Gracias, he said.
She knelt in the grass opposite to watch him eat. The ribbons of tripe swam in the clear and oily broth like slow planarians. He said that he was not really sick but only somewhat crudo from his night in the tavern. She said that she understood and that it was of no consequence and that sickness had no way to know who’d caused it thanks be to God for all of us.
He took a tortilla from the pail and tore it and refolded it and dipped it in the broth. He spooned up a piece of tripe and it sloughed from the spoon and he cut it in two against the side of the bowl with the edge of the spoon. The menudo was hot and rich with spice. He ate. She watched.
The children rode up on the horse behind him and sat waiting. He looked up at them and made a circling motion with his finger and they set off again. He looked at the woman.
Son suyos?
She shook her head. She said that they were not.
He nodded. He watched them go. The bowl had cooled somewhat and he took it by the rim and tipped it up and drank from it and took a bite of the tortilla. Muy sabroso, he said.
She said that she had had a son but that he was dead twenty years.
He looked at her. He thought that she did not look old enough to have had a child twenty years ago but then she seemed no particular age at all. He said that she must have been very young and she said that she had indeed been very young but that the grief of the young is greatly undervalued. She put one hand to her chest. She said that the child lived in her soul.
He looked out across the field. The children sat astride the horse at the edge of the river and the boy seemed to be waiting for the horse to drink. The horse stood waiting for whatever next thing might be required of it. He drained the last of the menudo and folded the last quadrant of the tortilla and wiped the bowl with it and ate it and set bowl and spoon and saucer back in the bucket and looked at the woman.
Cuánto le debo, señora, he said.
Señorita, she said. Nada.
He took the folded bills from his shirtpocket. Para los niños. Niños no tengo.
Para los nietos.
She laughed and shook her head. Nietos tampoco, she said. He sat holding the money.
Es para el camino, she said.
Bueno. Gracias.
Déme su mano.
Cómo?
Su mano.
He gave her his hand and she took it and turned it palm up and held it in hers and studied it.
Cuántos años tiene? she said.
He said that he was twenty.
Tan joven. She traced his palm with the tip of her finger. She pursed her lips. Hay ladrónes aquí, she said.
En mi palma?
She leaned back and closed her eyes and laughed. She laughed with an easy enthusiasm. Me lleva Judas, she said. No. She shook her head. She had on only a thin flowered shift and her breasts swung inside the cloth. Her teeth were white and perfect. Her legs bare and brown.
Dónde pues? he said.
She caught her lower lip with her teeth and studied him with her dark eyes. Aquí, she said. En este pueblo.
Hay ladrónes en todos lados, he said.
She shook her head. She said that in Mexico there were villages where robbers lived and villages where they did not. She said that it was a reasonable arrangement.
He asked her if she was a robber and she laughed again. Ay, she said. Dios mio, que hombre. She looked at him. Quizás, she said.
He asked her what sorts of things she would steal if she were a robber but she only smiled and turned his hand in hers and studied it.
Qué ve, he said.
El mundo.
El mundo?
El mundo según usted.
Es gitana^,
Quizás sí. Quizás no.
She placed her other hand over his. She looked out across the field where the children were riding.
Qué vio? he said.
Nada. No vi nada.
Es mentira.
Sí.
He asked her why she would not tell what she had seen but she only smiled and shook her head. He asked if there were no good news at all and she became more serious and nodded yes and she turned his palm up again. She said that he would live a long life. She traced the line where it circled under the base of his thumb.
Con mucha tristeza, he said.
Bastante, she said. She said that there was no life without sadness.
Pero usted ha visto algo malo, he said. Qué es?
She said that whatever she had seen could not be helped be it good or bad and that he would come to know it all in God’s good time. She studied him with her head slightly cocked. As if there were some question he must ask if only he were quick enough to ask it but he did not know what it was and the moment was fast passing.
Qué novedades tiene de mi hermano, he said.
Cuál hermano?
He smiled. He said that he had but one brother.
She uncovered his hand and held it. She did not look at it. Es mentira, she said. Tiene dos.
He shook his head.