Treasure of the World Tara Sullivan (inspirational books for women TXT) 📖

like the rock dust clinging to the lines of César’s hands, the belief that my brother was going to be okay and that everything could go back to normal wasn’t something I could scrub away easily. But in the week and a half since the mine disaster, that hope has flecked off me, a speck at a time, without my even noticing. I realize, as I sit here with Santiago, that there’s none left. I know things will never go back to the way they were before. I will have to find a new way forward.

“You should get some sleep,” I whisper. “If you like, I’ll stay here and keep you company until you drift off.”

Santiago, tired from all the talking, lets the conversation drop. Not much later, he’s asleep, his fevered face flushed in the low light.

Leaving Santiago with a full glass of water by his head and Yenni’s folded clothes at his feet, I close the door behind me and walk slowly home, Papi’s helmet and suit tucked under my arm.

It’s early afternoon when César and Mami come into view. César is carrying Daniel on his back and Mami is one step behind them, supporting Daniel. I can’t help it. As soon as they crest the rise, I race out of the house.

“Daniel!”

I screech to a stop just in front of them, not sure what to do with my body. I want to throw myself at him and give him a giant hug. But I can see the strain on César’s neck from carrying him up the mountain and I don’t want to topple them all over. Besides, Daniel doesn’t look up for giant hugs. His arms are limp by his sides, and even though he hasn’t been walking, he looks as exhausted and sweaty as they are. His face is lined and pale and his eyes are half rolled back in his head. If Mami wasn’t holding him against César’s back, it looks like he’d fall to the ground.

“Is he . . . is he okay?” I ask, scrambling out of their way.

César grunts.

“Let’s just get him in the house,” says Mami.

I run and open the door wider. Abuelita stands by her cot, which she has cleared off for Daniel. Belén, home from school, stands well clear. César carries Daniel over to the cot and Mami helps lay him down. Daniel gasps in pain and slumps against the blanket. When César steps away, I can see the extent of his injuries. Daniel’s torso is mostly covered in gauze bandages. Huge bruises blossom under the edges and there are rusty spots on the white where he’s bled through. Worse, Daniel’s making far too much noise as he breathes, like a broken air compressor.

Abuelita hands Mami and César cups of water. For a long moment, none of us says anything.

“The surgery to fix his punctured lung went well,” Mami says into the silence. “They took out the chest tube yesterday. His lung has reinflated and they’ve reset his ribs. He’s to breathe as deeply as he can, and sleep propped up. It will take two to three months for him to heal all the way.” She recites these things robotically, as if she has been repeating them to herself all the way up the mountain like I used to with my memorized facts.

I rub tears out of the corners of my eyes. Daniel’s breath is fast and shallow. Mami goes over and wedges a blanket under his head and shoulders, lifting him at an angle. It doesn’t seem to help. Her shoulders slump.

“Ana,” Mami says softly. “Come outside with me. We need to talk.”

Abuelita takes her place at Daniel’s side and wipes his face gently with a wet cloth. He squeezes his eyes shut and wheezes. His lips aren’t the right color.

Numbly, I follow Mami out the door.

Mami finds a ledge away from the miners’ houses. She sits and waits for me to join her. Below us, the city of Potosí is laid out like a blanket, stretching to fill the valley at the base of the Cerro.

“Ana—” she starts.

“You’re sending him away,” I break in.

Mami shoots me a sharp look.

“I couldn’t sleep last night. I overheard you and César talking.” I glare at her. “How could you? We only just got him back!”

“I’ve spent the last five days at the hospital with him,” Mami says slowly. “When his breathing slows naturally overnight, it suffocates him, and he wakes up. He hasn’t been able to sleep in a week except for when they gave him pain medication and put an oxygen mask on his face.” She looks down at her hands, her face lined with sorrow. “We don’t have pain medication,” she says. “We don’t have an oxygen tank. I can’t watch him struggle for every breath, in agony for the next three months.”

Tears drip off my chin into my lap. This morning I was angry at her for even thinking of sending Daniel away. But that was before I had seen him. Now all I want is for him to hurt less.

“The hospital won’t keep him any longer,” Mami is saying, “and it will be months before he’s back to normal—and that’s assuming he doesn’t get bronchitis or pneumonia like he tends to. His lungs were so weak and scarred even before this. Now . . .” She trails off. Then she straightens her spine and continues. “César has a cousin who lives down near Sucre. That’s half the altitude of the Cerro Rico, only 2,800 meters above sea level. There’s much more oxygen in the air there. It’s like putting a free oxygen mask on his face all the time. I can’t get him more pain medication, but at least he’ll have an easier time breathing while he gets better. César contacted them from the hospital. They’ve agreed to take Daniel for the next few months, until his ribs heal.”

I don’t say anything, remembering all the times I wished that I could get Daniel better air to breathe. Now, because