Corner of the Dead

Chapter 3

[ 35 ] C H A P T E R 3 I T W R A P S I T S E L F around me. Exhaustion and dread and I am shaking. We fell asleep earlier than usual last night. It was the cold. I’m not sure who woke first or if we woke at the same time but it was to a chorus of all the dogs in the village barking, followed by a screeching sound, the kind I have heard only pigs make. We stayed in bed on our backs and did not move. Holding each other’s hand, we stared at the ceiling, not seeing anything, that’s how dark it was, we just listened. Morning came. The water is set to boil for coffee. I am on my way outside to use the latrine. I open the door but do not move. At the bottom of the hill where the dirt path leads to the Pan American Highway, I see them. Hanging from the trees. The dogs, with their entrails scooped out and left on the ground. Flies are everywhere and vultures too. Karl, hurry. He stands alongside me and looks out. The village must know. I’ll go see. Stay here. [ 36 ] I pace. Then kick at the soot and dust on the floor. I pull my hair and bite my nails. It takes Karl twenty-seven minutes to return. Blood drips from the eucalyptus leaves when the wind blows. Karl says I exaggerate. Later he asks, is there blood in my hair? I can’t look, not for blood. Don’t make me think there might be dogs’ blood glued to your scalp or to the shafts of blonde. What happened last night? Sendero raided the village. Enrique says the village had been ordered to join them and it refused. This morning they were afraid to take the dogs down. But by the time I got to the school they decided they had no choice. They are afraid of retaliation. The cabildo divided the village into sections. Some will cut the ropes and shovel the dogs into piles. Others will dig the graves. I hear the children crying. Across the way women are huddled behind the unfinished windows of their houses. The front gates to the houses are still closed. The path to the Pan American is empty. The only people outside are the men working with the dogs. I haven’t left the cuyera. When Karl comes home again I see blood on his boots. Go back down and wash your shoes in the irrigation ditch. They cracked the pipes, Lisette. The water isn’t running and what water there is, isn’t clean. Find some that isn’t blood-stained. Wash your shoes before you bloody our path or the house. He sees I don’t understand, knows I won’t understand even if he says it again. I watch him walk back down to the ditch. I call after him, are you sure, can we be sure —that it is only the blood of dogs? [ 37 ] • • • Chimbo slept inside with us last night. He always does. But when he cried I took him into our bed, even with his fleas. He is one of the few left. Karl buried Chimbo’s mother. ...