Free Lost in the City: Tree of Desire and Serafin by Ignacio Solares Page B

saliva. Then the man winked an eye and held out his hand.
    â€œYou right here on this side, little girl.” The “little girl” increased her fear until it was unbearable, and she thought of running away, even though she would have had to leave Joaquín there. But she only retreated a few steps and buried her chin slowly in her chest.
    â€œCome on, little girl. On this side.”
    Cristina lay down on the side by the wall, with the feeling that she would die if the man touched her. She kept her sight fixed on an undefined spot on the ceiling, her fingers clasped over her abdomen and her heels together. She was very pale, and her posturemade her seem close to death. But when she felt the warmth of his wet kisses on her neck and his alcoholic breath, what happened in her body was a prolonged shudder that raised goose bumps on her skin.
    Jesús’ hand went down to the child’s waist smoothly, his fingers playing as if on a keyboard, and stopped at her knee, communicating a blind, brutal desire.
    â€œLittle girl.”
    Cristina bit her lips until the pain overcame her fear and the heat of the man’s hand on her skin.
    â€œNo,” Cristina said.
    She heard his weak laughter as his hand moved up to her thighs in a slow, wavy caress, as if on the surface of water, making her close her eyes, squeezing the lids closed. White lights like doves crisscrossed inside her.
    â€œNo,” Cristina said. She expected an unbearable pain, but did not know why or when. Tears seemed to flow because she was closing her eyes so tightly.
    Then he saw the tears and said, “Ahh.” His mouth was close to her ear, and he only had to raise her face a little to wipe them off.
    â€œPoor little girl.”
    The tip of his forefinger ran over her cheeks and lips as if outlining a new shape. Cristina opened her eyes and felt the fear leave her stomach when she heard Jesús weeping too, with a guttural cry that went deep inside and seemed to drown him. She saw his hand twitch in front of her and fall to his chest, losing strength in blows like the final beats of a large heart, until it fell still, the fingers spread wide.
    â€œOh, Lord, Lord, Lord,” casting his eyes backward to see, foreshortened, the face of Christ above.
    â€œWould you like for us to pray together?” Cristina asked in a low voice.
    Jesús turned his back on her without answering. Then there was a silence that buzzed in Cristina’s ears, and was broken when he began to snore.

18
    Angustias burst out laughing like a gust of wind that blew the curtains and stirred up the dust in the corners. A fresh geranium was in her hair. She was carrying a bag with groceries, a bottle of rum, and, over her arm, the dress she had stolen from Doña Luz.
    Hearing her, Cristina dreamed the devil was blowing on her with his offensive breath that burned like fire—tall, with skin of redness incarnate, standing in the doorway, just the way Jesús had been.
    She awakened suddenly, sat up in the bed, and looked all around. The presence of Jesús at her side renewed the fear in her stomach, mixing with the discomfort of hunger. Joaquín was sleeping, seated on the floor, so peaceful, with his head resting on his crossed arms and his legs drawn up, like a small animal resigned to its fate, finding refuge in a deep, anonymous sleep.
    â€œGet up, you lazy bums. We’re going to have a party.”
    Angustias put the things on the table and gave Jesús a slap that startled him but did not quite awaken him. He changed position, and his snores became a weak gurgle.
    â€œMy brother is hungry.”
    â€œI brought ham and cheese and juice for my beautiful children.” She threw a kiss with the tips of her fingers.
    Changing position again, Jesús let his hand fall on Cristina’s thigh. It revived in her the feeling of having him caress her. She looked at the hand carefully as if she could find in the rough knuckles, the