better if we don’t see each other here anymore. It’s nicer up at the fork in the road, or somewhere else, don’t you think?
Why? she asked.
What do you mean why?
Why?
I waited, motionless, my thumbs in my belt, looking at her without understanding. But Analí let out a laugh and started looking at her phone. I just stood there in front of the counter like an idiot. Some men came in to buy something and all there was left to do was go. She didn’t even say goodbye.
I sent her a couple of texts in the days that followed, but she didn’t reply. That week I completely lost it. At certain moments I felt an enormous relief, like suddenly I could breathe, and I was overcome with affection for Ermiña and my girls, swiftly followed by a horrible guilt. A minute later I’d be tearing my hair out with the sheer desire to see Analí. It was time to harvest the trout and the rains were getting heavier. I worked hard
through the downpour, pulling out one fish after
another, trying to drive away my desire. But that only made me think about her more, my own sweat reminding me of our nights together, and then I’d be hit by the smell of Pert Plus, followed by that scent behind her ears, just like a baby’s, and that in turn reminded me of her breath, her sweet-sour breath, discovering all her perfumes as though for the first time. But memories of smells disappear as quickly as they come, and it hit me how great a distance there was between my body and hers, and that made me so profoundly sad that I had to stop and lean against the edge of the tank.
As though she could hear my actual thoughts, that afternoon I received a message from her.
I want to do things to you in your bed :)
That sentence threw me into a total spin. I read it so many times that José came over to ask what I was looking at. Ermiña didn’t say anything, which should have put me on my guard, but in truth I was walking on air, barely able to hide my grin. Which bed was she talking about? The one in the hut? Do things… here? From one moment to the next everything around me was infused with Analí, her laugh tangled in the forest, her breath bubbling with the water, her body pressing insistently against mine. And Ermiña was right there, silent, making lunch, working in the vegetable garden, helping the girls with homework she’d devised herself.
My daughters went out earlier than usual the next morning. I was sharpening the machete to cut back the edges of the clearing when Ermiña came over. She had a big bag with her and was wearing makeup, which she never does up here.
They told me, she said.
I turned to look at her.
Told you what?
For God’s sake, she said. You’re pathetic.
Dizziness flooded through me, so much so that I had to crouch down. When I raised my eyes, Ermiña was looking down at me. She smiled, just a little, her lips very tight and her eyes sad, and made her way towards the path down the mountain. I thought about following her, saying something, shouting at her or pleading, but she was walking so upright, her skirt cupping her big buttocks so nicely, holding her bag so firmly, that I didn’t have the guts. I went cold all over and let myself fall onto my backside. A sharp whistling started up in my ears, and it was a few minutes before I could clear my head and get up again.
Oh fuck, I thought. Fuck fuck fuck.
*
I felt half-cut for the rest of the day, wandering from the tanks to the hut, from the hut to the edge of the forest, from the forest to the vegetable garden, and in the vegetable garden I stood looking at all the little plants Ermiña had grown in the last few months – chard, tomatoes, tufts of watercress – all so carefully tended. I went and got a bucket of water from the tanks, thinking I’d water any that looked like they needed it, but none of them did, and I noted the care she’d taken over every single plant, the furrows dug so neatly, the topsoil
well-turned, and then I just stood there, a long time, until my throat began closing and tears started to fall one after the other from my eyes. I don’t know how long I was there, thinking about my daughters, imagining Ermiña picking them up from school and telling them that they weren’t going back up the hill that afternoon, they were going all the way down to their grandmother’s
house. The rain intensified and soaked my hair, my face, my body.
Suddenly I found myself walking down the path that led away from the farm, walking faster and faster, tripping as I raced down, my rubber boots slipping, and with them this body, this body that wasn’t mine, a clumsy, borrowed body that was taking me to my wife whether I liked it or not. I managed to slow it down when I got to the village. I felt my way over to a rock we used to call The Bull because of its shape, and sat on the animal’s back. Little by little I began to calm down. Going after Ermiña was crazy, no matter how you looked at it, and the idea of seeing my aunt was just plain stupid. Once I’d figured that much out, I began to feel resentful.
They told me, Ermiña had said.
When I realised, rage began to pulse through my body and I knew that Juancho had given me away.
This is where it’s hard to find the words, because in that moment I hated Juancho, and myself, but also, why not say it, Ermiña too. What had she done? Or not done?
I was struggling to put my finger on it, but I was sure there was something crouching there, as present and solid as the stone I was sitting on.
As though possessed by the devil, I jumped down from The Bull and headed back uphill. As I climbed, it finally sank in that Ermiña wouldn’t be there, nor Tatinca, nor Ileana, nor Ilopanga, and definitely not José. Distress started to wash away my rage, replacing it with a grim coldness. When I arrived at the entrance to the farm I saw Juancho sitting by his little shack, his rifle hanging over his shoulder. The rain had abated and heavy clouds were rising over the mountainside, by turns hiding and illuminating the clearing, so that sometimes I could see Juancho’s hunched figure
and sometimes not. As I got closer I had the impression that I was approaching a very tired ghost.
You have to go, I said, now almost level with him.
He turned to look at me, slowly but not surprised.
What?
Go, I told him, now.
Why?
Swallowing saliva, I made an effort to keep my voice calm.
I saw those guys you know, down below. They’re on their way up.
Down below?
Not that far, I explained. They’d already reached
the village.
They spoke to you?
No, I said, thinking on my feet, they just saw me in the distance and starting talking amongst themselves. I’m telling you, they’re heading up here.
His hand reached for the pistol in his belt.
Now?
Now, I told him.
Juancho stood, and then stared intently
