The Girl Who Could Silence the Wind (17 page)

Oscar stared at the delicate fingers of her hands, remembering how lovely they had been long ago.

“Neither one, Teresa. But I have an idea.”

“W
AIT
! P
LEASE
!
I have to get to the capital! It’s urgent!” Pancho shouted.

The baggage clerks holding his arms were unsympathetic. They held him, struggling, as Marco, the brass pins of his uniform gleaming, kicked open the side door.

“Toss the little stowaway,” he ordered.

Pancho pressed his legs as hard as he could against the door frame. Tall pine trees whizzed by in a black blur as the train climbed the mountain.

“Marco,
por Dios!
What are you saying? It’s me: Pancho, from home! Please permit me to explain!”

Until a few moments earlier, if anyone had asked him about the ride to the capital, Pancho might have said it was most pleasant. But now, discovered asleep in his hiding spot and about to be pushed from a moving train, he was terrified.

Struggle as he might, he was no match for the brutes who dislodged his feet. They swung him to and fro like a sack. Marco, impervious to Pancho’s pleas, gave a nod.

“Explain that to the hungry panthers,” he called as Pancho went sailing high in the air.

Pancho was soon rolling uncontrollably down the rocky pitch. A boulder near the river stopped him with a thud.

He lay winded for some moments, counting his teeth with his tongue and wondering about his new life as a cripple. But then, because he remembered the large cats that roamed the countryside, he sat up, wincing, and took inventory of his pathetic state. He was alone in the middle of the Haunted Valley, miles away from his destination. He had no money. And, from the strange angle of his sore shoulder, he was sure his arm had been pulled loose from its socket.

A long whistle sounded. He turned just in time to see the train disappear around a bend in the hillside.

Now what?
he asked himself fiercely.

How foolish to have fallen asleep during the very last leg of the trip! He had managed to stay hidden for the first part, excusing himself and pretending to be a traveler each time a surprised passenger opened the door to find him. Despite all this, sleep had claimed him, and in the end a large woman suffering from stomach cramps had been his undoing. She had found him curled near the toilet and screamed for help. He could still feel the sting of her shouts in his ears.

Pancho would have to walk the remaining thirty kilometers to the capital. He squeezed his eyes shut and did the calculations, never his best skill. It would take a laborious ten hours if he hurried, and he would probably have to walk the last three of those after nightfall. He tried not to think about panthers or the howler monkeys watching from the vines above. The monkeys were an unfriendly lot that threw their excrement at intruders, but the black cats were much worse. Their fearsome growls reverberated through the night air like thunder.

When he was done feeling sorry for himself, Pancho dusted off and started up the hill. At least he still had the gift of strong legs.

The sun grew hot as Pancho trudged along, following the train tracks for guidance as best he could. He ate the meat pie he had filched from a passenger’s bag some time back, and when that was finished, he took to eating the berries that he saw birds pecking at, which he assumed meant they weren’t poisonous. Each time he grew parched, he listened for water and found creeks to drink from. He cooled his throbbing feet and stuffed leaves in his shoes as the soles began to give way like wet paper.

He walked along for hours, singing and telling himself stories, thinking of Sonia, but his spirits were dying as quickly as the daylight. He hurried his steps and kept his eyes on the winding tracks to keep from imagining the long distance that remained.

He had finished going around a series of sharp bends when he was stopped abruptly by the disheartening sound of rushing water. When he lifted his gaze, he confirmed the worst. Pancho was looking across an enormous canyon. All that spanned the impasse was a precarious train bridge.

To cross it would be madness, he reasoned, looking down at the foaming river below. There would be nowhere to keep safe from an approaching train, especially not with an injured arm. He looked with defeat at the long terrain he would have to navigate without anything to guide him. The detour would add several more hours to his journey, and nightfall was near. It would be morning before he ever reached the city —
if
he reached it at all.

Entrusting his soul to guardian angels, he walked toward the trees. Already the howler monkeys were shrieking their complaints. A lump of feces hit his back.

It was as the moon rose that Pancho became aware of two things. First, he was terrible at navigating by stars. Second, he was not alone.

At first he worried it might be ghosts trying to unsettle him, but the smell of burning wood seemed too real to be imagined, and he was starting to feel chilly. Nearly sprinting, he followed his nose until he found a glowing campfire. He hid himself in the trees to see who had built it.

He saw several pelts, a tin cup and plate, and a worn leather pouch filled with an impressive collection of hunting knives that had apparently been put to use; two skinned rabbits were skewered on the fire. A horse was snorting softly nearby.

All at once, a ferocious growl sounded behind him, and Pancho was thrown to the ground. He prepared for a panther’s fangs to pierce his neck, but instead he was pinned by someone who held a sharp blade to his back.

“
¡Ay!
Have mercy!” Pancho screamed. The pressure against his arm was demonic. His ears buzzed and his scalp grew cold. Silver dots floated before his eyes. “My arm is broken!”

At the sound of his cries, the attacker stopped and dragged him, grunting, toward the flames. Pancho was sure he’d be seared alive like another rabbit on the pit, but the brute only heaved him into the light to have a good look.

Pancho stared in disbelief at the face gaping before him. His head went icy and his mouth limp. Several faces swirled before his eyes.

“It’s you!” he said weakly.

Then the world went black.

P
ANCHO AWOKE INSIDE
a dry tent. He sat up and found that his arm, though still throbbing, was now set properly in a sling.

He stuck his head out of the flap and saw someone leaning over the fire. It had not been a dream after all.

Mongo was sharpening his knives. He caught Pancho’s reflection in the curved blade.

“Imagine running into you here, kid.” He made another long swipe and chuckled.

Pancho stepped out of the tent, relieved though his knees were still a bit unsteady.

“Thank God it was you, Mongo. I was sure it was the end.” He looked around at the horse and the tidy campfire. “But what are you doing here in the middle of La Fuente?”

“I could ask you the same,” Mongo replied. “I can see you didn’t like my advice about seeing Arenas.”

“No,” Pancho admitted. “But really, what are you doing here?”

“Trying to keep you alive and out of trouble, of course.”

“Oh.” Pancho felt his cheeks get warm in a pleasant sort of way. “How did you know where to look?”

“I’m only ugly, Pancho, not dumb. They found your bike at the station, and I added things up.” He examined his blade in the sunlight. “I thought you might need some company out here. This is no place to be alone.” He glanced at Pancho’s torn shirt and pants. “From the looks of it, someone has been trying to kill you already.”

“Kill me? Not exactly. I . . . fell off the train.”

Mongo crossed his arms and grunted. He looked feral in the woods, even more ferocious than he had throwing knives inside La Jalada.

“Did I ever mention that men have died for lying to me?” he asked evenly.

“In that case, I was pushed off the train.”

“That’s better.” He took a long swig of water from a jug. “So, what? Were you trying to rob it? It takes special skill, you know. It’s not for amateurs.”

Pancho’s mouth fell open. “Rob the train? Certainly not!”

Mongo pulled another knife across his stone and smiled. “Well, if you weren’t robbing the train, why did they toss you?”

Pancho hesitated.

“Speak!”

“I have an urgent errand in the capital but no money to get there. I had no choice but to stow away.”

“No choice?” Mongo stabbed his knife into the ground. “Don’t bother with lamentations about choice. There’s not a man in the whole world who has all the choices he wants. A man can steal because he’s starving, but they’ll jail him just the same. The sooner you learn that, the better.”

Pancho gave this some thought.

“I was on the way to the capital to see Sonia Ocampo.”

“Ah,” Mongo said, flashing his pointy-tooth smile. “You’re after a woman. How original. Didn’t we talk about this?”

Pancho’s cheeks burned even hotter than before. “It’s not like that . . . well, not exactly. I’m . . . I’m trying to save her brother, as a matter of fact.”

Mongo stared in shock at Pancho’s thin limbs and worn shoes; then he burst into a guffaw. His laughter shook the branches as he doubled over to catch his breath.

“You?” he snorted. “Your face is still smooth! You’ve barely grown out of your pigeon chest!” He made rude cooing noises and burst into another long wave of laughter.

Pancho pulled back his sore shoulders.

“I’m not completely powerless, either,” he said over Mongo’s racket. “As you may remember, I’m a poet. We’re a clever lot, if a poor one. I’ve gotten this far, haven’t I?”

Mongo held his sides and wheezed even harder. Finally, he wiped his eyes and looked with wonder at Pancho’s resolute expression.

“Is this one of your stories? Because if so, it is a wonderful comedy.”

“I’m serious, Mongo. I must get to the capital to see Sonia Ocampo. Her brother is Rafael Ocampo. You know him. You told me yourself that he’s probably left with one of Conchita Fo’s drivers to meet Iguana.”

Mongo sobered at once at the name. He picked at his nails with the tip of his knife. “He sold himself to the devil, then.” He motioned his friend to come closer. “There’s very little time. So tell me, how much do you know about kidnapping?”

“
¡N
ECIA
!
Y
OU
’
RE
so clumsy. Pick that up!
”

Sonia startled as Teresa snapped her fingers in front of her face. She’d been lost in another daze.

There were many severe punishments possible, Teresa had explained in her fury that afternoon.

“But I know what will fix you,” she’d hissed. “It’s time I took you in hand. For the rest of your time here, you are to be by my side as if you’re tied there, do you hear me?”

Sonia stared now at the mess on Señora Masón’s bedroom floor. In her distraction, she had forgotten to balance the velvet jewelry tray. Señora Masón was dressing for a formal dinner at the social club. Her collection of emeralds and pearls was now scattered at Sonia’s feet, which were still bandaged from the encounter with Umberto two nights ago.