Treasure of the World by Tara Sullivan (best romantic books to read txt) 📗

“Please, Don César,” I beg. “It’s not for long—a couple of days only, maybe a week! Let me try to work here for just today. If you think I can’t do the job, then you can tell me to go and I’ll leave. Let me try. Please.”

“Ana . . .” he starts again. His filthy face wears a soft expression under his metal hat, like he’s unsure what to do with me.

I race on before he can make up his mind, trying not to stare at his hands, so big that I can barely fit both of mine around one of his, rough and ridged from years of wrestling metal out of rocks. I force myself to keep going before I can let myself think too long about what kind of work I’m signing myself up for. There is no gentleness in a world that forms hands like those on César Jansasoy Herrera.

“I won’t be any trouble—I learn things really fast, just as fast as Daniel, maybe even faster, and I work as hard as my brother too. Even harder because I have good, strong lungs. I won’t be any trouble at all. Please . . .” I stare up at him imploringly. I have no idea the right way to go about asking for work. I know that César has a young daughter, only six or seven I think. I don’t know if it will help or hurt me that he has a girl too, but I need him to say yes.

César scrubs one giant, filthy hand over his face. Papi says nothing.

“One day,” César finally says. “Then we’ll see.”

“Agradiseyki!” I gasp, finally dropping his hand. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

“We’ll see,” César repeats. Then, to Papi, he says, “I had Daniel scheduled with me again today, and you, Francisco, and Guillermo in zone five. Does that work for you? I’ll stay with her and make sure no harm comes to her.”

Papi waves a hand as if he has absolutely no concerns about the idea of harm coming to me. “Be good.” He points a finger at my face. “If you disgrace me, you’ll regret it.”

I nod shakily. As if I didn’t know that.

Papi trudges into the mine without a backward glance, and I’m left alone with César.

For a moment César stands there, eyes scrunched closed. Then, with a sigh, he says, “Come on, then, follow me,” and starts walking, muttering under his breath. I hear a word that sounds a lot like babysitting and vow to work as hard as I can to not make this kind man’s life any more difficult than I already have.

I scurry to keep up with him, tucking my head down to avoid the curious stares of the other miners.

“César! Who’s that?” shouts one of them, a long string of a man. He’s so skinny his cheeks cave in except for where he has a huge wad of coca leaves shoved in one. It makes his face look bumpy and off-balance.

“Mauricio’s kid,” César answers.

“And you’re taking her in?” Bumpy asks, the shock plain in his voice.

“It’s not permanent,” César grumbles.

I wish I were invisible. It’s clear that Bumpy and his crew aren’t happy to have me here. But César doesn’t waver: his voice is level, his pace is steady. Bumpy doesn’t say anything else, but I hear the sound of spitting. I tell myself that the men are only clearing their mouths of coca to have a new mouthful, but I have the horrible suspicion that they’re cursing me.

Seconds later, my concerns about Bumpy and his crew are replaced by a new fear. Without breaking stride, César enters the mine, the cave darkness swallowing him whole.

I can’t do this! I think. For a heartbeat, I flinch away from the shadow’s edge. I can’t see more than an arm’s length into the tunnel and it doesn’t help that air tubes snake in around the edges, hissing and whistling. It sounds like the mountain is whispering, and it reminds me of my dream.

Daniel, I remind myself. Think of Daniel. He did this sick and with bad lungs. Papi has done it for years. Surely you can do it for one day.

And with that, I take a deep breath to steady myself and plunge into the inky depths of the mine after César.

5

As soon as we enter the mine, César takes me to meet the devil.

“This way,” he grumbles, no more than a dusty hump in the darkness ahead of me. It’s difficult to keep up with him: the tunnel slants and turns, disorienting me, and my feet slither around in the mud and scree underfoot. I’m clumsy in Daniel’s boots. When I put a hand out to catch myself, the rough rock gouges my palm. I curl my fingers into the pain and feel wetness pooling in my nail beds. I ignore the sensation as best I can and scramble after César.

When he stops, I nearly run into him. I throw my hand out to the side to stop myself from falling on my butt and making even more of a fool of myself than I have already. My injured hand smacks into the rock face and I gasp.

César turns around at my noise. I follow the glow from the acetylene lamp on his helmet and see that I’ve left a bloody handprint on the wall of the tunnel.

“Sorry,” I mumble, and curl my hand into my sleeve to wipe it off.

“Leave it,” he says, stopping me. “Maybe if you give the Tío this taste of your blood, he won’t take any more. Come.” He gestures me forward and I shuffle up until I’m level with him. “Meet the Tío of this mine.”

In a grotto carved out of the side of the tunnel in front of us hunches a life-size statue of the devil. The flickering light from the candles stacked around him glints off the broken glass teeth in his