Afterlife - Julia Alvarez Page 0,10

except the transformation of the English language into song.

So are songs and stories what we come to when we are divested of all other protections and privileges? These fragments I have shored against my ruins? The Waste Land was always a favorite with her students, many of whom had known only plentitude. And what about those who cannot bear up under deprivations, who are traumatized and silenced by hard times? If she ever gets back to writing, Antonia wants the stories she tells—like the writers she depends on—to come from that deeper, hurting place. Perhaps grief will be good for her work?

If so, thanks, but no thanks. Once again she is talking to Sam as if he has offered her this consolation for his absence.

When no one answers her knock at the trailer, Antonia heads for the barn, where she finds Mario shoveling fresh sawdust from a wheelbarrow into each stall. In the milking parlor, José is manning the machines, softly cursing at the cows.

Antonia remembers overhearing some farmers who had brought in their workers at the Open Door Clinic. She’d been called in to translate that night. Both the hospital and the clinic were seeing an increase in Spanish-speaking cases, but unlike the hospital, the clinic couldn’t afford off-site interpreting services. The farmers were talking among themselves about how they preferred women milkers to men. Antonia had dismissed them as sexist comments, until she realized their point was that the women were gentler with the animals. The cows actually give more milk. The little calves thrive.

Psst! Mario! She calls to him, startling him. Is el patrón around? He shakes his head.

Your novia called again. The coyotes are threatening her. Who are these people you hired? she asks, as if Mario should have checked references first, done his due diligence.

Ay, do?ita, ay. The young man clutches his head. What is he to do? The coyotes are insisting on the drop-off fee to Burlington even if they put la novia on a bus in Denver. He has sent those chingados all the savings he had, borrowed the rest. The paisanos all pitched in. That’s how they work it. First, I bring my novia or wife or sister or little brother with your help. Then I help you bring yours. Slowly and all together, we rebuild our lives here. A nest, a home, not just a trailer on shifting sand.

I tried to call back but no answer. Come over and we’ll try again when you’re done with the milking. Otherwise, el patrón . . . No need to complete the sentence. They both know what she means.

Sí, sí, sí, do?ita. Mario’s face is lined with worry. She has a sudden glimpse of what he will look like when he is an old man of fifty-four.

Back at her house, she lies down, hoping to go back to sleep until Mario arrives. But she is too worked up. She’s going to have to call Vivian and Franklin and cancel. No way she can attend a dinner party tonight on no sleep in her state of mind.

If her sisters are indeed taking turns, Mona will be calling today. She’ll have the latest on Izzy. Or who knows, maybe wild-card Izzy will phone in herself, wanting to know about Antonia’s plans for her birthday this weekend. They will have heard through the sister grapevine that Antonia turned down Tilly’s invitation to come celebrate it in Chicago. But Antonia is suddenly reconsidering. By leaving town, she will be released from this mess that has come to her door, dragons crawling ashore.

Since she can’t sleep, she might as well do her morning meditation lying down in bed. The Buddha would not approve. But wait, the Buddha wouldn’t care. The start-up gong on her phone meditation app sounds; in twenty minutes it will sound again, startling her in her woolgathering, her brain turning over and over the last twenty-four hours: Izzy and how to help her, the gutters filled with leaves and twigs, Mario calling Estela from her phone . . . her mind suddenly snags on that detail. Why does Mario need to come here to call Estela? Doesn’t he have his own phone? Every undocumented worker she has met has a cell phone. Their one connection to home. Why does Mario need to involve her?

As if in answer to her question, the landline rings. It’s not yet seven. Too early for one of her sisters. It’s Roger. He doesn’t bother to introduce himself or offer any of