Chapter One
Alejandra was planning to have a heart-to-heart talk with her husband Manuel about leaving the place where they had lived for more than twelve years. It was a desolate hamlet next to a large lagoon halfway down the Baja California peninsula. She had agreed to reside there for a while, on a trial basis, so he could work as a fisherman, an occupation he enjoyed and knew well. As time passed and the initial temporary stay turned into permanency, Alejandra felt trapped. She didn’t like living there, for different reasons. It was her fault, she would say, blaming herself for staying at a place she had grown to loathe and for not doing anything about it. But she kept her feelings of disdain and passive desperation hidden from others and tried wholeheartedly to adapt and make the best of what was available. A wayward sentiment, though, wedged in the deepest depths of her inner self, kept gnawing at her, chiding her for not doing anything about her predicament. But she repeatedly discarded those calls from her weary soul and instead remained complacent, grudgingly accepting to stay put for a few more years.
That deceitful smugness, though, was about to come to an end, she thought. Alejandra had decided recently that she would no longer allow herself to waste her life in a forsaken and barren outpost that lacked the most basic forms of infrastructure, like running water and electricity. She would leave the area, she told herself often, to pursue the personal aspirations that she had set during her early years. One of those was to get a college education.
On the day she was to have the conversation with Manuel, though, she fell ill. She had a vexing discomfort in her stomach. It worried her because it was different than any other bellyache she had experienced before. It was a strange nagging feeling of queasiness and lightheadedness that had been pestering since getting up that morning. She was alone. Juanita, their nine year old daughter, had left for school earlier. Her husband was gone too.
She thought about resting for a while to see if the rare vexation would go away, but she continued working. Taking a break was not a good idea, she believed. She still had to prepare the afternoon meal and embroider the collars and hems of six small dresses that had to be delivered the following morning.
The internal affliction became more painful as the day wore on. Her stomach felt bloated, too. At first, she thought it was food poisoning. Alejandra had suffered the malady once before and the symptoms were similar; one sign was different this time, though. She remembered throwing up a lot when she had the foodborne illness, but so far she hadn’t had the urgency to vomit. She wished she could go see a doctor, but there wasn’t one nearby. The nearest physician was about two hours away by automobile. Hoping that it would make her feel better, she decided to prepare a small pot of té de manzanilla, an herbal tea. She poured some of it into a cup and took a few sips, but was unable to consume much. A nauseating pang came over her as she tried to drink it, so she decided to skip the tea and take a nap instead. She removed her shoes, but nothing else and got under the bed cover. She was unable to fall asleep right away, but eventually dozed off for about an hour.
Sleeping didn’t help, though, and to make matters worse, the discomfort had become more painful. It was no longer just a nauseating feeling; it was now a burning pain close to her navel. Alejandra was sure it was something serious. She was normally healthy and was seldom afflicted by the usual recurring illnesses that nag most people, things like the common cold and stomach flu. She had been hospitalized once, after her daughter was born. A local midwife had helped deliver the child, but developed serious complications after giving birth and had to be taken to the nearest hospital in the area. It was located in San Ignacio, a small town some seventy kilometers to the northeast. After the difficult childbirth, she wanted to move back to Tijuana, but Manuel convinced her to stay put. He claimed that their village was a perfect place in which to live and raise their daughter. It was near other small settlements that comprised what was called La Laguna. They were all close to the southern edge of the upper arm of Laguna San Ignacio, an immense salt-water lagoon off the Pacific Ocean.
The perplexing abdominal discomfort continued to haunt Alejandra. She felt weak too. A few minutes past noon, the pain became excruciating, severe enough to prevent her from preparing the late afternoon meal.
Something is definitely wrong, she thought, and decided to visit her friend María to solicit her help. She lived a short walk from her house.
Once there and after telling María about her condition, her friend suggested an herbal remedy. There was a woman in a settlement nearby, about three kilometers to the southeast, who sold traditional herbs that were used as cures for an array of ailments. Some of them often worked and cured common skin flare-ups, stomach disorders, respiratory problems and other conditions. Alejandra had in the past bought rue there and some medicinal teas, but not much else. She believed that some herbs had effective curative attributes, but disputed the notion that they could cure most ailments. Rue was an effective remedy, though. She used it to cure the repeated earaches that afflicted her daughter when she was younger.
“I think I need to see a doctor,” Alejandra said.
Her friend agreed.
“The nearest doctor is in San Ignacio,” replied María. “Do you want me to go with you?”
“No, but thank you anyway. I will ask Manuel to go with me. We will try to leave as soon as we can after he gets back from work.”
Her husband normally arrived at the house a few minutes past three in the afternoon, at about the same time Juanita came home from school.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” asked María.
“Yes. Can you take care of Juanita and look after our house while we’re gone? I don’t know how long it will be, but I’m hoping it’s just a day or two.”
“Of course, I will. You don’t ever have to ask.”
María’s seven-year-old son Luis and Juanita were friends. They also walked to and from school together.
“Thank you, María, I really need your help.”
Alejandra placed both hands on her lower abdomen as she replied. There was a gesture of extreme pain on her face.
“Are you okay?”
“I am fine, it was just a pang.”