When Soledad Martínez’s world fell apart, she was 38 years old. In 1987, a truck carrying apple pickers flipped over on the curve known as “El Espinazo.” Ramiro, her husband, never came home. The agricultural company finally sent her an envelope with a few thousand pesos in it as payment after months of giving her vague answers. At that time, 150,000 pesos was not enough to last a month and represented the life of a good man.
Soledad was a widow with five mouths to feed: her 12-year-old son Mateo, her eight-year-old twins Luna and Estrella, her five-year-old son Tadeo, and newborn Luz. Ramiro had been her anchor. She still remembered what he said to her that last morning: “Take care of my boys, Sole.” “Promise me they’ll be fine.” She had said she would.
It
He
“That storage unit is still there, rotting away,” El Chivo continued. “The city wants to take it away.” They want 100,000 pesos for the privilege to live there, but I bet they’ll give it to someone who shows up with 50. “The place is cursed.”
Soledad’s
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” he began, his voice clearer than he thought it would be. “And if someone offers 80,000 pesos, do you think they’ll take it?”
The men stared at her. El Chivo laughed for a little time. “Ma’am, that thing isn’t worth 10, but if you have the guts to live in that den of vermin, I’ll take you to the town clerk myself.”
“Let’s do it then,” Soledad responded, taking off the sock and counting the money. “Here are 80,000 pesos.”
El Chivo was there for her the next day with a stamped document. “Congratulations, Doña Soledad.” You are now the legal owner of a 1960 model trailer in the “El Arroyo Seco” area.
The trip was a nightmare. The dirt road that was 5 kilometers long turned into a trail. The truck finally came to a stop in a tiny clearing. And there it was. A metal beast that was stuck to cement blocks and covered in rust and moss. The door was held up by a hinge, and the windows were just empty holes.
The inside was a nightmare. She smelled mold, dead animals, and decay. The linoleum floor was buckled, and in some places it was entirely rotten, showing the wet ground below.
But Soledad could see more than that. She saw four walls and a ceiling. She saw a place that was hers. “That’s perfect,” she remarked quietly.
The Goat shook his head. “Well, you have more guts than many men I know, Doña Soledad.”
The truck drove away, leaving Soledad and her five kids alone. She firmly declared, “This is our new home.” “It smells bad now, but it’s ours.” We are going to clean things up. “Our castle will be here.”
It was difficult to fight the dirt during the first few days. They cleaned the walls, hauled out the rubbish, and put cardboard over the holes in the windows. In a corner, they all slept on dry pine needles.
It happened on the sixth day in the morning. To make the floor level, Soledad and Mateo took off the rotten wood from the middle of the trailer. They started tearing off the rotten wood with their bare hands, even though it hurt.
That’s when Soledad’s fingers hit something firmly. It wasn’t dirt or metal. It was made of wood.
He started to dig and took out the rotten pulp. There were thick pine planks arranged in a square below the original floor level. They weren’t in the trailer. He used a piece of metal to pull them loose, even though his heart was racing. The planks creaked and broke.
There was darkness below. A hole.
I was going to call Mateo to bring the only candle they had when I heard a noise. A movement, like fabric rubbing on dry dirt. And then a scared, strained breath.
Her blood ran cold. There was something down there that was living.
Mateo held on to her arm with a pale face. “What was that, Amá?”
Soledad raised a finger and asked for silence. Then, once more, she gasped for breath.
“Who’s there?” Soledad yelled, her voice shaking as she clutched the piece of metal. “Get out of there!”
There was no sound at all. “Please,” she said again, this time more softly. “Answer if anyone is there.” We won’t hurt you. We have kids.
Then, like a whisper coming up from the ground, a feeble, scared, masculine voice spoke in broken Spanish: “Help… please.” No, please don’t let them find me. “Don’t scream.”
There was a man hiding under her house. She was scared at first. She looked at Mateo, who was shaking but holding a rock. Soledad’s dread turned into rage that protected her.
“Get out of there right now!” “Keep your hands visible to me!”
“No…” “I can’t,” the voice said. “I’m hurt.” “Please, ma’am… water.”
The voice was young. Soledad made a choice. “Mateo,” she said with authority. “Take your sisters outside.” “Don’t move; stay by the big tree.”
She lit the only candle in the trailer by herself. She said, “I’m going to put the candle down.” “I swear on my children that I will hurt him if he tries anything.”
The light went off. The hole was about 2 meters deep, and there were steps dug into the ground. He climbed down and left the metal on the edge.
She raised the sail when her feet hit the bottom. And what she saw made her hold back a scream.
A youngster, no older than 20, was huddled in the corner. His skin was pale under the dirt and crusted blood. His hair was matted with blood. His clothing was ripped and torn. One of his legs was bent at a strange angle, swollen, and purple, with two dirty boards fastened to its sides. He got hit in the face, and it changed shape.
His eyes, the only ones visible, stared at her with animal fear.
“Good heavens,” Soledad muttered. “Hey, what did they do to you?”
The young man shook. His American accent was clear as he begged, “Don’t give me up.” “These people are going to kill me.” I swear they’re going to kill me.
Soledad’s compassion beat her fear. “Take it easy. I’m not going to give you to anyone. I swear to my five kids. “What’s your name?”
He said, “Alex.” “Alex Thompson.”
“How long have you been down here, Alex?”
“I don’t know… much. I haven’t eaten anything since my leg surgery. I think two weeks. I ate some granola bars. They left days ago. I was licking the wetness from the ground.
Soledad had a lump in her throat. “And your leg? Those bruises? Who did this to you?
Terror came back to Alex’s face. “Those people. Artemio’s men were present. The guards at the sawmill were present.
The mill. Soledad felt a cold. Don Artemio owned half the town and was a scary man.
Alex cried, “They’re looking for me.” “They gave me money.” I heard it in town. “Fifty thousand pesos to find the ‘gringo spy.'”
Fifty thousand pesos. A lot of money. Soledad could buy a house and send her kids to school with that money. She just had to get out of the hole and trek to town.
But then she gazed at that broken body and those scared eyes. She gazed at her own calloused hands, which had gotten that way from fighting for her kids. She knew there was no other choice.
He said, “I’m going to get some food and water.” “After that, you need to tell me why they are calling you a spy.”
He went upstairs and phoned his kids. He knelt down and said, “Listen carefully.” “There’s a boy down there.” He is hurt and is hiding from evil individuals and powerful people in town. No one can tell that he’s here. Do you get it? Those nasty guys will come and hurt us all if you talk. “Promise me on your father.”
Mateo added in a serious tone, “We promise, Mom.”
Soledad came down with a pitcher of water and some pine nuts. Alex drank like a dead man coming back to life and ate the meal.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “Thank you.”
“Soledad said, “Now talk, Alex.” “What did you see?”
He said, “I’m a biology student from Colorado.” “I came to write down the illegal logging in the mountains.” I had a camera. One night, I followed Don Artemio’s trucks. They left the logging route. They got to a secret airfield.
He halted, shaking at the thought. “I watched them loading the logs, but some of them were empty. They were taking out boxes wrapped in brown tape and putting new weapons in the same holes. It was a trade. I saw Don Artemio there, and I also saw Commander Valles, the commander of the rural police, getting a briefcase. I was hiding. I was using a long lens to take pictures. I had to. I had… I had proof.
“Proof? Where? Soledad said softly.
“My camera. I put it in the ground beside the stream, under a rock that looked like an eagle. It had three rolls of film.
Soledad felt the heaviness of that news. She wasn’t just hiding a fugitive; she was hiding proof that could bring down the most powerful man in the area.
Alex’s temperature got worse. His leg had a foul stench. Soledad knew he wouldn’t last much longer in that hole. That night, she made up her mind. She put Mateo in charge. “Don’t let anyone in, son. “Just for me.”
He hiked six kilometers in the dark to get to the “El Chivo” ranch.
He was surprised to see her. “What’s wrong, Doña Soledad?”
“I need your help,” she said. “I found someone in the trailer.” This is the gringo the sawmill guys are searching for.
“El Chivo’s” face turned white. ” She’s insane!” Does she know what she’s gotten herself into? “Don Artemio is going to kill her and her kids!”
“He is dying,” Soledad said, her voice as strong as steel. “I’m not going to let him die. And I won’t turn him in. You said you had guts. I need you to have them now. I need to get that proof out and take him to Chihuahua.
“El Chivo” glanced at her, torn between fear and respect. Finally, he nodded. “My cousin works as a reporter in the capital.” A large newspaper. The story is a bombshell if what that boy says is true.
They made a plan. Soledad went to the stream at dawn and found the rock, just like Alex told her to. She dug with her hands and found a little rucksack with a camera and three rolls of film inside.
That afternoon, “El Chivo” came with his truck full of firewood. Soledad and Mateo carried the delirious person with little enthusiasm. Alex took him and put him under the woodpile in the rear. Soledad and her five kids got inside the cab.
A checkpoint halted them just as they were about to leave town. It was Valles, the commander.
“Chivo, why are you carrying so much?” Valles asked, his steely eyes on Soledad. “You… the widow. “You moved into the gringo’s dump, huh? “Dangerous place.”
Suddenly, a muffled groan emerged from behind.
Valles lifted an eyebrow. “What was that?”
Soledad’s heart stopped. Five-year-old Tadeo started coughing violently before she could say anything.
Soledad quickly hugged Tadeo and whispered, “He’s my boy.”” The cold in the trailer made him feel awful. He has a high temperature.
Valles looked at her. He walked to the back, but just then his patrol radio came on. There was a voice yelling about “suspicious movement” near the sawmill.
Valles hit the side of the truck because he was distracted. “Leave.” And I don’t want to see you hanging out in the woods.
They got to Chihuahua City at night. They found the reporter. They gave the camera to Alex and handed him, who was barely conscious, over to them.
The saw blew up two weeks later. The news was in the national press. Pictures of Don Artemio, Valles, the logs, and the weapons. The Federales came down on the town. Arrested were Don Artemio and Commander Valles.
Soledad and her kids never came back to the trailer. Soledad got a call from Alex’s family, who are important politicians in Colorado. They gave her money, not as a gift, but as a debt of life. It was enough.
Soledad bought six tickets to the north, to Ciudad Juárez, at the Chihuahua bus station. Mateo gazed out the window as the bus sped away.
“Mom, where do we go now?”
Soledad held her son’s hand tightly and gazed at her other four children, who were all asleep. “We’re going to get through this, son,” she replied, her voice now calm. “Just like I told your dad.”
And for the first time since Ramiro died, Soledad knew that what she had really found under the rotten ground was not a secret that could destroy the powerful, but the salvation of her family.
