Maw

“I said I’m trying!”

“I don’t see it,” cried Francisco from below.

Miguel churned the corn mill faster, its gears whining. The rust came off, covering the basket with dark flakes. His hands slipped from the handle and rushed back into action, red and swollen.

“We’ll miss her if you don’t hurry.”

“How much can four kids need?” Miguel said in hushed breaths. “Feed them something else!”

Francisco frowned. “Stop complaining.”

He said it. Miguel rolled his eyes and kept churning. He was surrounded by his neighbors, each bearing a different expression. Ramona had the same flame in her eyes as the day he spurned her, and Luis looked as though he broke his favorite pair of espadrilles. How much time did they have left? No one knew. But Carmen was inevitable, and no one wanted to be away from the church by noon.

The sun shone brightly, with no clouds in sight. There was never any breeze in Santa Lidia when Carmen came, the first sign of her arrival. Miguel ran to the fields on those humid mornings and went home giggling if he saw a dead bird. With that, she was sure to come. Even if he forgot to check for the third sign – elderly people casting no shadows – he finished his chores as soon as possible. There was no time to waste when she was close.

Maybe today he’d be next. Maybe she’d choose him.

Miguel’s swollen hand felt as if a thousand needles punctured every inch, as if his arms could snap at any moment. Francisco watched him work, filling the basket with rust. He nodded as the flakes fell on top of each other, pulling at his pants every so often. “Stop,” Francisco said with a vague smile, and picked up the basket. “We’re ready.”

“Will this be enough?” Miguel panted.

“It’ll keep me alive,” Francisco said.

Miguel stepped away from the communal mill. “What about me?”

“Stop complaining.” Francisco frowned, passing the basket. “That attitude is why she never looks at you.”

Again. “And she looks at you?” Miguel rolled his eyes, making his way to the main road. It was as busy as the plaza, with people carrying food and water as fast as they could. No kids were in sight, as they were not allowed to watch Carmen, but he saw their faces peeking through windows and open doors. 

“She’ll never choose you,” Francisco said to one of the kids, who hid behind the curtains. “Or you,” he said to Miguel. “You’ll end up like your father.”

Miguel’s heart skipped a beat. “Don’t talk about him,” he said, meeting his eyes. 

“It runs in your family.” Francisco looked him up and down, dusting off rust as they walked. “She’ll never choose you.”

Miguel pushed him away, his brow heavy. “I told you to shut up.”

“Fine. Have it your way.”

 As his friend walked past him, Miguel followed with his eyes. He watched Francisco warmly greet their neighbors, and knew what it meant. Francisco was not a social butterfly. If anything, Francisco was a spider. His laughter ignited a flame within Miguel, burning with hideous fury. Was it anger, hatred, or jealousy? He overheard their conversation, making out some words amidst the chatter. 

“No way,” he said, and glanced at Miguel. “He complains too much!"

They laughed. Miguel’s hands grew redder, more swollen. Each step weighed the basket down, pressing into his fingers.

Francisco was right. No one in his family had been chosen for generations, while Francisco was blessed. Something about his family was irresistible to Carmen. The longer Miguel spent with him, the more he hated him. He said his family had a secret, that he would share it if Miguel did a few favors for them, but nothing ever came. He only had a few years left.

All Miguel did was cry, whine, and try again next time. Carmen did not like that. But Francisco had a poor attitude as well, right? He found Miguel pathetic, did he not? Each day Miguel was reminded of his shortcomings. It was a barrage of insults, mockery, and orders.

No one else talked to Miguel, only Francisco. The others looked away when he spoke, never touched him, and refused to be in the same room. Only Francisco was around day and night, nagging at him, yelling at him, pitying him like a dog. 

But today she’d choose him. He just needed a different attitude. Miguel dropped the basket. Francisco didn’t notice him approaching, red and swollen hands stretched towards him. The teasing would end there. If he was quick, Francisco wouldn’t have time to complain.

Nothing escaped Valeria, not the tiniest of details. The entire main street was visible from her window. It was full of color as people marched, carrying garlands, curtains, and food. The smells were overpowering and enticing, each bowl of mondongo soup calling to her from below, beckoning Valeria to abandon her spot. Of course, she wouldn’t. There were many more things to watch. 

It was hard to decide whether she liked the scenery more than Carmen, but every time she asked that question, Carmen always won. Not only because of her beauty or charming personality. No, there was something she couldn’t describe. Otherworldly, even. Once you spotted her, you could never look away. 

Generations came and went, but Carmen remained the same. Her mahogany skin, polished to perfection, was deep and smooth. Her wide smile, shining brighter than the sun, shamed the heavens. A white saya dress, immaculate and pristine. And Valeria basked in her presence every year, no exceptions. 

“Mom!,” she called from the window, not looking away. “Mom, when will we have lunch? Carmen will be here any moment!”

A pot boiled violently behind her, the lid rattling as if it’d fall off at any moment, filling the building with steam. Caraotas again, Valeria thought as she made eye contact with a child. He was hiding behind a door, retreating once he noticed her gaze. A crying girl stood next to him, who he ushered inside. “Sofia, Julio,” she said from her window. “How’s your brother?”

They shut the door.

Kids didn’t know Carmen, but one day they’d understand. Valeria paid particular attention to windows and open doors, where little heads poked through to marvel at the parade-to-be. She remembered how, back in her day, she listened to the music and cheered, imagining what lay behind the curtains. Her parents dressed them in their finest clothes to celebrate her arrival, even if they weren't supposed to see Carmen. But all those years listening to the parade paled in comparison to the real thing.

Give them a few years, they’ll join the merry like all of us! Her eyes wandered to and fro, absorbing all the vibrant colors. Maybe the sun shone with a different hue when she came because it all seemed to glow more on those days. As if a rainbow coated everything with fresh paint. When the flower cart passed by, however, her eyes opened wide.

“Mom, is it ready?” She tapped the windowsill. “The flowers are here, there’s not much time left.”

No response. Valeria let out a groan and turned around, heading towards the kitchen, dragging her feet. Her eyes took some time to adjust to the light. Her house glowed with the bright midday sun, ever-fading as Carmen approached. Streaks of sunlight crept into the hallway from all directions. Every room was empty, doors wide open, no curtains obscuring the view. The only things she could hear were the boiling pot and the hustle from outside. No voices, no people. 

“Mom,” Valeria said, yawning. “Is it ready?”

She examined the room in silence. Valeria watched her lunch spill over the floor, a dark paste covering the stove and surrounding areas. The smell was reminiscent of rust and dirt, permeating the kitchen with dark fumes. Her mother’s apron hung from the wall, dusty and wrinkled, still stained. When was the last time she saw her mother? Valeria didn’t remember, it could’ve been years. She shrugged and made her way to the counter.

As she reached for a plate, shouts and screams from the outside grew louder. Her ears perked up, and she pulled the pot out of the fire in a single motion using her bare hands. Valeria’s fingers blistered the moment she retreated, her indifferent expression never changing. “So it’s ready,” she said. She served the meal using a wooden spoon, splashing herself with the black mixture in her stead. 

The stove was still on.

Valeria hurried back to her windowsill, skipping a little as she heard the voices of Miguel and Francisco. “Those two are at it again,” she muttered under her breath while placing the plate aside. The same fumes of the kitchen permeated the room. “Mom, you’ll miss it!”

Sunlight dazzled her for a moment, hurting her eyes a little. When she recovered, Valeria noticed the main street was busier than before, crowds gathering in a circle as two men seemed to fight. Colors burst from all directions as people threw their decorations towards the middle. Flowers, trinkets, and furniture flew. Valeria ate a spoonful of her meal as she examined the scene, trying to get a good view of what happened. People were clapping, cheering them on, giggling. Every window and door she could see was shut tight. 

Were Miguel and Francisco wrestling for Carmen’s attention? No, Miguel had his hands around Francisco’s neck. She was still early.

“I knew he’d man up!”

All of Santa Lidia could hear the commotion. People laughed and clapped for Miguel, his swollen hands squeezing every inch of air out of Francisco’s lungs, shaking him up and down with vigor. Others tried to get in to help Francisco, who struggled to free himself of the bigger man’s grasp. Music played in the distance, drowned by the hundreds of voices.

Pouring out of the houses came more people with garrotes in hand. Took them long enough! They started to attack everyone they could reach, no matter who stood in the way. It was a matter of seconds before half-hearted taunting turned into punches, kicks, and biting. The crowd knew when the first drops of blood spilled. Someone produced a knife, another a machete. Moments later, the first person died. Screams, panic, red streets. All as she remembered.

Valeria continued to eat while watching the scene. Those caraotas were excellent! They were cooked to perfection, crunching just as she expected them to. She could even detect a hint of smoke mixed in with the flavor, perhaps from the chorizo. Her mother’s cooking always impressed her.

I have to thank her, she thought, unblinking. Though she didn’t remember her room being that hot.

Gregorio felt her before he saw her. It was as if the air thickened around her, heavier than rain and denser than fog. No birds flew by. The streets were silent. Even the sun shied away from her, hiding behind a cloud, leaving but a meager sparkle in the sky. And even while shrouded by shadows and mist, Carmen’s white dress managed to dazzle him amidst the crowd.

And he wasn't the only one who felt her. The entire town did.

To his feet lies the memory of people he once knew. If he could make out their faces, he would mourn them later, but Gregorio dared not look away from Carmen. Her delicate curves let him ignore the blood he walked on. It was easy to forget the pain, the wounds, and the rage that consumed him moments before. It was easy to forget names, too. Whose hand was he stepping on? He didn’t know.

No one moved from where they stood as if frozen in time, allowed only to watch her walk towards the church. She glanced at them, smiling as she turned around. Gregorio's heart dropped. Did she look at me? He sighed. No. She’d never choose me. 

The crowd breathed a sigh when Carmen entered the building. Gregorio still felt her presence, a fire growing within him, and he found the energy to move again. Looking around, Santa Lidia was almost unrecognizable. Flowers no longer clung to the walls, drapes were torn to shreds, and no music survived the fight. Its white streets acquired dark hues and stained stonework that bled as much as they did. Around him competition, and forward his destiny. Neighbors were no more.

Gregorio stepped off Miguel’s – ah, that was his name – hand, forcing himself to examine the scene behind. All eyes were focused on the church, dragging their bodies towards it. Towards her. Towards Carmen. He noticed a trail of smoke from somewhere in the distance, but the thought didn’t linger. He had to hurry.

Although Gregorio moved freely, his body was sluggish. His muscles responded a second too late to his commands. Each step he took felt heavier than the last, almost aching, almost arduous. What little light escaped through the windows of her abode was lost to the miasmas of Santa Lidia, yet that wouldn’t stop him. Gregorio knew where she was, and he heard her calling.

The first few to enter the building were the unluckiest, as their bodies fell prey to an enraptured crowd that recently woke up from their stupor. Carmen’s mere sight was enough to revitalize Santa Lidia, her figure engulfed by a halo of light coming from the other end. Gregorio made his way across the sea of people to the front row, crushing anyone who threatened to take his spot, following Carmen’s voice. It was sweet and intoxicating, like chocolate. He needed more.

As he pushed the last person in his way, the brightness of the sun stunned him for a moment. Right, he thought while adjusting to the light. The other end of the church had crumbled long ago, leaving behind the altar and a clear view of the mountains. That was where Carmen lived, by the cacao fields. Only the chosen were allowed to follow that path. Gregorio bid farewell to many of his friends right where he stood, cheering and clapping as they walked to her farmstead, trying not to seem jealous. She didn’t like that. 

But Gregorio behaved that day. He did everything right.

He never made eye contact with her unless she wanted it, instead of staring at her lips, her smile. It was warm and inviting, with the softness of a cloud and shyness of the stars. One moment it was there, more radiant than the sun that shunned her, and the other it was gone. His expression didn’t change. If he looked around, Gregorio saw the crowd cheer in silence, pout with her, and wipe tears. They were eternal slaves to her whims. She didn’t like that. He remained stoic as the mountain range darkened, casting a shadow over the church. The sun noticed her presence.

“Me!” said a woman behind him. A young one, barely of age. “Choose me, Carmen. Me!” 

People around her chuckled and pulled her down. She struggled to get a few more words in, but the gag stopped her. Silly novice, he thought. Carmen doesn’t like that. Still, he didn’t smirk. That would ruin his chances. 

The glorious figure standing in front of them continued with her display of emotions, melting the hearts of onlookers. Gregorio's face almost displayed his discomfort, but he couldn't fail. Not rushing to her aid hurt more than the wounds still bleeding, his head pounding, or the broken ribs. But this was his last year, and nothing could go wrong.

When the last rays of sunlight died down, Carmen giggled. Her dress clung to her skin as she stepped down from the altar, moving with the cold breeze that came through the crumbled walls. It was thick, like breathing water. If someone hadn’t made it to the front row, they lost their chances. She only chose the most capable and dedicated.  

Carmen waltzed around the room with elegance, almost levitating, caressing those that came to meet her. She examined them with care, patting up and down, probing them as best she could. That was the final test. 

First, it was a man larger than Gregorio, whose stoicism held only a few seconds. Next was a short woman, her face riddled with open wounds, and he only noticed her missing tooth when she allowed herself to smile. She skipped a young man with a crooked grin altogether before she walked next to Gregorio. She was so close he could smell her. Carmen’s scent was a mix of cacao and flowers, blessed by nature. Her skin, silky and soft, rustled against his as she disposed of the last man. 

Carmen examined him. She poked every injury in his body, for she knew him better than he did. Using her nails she cut his arm, trying to get a reaction out of him, but he never budged. Not even when his blood hit the floor did Gregorio flinch. No, he could only look at her dress. Immaculate and pristine, like her. Pure white linen. He’d never been closer to her, and if it went wrong, he never would have that chance again.

She was beautiful. Radiant. Exquisite. The sun was scared to be compared with Carmen, for it knew she illuminated their lives with more splendor than it ever could. Life itself dared not touch her, as it would wither in shame. Yet her sweet hands, expert and swift, incited pain wherever she reached.

It was only a matter of seconds, yet it felt like an eternity. Carmen wouldn’t let him go. As seconds went by, Gregorio almost reached for her to make her his, to claim victory above his peers. Carmen was right there. Just as he’d hoped, just as he’d dreamed. 

When she let him go, Gregorio was sure that he had failed. He closed his eyes, almost allowing himself to sigh until he heard a whisper, a sweet voice. Gregorio knew that voice very well. He opened his eyes.

Carmen was looking at him.

 “You.”

She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to the altar, not waiting for a response. He wouldn’t have protested, however. She didn’t like that. 

“He's been chosen,” cried a voice from the crowd. He didn’t recognize the man. “He’s been chosen!” Gregorio almost fell as he climbed the altar, pulled by Carmen. She was stronger than he thought. He liked it. Something hit him before he could turn around, splashing his clothes. He chose not to examine the stain.