"Don't tell."
Don't tell, don't tell. The world was one big secret, now—it was cruel that way. Make one mistake, and you were stuck in a cycle of lying and want. For good.
Well, really for bad.
Very bad.
"Don't tell," the woman repeated those words mindlessly, like the mantra could keep away the cold. Her dirty hair was tangled and damp, her face red from the cold, her eyes red from so much crying these past weeks.
Ana walked down the street, pausing at different shops and taverns to stand in the doorframes, brief moments warmer than the rest, standing in squares of light, and then moving off down the snowy, frozen cobblestones.
She pushed mud-colored hair out of her face and her hazel eyes judged the distance to the next doorway.
"Thirty seconds. I could make it in that," she said, looking at the stretch of road, that, to her imagination, was akin to hell frozen-over.
Thirty seconds, making a game out of the miserable walk. It was a small shadow of her former self, who laughed at the world and made a game of life.
The woman steeled herself for the sprint and ran. Thud. Thud. Each step pounding the icy road jarring her, until she reached the next door. Ana leaned against the doorframe, head back, breathing, a rest. After a few moments she raised her head and looked at the road again. The distance to the next tavern was at least twice the distance she had just traveled. She grimaced at the cold and leaned back again, glancing through the glass to the inside of the tavern she was leaning on.
It was small, and warmed in orange light, noise and bustle, and good-natured talk. Ana looked longingly in.
"Just a moment," she thought. Surely it wouldn't hurt to just stand inside a few moments, warming a bit. Most innkeepers didn't take kindly to idlers, loitering in their rooms without buying a thing. But a shout or a slap…yes. She decided a few minutes inside were worth it.
The woman steeled herself and opened the door, keeping her wet wraps on and leaning against the wall, hoping she wouldn't be noticed for a minute or two.
Ana watched the scene, a group of men crowded at one table, talking animatedly, a woman going back and forth between tables and a corner were a few children played. A comfortable place.
The serving-woman, on one of her trips to the counter glanced Ana's way and paused. She was only an inch or two taller than Ana, but seemed more so; a few years older, but looked mature, and sensible, her lean face and large eyes framed by rather frazzled dark hair, a few wisps rebelling against constraints.
She quickly went to put her tray on the counter and walked towards Ana, drying her hands on her apron, a concerned-hostess expression on her face.
"Oh no," thought Ana, ruefully. "Time to get kicked out."
"Let me help you with those," the woman said, making a move to remove Ana's wraps.
Ana shifted out of her grasp.
"No," she said, hurriedly. "I was just stopping a moment. I'll…"
The server raised her eyebrows.
"These are wet through," she objected.
"Oh, not that bad," Ana said, looking hopefully at the door.
"Nope," the server said, hands on hips. Then she took Ana, and, despite her protests, propelled her towards the children's corner by the fire.
"Now, sit down," the server said, not taking no for an answer, pushing Ana to a stool. Ana stifled her protests, soaking in the fire's warmth, eyes closed for a moment. When she opened them she saw a child of maybe three, peering into her face. The little boy started when she opened her eyes. She treated him to a wry wink as he quickly retreated to the safety of the other children.
Ana glanced up to see her hostess looking her over, frankly
"Just look at you," the older woman said. "You're wet through. Dry off or you'll freeze out there."
She turned towards the counter, "I'll get you a drink."
"Uh oh," thought Ana.
"No," she said, struggling against the warm, to sit up. "Please don't."
"Nonsense, it'll do you good," the woman said.
"Ah, well," Ana thought, "Better now than never."
"I haven't got anything to pay for it with," she said, ruefully.
"Well, then, it's on the house," her hostess replied.
"You can't do that!" Ana said, a bit too loudly; the children, three girls and their brother, glanced at her in surprise.
"Oh yes I can," the other woman said, holding a mug.
"Charity," Ana protested.
"Oh no it isn't," the other replied, walking back towards her with the steaming drink. "What's one drink among friends?"
Ana's pride gave way, as she wrapped her fingers around the mug, smiling.
"Thank you," she said. "Mrs…?"
"Martha Goyo," the woman said, pulling up a stool for herself, the little boy eagerly clambering into her lap.
"My thanks."
The little boy watched Ana, wide-eyed, as the sipped her drink.
He had wide intelligent eyes; Ana wondered if he would look like his mother when he grew up.
"Your little boy?" she asked, inclining her head toward the child.
Martha nodded, smoothing down the wild curls atop his head.
"And quiet, today. If this is the effect you have on him, I might hire you as my personal shadow."
Ana laughed, looking at the pair, wishing she had could find a decent job. Tavern-server probably didn't pay too well; but it was better than any alternative she could think of. And far better than nothing, which was what she had.
She looked up to find Martha watching her, keenly.
"Something tells me," Martha said, lifting the boy down, "That you have a little one about somewhere."
Ana momentarily frowned. Since when was she so transparent?
She nodded, after a moment.
"Somewhere," she replied.
The older woman was watching her shrewdly. Ana shifted, uncomfortable, feeling like her hostess could tell much more about her at a glance then she liked.
"Got a good place to keep him?" Martha asked, after a pause. "This winter's a cold one."
"It's decent," Ana replied.
"Well," Martha said, leaning back, with a smile. "Decent is pretty good with the odds around here."
She looked at the children in the corner.
"Decent is enough to keep them fed until they're old enough to brave the streets."
Ana glanced at her companion, a bit surprised.
Martha held up her hands, placatingly.
"I'm not saying I'm raising a horde of pickpockets," she said. "But, then again, I'm not saying they won't have a penchant for it."
Ana was rather surprised, and her face must have showed it.
"Well," the woman said, "God helps those who help themselves, eh? And I'm teaching them to help themselves."
Ana nodded. Children from a poor family might be expected to be making a living off the streets as soon as they were old enough. It was an unfriendly world. She hoped she would have enough to keep her boy going until he was old enough, and have a home for him to come back to in the evenings.
"It is an unfriendly world," Martha said, as if reading her companion's thoughts.
"Senior Anton isn't unfriendly, though," Martha said, rising, "unless I slack too much. Better not push him."
And she got up and grabbed a serving tray. Not a moment too soon, either. A large, red-bearded man came busting out of a back room, bushy eyebrows low and stormy, until he saw his server, busy as ever. His face lighted into a very large, very friendly, smile.
Martha waved to him and went about her work, leaving Ana, unnoticed by the fire, looking into it and thinking.
She hated charity, and couldn't abide asking for it. There were other things she couldn't abide as well—things that were even worse. Being labeled a "working woman" certainly did not suit her fancy. But the price of no charity and no such label could easily be the death of her boy; and that was unacceptable. She sighed heavily. She simply couldn't afford things. She couldn't provide a home for him, not even like this corner that Martha's youngsters played in, with a future gleaning on the streets. It was still a home, something she could never offer.
She looked over to find the wide-eyed little boy watching her again. She grinned at him, trying to imagine her own son in his situation. This one would be two years older than her own son. If he was anything like his mother, he would be a quick-witted lad when he grew older. She wished, suddenly, she'd had a family with someone level-headed, someone like Martha, around when she had always rushed off pell-mell into whatever mad folly the day held.
An idea began to form in her head, as the touched a chain around her neck, one she kept under her blouse. She grimaced, not liking her plan—but liking it far better than the alternative.
She had been sitting for maybe thirty minutes when the door opened, and a very tall, very lean man, stooped to get in. He rubbed a hand over his face, eyes tired. But Martha's eyes lighted up when she saw him, as did those of her children, as they called and ran over to him, trying to climb the poor man like he was a haystack.
He sat down abruptly so as not to collapse under the attack. Ana smiled at the picture, instantly seeing that, no, the wide-eyed child's look definitely came from his father.
Martha smiled at her family, as many of the costumers were leaving for the night, tipping their hats and their waitress.
She walked over to Ana, wiping her hands on her apron.
"Do you need a place to stay for the night?" she asked.
"No," Ana said, quickly. "I don't," she thought.
"Listen," Ana said, low-voiced, and rather ashamed.
Martha sat and gave her attention to her guest.
"I—" she started. "Just say it and damn your pride," she thought.
"I have a deal," she tried. She could have laughed at herself. Some deal. If Martha took it, she was totally being ripped off.
"Okay, so it's a terrible deal," she smiled. "But," serious again, "I need a place for my son."
Martha watched her. Ana could guess what a woman in that position would be thinking, another mouth to feed, more work, no pay.
"Just take him until he can fend for himself, seven, eight," Ana said, hating the desperation in her voice.
"Well…" Martha started, slowly.
"I'm not asking you to do it for free!" Ana said, hurriedly, reaching under her neckline to the chain. She pulled it off from around her neck and handed the trinket to Martha, who looked it over critically. It was one of the last possessions Ana had from her old home, most of which she had pawned off at various times to pay rent.
"I'm not sure how much it's worth," she said. "But it is expensive. It can help pay for food for him…" she left off.
"I just," she tried. "I can't offer any kind of home. I can't offer anything like this," she gestured at the small room.
Martha raised her eyebrows, a wry smile coming to her face. "You aren't exactly paying for palatial lodgings," she commented.
"But it's safe," Ana replied.
Martha looked at her family. Ana's heart sank, pride slashed and dashed and hope draining out of her.
"I understand," she said, slowly. "It's asking too much. I…" She started to rise.
"Now, hold on," Martha said, pulling Ana back down. "I never said I wouldn't. Just how old is this boy of yours?"
"Eighteen months," Ana replied.
Martha grinned over at her wide-eyed son, who had lost his shyness and was pulling his sister's hair.
"Only a few years younger than my youngest," she commented.
Ana watched the other woman closely.
"He can probably use a brother, what with all these girls around," she said, smiling.
Ana couldn't believe her ears.
"Thank you," she gasped, unable to believe her luck.
Martha laughed.
"Don't thank me yet," she said, smiling. "You might not when you find your sun turned to a life of petty crime and quarreling with his brother."
Ana's smile reached her eyes for the first time in a long while.
"Oh, I will," she replied, rising. "I'll bring him tomorrow," she said, quickly.
"Will you be alright in this cold?" Martha asked, tightening the wraps around her guest.
"Much better than I deserve," the younger woman answered, wryly.
After she had seen her guest out the door, Martha walked slowly back towards her husband, studying the pendant in her hand. It was very rich indeed. And, though tarnished, it must once have finished off the ensemble of a well-to-do lady. She felt sorry for that girl, she really did, guessing the sort of story she had.
Her husband walked up behind her. He whistled when he saw what she held.
"What did you do?" he asked, grinning. "Stumble upon a countess and relieve her of her accutrements?"
Martha smiled back.
"Nope," she said. "I made a trade. I must confess, I've ripped the poor wench off," she said teasing. "She goes away empty-handed while I get this and a new brother for Tulio," she said, nodding towards their children.
"You what?" her husband asked.
"I'll explain it tomorrow," she said, suddenly tired.
She picked up her son, on the way to her rooms upstairs.
"You have no idea what's in store," she told him.
XxxXxxX
Author's Note: I don't know. I just have the writing bug. I had no idea where I was going, just sat down and wrote as the words came to me (shamelessly shoving homework to the background). This is, unrelated to the movie as it is, a Road to El Dorado fic. I love the movie (though I'm disappointed with the unimaginative slashy fanworks that circulate on the web). The goofy, I've-known-you-all-my-life friendship between Tulio and Miguel reminds me of more than one of my friendships. I had hoped to write for the movie at some point. And, though this is rather unrelated to the movie, Ana is Miguel's mother; Martha is Tulio's. Just an idea of how the two may have first come together.
I liked this enough that I may add more chapters; but don't count on it. For the moment, it's a one-shot.
In any case:
Road to El Dorado © Dreamworks Animation
I would love feedback, it's helpful, writer's survive on it. Reviews are love and love shall be returned with bananas from your dear Authoress's hands. Thank you for reading!
~TheInkgirl