I run into Rocio at the market. Tables were turned over and merchandise strewn all over the ground.

“Rocio!” I call out. I’m desperate to find answers. The people on the street were helping pick up what they could. “What happened?!”

“Alvaro! Dios mio! Alvaro!” She runs and hugs me. Her perfectly brushed hair is all in disarray.

Her face is bruised and her clothes are torn and dirty.

“The soldiers. It was them. They came by.” She tries to tell me as much as she can in-between her sobs. I’ve never seen her like this before. Typically she’s cool headed and strong. My gut was feeling unease.

“What did the soldiers do?”

“They were looking for trouble. Talking about dogs and men and savages.” She looks down at the ground, tired and exhausted. She was shaken to the core.

“I know too well what those men can do.” My focus remains on Rocio. However, I look around for any signs of trouble. It’s hard to do with my one eye, but I scan anyway. I look for…”

“They were drunk.” Rocio interrupts my poor attempt at a visual search. “You could smell it on their breath. And they were angry. So very angry.” She grasps her own shoulders to stop herself from shivering from the fear and the exhaustion.

“Rocio? Are you all right? Do you feel any pain anywhere?” I hold her chin up, speaking in as sincere a voice as I can. My voice shakes, just a bit. Her eyes continue to fill with tears.

“They struck me, Alvaro. They had no reason to hit me.”

I hold back my rage: my rage at the situation and my rage at being powerless due to my physical limitations. "Did they want,” I pause looking for the right word so as to not make the situation any worse for her, “something from you?”

“Y–es. They were grabbing me all over. I slapped them. I swear, I am saving myself for yo–“ She stops herself and looks into my eye.

“They threw me to the ground. And kicked me.” Rocio holds onto the side of her stomach. I can imagine the bruise there swelling. I know a thing or two about being kicked when down.

“Did no one come to help you?” My anger continues to boil but I hold it back. There is little I can do for Rocio. My heart hurts for her. She tightens her grip on my arms.

“Rocio? Rocio?” I begin to lower my voice and show more control. I don’t want her to hurt anymore, but she’s holding something back. A feeling of dread unexpectedly pours over me. “Did anyone come to help you?”

“Milagros. Your little Milagros. She came and shouted at the men. She threw rocks and sticks and anything she could find at them.” My little Milagros?

“When one of the soldiers grabbed her by the hair, a group of villagers came to protect her.”

I felt my stomach sink. I was proud of my little girl but at the same time I knew the soldiers weren’t a group to mess with.

“The soldiers left and as I and Milagros began to pick up…oh God why didn’t we just leave?” Rocio crumbles to the ground, crying uncontrollably. I drop down in front of her, forgetting about the pain in my legs. I just want to console her and find my little girl. "They came back! They came back, Alvaro! They came back and grabbed as many of the villagers, men and women and children, and dragged them away from here. Some were tied to the horses a dragged on the ground as they galloped away. The screams…the screams…all I can hear are the screams of those being yanked away against the earth…”. Rocio holds her head in between her hands, clasping at her ears as if the noise around her was painfully unbearable.

“And Milagros? She got away? Please tell me she got away. Rocio? Please…”. I beg. I am not ashamed. I am filled with age and fear. Both can be very volatile in the wrong situation.

“No mi, amor!” Rocio turns away from me. “Perdoname! I am sorry. I ran and lost grip of her little hands."

“No Rocio. Do not worry. I’m sure I can find…”. I try to stand but she pulls me back down.

“You don’t understand, mi amor. They took her on horseback. They said they would make an example of her.” Her clenched hand on my chest tells me more than the words coming from her lips.

“Thank you Rocio. Please, go see Elena back at my home and call for Dr. Sepúlveda.”

“What about you, amor?”

“I’m going to go get Milagros.”

“Take my horse, Nochebuena! And this!” She tosses a leather bullwhip into my hand. “It’s nothing like your old pistol whip but it may help.”

“Thank you Rocio.”

“And hurry back, please! Both of you. And Alvaro, I lo….”

I get her horse galloping and the rush of the wind against my ear drowns out her last words. We run at full speed out of the marketplace and towards the quarry, to the presidio. To Milagros.

…