Quest for Treasure, First Place Winner: La Niña Sin Oreja
La señora had been shouting at Carlos all morning long with hands on her hips. All he did was breathe in slowly and smile. Not going to lose this job. Not another one. He could feel the sucking air filter through his pepper-grey mustache, up into his nostril as he nodded at each complaint.
“You know you are going to fix my cupboards, eh?”
“Sí, sí, señora,” he assured her. “But, I haven´t even began to sand. Perhaps you will like them more after I sand. You know?”
“Ay Dios! You think I don´t know how I want my own cupboards? White. I want them painted white!”
“Claro, señora. Of course, I will paint them white.”
Carlos bent over to pick up his tape measure and the loose scraps of two by fours that littered the cramped one-room apartment like corpses. Triste señora! Always griping about details tan pequeños. He collected his tool bag and set it on the table. He pulled a comb from his breast pocket and slicked back his thick grey hair. Then, he turned to leave.
“Ay,” he said, turning back to la señora. “I almost forgot. You know I haven´t got the paint. That pushes my original quote up a little, you know? Not much, just a hundred pesos or something like that.”
“A hundred pesos! Ay Dios mio!”
“I´m sorry señora. You wanted them white.”
“But we had a contract made up.”
“But it didn´t include no paint.”
“Ay qué mentiroso. I told you from the start. I said ´señor, I want them white´”
“Okay, señora, tranquila. You´re right. But, honestamente, I made a mistake. Look, a hundred pesos, that´s pretty much a straight across price. I swear, I´m not making any profit on it, ni un peso.” La señora stared at him silently with her hands on her hips. “I´ll bring some paints in the afternoon you can pick the color que te gusta, and—”
“White,” she interrupted. “I want white.”
“Claro, White, of course. I´ll bring it tomorrow and we can talk about prices then.” She just continued staring, fists on hips. Carlos wondered how she´d lived all these years and didn´t have permanent imprints of her knuckles on her waist. Carlos slicked his hair once more, put the comb in his pocket and turned to leave.
“Tramposo!” came the last call from la señora. “No better than Mochaorejas and his gang.”
Carlos wheeled around to face the señora with starving eyes. He no longer cared that he had lost three jobs that week. He didn´t care that his twelve-year-old daughter was expecting him to bring home dinner tonight. Qué bravo la mujer! Comparing him to killers and thieves.
“That´s it señora. Nobody calls me a stinking cheat! I ain´t no ear-chopping criminal. I have been nothing but honest with you from the start. I´ve done everything you asked. Now, do you want your pinche cupboards finished or not, eh? Cause I´ll leave and no one is gonna do as fine of job as yours truly here. Me explico?”
“Fine! Leave! Get out of my house!”
Carlos stood with mouth agape. He said nothing for a long moment. Finally, he picked up his bag and exited, making his way down the cement steps. He hadn´t anticipated her reaction. She was supposed to be begging him to stay, to finish the cupboards, to accept any price he laid out. He came to the street and watched the cars and people pass by. Down the main avenue he saw a large green and grey Micro-bus maneuvering through the traffic like a soccer player with broad shoulders. He put up his hand and the bus came grinding to a halt. There wasn’t enough room onboard, sitting or standing, so he stepped up one step, reached inside the door for something to hang on to and held tightly as the Micro-bus rolled away with half of Carlos’ body hanging out of the door. After passing countless fruit stands, and poultry shops displaying chopped heads and chopped feet, the bus arrived at la colonia San Francisco Culuhuacan.
Carlos signaled the driver to stop when it approached Calle 5 de Mayo. It was a narrow street that allowed room for only foot traffic and moto-taxis. That part of town was a streaming labyrinth with walls painted fleshy yellows and bloody reds, splattered with graffiti. The roads were lined with fruit stands, stores, black steel doors, and colorful shrines to venerated saints. He passed five idols of la Virgin de Guadalupe with deathly pale skin and two idols of San Judas de Tadeo adorned with candles whose flame had already burned out. Carlos passed them all without stopping to pray. He used to pray, every now and again, but that was more of his wife’s thing.
Before rounding the corner he stopped at the Alborrotes to by a can of beans and a little bread. He grabbed a can of pinto and a package of Bimbo and threw them on the counter.
“Buenas tardes Señora Altamirano.”
“Hola, Carlitos. Qué tal la Cruz Azul, eh? Did you see the game?”
“No Señora.”
“Ah caray, Carlos missing a game? It´s unheard of. Your Cruz Azul beat América two goals to none.”
“Yeah, well. I didn´t have no time. Listen, uh, so I just lost another job. So, I´ll have to owe you, eh?”
“Carlos! You already owe me.”
“Ya, sé! I know that, but I got some money coming. Pepe wants a dresser made for his wife.”
“Listen amigo, I´ve been helping you out because I loved Maria, too. But Carlitos, you ain´t the only one who´s gotta live.”
“I know, Señora. I´m sorry. It´s my fault, but you can´t punish my Lupe. She´s gotta eat, you know?”
La señora looked down a moment. Then she rolled her eyes. “All right Carlos. You can take the beans, but not the bread. Bimbo´s expensive, amigo.”
“Gracias, señora. Gracias.”
He stepped out of the store and back into the street. He rounded the corner to head home. Up ahead there stood a cement chapel with a white façade. A man dressed in morbid black was standing at the base of the church leaning up against the wall, smoking a cigarette. He wore black shoes and dark sunglasses even though it was dusk. Que raro, thought Carlos, that the man´s shoes were so cleanly polished, reflecting the streetlights. Such shine was rare in these filthy streets. The look of the man made him shiver. He passed the open court quickly and continued on.
When he entered the narrow part of the street he noticed an older woman with short hair, grey at the roots and painted black. She was sitting next to a shrine that Carlos had never noticed. It was an ornate glass shadow box that stood shoulder high. Inside stood the figure of a female skeleton. She had a long black wig and was dressed in the colorful flowing robes. Around her head she wore a headdress of long colorful feathers that resembled the crown of Moctezuma. In one hand, she carried a globe, in the other, a scythe. As he came closer he noticed candles in a ring at the base of the shrine. In the center of the candles there was a rock with streaks of what appeared to be dried blood. White chicken feathers were stuck to the sticky surface. Next to rock there sat a knife with a bone handle. Carlos could only imagine what happened. He moved quickly around the shrine but stopped when the woman next the shrine spoke.
“Having a bad day?” Carlos did not respond, he just looked at the woman before continuing on. “La Santa Muerte can help.” Carlos turned back to her.
“Last thing I need to get mixed up in some cult.”
“Ay señor! Cómo crees? It´s not a—”
“And how did you know I was having a bad day, eh?”
“La Santa Muerte knows everything.”
“Ay, no manches! Buenas noches señora.” He was walking away again as the señora laughed. He had advanced a few feet when she finally spoke again.
“She knows about your poor little Lupita.” Carlos halted. He turned around and marched back to the woman.
“Is this a sick joke, eh! How do you know about my daughter?”
“I told you,” said the woman. “La Santa Muerte knows everything.” Carlos turned to look at the figure behind the glass. He stared at the bony smile. “She can help.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Sí, sí. She can feed your child.”
“What´s the catch, eh?”
“No catch. All you have to do is pray to her. Ask her for what you want, and then—”
“Then what?”
“Offer her your heart.”
Carlos´ bones rattled when he heard this, but he tried to remain calm. “My heart, huh?”
“Sí,” said the old woman. “Todo tu corazón.”
“What’s that mean? Like a prayer every day? Dedication of some sort?”
“Sí. Something like that. But I will not try and persuade you if you don´t want. Buenas noches, and, uh, nice can of beans.” The old woman looked away. Carlos looked down at the can of beans he held in his hand. Then he looked back at the saint. He stepped over and squared himself up to face the skeleton. Then he stooped to one knee and looked over at the woman who was now smiling at him. He looked back at the figure and began praying.
“Hey, uh, Santisima Muerte. Look, you probably get this a lot, but I need some money. I, uh, promise you my heart, or you know, whatever.” He crossed himself, quickly stood up and walked away leaving the woman in a fit of laughter. He did not turn back to look at her and did not see the glance that the laughing woman gave in the direction of a man dressed in black standing on the corner.
Carlos came to his home, another black door in the wall. He turned the door on it´s hinges, causing a hollow creak to saturate the night air. He stepped in, onto the patio which doubled as his shop. He placed his bag of tools on his work bench and headed for a drab cinderblock shack with a roof made of corrugated sheets of fiberglass. Before he reached the door, it opened and Lupe came running at him.
“Papá! Papá!” She leapt into his arms.
“Lupe, mi corazóncita. Qué es esto? What has gotten into you, eh? What´s with the excitement?”
“No manches, Papi. Apoco, you don’t know?”
“No, mi corazón…” Carlos paused a moment after hearing those words leave his mouth. “I mean, uh, no mi hija. I don´t know what are you talking about? What’s going on?”
“The money, papá! In the house.”
“What money?” She pulled on his arm and walked him to the door. When his shadow crossed the threshold, he peered inside and saw bills of pesos scattered throughout the enclosed space, on the table, in the wash basin, on the sofa where they slept at night. Bills tucked in every nook and cranny.
“Hijoles!” he said. “Coraz- I mean hija, where did this come from?”
“I don´t know, papi. It just appeared out of nowhere while I was washing dishes.”
“When, hija? When?”
“I don´t know, a few minutes ago.”
“Come, hija, come,” he said as he began to frantically collect the bills, trying to stack them neatly. “Help me pick them up.”
“What´s the rush?”
“It´s dangerous to leave so much money lying around.” With that they both began to collect the bills. Carlos ran out the door for a moment. He ran to his tool bench, emptied the bag, spilling the tools on the bench and ran back inside. They began to stack the money in the bag. After about fifteen minutes, they had managed to collect everything that was in the house. Carlos took the bag, lifted a couch cushion and stuffed the bag under it. In the moment the money was tucked away, he heard a rapping at the steel door on the other end of the patio.
“Who´s that papa?” asked Lupe.
“Shhh! I don´t know, hija.”
“Is something the matter?”
“I don´t know, mi corazón. Just stay here. Don’t come out.” Carlos left his home and crossed the patio slowly. He approached the door but did not open it.
“Quién es?” he hollered through the steel.
“Ay, no manches, amigo. It´s Pepe. Open up.” Carlos sighed with relief. He swung the door inward when all of a sudden, the man on the other side of the door thrust with his weight and knocked Carlos to the ground. He was dazed for a moment, watching a pair of dark, well-polished shoes casually meander toward his work bench. Carlos sat up, rubbing the side of his head.
“Where´s the money?” asked the man in a calm, low voice.
“You´re not Pepe.”
“No. I´m not. Now, where´s the money?”
“How do you see in those glasses?” asked Carlos.
“I said where´s the money!” said the man, abruptly slamming his fist on the work bench. Carlos could hear Lupe weeping inside.
“Señor, my daughter. Please. What money?”
“Don´t play with me, Carlos.”
“I don´t know what you mean.”
The man began to finger the tools on the bench sensually. “Where´s your tool bag, Carlitos.”
“I…I don´t have a tool bag.” The weeping grew louder from inside the house. “Please, señor I don´t have what you want. You´re scaring my daughter.”
“Your daughter, hmm?” The man picked up a hand saw and began walking to the door of the house. Carlos sprung to his feet advancing toward the man who turned around pulling out a small pistol, pointing it at Carlos. Lupe shrieked.
“Come, come Carlos. You´re invited too.” The man motioned toward the door with the pistol. Once inside he shoved Carlos in the corner and grabbed Lupe by the arm roughly dragging her to the couch. He sat down on the cushion over the bag. Then pulled the girl over his knees. In one coarse rip of the saw he removed one of Lupe´s ears.
“No!” cried Carlos, standing up to advance, but the man raised the barrel again. Carlos stopped raising his hands. Lupe wailed and wailed. The blood flowed onto the man´s black pants. El Mochaorejas, that´s who Carlos had let into his home.
“If you want to save your preciosa corazoncita from loosing her other ear, then I suggest you tell me where the money is.”
“Por favor, señor! We´re poor. We have nothing to eat. I´ll give you the money, but leave us with a little. Por favor!” At these words el Mochaorejas turned Lupe over on his lap, smeared her face in his blood-soaked thighs, and put the saw blade to her ear. Her wet blubbering turned to shrieks again.
“Please, Señor, no!” Carlos´ eyes wandered to the cushion. El Mochaorejas smiled. He pushed Lupe from his lap letting her fall to the ground. He spun around, pulling up the stained cushion. Carlos lunged forward. He pushed el Mochaorejas over the arm of the couch and buried the saw in his thigh. Mochaorejas let out a scream, dropping the pistol to the ground and clasped his wounds. Carlos grabbed the bag, turned, and picked up his daughter, rushing to the exit. He swept through the patio and out the steel door into the street. As he left he heard the shouting and clammering of el Mochaorejas. Carlos stooped a moment gently lowering his daughter. He removed his shirt revealing a gold cross on a chain. He tore the shirt into strips and tied it around Lupita´s head tightly to stop the bleeding.
As he added padding to the wound he looked down the street noticing that the shrine of La Santa Muerte was gone. There was no shadow box, no candles, no rock. Nada. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the hollow creaking of his door. Without looking back, he picked up Lupe and the bag and began to run. Shots were fired as he rounded the corner. He ran past the church, past the Alborrotes and came to a narrow alley to his left. He peered down the long alley and saw cars and traffic passing by at the other end and realized the alley opened up to the main avenue. He started running down the alley. He was nearly to the end when another shot was fired. He ran a few more paces when Lupe screamed. He looked down and saw blood spilling from the center of his chest. He put his hand over his heart, smearing the gold cross in the blood. Then he fell to his knees, dropping Lupe. Dropping the bag. Behind him, Lupe saw el Mochaorejas approaching at a dead sprint.
“Go, mi corazón” muttered Carlos as his eyes went blank and he touched his daughters face. Lupe resisted for a moment, even though the clapping of feet on the pavement became louder. She pulled the bloody cross from her father´s neck, stood and turned to run when she felt a hand on her shirt. Without thinking she turned and slapped the man, leaving scratch marks on his face. He winced and let go. She sped down what remained of the alley and slipped around the corner as a bullet whizzed by. She kept running, hoping that some of the cars would notice the scary man chasing her. She looked over her shoulder and saw el Mochaorejas come from around the corner slowly, holding his face and looking around trying to spot her. She held the cross to her forehead and closed her eyes. When she had finished praying for help, she crossed herself and opened her eyes. It was then that she beheld a beaming light and an angel. There in a neon sign was the image of an angel with a flowing gown and wings. Below the angel was a block arrow pointing down at the steps leading to the metro station, Estación Miguel Ángel de Quevedo. She saw many people trickling down the steps like living water. She approached rushing down into the tunnel. She heard a voice behind her yelling. “Stop, that girl stole my necklace!” But no one was paying attention. She rushed across the platform just as the doors of the orange metro cart were closing. She slipped in just as the doors were closing. Looking back through the window, Lupe saw el Mochaorejas. He was close enough that she could see through the tinted shade of his sunglasses. She saw eyes, dark and hollow like those of a skeleton.
