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

That’s the detail I latch on to: his clothing. It helps me ignore the waxy sheen of his face, the way his huge hands clench the sheets, and the bright red speckles staining the pillowcase. Mami is shushing and muttering gentle nothings like she would when Daniel was sick, wiping his face with a cloth and trying to coax him to sip from the cup. I feel shaky and, not sure my legs are going to hold me up, lean against the doorframe and watch them.

Not César, I beg no one in particular. Please, not César.

Not Mami’s new happiness. Not the paycheck keeping Belén fed. Not our one connection to a cousin in the lowlands for Daniel. Not the strong arms between all of us and the next group of drunken miners with mischief on their minds. Not the mountain of a man who has never been anything but kind to me.

After an eternity, the fit passes and César collapses onto the mattress. Mami dabs his forehead. When he breathes, the air enters his lungs with the same hissing and whispering that the air tubes make snaking into the mine.

Both are filled with too much rock dust, I think numbly.

Mami shoos me into the main room and closes the door behind me.

“How can he be this bad this quickly?” I ask Abuelita. “He was fine yesterday. He was fine this morning!”

“It doesn’t sound good,” she agrees, her face seeming older than usual. “It might turn into something serious.”

I think of the miners’ hospital with its mint-green walls and cold metal gurneys and the word she’s not saying—la silicosis. Sometimes, like when Daniel was just there, the wards are empty. Sometimes they’re full of men and boys, slowly suffocating. When my grandfather died of silicosis, I remember what Papi said: It’s only fair. We take the rock out of the mountain. Its revenge is to fill us with it. He was deeply drunk at the time, but even so, I didn’t talk to him for a week after that. It was just too horrible.

I realize that Abuelita’s been speaking and I haven’t heard a word she’s said.

“I’m sorry.” I force myself to focus on her. “What?”

“I said, someone should buy more cough medicine.” She motions toward a green plastic bottle on the edge of the table. “We gave the last of it to Daniel and never bought more.”

“I can go,” I say, jumping to my feet, glad again to have some useful task. Glad to be able to leave.

Abuelita knows me so well.

“Get some money and go to the pharmacy in San Cristobal,” she says. “They’re likely to give you a better price than one of the fancy pharmacies in a non-mining neighborhood.”

I walk over to the small ceramic jar on the shelf where we keep our money. Opening it, I frown. There is one fifty-boliviano bill and a few small coins. Why is there so little money? I know César puts his salary in there every time he gets paid.

I hear César cough again in the far room, and I shelve the mystery of the missing money for later. I shove the fifty into my pocket. I think about the four-hour walk we all just took back from town and how, even if I hurry, it will be at least seven more hours before I can get César the medicine—two and a half downhill if I rush, at least three and a half uphill. It’s the middle of the afternoon. I don’t know if I can make it to Potosí before the shops close. Even if I do, I’ll be walking the last hour and a half home in the dark.

Abuelita must have done the same math.

“Do you think you can stay with your fancy friend, the maid, again tonight?” she asks. “You can get the medicine, stay with her, and then come home first thing in the morning.”

“I’m sure that would be fine,” I say, though I have no idea whether it’s true. Besides, if I can make it in time to get the medicine today, then I will come straight home. Yes, I’ll likely have a bit of a walk in the dark, but it seems worth it to help César. Getting yelled at by Abuelita for taking a risk after I’m already home safe is better than having him get sicker overnight. “Will he be all right until then?” I ask.

“It’s all in God’s hands.” Abuelita passes me the empty bottle but won’t meet my eyes. “Make sure you get the same kind.”

When she turns to go sit with Belén, I grab a battery-powered flashlight for the walk home and slip it into my manta. I take a moment to shuck out of my fancy clothes and put on some sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and comfortable shoes. I tuck the money, the empty bottle, and a loaf of bread to serve as dinner into my manta along with the flashlight, and head out the door.

One trip down and back up the mountain is plenty. Starting out on yet another lap in one day, my calves and hamstrings wail at me. I ignore them. All I can think about is César and how desperate I am not to lose him. Three hours is a lot of time to think, even when you tell yourself to pay attention to where you’re walking, even if you slide down the scree hills to make it go faster instead of taking the path. I think about all the things being in César’s family gets for us: safety, food, a bigger house, a place in the community. But if I’m honest, it’s not these things that make me hustle. It’s that, despite my mixed-up feelings about how much my life has changed, I think I might be starting to care about César just for him.

Though I hurry, by the time I make it to the pharmacy, the shop is closed. I bang on