Noah couldn’t handle waiting any longer.
“Where is Eli? Where is my son?”
The man shook, crossed himself again, and kissed his fingers before taking the folded article from Noah’s hand.
“This is your
hijo?”
“Yes. My boy, Eli.”
The small man removed one of the children’s paintings from the wall of the classroom and gave it to Noah. The colors were wrong, sky yellow and ground black, but it was a self-portrait of a boy, standing with a pink, green-faced animal at his side.
“This painting? This is your boy.”
Noah took a second look, mesmerized by the thick-painted features. Could he tell, just by looking at the poorly constructed face, that it was his son? Was there any resemblance between that twisted figure and the boy he’d spent so long searching for? He couldn’t take his eyes off of it, the first artifact of his son’s existence he’d held in years. He lifted it to his face and inhaled deeply, trying to recover some sense of the boy. When he pulled the cheap paper away, he could barely speak.
“Where can I find him?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes the Tletliztlii—” He swallowed, then looked out the window of the classroom. Noah glanced, but there was nothing there. Only the sun burning in the sky. “The children, they were here. Your son, too. Then today, no children. But I find that.” He pointed toward the piñata on his desk, then crossed himself.
“Eso es todo lo que queda de los niños.”
“What do you mean?”
“They are gone.”
Noah slumped down into one of the tiny desks, unable to keep his balance any longer. Knees up to his chest, he couldn’t help but laugh, the rasps swirling in his chest before erupting volcanically from between his teeth.
“My name is Señor Alfred Muñoz. I am one of the teachers here, but I am also the caretaker. The rest, they come only when they are needed. Classes for the babies on some days, classes for the older children on other days. Between, I must make sure the school is ready. But now, maybe I’m losing my job. Today, I’m supposed to have the children, but they do not come. Maybe never again.”
Noah looked around the room, needing to occupy himself to keep his heart from breaking. The walls of the classroom were covered in drawings scribbled by tiny hands, pasted upon a larger mural that swept everything else up in it—chalkboard, windows, the door. It was a row of children, their heads wider than tall, features pinched but gleeful. Each was a different color, and they danced as though floating, all in line following behind a tall musician in some sort of parade. The musician’s face beamed like the sun as he blew notes out into the air, the string of them carrying across two walls. The line of happy children behind, all no more than four years old. Suddenly, Eli seemed so far away. Impossibly distant and irretrievable.
“Where would the Tletliztlii take them?” Rachel asked.
“Nobody will say. People, they are afraid of the gods, even if they don’t believe in them. They are afraid of what will happen.”
Noah banged his hand on the small desk.
“You have to have some idea. My son—he was stolen! I haven’t seen him in years. I don’t even know if he’s still alive.”
Rachel looked at him after his outburst in that way he hated. With well-meaning pity.
“We’ll find him, Noah. Don’t worry. If they’d left the village I bet Father Manillo would have known it. They’re still here, somewhere. We’ll find Eli somehow.”
“How can you be so sure? Even I can’t be sure. His own teacher can’t be sure.”
“I just know, Noah.”
“You
know?
What do you know?” Noah recognized, dimly, his frustration was misplaced, but the fire was too great; he could not stop himself. Tinder became a blaze, and he could not turn back. “We’re not going to find him. We aren’t going to find Eli or Sonia or anyone from the Tletliztlii. We’re—”
“Excuse,” said Muñoz, careful in his interruption. “You say Father
Manillo
is helping you?”
“Yes, Father Manillo.”
Muñoz did not get a chance to speak. A horrible moan, like the creaking of a massive door on rusted hinges, interrupted him as it echoed thorough the empty schoolhouse. The sound rattled Noah, who fell silent and cold and could not understand why—not until he saw Muñoz’s terror-filled eyes bulging wide. They were locked on Rachel, and as Noah turned he could feel the passage of time slowly stretch itself out. The room expanded outward until it fell away from the edges of world altogether, and all the while the distance between him and Rachel shrank to near nothing. He saw the web of veins standing from the pallid skin of her sweating face; saw the wrinkles around her eyes, her mouth, as she grimaced in agony. Tears fell onto her rigid arms as she clutched at her belly, trying to claw her way in to stop whatever was happening. Noah swallowed, his brain dully wanting to reconcile the sight, and it wasn’t until Muñoz finally stood and screamed that time’s normal pace resumed.
“¡Madre!”
Noah rushed over and put his hand on Rachel’s face. She was burning, and crying uncontrollably.
“My God, Rachel. What’s wrong?”
She shook her head without speaking, and Muñoz covered his own again, muttering under his breath. Noah grabbed hold of the small man so tightly he thought his fingers would puncture skin.
“Call a doctor! Do something!” he said.
Muñoz’s eyes were stuck as wide as they could go, but he still managed to whisper a question.
“The name. What is the name?”
Noah didn’t understand.
“Her what? Her name—her name is Rachel. What—”
“No, no. What is the
nobre del bebé?
The baby. The baby has to have a name.”
“We haven’t—we—what does that have to do with anything?”
“Noah,” Rachel managed, her voice strained. “Help me.”
Muñoz shook his head, pulling away.
“El bebé necesita un nombre.”
But Noah would not let him go. Instead, he squeezed the teacher’s arms harder.
“Why do you want to know the name?”
“Noah, I need a hospital.”
“Cuando la madre de gran Ometéotlitztl’s estaba embarazada con su hermano, ella no le dio nombre al bebé y los dioses estaban tan enojados que le forzaron que lo abortara.”
“I don’t understand!”
“Help me,” Rachel cried. Noah looked down at her, his daze clearing. Panic setting in.
“¡El sin nombre se quema! ¡Un lumbre que nunca se apaga!”
He slapped Muñoz hard across the face. Muñoz stumbled.
“We need to see a doctor
now,
” he said, and picked Rachel up. Muñoz nodded.
“Yes, your wife. We need to help your wife.”
“We aren’t married,” Noah muttered. It was all he could think to say.
4. The Truth Will Out
The only doctor in the village lived ten minutes away, but it could have been ten hours and the journey would have been no easier. The men carried Rachel as quickly as they could, and Noah did his best to calm her despite her delirium, while Muñoz guided them through deserted streets toward a tiny nested house.
“We’re almost there,” Noah said, but Rachel did not seem interested in being comforted. Instead, she continued to emit a high-pitched whine that steadily increased in volume. Part of Noah expected locked doors to swing open and shut windows to fly up, but as they passed rows of houses in the warm night nothing moved. They were more alone than they’d ever been.
The men burst through the door of the doctor’s house with Rachel in their arms and called out for help. A short, dark nurse with deep-set eyes and a harelip from an ancient scar appeared and looked directly into Rachel’s eyes, then at her swollen belly, then directed the two men to place her into a worn wheelchair. Noah asked if he needed to sign anything, but the nurse did not respond. Instead, she wrapped her stubby fingers around the handles of the wheelchair and pushed it forward, not waiting as Rachel weakly reached out. Before she could speak, Rachel was pushed clear of the front room.
“What are we supposed to do now?” Noah asked, eyes plastered to the door swinging unceremoniously shut.
“Now, we sit,” Muñoz said. “And we wait.”
Until then Noah hadn’t noticed his surroundings. The stress and adrenaline had narrowed his attention until he was blind to anything not directly in front of him. With Rachel taken, that adrenaline wore away, leaving behind a cold shiver in his limbs he couldn’t shake.
The front waiting room was the filthiest place he had seen since arriving in Mexico. The floor was made of press-on linoleum tiles loose from the sweat of summer heat, some missing, some cracked beyond repair. In the corner sat a small box of toys—a duck, some plastic cars—that Noah got the impression were not often played with. There seemed to be no sign of children ever having been there, which seemed appropriate, considering how oppressive the room was. But despite the small size of the room, Noah hadn’t immediately noticed that he and Muñoz were not alone. There was a lonesome couple seated in the corner, their faces long and sagging, their eyes dead. They did not glance at Noah or Muñoz. They did nothing much at all except cradle a pair of twin papier-mâché dogs in their arms. At least, Noah supposed they were dogs. Bright, multicolored dogs; fat and malformed and without eyes.
“Why do they have those here?” Noah whispered.
“Here it is customary for the birth of a child. It’s a
regalo
. A gift. Our people, they are too poor to afford to give anything they cannot make.”
Noah nodded. They sat quietly, listening to the erratic tick of the old clock on the laminate wall, and to the sound of the couple’s heavy breathing as they stared at nothing and waited. Noah was in no condition to handle the silence.
“Thank you,” he whispered again. “You don’t need to stay here.”
“It’s not trouble. I have no children. No one who needs me more. Without the Tletliztlii to teach, I—”
He caught himself, and lowered his head.
“I am sorry. Your
hijo
—your Eli—I forgot.”
Noah swallowed. “It’s okay. I’ll find him.”
Muñoz nodded.
Noah waited on word about Rachel in silence for almost two hours, but the nurse never returned. No one else entered the office either, and the long-faced couple across the room were barely more than statues, staring up at a buzzing clock, holding their plaster gifts. Noah looked to Muñoz, who sat still, eyelids closed, and Noah wondered where the teacher had taken them. A nervous itch crept across his jittering legs. Where had the nurse taken Rachel so quickly? Noah stood, started pacing, desperate to dispel his growing unease. First Eli, now Rachel—was he doomed to have parts of who he was forever disappear, plucked from his life one at a time, until he was nothing more than a set of bleached bones? Even the article in his pocket, unfolded and folded so many times, was beginning to wear.
Muñoz opened his eyes.
“You must stop moving. It is not good for you.”
“I have to do something. I’ll go crazy if I don’t.”
“You will be crazier if you do. They will come and tell us about Rachel soon. Dr. Nunio is very old, but very good.”
“If he’s so good, where is everybody?”
Muñoz shrugged.
“Maybe they are working. Even the poor must work, especially in Astilla de la Cruz. There is always much to do before the season ends.”
“But there’s no one else sick at all?”
“Maybe the people pray,” he shrugged. “Maybe that is enough.”
Noah didn’t believe it.
“The church wasn’t any busier yesterday. If it was, you’d think they’d be able to fix up the place. The steeple at least needs work.”
Noah stopped twitching at the sight of Muñoz. The teacher did not look well.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“That is no church.
Manillo, él es el mal.
” Muñoz spat on the ground. Noah tried not to recoil.