The Mercury Fountain by Eliza Factor

Author:Eliza Factor
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: akashic books
Published: 2011-09-19T04:00:00+00:00

The morning of La Herrida’s funeral, Dolores appeared at breakfast in a high-necked black dress that crackled with starch. She told Victoria not to go to school or otherwise leave the property. Victoria asked why. Dolores said that there might be trouble. Victoria buttered her toast, taking care to get all the corners. When she had completed the job, she looked up, her expression puzzled. “Trouble?”

“Having to do with the burial of La Herrida.”

“Ah, yes.” Victoria had gotten better at acting, but it was still pretty easy to spot. When she acted, she understated things, whereas her genuine self plunged into hyperbole. “But I have a test,” she said.

“Your father and I both want you to stay home. For all I know, school’s closed anyway.”

Victoria chewed. “Very well, I hope you have a good time.”

“It’s doubtful, sweetheart. Funerals are not generally fun,” Dolores said, pulling on her gloves.

Halfway down the hill, she looked back. Victoria had climbed to the roof and was leaning over the balustrade. Dolores waved. Victoria waved back, then turned, so gracefully it looked as if she were dancing. With a pang, Dolores recalled an afternoon years ago, before Washington, she and Victoria spinning and bowing, earnestly counting one-two-three-four, trying to choreograph their own dance.

She walked to Pristina under a cold white sky. There was no sun, but an all-pervading glare that cast barely perceptible shadows. When she neared town, three figures blocked the road, hands on holsters. She knew who they were long before their faces came into view; Poc had crutches, de Las Casas had an empty sleeve pinned to his shoulder, and Vicente, the man who towered between them, was identifiable by his size and his signature top hat. No one knew why he was a patrol; the reason given, that he was too large to fit in the tunnels, was a lie. They could have assigned him to a surface mine or the reduction works. Owen probably just wanted someone on his force who could outrun and outwrestle anybody he came up against.

“Good morning,” she said. Vicente stared at her with grave brown eyes and didn’t say a thing. “And Las Casas,” she continued, “good morning to you.”

Las Casas squinted at the spot where the road disappeared into the horizon. It became clear that they would neither speak to her nor move out of her way. She walked over to Poc, the oldest, and greeted him by name. His beard blew in the breeze. She stepped around him, expecting a hand to grab her elbow, but none did. She kept walking, her footsteps loud and ungainly, her breath uneven. The town looked abandoned, the shutters drawn and the doors closed, the thin trails of chimney smoke the only sign of people within. She shivered and rubbed her arms. The only thing that broke up the desolation were the patrols. At the end of every street she made out their forms, always in groups of three, standing still.

She knocked on Cleofas’s door. A man peeked out—not Cleofas, someone Dolores had never seen before.

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