Tree Girl by Ben Mikaelsen Page A

opened onto a bare hillside overlooking a big open valley. Spread out below me was a large pueblo I had never seen before. This pueblo was much like the one I had walked to for market. The central plaza looked like the middle of a big nest from the hillside. Surrounding the plaza were a big municipal building, a school, a Catholic church, an outdoor marketplace, and the many
tiendas
, which were small stores containing little more than tables protected by plastic tarps or makeshift wooden roofs. Rows of brown adobe homes spread in every direction, red tile or rusted steel roofing protecting each of them from the weather.
    It was market day. People crowded the streets, and the market stalls were piled high with fruit and other goods. Bells rang out from the Catholic Church, announcing the beginning of mass to the many people in the plaza. The sight of the pueblo surprised me.These people went about life as if there were no danger. Was this pueblo somehow different from our cantón? Alicia cowered and pulled away from me at the sight of the buildings.
    I had thought of entering the pueblo with Alicia and the baby, but perhaps that wasn’t wise. I was a stranger. If there were soldiers, what would they think of a strange girl entering the pueblo with a scared little girl and a newborn, nearly dead baby? Maybe some soldier would recognize me.
    I stood on the hill above the pueblo, my stomach churning with indecision. The baby needed help and so did her mother. Maybe in the market I could find some goat’s milk for the baby. She slept too soundly in my arms. I thought of something that Manuel had told me once. He said, “Gabriela, decisions aren’t right or wrong when you make them. It’s what you do with your decisions that make them right or wrong.”
    At the edge of the pueblo I decided to leave Alicia alone with the baby for a short time so that I could enter the market. Quickly I would find milk for the baby and help for the mother, then immediately returnbefore the baby woke up.
    We walked until only a stand of trees separated us from the nearest homes. I found a thick clump of shrubs for Alicia to hide beneath. “If the baby cries, rock her gently,” I told Alicia. “Don’t leave this hiding place for any reason.”
    Alicia refused to answer or nod, but she held the sleeping baby tightly in her arms.
    “I’ll be right back,” I promised. Then I turned and ran into the pueblo.
    As I neared the plaza, the sound of music and marimbas filled the air. Papí had always played marimbas, and those familiar sounds flooded my mind with memories. All around me were families, animals, the sounds of children playing, and the smell of cooking. For a moment I wanted to forget everything that had happened. I wanted to begin life over as if no one had died. But even as I daydreamed, I knew Alicia held the sick baby and waited for me.
    I rushed across the plaza to the market where I found row after row of vendors bartering their goods. Never had I seen so much food. Carts of colorful fruitsand vegetables were piled high near bins bursting with coffee beans, rice, or corn. Fresh meats hung from hooks, and one stand even sold bottled drinks and chocolates. Some vendors sold live animals: chickens, rabbits, goats, and squawking parrots. I headed toward the goats. Back in our cantón I had seen grandmothers feed goat’s milk to babies when their mothers fell ill.
    As I approached, the vendors stared with surprise at the dirty ghost that walked toward them with tangled hair, a soiled and bloody huipil, and a dirty corte. I knew it was curiosity and not unkindness that made them stare. One vendor motioned for me to come closer.
    Hesitantly I approached, and he treated me respectfully, offering me some tortillas and a piece of chicken. Another vendor handed me a bottle of Coca-Cola. I stuffed the food into my mouth and drank faster than a girl should. One man gave me two oranges, and I hid them inside my huipil for Alicia. As I chewed,