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

“Such an environmentalist,” says Mami, practically rolling her eyes, “putting roads through our national parks and indigenous spaces to dig for natural gas.”

“He reduced poverty,” counters Doña Marisol. “You can’t deny that. He raised the minimum wage.”

“He’s also breaking ground, right now, to raise a two-hundred-and-thirty-million-boliviano presidential palace.” Mami gestures emphatically. “Oh, and of course he’s trying to abolish term limits to keep power for himself forever.”

“All I’m saying,” says Abuelita, “is that we are a country where valuable things have always been taken away from us, from silver for the Spaniards to lithium for mobile phones; from water to natural gas. It’s time we stopped making deals with the devil to be modern.”

“Some good things come from outside,” says Mami, refusing to back down. “You can’t just ignore the rest of the world or throw out the good with the bad. Okay, Morales kicked out some of the corporations, but he also kicked out foreign aid.”

“Why do we need it?” scoffs Doña Elena.

“Because sometimes outside help is the only help to be had. Do you remember Rosaura? She was able to get a divorce from her husband when he beat her because of that Danish legal aid clinic. And, Marisol, your own daughter was able to get into a training program so she could become a preschool teacher because of that other charity. You can’t say that her life isn’t better because of it. Now those organizations are gone. Where will my Ana go to get help finding a better future?”

As one, all their gazes swing to me. I swallow. I wasn’t planning on being an exhibit in their argument.

But Mami has given me the opening I need.

“I don’t need a charity,” I say, not quite able to meet Mami’s eyes. “I’ve taken a job. At the El Rosario mine. As a guarda.”

Deafening silence meets my announcement. Even the ping and crack of rocks in the background vanishes. The other women have stopped work completely to listen in.

Mami’s eyebrows shoot up. “You what?”

I stare at the worthless hunk of rock in my hand, wishing we weren’t having this conversation.

“El Rosario needs a guarda. We need the money.” I do some quick math to make the number seem more impressive. “I’ll make eight hundred and fifty bolivianos a month.”

“So,” Mami says. Tears roughen her voice, and whatever hope I had that my news wouldn’t make her angry vanishes like clouds in the dry season. “You thought it wasn’t enough that I lose a son and a husband to the mountain. You decided I should lose my daughter too.”

“I’m trying to help.” It comes out as a whisper.

“Do you think that getting yourself killed is going to help me?” she snaps. “What’s your logic? That I’ll have one less mouth to feed when you’re found dead in a ditch?”

Tears are running down her face, and I know that her sharp words are coming from worry, not meanness, so I don’t let her see how much they frighten me.

“There was a job open. This”—I wave my hand at the piles of slag around us—“isn’t going to be enough. We need to eat. César needs time to get better. This is a way to do that. I’ll be careful.”

“There are other ways,” Mami says in a clipped tone.

“What other ways?” I ask, my voice rising in frustration. This isn’t something I’ve decided on a whim. I’ve thought and thought about this. There are no better choices available to us.

Mami doesn’t get a chance to answer because that’s when Doña Elena decides to join our conversation.

“A better way would be to get her a man,” she states with complete certainty.

Mami and I stare at her, struck dumb.

Abuelita has no such problem. “Don’t be stupid, Elena,” Abuelita growls at the other woman. She glares daggers at the eavesdroppers until they go back to cracking rocks. The noise of their work underlines Abuelita’s words to Doña Elena. “She’s far too young.”

“Nonsense!” barks Doña Elena. “I was fourteen when I got married. How old were you, Elvira? Fifteen? Sixteen? Besides, the girl wouldn’t even really have to marry. Even if she just got engaged, his family would take care of you all until César is healthy again.”

“No.”

Mami’s eyebrows rise at the tone in my voice. “Ana,” she whispers. “Manners.” Abuelita can sass Doña Elena all she wants because they’re the same age, but Mami and I need to be polite to her.

I shake my head, no longer trusting my own voice.

Doña Elena turns on me. “Stubborn girl,” she scolds. “Look at how hard your mother and grandmother are working now to take care of you. If you were a good daughter, you’d be thinking of ways you could take care of them. A husband would be responsible for making sure you all have enough to eat.” Her eyes travel over me much like the miners’ did. “You’re pretty enough . . .”

“I’m not going to get married! Ever!”

“Don’t shout at your elders,” Mami says, a hint of heat creeping into her voice. She turns to Doña Elena. “She’s young still. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” I grind out. I’ve lived in a one-room house most of my life. I do not want to get married.

“Ana, stop being so melodramatic.” Mami sighs. “No one is saying you have to get married at twelve, but of course you’ll get married eventually. It’s not good to be alone. Remember those days after your father died? Barring the door every night? You, having to leave school to help us sort rocks?”

Having to leave school is a wound I still can’t stand to have poked. “Yes, I remember those days,” I snap. “There was a whole week when no one hit you.”

I realize, in the stunned quiet that follows, that I have embarrassed my mother in front of her friends. I feel slimy inside. I clear my throat and force my voice to be less ugly. I can’t meet her eyes again.

“I’ve made up my mind,”