***

– and lands unobserved on the tin roof of the bright yellow house. At the lull in pleasantries, Jessenia glances at Alejandra, then her mother. Alejandra thinks, here it comes.

Jessenia clears her throat and says, “I heard something at the post office.”

Alejandra’s mother makes a smacking sound with her lips.

“They found another body in the river this morning.”

“You call that news? Psht. One of them,” says Alejandra’s mother. But she makes the sign of the cross anyway, tosses a prayer to the almighty.  She turns her attention back to the pot.

Them. The cartel. The drug dealers. Men who are monsters. Monsters who were men. It didn’t take the drug runners from the south too long to find a new route once el Norte flexed its proverbial muscles and put a cork in the water route out of Colombia. Big trucks filled with white powdery blocks came and went along the paved road that circumvented their town.

“Hijos de puta,” mutters Alejandra’s mother, stirring furiously.

“HijA,” says Jessenia. “A woman.”

“A woman?”Alejandra and her mother say together. Same breath. Same voice.

Alejandra keeps her relief locked up tight.

Jessenia nods, sucks in her stomach, which is drooping over her jeans.  Pinches at the roll of fat, tries to tuck it back in like a shirt.

“Who?”

Jessenia smooths her hair. Shrugs. Says, “Alberto was the one who told me. You know Marlena’s brother? Works for border patrol? He’s the one who told Alberto at the post office this morning. She was wearing jeans, a silver ring on her thumb, pink toe nail polish. BUT they can’t identify her yet because she had –”Jessenia pauses for effect and adds, “No head,” as if she is placing the cherry on top of a sundae.

No head?

Headless.

Unconsciously, Alejandra brings a hand to the base of her own neck. Presses it against the skin. Feels the pulse between the gap in her collarbones. Looks out the window. Though there were occasional whispers of bodies washing ashore, she tried not to give too much credence to the gossip (because really, what can she do about it?). Except now, a familiar fear curled up in her belly, cold and hard like a rock shrimp. She is a daughter, and a cousin and a mother, but also a teacher. And at this moment she is not only thinking of a headless woman but also of poor, quiet Elena in her fifth grade class who found one when she was swimming with her brother. Thought it was a log. The girl missed school for a week and still, every day comes into class with dark purple circles under her eyes.

When Alejandra saw Elena’s mother at the market last week, the woman pulled her aside next to a table of green bananas, gripped her elbow like it was a life vest and whispered only, “Nightmares.”

And after class one day, the girl stayed, wiping desks, and suddenly blurted out, “I touched it. It was squishy.

Alejandra had said gently, “I’m so sorry. That must have been horrible.” Stupid, meaningless words.

Alejandra frowns a little. Listens for Martin’s voice outside but can’t pick it out. Strains to hear him. Reaches for a warm mango on the windowsill, the smooth, round weight of it. The give of skin beneath her fingers. She remembers the reprimand she doled out two days ago and wishes suddenly she could swallow back. He was so proud to bring in so many mangoes from the tree, but she was tired. Bone deep. Said they weren’t ripe. He had cried. She’ll peel one now, get it ready for Martin. He’ll be in soon, her always hungry boy.

“Alejandra! What are you doing to the mango?!” Jessenia asks loudly.

Alejandra’s fingers have pierced the skin, five holes, stringy orange pulp.

Squishy.

She drops it. Needs suddenly to wash her sticky finger tips, but when she flips on the sink, nothing comes out.

“Water’s out again,” her mother announces to the air.

Sweat drips between her breasts.

Bare feet stuck to the floor.

Can a person drown in heat?

Her thirst is sudden and unquenchable.

You always want what you can’t have.

Poor, parched house –