“You know we’ve got to go back, right?” said Ezequiel halfway through his beer.
I nodded yes. I was aware. María was alive but I didn’t know how to figure out where she was. I didn’t need to eat more earth to sense the dread in her open eyes. Her earth was still in my body.
“But right now I’m exhausted,” I said, as they brought over a tray full of fries.
“I know. Let’s eat. I’ll drive you home.”
I reached for a fry. I’d been brought a set of metal cutlery wrapped in a paper napkin. But I wanted to touch the potatoes. To sink my fingers into the platter. They were hot but not enough to burn my hand. I grabbed one, took a bite, and remembered the taste of thick-cut fries—so soft their insides were like mashed potatoes. Steam curled up from the fry, and I took another bite.
I was on cloud nine when Ezequiel said:
“I’ll come fetch you tomorrow, I’ll bring my car.”
I didn’t want to look at him. I went on reaching for fries.
That night I dreamed of Señorita Ana again. She seemed dimmer inside and wasn’t even angry. Her sadness was bright, solitary. I walked up to her, and something inside Señorita Ana lit up when she saw me.
“I’m all alone here, you know? I can’t go anywhere.”
It was the opposite of my vision of María. Señorita Ana was in a vast, empty place. Forever on her own.
She looked much thinner and I couldn’t tell if that was because she wasn’t wearing her teacher’s smock anymore.
The stench turned my stomach, and Señorita Ana looked at me with pity.
“The pain,” she said, “it’s not from here but from the earth in your belly.”
I said nothing but wondered how much dirt I could scarf without wrecking my throat, my stomach, my body.
I thought to myself that I had to wake up. But I didn’t want to leave Señorita Ana on her own.
“I’ve got to go. I’m sorry,” I said.
This didn’t make Señorita Ana angry either. She opened her arms and hugged me, then said:
“I know, I know. Hurry, Eartheater. María’s still alive.”
I was waiting for him.
The sun had just risen and I was waiting for him.
Walter was in his room again with the combat-boot girl. I’d heard them come in hours ago. I hadn’t snuck a look. He must’ve fallen hard to bring the same girl home twice in a row.
The light outside was dim now and had started creeping into my room. And I was waiting for him. I knew Ezequiel wouldn’t arrive that early, but I was awake and thinking about what we’d get up to. I wondered if, aside from going to María’s house, aside from scarfing earth and, hopefully, finding the girl, he and I might do something. Which was stupid. Why was I thinking about that kind of thing?
Unable to sleep, I got up to shower. I went to the bathroom. The towels were missing again. What were my brother and that girl doing disappearing with all the towels? I liked the idea of hunting for one outside, of treading the soil a little before I had to leave. For some reason, I had the feeling I might not come back.
To reach the clothesline where the clothes hung to dry, I needed to stand by the side of the house. I took a few steps. The touch of the morning grass made me feel as though my feet would never fully leave that place. The ground got moister every day. I raked the grass with my toes so I could spy underneath. The earth was moist too. I touched it. Later, I would eat another woman’s earth. Which was why, I thought, I was staring down at mine. Looking up, I saw him.
It wasn’t even nine yet, and there he was, stood on the path. Ezequiel, watching me with that smile I loved. And me, a wreck—barefoot, disheveled, barely slept. I dashed into the house for the key to the padlock. I considered pulling some shoes on, but my feet were filthy . . . I had to let Ezequiel in as I was.
“Sorry,” I said, opening the gate to let him through.
He followed me up to the house. I made a detour before going in, grabbed the first towel I saw and headed back. He followed me into the house and stood quietly in the living room, like he didn’t know what to do. I gestured at the sofa and asked if he wanted some mate. Though he looked less awkward sitting down, he still gave the impression of carrying something inside that he couldn’t let out. Pained, he didn’t look like a yoke anymore. Just another joe.
“I was on my way to shower,” I said, setting the warm kettle and mate on a chair for him, and slipping into the bathroom.
With Ezequiel waiting for me, I couldn’t shower till the water ran out. The way I liked to. Piping hot water to douse my hair and coat it in shampoo. Water running over me and shampoo trickling down my body so I could take in its scent before rinsing off. I grabbed a handful of hair and brought it to my nose. Then, I sniffed my shoulder, the part of my body I liked best. I stood under the water a few more minutes. I crouched for the conditioner and as I reached for the bottle, noticed it was empty. Without conditioner, I couldn’t brush my hair. I thought of the combat-boot girl and had the urge to murder Walter. Kid had never used conditioner in his life. I unscrewed the lid, filled it with water, screwed the lid back on, gave it a hard shake, stepped out of the water and emptied the bottle over my head, making sure to get my tips. I soaped myself. The water wasn’t so hot anymore and I wasn’t so happy with my shower. By the time I was done with the soap, the water was lukewarm. I stood under the shower a few seconds longer, then stepped out. I dried myself off with the towel I’d rescued from outside, a small one that barely covered my body. My hair was still drenched. I held the towel under the open faucet then hung it back on the hook beside the mirror, dripping wet. I took the lid off the bottle of conditioner and left it on the sink. Walter’d get the message. I dressed and left the bathroom.
Ezequiel looked like a statue. I hadn’t expected him to drink any mate at all, yet he’d got through half the kettle. No sign of my brother or the girl. I sat, sipping mate. I’d hardly toweled myself dry and my hair was dribbling down my shirt. Sitting opposite a guy with a wet shirt on was starting to get on my nerves. I got up and said:
“Let’s go.”
“It’s early, but we can ride around a bit.”
I saw Ezequiel glance at the wet part of my shirt then look away. I leaned back to tie my hair up in a bun, a real high one, at the back of my head. I left the kettle and mate and headed to my room for something to wear over my wet tee, but on the way found tossed on the floor a light black jacket with buttons and red stripes that I really rated. I pulled it on, did up the buttons, turned around, and said:
“Ready.”
I didn’t want to eat anything before eating earth. We drove around in the car looking for something to nosh on later.
“Something sweet?” Ezequiel asked, and I couldn’t help breaking into a wide smile.
The thought of dulce de leche made my mouth water. As did Ezequiel, his smell. I drank in his scent as he drove. I loved it. I tried to not look at him and to follow the road with my eyes, but his smell got in the way.
“Not long now,” he said.
I closed my eyes and only opened them when Ezequiel stopped the car. I thought we’d arrived, but instead we were parked on a street corner in front of a huge bakery with a yellow façade. Ezequiel got out and walked across the front of the car. Seeing that I was still seated, he waved at me to follow.