Chapter Two
The morning was bright but rainy, courtesy of Pepa's hormones. Bruno drank his avena by the front door of the home, listening to the pihas whistle.
The sky above the mountains shone clear and blue, tiny birds high above the horizon. Squinting at the town below, Bruno watched for any people. If anyone stopped him today, he'd excuse himself back home.
It wasn't that he disliked people—in truth he loved them; watching their mannerisms and intricate lives fascinated Bruno since he was little. He could read a man like a book, but aye, that's the rub. When he'd see a future that was someone's own fault, he saw no point in lying to them about it. If luck was on his side today, he'd keep his mouth shut.
"I can do this. 100 centavos, that's it. It's doable," he said to himself.
Placing his cup on a windowsill, he knocked on the shutter for luck.
The angle of the hill rushed him along as he walked, giving him a sense of urgency. Passing through the town square, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and kept his head down from the rain.
"Fresh-caught catfish, six types! Large, wholesale dorado! Come get them while they're wriggling!" a voice called from far into the marketplace.
Bruno knew that voice immediately. Dodging an elote cart, he dashed through the crowd like a spooked cat. With a quick glance around for Conchita, he saw her, her breath white as she called out her wares.
Bruno ran to her, only to be waylaid as she banged a spoon on a pot. Holding his hands over his ears, Bruno tapped her leg with a foot.
Her large, dark eyes locked onto him with surprise, and he dodged her spoon. Luckily, she realized before she hit him. "Oh, miercoles! I thought you were a creep! Quiubo?"
Bruno tried to put on a smile. "Thought I'd pay for yesterday's fish. You gonna hit a man for his money?"
Conchita laughed. "Hand it over and sit. Papi made coffee."
She grabbed him by the arm, sitting him under her stall. With a hot cup in his hands, Bruno nestled against a box of parchment paper.
"I was okay, honest," said Bruno. "I'm the one trying to pay you back."
"You're in a rainstorm wearing sandalias and no hat. No hat, you get coffee."
The gesture was nice; Bruno wasn't used to nice. He sipped the coffee, rubbing his forehead as a vision tried to form. Though insignificant, he boxed it away for later. Visions were like bees in his brain, buzzing around blurrily until one would sting. It had been a bad morning for them, and his thoughts were running on autopilot. His hands fumbled for something to do, to quell the constant itch in his brain. As customers passed by, he stuffed himself behind the stall.
He watched them as the world returned, listened to the rain on the tarp. Conchita's voice was a jacaranda tree in a sea of buildings, high and sturdy above the scream of the rain. For a moment, he phased out the familiar faces, the stab in his head dulled by the fresh air.
Her eyes fell to him as the rain stopped, and she blinked. "You look rough. You see things all the time?"
Rarely did anyone before ask about his gift, and even rarer did Bruno discuss his process. He supposed he'd tell Conchita now, before she'd see the worst of him.
"Sometimes I draw a vision, to get it out and gone. Ooh, and when I have one in my tower, the sand creates a glass image. It's—it's weird, now that I think about it."
Conchita gave him a suspicious look. After a moment, she grinned. "Papi likes to draw, too. You should show me your stuff sometime."
Her teeth were star-white in her wide mouth, and she was so bright. Something about her felt safe, a cool comfort, just the same as Julieta's warm understanding.
"I never see your father in my visions," Bruno blurted out. "What, is he invisible? Hehe..."
"He has terminal colon cancer," she replied, and said nothing more.
Damn. Now the conversation died. Pbbt, there went another friend. Fix it, fix it, fix it!
"Oh, that makes sense," Bruno stammered. "I'll try and find them. The drawings. I'll find my drawings for you."
She showed no malice. "Okay. If you find them, bring them to the shop on Sunday. No rush!"
More and more customers passed by as the weather warmed; it was high time Bruno let Conchita work.
He stood from his crouch and stretched his back. "I should get going. A sleeping dog gets no bone, y'know."
Conchita waved him off, banging her pot with a smile. Leaving the rest of his change in her money jar, Bruno spun quickly into the street.
He didn't have much time to make a start, as a huge brick of a man blocked his path.
Osvaldo Ortiz stood smiling genuinely, and Bruno groaned internally. Both men were awkward in the same amount, but Osvaldo had the benefit of blind confidence. The man never shut up when he should.
"Heya, Bruno! Bajitito! Crazy weather today, huh? Hey, I got a request for you: my wife keeps being all 'Osvaldo, stop eating so much chinchurria, stop eating straight arequipe!', but I wanna prove that I'm taking care of myself fine. Whatcha say to one of your vision thingies?"
Bruno held onto his composure as Osvaldo patted him on the head. Looking back at Conchita, Bruno waved one last time.
"Hi, Consuelo!" Osvaldo called.
Bruno sighed as was lifted into the donkey cart. He was already drained by the time they reached La Casita, his head already aching.
When Osvaldo finally left, sheepishly grinning, Bruno was ready to conk out. Head throbbing and ears still ringing from Conchita's noise, Bruno inchwormed his way to his bed.
"Paca, Polvito, c'mere," he mumbled into the sand. All thirty of his rats came to see him, a sea of dirty little furballs all across his body.
Bruno smiled as he held Paca in his hand. "You look like you're pregnant again, little lady. Or are you just your papá's gordita?" he whispered.
He threw salt over his shoulder, for either reason.
His mother probably wanted him out still, using his gift and helping the community, but he'd give himself an hour to rest. Day after day, he was becoming more tired, and the town tired of him. If they wanted him, they'd have to come up to his tower.
Still sprawled out on the floor, Bruno had full view of the mess under his bed. His journal poked out from a spare blanket, and he dragged it into the light.
The pages held so many personal visions, many he'd held back from sharing; ugly, mean actions in the world haunted his dreams in the night, and he'd certainly never show those to Conchita.
He would never bear it if one more person hated him.
Avena- a type of oat drink, traditionally served with cinnamon
Pihas- A commonly-heard bird in the rainforests of South America. The type endemic to Colombia are far quieter than their Amazonian cousin, the aptly-named Screaming Piha
Elote- grilled corn, served with butter
Miercoles- "Wednesday", but used as a euphemism for "mierda" (crap)
Quiubo- "wassup?"
Bajitito- Lil' Shorty
Chinchurria- grilled or fried livestock intestines
Arequipe- Colombia-specific version of dulce de leche (milk caramel)
