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  The woman had no choice but to let them go. She wished them the best of luck with the new home and told the daughter she shouldn’t hesitate to knock on her door if she ever needed anything. And she could stop by to visit any day she liked. She’d always be welcome there if she had a change of heart or if the new place didn’t work out or wasn’t to her liking.

  Her mother told her it should be a last resort. She couldn’t stop her from going there, but she’d rather the girl didn’t lean on her again. What she did want her to do was update the woman who’d helped them find that place, as soon as they got home. It was only fair she that she knew where things stood and was thanked for her help. But she should be sure not to ask the woman for anything else. No matter what she said. She knew her daughter didn’t mind taking people at their word, but she did. She felt you should ask only one favor per person so as not to be a bother and so they wouldn’t tire of helping.

  The woman took it another way altogether. After hearing the full story, she said not to worry: she’d sort everything out so she could return to the capital before the academic break had ended. This time, she’d find her some stable accommodation. Her mother would be pleased. She could count on it. The girl said it would be better if the woman told her mother herself. And while she was at it, she could assure her that she hadn’t asked for a thing. She was certain she wouldn’t believe her if she said so herself, and she was right: her mother thought she’d asked behind her back, in a moment when she hadn’t been paying attention, when she’d looked away or stopped listening. The woman insisted she’d made the offer of her own accord and begged her to accept it as an apology for sending her daughter to the house where she’d ended up. If she’d known what was going on, she’d have gotten her out of there earlier, or not sent her there at all. She’d suggested it because of its proximity and the family’s adaptability. She swore she wouldn’t get her into a pinch again. She had already asked the daughter to get in touch with any questions or complaints the second they arose, even though, as she said, she was certain there’d be none. The person she had in mind was of a different caliber. She hadn’t placed her there earlier because she’d thought her daughter was doing just fine where she was. She didn’t want to cause her any more trouble while she was settling in. An untimely move could have knocked the girl off balance or distracted her from her studies.

  Had they called sooner, she would’ve moved the girl immediately. They wouldn’t have had to take the bus all the way home to the village, she wouldn’t have had to walk through it with her head hanging low as she tried to hide her tears, nor would they have had to put up with the other villagers’ nosiness as they wondered why the two of them were returning with all the girl’s luggage. They wanted to know if her academic adventures had come to an end so they could tell the mother she should never have let her go, and so they could tell her she should never have left.

  19

  The littlest one is delighted to have her sister home, even if it’s only for the holidays and all she does is lie slumped on the bed crying. She’s missed her, despite the fact that before she left her sister used to smack her for any old reason and she’d wished with all her might that she’d leave. She brings her wildflowers in bed and shows her her exercise books. She says her handwriting is improving. And that when she’s all grown up like her she’ll go to university too. She’s decided to study the same subject. Her sister cries even harder. And her mother lets her, the whole time. The third daughter she raised asks why. After all, seeing as she’s there, she should be pulling her weight like everybody else—fetching water, feeding the few chickens they have left, sweeping the earthen floor. She doesn’t understand why she’s the one who has to do everything. The mother says that the eldest has her own home to tend to, the littlest is too little, and the one who’s just gotten home is too sad, that people in that state of mind shouldn’t be burdened any further. It’s like her body’s wounded on the inside. It needs time to recover. Her sister will make it through. One day she’ll get up without anyone asking, grab her things, and get to work. For now, she just has to cry herself hollow. The mother hopes the girl never experiences this herself, but in a few years’ time, she will. She’ll spend hours, days, weeks shut up in her room. Only then will she understand even a fraction of what her sister went through. For now, she’ll get angry. She’ll say it isn’t fair. She’ll say her mother is playing favorites. She’ll wish the father she’s never met hadn’t died and will think her life might’ve been different if he hadn’t. Perhaps she would’ve been his favorite. After all, everyone says she’s the one who looks most like him: she gets her body from that side of the family and her face is like his but a woman’s. Then the littlest sister would never have been born because her mom wouldn’t have had to find another boyfriend. She’d have been the littlest, the most coddled. She’d have had her own room, too: her dad would’ve made sure to expand the house or add an annex so that she could have her own space. She wouldn’t have had to spend all those years sleeping in the top bunk, or go back up there just because her sister was home on holiday.

  Her mother told her she also had to return her sister’s clothes, which she’d been wearing while she was away, and explain their wear and tear. She’d warned her beforehand not to touch what wasn’t hers. Back then, the third daughter she’d raised had said that she just didn’t have any clean clothing. That her own clothes didn’t fit anymore. Later, that the other girl was far away, with new clothes, and had stopped wearing her old ones. And that her weight had changed and none of it would fit anymore, at least not like it had before. Her own body, on the other hand, was becoming nicer by the day. She wore the garments better. She’d promised she’d only wear them once, then once more, then again, until they’d fallen to pieces. Now she had to apologize and make up for it somehow.

  When her sister was done crying and finally got out of bed, the girl gave her a yellow towel she’d gotten for her birthday and said she was sorry she’d used her things without her permission. She’d wanted to give her an elaborate explanation that she and some school friends had come up with at recess, but hadn’t needed to because her sister had returned her peace offering along with the assurance that she didn’t owe her any explanations: the clothes were the least she could give her for all the sacrifices she’d made so she could study. She apologized for taking the bunk she was currently sleeping in: she’d gone to it out of inertia, but would use the top one from that night on. She didn’t mind. At first, she’d let her younger sister have the top bunk because she thought it was more fun and safer; not only did the bar along the side keep her from falling out, but being up top would keep her out of harm’s way if the house were to flood or an animal sneak into it. None of this had happened, so there’d been no occasion to prove that it was so, or any reason to have her sleep up there anymore. She said this with a smile so the girl wouldn’t feel bad about asking for the bottom bunk back, but the only thing it achieved was for the girl to want it then as much as she had before and say no, the top bunk was hers and she’d stay right where she was while her sister was visiting. Her sister let her do as she saw fit. She said she could sleep anywhere.

  Her mother was looking for a place where she could do just that. She’d gone to speak to people in the surrounding districts who might know someone in the capital, so they could come to an agreement. She’d heard there were some people who put up village kids wanting to study there. This had mostly been in another time, when there were no schools nearby, or when there were schools but only elementary and, later, only high schools. Maybe the network could be activated again, but there was no guarantee—circumstances had changed and most of the time people only hosted relatives or their relatives’ relatives. Didn’t she have any relatives of her own who could help? She had once: after her house was burned down her mother moved from place to place with all her children in tow until they reached the capital, somewhere in the outskirts. But she’d left as soon as she could. Like her, she wasn’t very fond of
the city. It made no sense and brought her no pleasure. She went only when necessary or when circumstances called for it. Her mother, on the other hand, had never gone back there. She said she’d left nothing behind in the city, not even friends. She’d asked her when she first started her search. She’d also asked her younger siblings if they still had any connections from the old days, but none of them had kept in contact with anyone from then, nor did they think they’d do them any favors after not seeing each other for so many years. Didn’t she herself know anyone who would? She thought so: a girl she’d met at the demobilization camp. She hadn’t known her during the war; they’d never fought together, but had grown fond of one another at the camp where they’d been taught how to reintegrate into civilian life. She’d been friendly to the girl. The girl had said to look her up if she ever needed anything. She’d said her family ran a small business, they’d had it for years, so she could stop by or leave a message there to get in touch with her. It was easy to find. One day, when an acquaintance was driving to the capital to do some shopping, she went to help carry the bags and found the place with the help of the directions the girl had given her.

  She asked a señora if the girl was around, only to find that she herself was the girl she was looking for. She didn’t have time to waste wondering if she recognized her. The person who’d brought her there had given her only a short time in which to take care of the matter she’d come for: they had an itinerary to keep and a specific time to be back by if they didn’t want roadside thieves to seize everything they’d gone to the capital for. She introduced herself, reminded her of her promise, and asked if she could transfer it to her daughter. She wouldn’t be bothering her if she’d been able to find another way. She knew the woman didn’t owe her a thing and that she wasn’t obliged to keep the offer she’d made. She’d understand if she couldn’t just then, but she hadn’t wanted to pass up the chance to ask. There were few people who could understand what she was going through and even fewer she could entrust with her daughter’s care. Would she do it? It’d be for no more than a term. Could she?

  Yes.

  She jotted down her phone number so they could work out the details later. The girl could move in whenever she liked. And she could visit as often as she wished and was able. There’d always be room for her and her partner there. How was he, anyway? Dead. But they could talk about that later. The person who’d brought her was honking the horn to make her hurry up. She had to go. She thanked her from the bottom of her heart, she’d find a way to pay her back. She just needed time.

  Her daughter seemed to come back to life, though she burst out crying again. All that time she’d thought her mother had tricked her when she’d said she’d let her go back. She’d come to terms with staying where she was and looking after the house instead of studying. She thought her mother would say it was only for that academic year, and then that it was just for the next one, and then the next one, until she was no longer young or keen enough to continue. She had to hear it on the phone, straight from the woman’s mouth, to believe the offer was real and not just a ruse to stop her suffering.

  Only after her mother gave her the dates, the address, and some instructions did her demeanor change. She swore she’d try twice, three times as hard and never fail that subject again. She also promised to pay her host back for the favor and to pay for her sisters’ education, once she’d graduated and gotten a good job. As the day drew near, she did her household chores as her mother would have liked her to do them all along. She pressed the earthen floor till it was nearly shining, fed the animals, and disciplined the girls as if she were far older than they were.

  The third daughter the mother had raised didn’t take kindly to this. She reminded her that, just a few months ago, she’d been the one making the most trouble for everyone in the house. She reminded her how she’d gone to other villages without their mother’s permission and, what’s more, showed her no respect. What gave her the right to be setting rules now, after all that?

  Her sister explained that there were things you didn’t understand until you grew up. She asked her and the little one to trust what she was saying, to understand that everything their mom did was for their own good, and that she was just trying to help her in her efforts. She would’ve liked to have done so earlier, to have understood earlier. Her life would’ve been different: she would’ve been better prepared when reaching university, would’ve passed that subject without trouble, gone on to the following academic year with ease, and kept the financial aid she’d been given. Her time in the village would’ve been a holiday, and she would never have cried or be having this conversation with them. Maybe she’d even have been able to bring them some nice clothes or toys, which, unlike the ones they’d been given all their lives, had never belonged to another person or been donated by a church or a political party during an electoral campaign. But she was who she was: her eyes were still swollen from all her gloominess and there they were having a conversation that neither moved the girls nor made them change their outlook. The littlest one was still distracted by her toys and the notion that there wasn’t a problem her father wouldn’t fix when he finally came home to see her and scare all her troubles away, and that she’d study the same thing as her sister in due course. The third sister got more and more upset and asserted her right to do whatever she pleased. She said she wasn’t obliged to obey a mother who didn’t give her everything she wanted and denied her what her father would’ve given her. She said she’d keep on talking to their mom however she liked and in whatever tone she chose, as she would do with her if it struck her fancy. Her sister couldn’t stop her. What she could do, however, was grab her by the hair and drag her down until she kissed the ground, apologized for everything she’d said, and swore not to disrespect their mom. She could smack her while she did that and tell her again and again that she was an ungrateful brat. She could and, in fact, she did.

  Their mother rushed to help the moment she heard the third one screaming, but stepped back and remained standing at the door when she heard the second girl’s accusations. Only once she figured she’d received the punishment she deserved did she tell the other one that enough was enough and lift up the stricken girl to brush her off, and hear her apologies and her vow not to behave like that again, a promise she didn’t often keep.

  20

  The girl packs her bags to leave again. This time, there are no tearful goodbyes or advice on what she should and shouldn’t do. Her mother bundles up some fruit and sweet cornbread: she doesn’t like the idea of arriving empty-handed at the house of the woman putting her daughter up. The woman is grateful. She also says she shouldn’t have: what she does she does gladly. Even though they didn’t know each other well and even though a lot of time has passed since they last saw one another, they were still compañeras-in-struggle. She likes the fact that she still uses her alias. She, on the other hand, had to get used to her previous name when she came home because her family refused to call her by the one she’d adopted in battle. All her IDs and certificates of study were in her given name, too. She’d had to take it up again so she could finish the degree she’d dropped to go to the mountains.

  Others kept their war aliases, taking advantage of the fact that their birth certificates had been burned during the invasions. They’d assumed the surnames of compañeros fallen in battle, or other names which reminded them neither of their pasts on the battlefields nor of their pasts before that. She knew many had started anew and were now very different from the people they’d been then, not only physically. If she saw them, she’d be surprised. She probably wouldn’t recognize them, just as she hadn’t been recognized nor had recognized her when she walked through the shop door. Had she not called her by her alias, she wouldn’t have been able to place her. She’d have mistaken her for just another customer and offered to help her find what she was looking for, then wrapped it in paper with the shop’s name printed on it, and, after charging her, wished her a nice day. She might have eve
n done that with others.