Ximena quickened her pace, her heart pounding in her chest. She reached the main street. Melting snow exposed rubble, roofs collapsed under the weight of ice, and doors were ripped off their hinges.
He entered Doña Rosa’s shop. The interior was ransacked, shelves broken, and on the floor, huddled under thin blankets, lay the frozen bodies of an old woman and her two grandchildren.
She ran out, covering her mouth. She reached the square. The church doors were wide open. Inside, dozens of bodies crowded the pews, and the floor testified to the enormity of the tragedy. They sought shelter together, but without fire or food, the cold swallowed them all.
Not a single survivor remained. The long, brutal winter knew no mercy for ignorance.
With her legs buckling under the weight, Ximena ran toward her home on the outskirts of town. It was untouched. The windows were boarded up from the inside with thick boards. She knocked on the door, but no one answered. Using a large stone, she broke the wooden lock and entered.
The smell of prison was nauseating. He walked down a dark corridor to the back, where the family wine cellar was located.
And there he was.
Don Hilario lay on the floor, his skin blue, his eyes open, staring at the ceiling. He was frozen, hard as stone.
But it wasn’t the sight of his dead father that made Ximena raise her hands in utter shock. It was what surrounded him.
The cellar was full.
Sacks and sacks of corn piled up to the ceiling. There were barrels full of beans, strings of dried chili peppers hanging from the rafters, and crates of lard and dried meat. There was enough food to feed the entire ejido for months.
Ximena took a step back, feeling like she couldn’t breathe. Suddenly, everything took on a macabre and repulsive meaning.
Her father hadn’t thrown her out of their home just out of pride or male pressure. He’d thrown her out because he knew the winter would be long. He, too, had seen the signs. And for weeks, he’d secretly stolen and hoarded the village’s communal funds, hiding them in his house.
He’d abandoned her to die in the snow at the age of 14 because, in his selfish and corrupt mind, fewer mouths to feed meant resources would last longer. He refused to share his treasure with anyone, not even his own daughter.
But fate is an inexorable judge.
