By Liese Sherwood-Fabre

      Hector and his brothers heard her before they saw her.  Mists covered the sides and top of the mountain where they lived, not uncommon for that part of Veracruz, giving the steady footsteps an eerie quality. The sound of the steps drew nearer, and Hector glanced down the path just as her form could be seen through the fog. His heart jerked in fear. For a moment, he thought one of the demons or restless souls the old women say inhabit the wild areas outside their village was approaching. The form was not tall, but wide and had too many legs and eyes to be human.

     He and his brothers stopped working on the fence around their father’s cornfield and grasped their tools tightly, ready to fight the apparition. The form drew nearer still, and they exhaled together. It was only a woman leading a burro. Hector almost laughed out loud at his foolishness. He was sixteen, too old for the tales meant to keep children from straying too far from their mothers.

     All the same, she was not like any woman he had ever seen. She had long hair, tossed carelessly behind her shoulders; but she wore pants like a man, not a woman’s brightly-colored skirts. Definitely Mexican, but with finer features and a slimmer body than his mother’s and sisters’.

     A baby peered from over the woman’s shoulder. Not more than a year old, he rode on the back of the burro, strapped on top of a tall bundle of boxes and pouches. His dark, quick eyes blinked at them curiously.

     Stopping in the middle of the path, just in front of them, she asked, “Who’s in charge here?”

     The boys exchanged glances.

     “Do you have a mayor?” she asked impatiently, looking at Hector. “Who do you see for decisions?”

     “Our father,” said the youngest. “He tells us what to do.”

     “And who tells your father?” she asked.

     “Don Gaspar,” offered Hector, the oldest. “He’s the one with the most land. Everybody does what Don Gaspar tells them.”

     “Then I guess I need to see Don Gaspar. Who can take me to him?”

     Yet another silent communication between the boys. Finally, Hector pointed to the youngest. “You show her.”

     The boy shook his head violently and took a step backwards.

     “You were so eager before,” Hector stated. “Go with her.”

     He took another step back. Hector expected him to break and run at any minute and made ready to grab him. Esteban spoke up and settled their argument. “I’ll go. I know where he lives.”

     “All right,” she said. “I’ll follow you.”

     Esteban ran in front of the burro, leaving his brothers to complete the fence. The rest of the afternoon, Hector could not get the image of the strange woman out of his mind. Her clean, foreign scent seemed to linger on the breeze about them.

     By evening, when Hector returned home, he could tell the news of the strange woman had already reached his mother and sisters. They were chattering non-stop as they prepared dinner over the open fire outside the thatched-roofed building where they stored their corn. He sat just inside the doorway, his back against the sturdy poles supporting the walls. The multi-colored cobs hanging overhead rasped softly in the breeze, making it hard for him to hear their gossip.

     “You should see her,” said his older sister, patting the masa into tortillas and placing them on the comal to cook. “She walks like a man. Of course, she dresses like one, too.”

     “And according to Don Gaspar’s wife, she talks like one,” added the younger one, stirring the pot of beans in the fire.

     Their mother, Lucero, shook her head sadly. “She must have done something very wrong to come here.”

     “Maybe the boy’s father left her, and her family threw her out?” suggested the elder.

     “Well, she must plan to stay for a while. Don Gaspar’s sons are going to build her a house. She’ll stay with the widow Inez until it’s ready.”

     Again, their mother shook her head. “There’s something not right about this, I can feel it. No stranger has come here—ever.”

     Lucero’s statement only deepened his conviction to learn more about this woman. He decided she was the most important thing to happen in all his sixteen years, and he was going to solve the mystery of why she had come to their village.

     The whole village shared Hector’s curiosity. They watched the woman, who said her name was Magdalena, move from the widow Inez’s house to her own, and fill a special room in the front with things they had not known they needed until then. And she had the most splendid items they had ever seen.

     Inez and Don Gaspar were the first to experience her wonders. In return for sharing her home, Magdalena had given Inez soap. The most perfect bars of pink soap that cleaned everything—hair, clothes, and dishes—and made them all smell like roses. For the house, she had given Don Gaspar’s sons a marvelous saw that cut wood as if it were lard. Soon, everyone wanted to make trades for what Magdalena had to offer.

     Hector’s mother sent him with a stack of tortillas to see if he could get a bar of soap for her. “Inez showed me hers. It makes her hair smell so clean. I want one for your sister. She needs to begin to take care of herself so she can find a husband.”

     He paced about the front of Magdalena’s house for several moments, trying to slow his heart. He could feel it make the front of his shirt jump. Before he could gather his courage, she came to the doorway, leaned against the jam, and called out to him, “Well, are you coming in or not?”

     “I …uh … my … mother … she wants some pink soap.”

     “Well, come in and show me what you’ve got to trade,” she said, turning and disappearing inside to the cool darkness of her store.

     He followed, trying to act as if he came to trade all the time. Inside, he caught the same scent as the first day, and his heart began to beat furiously again.

     “So, what do you have to offer?” she asked, glancing at the package he carried.

     “Tortillas.”

     “Let’s see,” she said, holding out her hands.

     He gave her the tortillas, bundled in a piece of cloth. Their fingers met for a moment, making a thrill travel up his arm and throughout his body.

     She opened the cloth and smiled. “They smell delicious. I’ll get you a bar.” Handing it to him, she asked, “Anything else you desire?”

     “I’m sorry?”

     “Take a look at what I have, and see if there’s something else you wish. I still need some things done here. We might be able to bargain, if you’re interested.”

     He studied the things displayed about the room. His gaze stopped at a hammer on a rickety table. Its head shone in the dim light, its handle strong and sure. He picked it up and swung it, imagining hitting a nail squarely on its head. “This,” he said.

     “A good choice,” she said with a smile. “Follow me.”

     As they walked to the back of the house, she scooped up her little boy and settled him on her hip. Passing through an opening in the back wall, they entered the grounds behind the house. She pointed to an area between a few scrubby trees. “I need a pig-pen over there.”

     “A pig-pen?” he asked.

     “Yes. I traded some things for a young sow, and need a pen to keep it.”

     “Why would you want to pen it up? We just let them root about. They never go far.”

     “It’s not sanitary.” When he gave her another puzzled look, she explained. “When you let pigs run free, they can get diseases and pass them on to people. It’s better to keep it penned.”

     He shrugged. “I can build something, I suppose, but I still think it isn’t necessary.”

     That night, he told his family about the pig-pen, and they all had a good laugh. Soon, other stories began to surface about her. She boiled the water before she drank it. Also the milk before giving it to the baby. At each, they would shake their heads at her nonsense. Until the night Sara went into labor.

      The whole village could hear Sara screaming. At first, the experienced mothers just sighed and muttered, “It’s only the beginning.” When her shouts continued, they began to bite their lips and suffer with her. They undercooked the beans and burned the tortillas, making the men suffer just as Benito, her husband, did. The poor man paced about in front of their home, biting his nails. Old Teresa, the midwife, had been with her from the beginning, but she could not quiet the girl’s cries. As evening turned to night and the children whimpered they could not sleep because of Sara’s anguished shouts, Magdalena knocked on the doorframe of Sara’s home.

     Old Teresa squinted at her with red-rimmed eyes. “If you please,” offered Magdalena. “I may be able to help. I know something about midwifery.”

     Old Teresa glanced back at Sara and shook her head sadly. “I don’t know what you’ll be able to do. She’s beginning to lose strength. But you can try if you wish.”

     Magdalena slipped into the home, handing her boy to Old Teresa.

     As Old Teresa reported later, “She placed her hands on her belly and massaged it some, talking softly to her. I told her Sara was so scared, she couldn’t relax and the baby couldn’t come out. I didn’t think she could last much longer. She nodded and asked me to help her sit up. She gave her something to drink and soon, Sara calmed down and the baby slid right out. She’s promised to show me how to make this drink. If I had not seen it with my own eyes, I don’t know if I would’ve believed it. There’s something about her …”

     After that, the village passed about new stories concerning the strange woman. The most popular was the one about her being a nun and the baby’s father, a priest. They began to seek out her advice for various ailments and problems.

     About a month after Sara’s baby was born, Hector knew he was in love with Magdalena. She had hired him to put up some shelves. She held the wood while he nailed it to the wall. They were so close together, he could feel her breath on his arm and the smooth touch of her hands.

     After that day, he let himself dream of their life together as he worked in the fields and tended his father’s animals. He would raise Francisco, her son, as his own. They would have more children. The girls would look like Magdalena, and the boys would be strong and proud like him.

     Then, one night, the winds shifted, blowing the mists away and making the dawn break bright and clear and hot. Shouts and gun fire accompanied the rising sun, jerking the villagers from their dreams. As each exited his home, soldiers—or what they first thought were soldiers—herded him toward the others. The intruders wore black boots, an odd collection of green pants and shirts, and red bandanas over their faces.

     Once all were gathered in a clearing under the bright sunlight, one unmasked man appeared before them. He paced in front of them. His clothing was the closest to a true uniform and he carried himself tall, a little sneer on his lips. “Please excuse our intrusion,” he began after they had all settled together on the grass. “I am Commandante Nicolás of the United People’s Force. We are fighting for your liberation from the tyranny of globalization.”

     The villagers blinked at him, but remained silent. Hector searched the crowd. He could not find Magdalena. Where was she?

     “We will be here only a few days. Some of my men are hurt. Once they are better, we will leave.” He turned to look at them. His gaze traveled across their faces, fixing on each of the men. “While we are here, no one is to leave the village. We have posted sentries on the path down the mountain and in the woods. Anyone attempting to leave will be shot. You are free to go about your daily lives now.”

     The crowd exchanged glances, and finally Don Gaspar rose. He stared at the soldier closest to him. The young man’s eyes widened behind the bandana. He gripped his rifle tighter, but took a step backwards. Don Gaspar gave a little snort and strode past him towards his home. The others followed his example, silently rising and giving the motley assortment of liberators contemptuous glares as they left.

     Only Hector did not return to his home. He had to find out about Magdalena. He had to know she was not harmed. Approaching her house, he understood why she had not been gathered with the rest of the village. He could hear the muffled groans and sickly smell from the wounded. The men lay on pallets under the shade trees in her yard. Another swayed in a hammock stretched between two trees. Magdalena bent over this one, giving him something to drink.

     She straightened and smiled at Hector. “Have you come to help?”

     “I came to see you were safe. When I didn’t find you with the others this morning …”

     “That’s because I’m one of them...or was. Maybe I am one again.” She absentmindedly waved her hand over her patient’s face to chase the buzzing insects away. The man had gone to sleep. Hector wondered briefly if she gave him the same drink she had given Sara. “I joined because I believe in The Cause. Then I met Nicolás. He can be very kind …”

     As if summoned by his name, the Commandante of the United People’s Force arrived. In a few swift, sure steps he was at her side. He embraced her with a strong arm and kissed her just above her ear. Hector imagined her hair’s soft scent and feeling its touch with his lips. His stomach turned at the thought of another’s lips enjoying what he could only dream.

     “You must be Hector,” he said over her shoulder. “Anita has told me all about you.”

     “Anita?”

     “Her real name.”

     “I changed my name when I came here,” Magdalena explained.

     “She was hiding from me,” Nicolás continued, patting her stomach with the arm still about her waist. “So like her, to choose the name of a reformed whore.” He squeezed his arm tighter about her. Hector saw her grimace, but she did not complain.

     Nicolás shifted his gaze to Hector. “Have you come to join us?”

     Hector could not take his own gaze off the arm about Magdalena’s waist. “No,” he replied to the arm. “I came to see about Magdalena.”

     “He’s the boy I was telling you about. He’s been a great help to me.”

     The word “boy” stung.

     “Ah, yes,” Nicolás said solemnly. “Thank you for looking after my woman and son. She has nothing but praise for you. We could use a good man like you. Young. Strong. Would you like me to tell you more about The Cause?”

     My woman. Hector felt his stomach lurch. He knew he had to get away before he became sick in front of them. “I have to get back home,” he stated quickly. “I have things to do. As long as you’re all right.”

     Magdalena lowered her head. “Yes,” she assured him. “I’m fine.”

     Turning abruptly, he moved as swiftly as he could away from the two. After a bend in the path from her house, he leaned behind a bush and vomited into the tall grasses. The rest of that day every time he closed his eyes, he saw Nicolás’s arm about Magdalena’s waist and tasted his own bile.

   Away from Magdalena’s home, his father and the other men grumbled. They sent their women inside, and Hector’s father ordered him to keep a machete at his side when they went to bed. But Hector spent a troubled night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her in Nicolás’s embrace and the grimace she hid from him. Some time past midnight, he knew he had to offer her help.

     He crept from his place by the door, taking the machete with him. With no clouds in the sky, the moon shone brightly, giving someone who had walked the paths since childhood more than enough to see by. The grasses had dried in the heat and crunched softly under his feet, but no one confronted him despite the commandante’s warning of posted sentries.

     As he neared Magdalena’s home, the soft strumming of a guitar and muffled voices drifted through the still air. He turned off the path and walked stealthily through the tall grasses towards a flickering fire light. Nicolás and his band sat about a fire burning in front of Magdalena’s house. Even the injured ones had been brought near to join in the singing.

     Magdalena sat in front of Nicolás, his arm still about her waist. Hector tiptoed closer, rounding the group and coming up from behind the house. At some point, they would have to sleep, and he would try to speak to her then.

     When he was about halfway in his circle to the back of the house, he heard footsteps coming his way. He dropped to the ground, hoping the tall grasses would hide him. The steps stopped not far from him. Nicolás’s voice carried over the distance to him.

     “Anita, do you know how much I’ve missed you?” he was asking.

     “I’m sure you’ve found other women to comfort you. You always have.”

     “Don’t be cruel, Anita. You know you’re the only woman I love. Look at how I’ve shown it. I’ve dragged my men here, fought the army twice, lost two, wounded another three. All to find you and bring you back. You should be named Helen—not Anita.”

     The grasses rustled as Magdalena stepped away. “Please, just go and leave me.”

     “I can’t. You’re under my skin. An infection. And I know you feel the same way.”

     Hector placed his hand over his mouth. Surely they could hear him breathe. His heart beat so loudly, it muffled the sounds about him. He felt as much as heard the footsteps come even closer to where he lay. They were together again. Clothes rustled, and something soft fell close enough to him for him to recognize Magdalena’s shirt. The commandante’s green shirt followed. He shut his eyes, wishing to disappear. A harder thud followed, and he knew they were lying on the ground. Their frantic breathing rasped in his ears.

     He opened his eyes, unable to bear hearing, but not seeing. Through the grass, he could just make out two shadowy forms, farther away from him than he had expected, but still too close for him to move away without them knowing. The forms blended into one and the breathing became more rapid and impassioned.

     Suddenly, Hector was flying straight up through the air. A strong arm held his shoulder, his feet suspended inches above the ground. He squirmed in its grasp, but the hand held fast. Nicolás was on his feet almost as fast as Hector was pulled off his. “What is it, Pedro?” he asked.

     “I caught this boy sneaking up on you,” a voice behind Hector replied. “He’s even armed.”

     Hector glanced down. He still carried the machete. He dropped it. “I wasn’t sneaking up on you,” he shouted, twisting in Pedro’s grasp. “You sneaked up on me.”

     Magdalena stood now. Her hair was loose and hung about her shoulders. He could see her breasts poking through their strands. “Hector? What are you doing here?”

     “Trying to kill you,” Pedro answered for him.

     “No, I wasn’t … I didn’t …” He lowered his head. He knew they would never believe he had come to talk. He also knew now how foolish he had been to even think he could convince her to escape.

     Nicolás glared at him, then spoke to Pedro. “Bring him to the camp.” He turned on his heel and strode back to the fire.

     Magdalena pulled on her shirt and hurried to follow the commandante.

     Pedro dropped him to the ground, shoved his boot into his back, pushing all the air out of his lungs, and roughly bound his hands behind his back. He shoved him forward towards the fire and where Nicolás paced about. He turned to face Hector when Pedro threw him into the middle of their band. “How many are you? Where are the others?”

     “There aren’t any others,” Hector stammered out. “I’m alone. I didn’t come here to hurt anyone. I just wanted to talk to Magdalena. I mean, Anita.”

     “Is that why you were sneaking about in the grass?”

     “Yes… I mean no… I don’t know. You were all together. I wanted to talk to her, so I thought if I waited ... then you went out back…” Nicolás gave him once last look and barked to Pedro, “Shoot him.” Hector’s heart jerked. He shot a pleading glance at Magdalena. She lowered her gaze. He crawled on his knees towards Nicolás. “Please. I wasn’t doing anything.” He shifted his gaze to Magdalena. “Tell him. Tell him I wouldn’t hurt you.”  She raised her face. Tears glistened in her eyes. “He’s just a boy. Let him go. You kill him, you’ll have to kill the whole village.”

     Nicolás waved his arms. “Fine. He lives, but we leave tonight. Now.” He whirled about, ordering those about the fire. “Pack up. We leave within the hour.”

     “What about the wounded?” asked Pedro.

     “She’s coming with us. She can tend them,” he said, pointing to Magdalena. “If they die, they’ll be martyrs to The Cause.”

     The others rose and began shuffling about, preparing to leave. “I’m not going,” she said, putting her hands on her hips.

     The others froze, watching warily for Nicolás’s reaction. With one step, he was in front of her, his hands grasping her upper arms. Hector could see his fingers press into her flesh. He knew it hurt her, but she did not flinch. “You’re coming, my love,” he whispered to her.

     “Please,” she whispered back. “Let me stay. You can find another doctor.”

     Nicolás relaxed his grip on her arms and slid his hands caressingly down her arms. “Surely you can’t enjoy the company you find here,” he glanced sideways at Hector, “more than mine.”

     He leaned his face towards hers. She turned and his lips brushed her cheek. “I want to stay.”

  Nicolás put his fingers under her chin and turned her face towards his again. “I know your heart, my dear. I know you love The Cause as much as I. I know you love me.”

     He tipped her head upwards, and his lips met hers. Hector watched in misery as her body relaxed, and her arms encircled his neck. The band cheered and whooped at her submission.

     When the couple parted, the troop returned to preparing to leave. Magdalena stepped behind Hector and untied his hands. He reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Stay,” he pleaded.

     She glanced at Nicolás. Without meeting Hector’s eyes, she sighed. “I can’t. He’s right. I have to go with him.” She turned to gaze into his eyes. “Now, hurry home. Before he changes his mind.”

     “Then go with him and leave later. You can come back here.”

     She shook her head. “He’d find me, just like this time.”

     “Then give him some of that drink, what you gave to Sara. Only too much.”

     “Anita,” called Nicolás.

     “Coming,” she called back over her shoulder. To Hector, she whispered. “I can’t. I can’t murder. I must go. It’s my only choice.”

     “Anita,” he called her again.  She rose and stepped towards him, her head bowed. She gave Nicolás a quick kiss and said, “I’ll get our baby ready.”

     Hector rose to his feet and stumbled back to his home. He thought about waking the village, calling them to fight the group. But with what? Some old rifles and machetes? The weapons Nicolás’s group carried were much better. In the end, he lay down and listened to them march away in the darkness.

     The next morning, the mists returned to their mountain. When Hector awakened, things seemed back to normal, except for Magdalena’s empty home. He straightened the store, fed the chickens, and watered and slopped the pig. After a few months, he moved into her house, took over the store, and raised healthy pigs. And waited for Magdalena to return.