I am no one, I'm nothing

Capitulo Siete

"Aldonza? Tonight?"

"Sure," The young woman replied in a careless voice as she passed, barely glancing at who was asking for her services, her attention, her love. "Ten pesos or nothing, take it or leave it."

She hurried into the kitchen and heard the cries of the men, exclaiming the amount she requested in outbursts of outrage. "She's gone up in price!" Pedro told the group with a strange, proud tone.

"Si, amigo, it's because she wants better than you. She's smart to pay for the best." Juan told him, chugging the rest of his wine as he clamored for more.

"Or it could be because she simply wants more money." The innkeeper exclaimed roughly, walking around the table with his hand stretched out. "Pay up, boys."

"Or what?" Paco asked sternly, removing himself from the table and standing in front of Fernando with an intimidating air. He was a good two feet taller than him, his shadow casting a dark, bulky shadow that loomed over his comparatively puny form.

"Or I'm going to have to ask your disrespectful asses to get the hell out of my inn." Fernando replied with a voice more courageous than he felt. Juan slunk behind the old man, and he and Paco sauntered around him, like a cat cornering a blasted rat. Pulling a knife, Juan used the blade to pick at his fingernails, eyeing him menacingly as he shuffled to the side.

"It'd be a shame for this to-Oh, I don't know-just end up in your side, wouldn't it old man?" Juan asked murderously, temptation dripping like saliva from his lucrative tone.

"Boys, boys, we don't need to resort to violence." Anselmo called out in a timid voice.

"Boys maybe don't need to," Paco grumbled, closing in on the rickety innkeeper. "But men? Ahh, little one, once you become one you will understand that men need to use violence to solve problems that simply won't go away." He nodded to Juan, who tucked his elbow into his side, preparing to lunge the angled blade into his side.

Pedro lept from the table and pushed the innkeeper out of the way, piercing the air with a treacherous yowl as the blade sunk into his abdomen. "Sons of filthy whores!" He cried into the afternoon sun as his crumpled body fell to the hard, dusty ground. His hand flew protectively around his abdomen as he struggled to retrieve the knife.

"Aldonza!" The innkeeper cried out, scrambling from the scene and into the inn. "Aldonza, hurry, come quick! Esta su novio, he is wounded! Fetch bandages, hasta pronto!"

Aldonza scrambled to the doorframe. Upon seeing Pedro's furrowed figure on the ground, she gripped onto the wooden frame for support before staggering over to her. She grabbed a roughly-carved blade from the depths of her skirts and raised it above her head, glaring at the surrounding muleteers. "Which one of you did this to him?" She cried in a terrifying growl; it was low in intensity so that you were sickly drawn to it, like eyes to a mangled car accident, a gruesome death. There was no sound except the shuffling of boots, the clearing of embarrassed throats, silent challenges of who dared to speak first. "Which one of you?" She screamed hoarsely, dropping to her knees and removing Pedro's bloodied shirt. He winced at the movement yet looked up at her appreciatively, lovingly.

"This is going to hurt." She told him as she brushed hair out of his face, tenderly brushing his cheek as she spoke in a gentle whisper.

"It's just a scratch, mi gato." He mumbled, his eyes becoming heavy, lidded. With strong hands, Aldonza gripped the handle of the blade and, on the count of three, heaved, removing it roughly from his abdomen with a grunt of pain from both parties. Tossing it to the ground with a tired clank, she began to rip makeshift bandages from her skirt.