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The story of the scene spread quickly, but without scandal. It was not a scam, it was a confirmation. Mercedes had fallen through her own fault, and the young woman who wanted to humiliate her had blossomed completely. That afternoon, everything was sold. The baskets were empty, but the true triumph was not the money. I went to see how people looked at me differently.
I saw her not as a humiliated young woman, but as a steadfast woman, a woman who asked no permission to stand up. The palace collapsed, but it did not stand in the way. Isabel was pinned down by her strength, but the ground resisted like stone. Sudaba, even though the wind was dry. In the south, the plants were yellow. What was once a wealth of life now seemed like a cement heap of roots.
“It doesn’t absorb the water,” says Tomás, as he drops the empty bucket. “It just runs over it and disappears. Don’t come inside.” Isabela took a deep breath. She hadn’t had rain for five days. The week before, she had only been able to fill bottles with water, but the sun was shining brighter every day.
‘What are we to do if everyone dies?’ he asked softly. Tomás squatted down and touched the battered ground. We must adapt. This is not the first time the earth has brought us shame. This night was a somber scene, only rice and broth without vegetables. It was not due to a lack of will, but to scarcity. And for the first time since they had lived together, concern was clearly visible on their faces.
The next day, Isabela got up early. We walked to the old site, where a few tall trees stood. He picked up a cube and looked for shade, for moisture. He dug into the earth with his nails, but nothing came up, only octopus soil. He came back with dirty hands, his clothes soaked with sweat, but he didn’t stop. We took the remaining leaves, threw them into a corner, and crushed them with stones. “What are you doing?” asked Tomás.
allowance. Even if it doesn’t serve me, I won’t give up. Don’t give up, I replied. Just understand that sometimes you have to wait. I can’t wait, I answered. Waiting was what had broken me before. Tomás didn’t insist. He went to a pala and worked in silence, not as before, but now with suppressed despair. A few days later, the kitchen was quiet.
It was not abandonment, it was resistance. The few green shoots were protected with old cardboard and stones around the area. The strong roots were cared for in small pots. One afternoon, while fetching water from a communal well, they listened to other farmers talking. ‘I am leaving. Just say the heat will last another month.’
I have lost many of my seedlings. It is up to us to endure the new start. Isabela said nothing, but when she returned to the hut, she opened her notebook. I saw the coins. I couldn’t reach them to remember everything I had to change. I just couldn’t resist. That night I sat in front of the dark wall and said softly: “Si la tierra me la espalda, yo le doy el frontal.” You took her ear. I didn’t answer.
He just sat on his side. Sometimes silent company was more valuable than any word. That same week, Isabela had an idea. If we are looking for miracles, we are only looking for solutions. And if we plant them in bags of store-bought soil, move them with the sun and the wind, small but safe. How much could we do with what we have? Five. But they will be ours.
²
Tomás raised no objections. That afternoon they filled the first bags with black soil, a gift. They planted aji, albaca, and onion. They placed a slanted table underneath to avoid direct sunlight. Every morning they discussed the hours. Every afternoon they moved the bags. It was little, but it was action. The rest of the plants remained dormant, waiting for the rain, but those five in those modest boxes grew, and every new sprout was like a sign that they were not yet defeated.
One afternoon, as time passed, I saw the situation. Yes, it is bearable, I say to Isabela, because the ground might break, but we won’t. The man carried on, without waiting for miracles. Isabela and Tomás stood sadly facing each other, without brute force, without resourcefulness, without resignation, without determination. For sometimes resistance is not about standing still, but about moving, even when you are in a precarious situation.
The air was still, as if the day had breathed gently. Isabela poured the bags of the growing shoots, while Tomás rolled out a table to cast shade over the crops. The movable garden, however small, remained standing firm. It was no miracle, but it was a solution.
Decisions rang out from the street. It wasn’t street small talk; it had a different rhythm, faster, more tense. Tomás lifted his head. Isabela did too. Mercedes stopped abruptly in front of the cabin door. When I asked permission to enter, I walked straight up to Isabela. “This is unacceptable,” I said bluntly, setting my tone.
‘Legally speaking, this land is still mine, and I want to go back.’ Isabela didn’t move, she didn’t change; she was alone and cold. She left me when I was exhausted, not because I no longer had papers, but because I felt abandoned. ‘That has no legal value,’ Mercedes screamed. ‘You live here as if it were your own home, but you remain part of the inheritance, and if I complain, I get justice.’
Tomás steps forward. She has worked this land. I will never put down a half-brick roof here. Mercedes turns around. You have no say in this; you are merely a guest. Isabela interrupts her. You are not an invited guest; you are my husband, and this place is not just land; it is life, our life. When the quitarnosla comes, you too will have to bear the burden of everything you destroyed earlier.
Mercedes took a restless breath, pulled a folded piece of paper from her wallet, and showed it. “This is the text, and I hereby state that I am still entitled to it, so I have come to warn you, in case you want to get into trouble.” Isabela took it, read it, and then held it up. “Why now? Why have you spent all this time on this?” Mercedes swallowed. “Because I have to sell it.”
I fall, completely empty-handed. That hut is worth something. The land is worth even more. If you grow something on it, it means it works. So now it is all for you, says Tomás. When it was still pure mountain and desolation, it was worth nothing, but now that it has come to life, it counts for nothing. Mercedes looked down for a moment, but quickly stood up again. I don’t want to get into an argument.
I can only come to the conclusion that I must do what I have to do. “Hagalo,” answered Isabela. And I also have what is due to me. The tension was palpable in the air, like a tense skull. Tomás took a step forward and nodded his head toward the exit. I heard it. There is nothing left to do here. Mercedes did not resist; she held the paper, turned around, and walked away without looking back.
When he left, Isabela sat down on a stone. I looked at the new leaves that were starting to sprout from one of the bags. They were fragile, green, but weak. Tomás came closer. Do you believe it happens? Yes, but this time I won’t call. I took an old notebook and wrote down what had happened. I went to the cupboard, looked for some papers, and put them in a bag.
Tomorrow I am going to the village. I am going to find out what I legally need to do there. And if it doesn’t work out, Isabela will see you. After that, I will return to get up somewhere else, but this time I will not leave you behind with my silence. The sun was still high in the sky, the heat was unchanged. The sequel was still alive, but something in it had changed.
²
It wasn’t just resistance, it was determination. And Mercedes realized for the first time that she wasn’t facing the same person who had been evicted from her home. Now she stood opposite someone who knew exactly what she had built up and had no intention of letting her go just like that. The hum of the fan seemed to set the rhythm of the moment.
Isabela sat with her hands clasped over her legs. Tomás, on the south side, remained silent. Mercedes glanced at him quickly, as if words could inevitably change the situation. “As stated in the document I enclose, ownership was never legally transferred. Therefore, I request that the land be put back in my name and that the young woman be removed,” said Mercedes, pointing emphatically at the document.
The lawyer, a serene man, rejected the documents without interruption. I was finished, placed them on the desk, and looked up. “Señorita Isabela, do you perhaps have any permanent benefits or property contributions?” Isabela opened her pocket, took out a plastic mat with folded sheets of paper, invoices, purchase receipts, photos, and printouts, and placed it on the table.
‘I have no title, but I do have this,’ I say. I started working this land entirely by myself. No one else did that. Here are the records of my sales, the seed purchases, the best results we achieved, and also photos of before and after working the land. The lawyer has reviewed the papers. Look at the data, compare the details, and then look at the Mercedes.
Usted vacated this property more than a year ago, as stated in his declaration. And according to them, young people have no access to external economic support. Mercedes left the scene. But it is still heading my way, in the middle of nowhere. That is what counts. The lawyer began cautiously. Legally speaking, that is certain.
However, there is also the principle of useful and productive possession. And in this city, we have precedents where, in cases of this kind, the judge gives precedence to proven use and work performed over the inactivity of the original owner. Mercedes walked up the hill. You say she was allowed to stay.
I maintain that there is a basis for a fair dispute. If you wish to take this to court, I warn you that it could take months, even years. You will have to demonstrate that you genuinely intend to reclaim this property. Papers alone are not enough. The law also entails relinquishing ownership. Isabela said nothing; she simply took a slow breath and felt the tension rising with every word spoken.
²
‘Señorita, proceed with the lawyer. Are you prepared to make your residence official if the other party drops the claim?’ Mercedes clenched her jaw. I hadn’t expected it. I thought the paperwork would be enough to get Isabela out of my life again. ‘Yes,’ I answered Isabela without hesitation. ‘If she gives in, I promise that I will officially register the land in my name and that I will just continue working.’
The silence lasted a few seconds. Mercedes lowered her gaze. The certainty I carried crumbled. The lawyer was not on your side, nor was the law. What bothered me most was the realization that I did not have the means to fight on. So, should I resign? “We couldn’t insist,” the lawyer said neutrally, “but we didn’t know that the community knew what was happening in that area, and that weighed even heavier than we did.”
Mercedes didn’t respond, grabbed his carpet, closed it abruptly, and stood up. ‘I don’t think it’s fair, but I’m not going to sit here dawdling.’ He left the workshop without saying goodbye. A few seconds later, the doorbell rang. Isabela remained silent.
There is much more that could be described in a document. Thank you, I replied. I do not want to give up what has not yet been won. And that, I say, is precisely what makes her so special. Tomás touched her arm gently. Together Salieron. It was intense, the heat was intense, but it did not feel the same. They walked in silence, with steady steps.
On the way back, they passed the square. I greeted him respectfully a few times. “Everything good, Isabela.” “Everything is in order,” I said with a slight smile. Tomás was carrying the bag with the documents. I didn’t say much, but the silence we shared wasn’t out of fear, but deliberate.
When Isabela arrived at the hut, she laid the papers on the table, sat down to look at her plants, and stroked a young tree that was sprouting. ‘That one is growing too,’ he mumbled. ‘And now it would be without permission, without fear, and without her being able to stop. The sun shone brightly, but the square remained lively. It was the day of the festival, and the city was celebrating.’
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