NOTE: This is part of the new novel I am writing. I am posting it here as a diversion for readers who may be living under shelter-in-place policies while the world waits for the coronavirus pandemic to pass. For an explanation of this project, please click here. To read the chapters I’ve posted in order, click here.
Casa de Jesus, Coldwater, N.M.
Bill nodded his thanks as Jesus topped off his coffee mug. “That’s what Teague told me when I was filling up my truck yesterday.” He rubbed his chin. “I’m not saying I believe it. I’m saying it’s what he told me.”
Brother Jerry drank his coffee and listened to Bill and Hank argue, saying nothing.
Hank shook his head. “It don’t make sense,” he said. “Why would La Llorona be lurkin’ around behind the truck stop? And why didn’t anybody hear her cryin’? Nobody’s died lately — ’least, not that I know of. Nobody’s heard her cryin’. And he’s a good enough guy, but you know as well as I do Teague ain’t all there sometimes.”
Bill shrugged. “Jesus, what do you think? Didn’t you tell me your abuela used to tell you about La Llorona to keep you from drowning in the ditch behind her house when you were a kid?”
Jesus leaned against the bar, his eyes distant. “Si. She told me stories.” He poured a splash of tequila into his own mug and topped it off with coffee. His mustache quivered slightly as he blew steam away from the coffee and took a sip.
The men watched him in silence, waiting for him to elaborate. He swallowed, took another sip, swallowed again, and let out a long breath. Finally, he spoke. Continue reading La Llorona