Tree Girl by Ben Mikaelsen Page B

I explained in Quiché to the man with the goats, “I lost my mother, and my baby sister needs milk.” That was the nearest I dared come to the truth.
    The man gave me a puzzled look, and when hespoke I realized that he was Ixil and didn’t speak Quiché. Hesitantly, I spoke a little Spanish, but he didn’t understand that either, so I pointed to a small gourd he had filled with milk. He hesitated, but then handed me the milk with a kind smile. I nodded my thanks and carried the gourd carefully back across the plaza.
    Still I trusted no one. Suddenly a soft touch on my shoulder made me jump. I turned to find an old nun looking at me. Deep wrinkles creased the woman’s face. Her skin was shriveled like a dried orange, and her shoulders sagged as if under some invisible load. She smiled at me, her squinting eyes glowing with curiosity and kindness. “Hello, I’m Mother Lopez,” she said in Spanish.
    I had seen soldiers dress as priests, but never as nuns. No soldier could have faked such a look of kindness. Cautiously I spoke in Spanish. “My name is Gabriela,” I said.
    “You speak Spanish well for an India,” the nun said.
    “You must help me,” I said. “This morning my little sister and I found a mother giving birth alone in thecountryside. I helped her, but then because there were soldiers nearby, I had to hide the mother and we brought the baby here. My little sister is outside the pueblo, hiding with the baby.”
    The nun nodded. “Show me where they are.”
    As the nun began to follow me, gunshots echoed loudly in the air. Then we heard screaming and looked around. From the narrow side streets, soldiers suddenly appeared, firing their rifles into the air and herding people toward the center of the plaza. As we watched, an Ixil husband and wife ignored the soldier’s commands and ran past them, trying to escape. Two soldiers aimed their rifles and fired. The couple stumbled and then fell lifeless to the ground, their bodies suddenly still.
    “Come with me,” the nun shouted, grabbing my hand and spilling the gourd of milk on the ground. “Let’s go to the church.”
    “I must go to my sister,” I shouted back, twisting my hand free and running back down an empty alley.
    Suddenly more soldiers appeared ahead of me, firing their rifles recklessly as they came. I wanted only toescape, so I returned to the plaza and ran in a different direction, but the soldiers were everywhere, completely surrounding us.
    Without thinking, I ran across the plaza to a single large machichi tree thick with branches and leaves. I ignored all that happened around me as I reached up and began climbing.
    Below me, people ran in every direction like scared cattle. Soldiers surrounded everyone. I climbed faster. In a forest it was easy to hide in a tree surrounded by other trees, but the machichi tree in the plaza stood alone, a single tree surrounded by buildings, streets, frightened people, and dangerous soldiers. When I reached the upper branches, I peeked down through the thick leaves and saw soldiers. They shouted and cursed and fired their rifles as they herded the terrified people. I feared that some of the bullets they fired recklessly into the air might hit me.
    Soon the ugly and dangerous men surrounded not only the people of the pueblo but also the tree I had climbed. I, too, was a prisoner.

CHAPTER NINE
    F ear froze my muscles. With soldiers less than ten meters below me, it was as if a big fist pinched my throat and squeezed the air from my chest. The soldiers could have seen me through the leaves of the machichi tree if they had looked straight up, but they were too busy shouting and waving their rifles at the scared people who churned frantically about the plaza.
    I peeked out from between the leaves at the vendors across the plaza who tried to hide, crouching behind their stands. The soldiers spotted them and opened fire. From my tree I watched men and women falling dead across their stands, spilling fruit,