There was no clock in Yolanda's home. She lived by the light of the sun and the moon. She estimated it would take the stranger at least a half hour to pass by her porch.
The men spoke in low tones. An occasional harsh word would pass through the door to the bedroom where Yolanda lay with her hands over her ears. She did not want to know what was said and Javier had warned her not to ask.
Whatever it was, it took him away for long periods of time. When he returned, he brought liquor, slapped her behind and took her to bed to make love and then he'd pass out. He would give her a little money for food and he'd be in a good mood for a week.
Sometimes, while he lay in a drunken slumber, she looked through his clothing and took a few pesos from what she found and hid them away in the big jar of cornmeal.
She shuffled to the open doorway and stepped into the cool dimness. One large room served as kitchen, eating and work area; a small bedroom had been added on where Yolanda now slept alone. As she walked her thighs rubbed in wet squeaky sounds. A little chill went up through her like a corkscrew with each step.
She sighed, "Ah, mi Carlos," her voice a rasp whisper.