Free The Transmigration of Bodies by Yuri Herrera Page A

even fewer cars out now. On one avenue, where trying to cross normally meant taking your life in your hands, the only thing on the street was the fear of penned-up people. As if everyone’s prejudices about everyone else had suddenly been confirmed.
    They say some people are spreading it on purpose, the Unruly announced, as tho they’d both been thinking the same thing.
    He didn’t reply but did turn to look at her. He glanced at her hands: fleshy and soft, a yellowy stain at her fingertips. With all the facemasks he now looked more at eyes and hands. If this carried on, people would end up IDing one another by their fingernails.
    I met your brother-in-law, he announced abruptly. The Unruly turned to him, little-girl fear on her face.
    That’s right, the Redeemer said. You going to tell me what happened?
    The Unruly stared straight ahead and crossed her hands, struggling for self-possession. The Redeemer decided to push a little harder.
    Romeo. The Castros didn’t touch him, did they.
    The Unruly shook her head slowly side to side.
    No. When I went outside he was already on the ground and they were just going to him.
    And why didn’t you go to him too?
    Now it was her turn to stare at her hands or perhaps out past her hands.
    The Redeemer was about to ask something else but she said: He didn’t like for people to see him sad, down. I don’t know if that was why—because he’d have hated me for seeing him like that—or if I was too drunk to understand what was going on. I’m drunk almost all the time.
    This girl would cry if she had any fucking idea how, thought the Redeemer, seeing the way she let her eyes fall to the floor, utterly defeated. And then the Unruly did cry, cried short and hard, without changing her expression, maybe without realizing she was crying.
    He didn’t want to go out, he really didn’t, she repeated. He was scared of this shit. The sick people, all those dirtbags coughing up blood. He didn’t even like going to the doctor, he was that scared of places with so many fucking sick people.
    So why’d you snatch Baby Girl?
    My father said to, told us to take one of the Castros, said this time they were going to pay, is what he said. So I went out because I’d seen Baby Girl hanging around here before and she was always alone. When I found her she was leaving home, on her way out, and she looked bad; I told her to come with me and she didn’t even ask why or where to. When I got her home my father was so happy, and then we put her in the car and took her to Las Pericas. That’s when I saw she had blood coming out her mouth. We put her to bed but she didn’t last long after that.
    But didn’t you ask Dolphin why he was doing it?
    I did, but all he said was: Be loyal to your family, do as I say. So I said I’m sure Romeo isn’t that bad off. I don’t know if he really believed me or whatever it is he has against the Castros just became more important, but the only thing he said was: He’s my son, I’ll handle it how I see fit.
    The things people inscribe on tombstones, even if only with their breath. I will love you always. I can never forgive you. Forget about me. I’ll be back. You’ll pay for this. Words that etch deeper than a chisel. Erasing those things was what the Redeemer was there for. He excelled at nothing but the ability to diminish malediction; to free folks from cell blocks, or their own promises. The fact that he was never in the way meant he could be used like a screwdriver and then stuck back in the toolbox, no need to thank him at all. That fix you’re in? Take care of it entre nous . That secret of yours? We’ll keep it entre nous . That fine you got? Entre nous , let’s lower it; that alibi you need, entre nous we’ll cook it up. Dirtywork is providence.
    That was what he knew, how to efface set-in-stone truths. But he still had nothing to grab hold of in this tale of lonely deaths, nothing but pieces of lies. Solid lies, but lies nonetheless.
    In the rearview