She knew the stories of the soldaderas. Her mama once told her that she had considered going North with her papa, but she decided against it because she didn’t want to leave Petra behind. Petra wondered if her mama would have still been alive if she had gone and if she had shed the idea of having to stay behind and care for her.
She pictured herself and her mama in a rebel uniform, their braids slicked with dirt and oil, carrying shotguns and mean looks cemented on their faces. Mama could have done that too, Petra thought; she had the strength.
A woman in a local shop had told her that there was a group of soldaderas that were rounding up to head north in the plaza. As Petra came close to the stoned stacked building of the plaza square, she pictured the women in her mind. To her, women that would join the revolution had to be stalky and tall, able to haul a boulder over their shoulders and keep up with men. She imagined them with gruff faces covered in dirt and animal-like eyes that penetrated the soul and followed their prey. She never thought she could be one of those women because she was small in stature and could barely reach things off the top shelves of the casita she had shared with her mama.
A clicking of metal sounded as Petra rounded the corner. She froze and watched as three women slid the bolts back on their Mauser shotguns to clear rounds from their chambers. They were not tall or stalky, nor did they have faces covered in dirt. The shortest one, shorter than her, had a marvelously beautiful face. Her tanned skin looked as if it had been sculpted from earthen clay and the sweat on her brow sparkled like dew on a flower petal. The other two women reminded her of her mama as their rounded faces softened into smiles and the shorter one pulled out a large strip of dried meat from her belt pouch and tore it into three.
Petra watched them for a moment and went over in her head what she should say to them. She knew that she couldn’t go North alone, her mama had told her that the world was a scary place for women who were alone. The pants the woman had given her from the shop were sturdy and thick, but she felt like they could tear apart from the sweat that started to pool around her waist. She couldn’t get her legs to move forward.
“Hey! You, over there!” The short woman waved at her with her piece of dried meat.
Petra still couldn’t move her feet; it was as if they took root to the corner. So, the women came closer to her, shouldering their rifles, their boots kicking up little puffs of dust.
“Amiga, you here to head North?” one of the other women said as she stuck out her hand to shake Petra’s.
Petra raised hers and grasped her surprisingly small hand in hers.
“I’m Catalina; over here is Rosa and Paulina,” she pointed at the other two women that now looked like twins to Petra since they had come closer into the morning light.
“We are waiting on our burros from a neighboring farmer and we’ll be on our way, up to fight for the rebels!”
As Petra shook her hand, she found her voice again.
“I’m Petra,” she said as they gathered around her, and the sound of donkeys came from down the street.
“Are you all going to actually fight? They allow that?” Petra asked curiously.
“Pancho Villa himself has been rounding up soldareras to help his soldiers to help fight against the federales,” Catalina remarked.
“Yes, we heard there’s already around fifty women up there now,” Rosa said as she chewed on the jerky she had been given.
“Well, we don’t know how many exactly,” Catalina smiled at Petra and she felt warmth spread through her body, the first time since speaking for the last time with her mama. The last conversation before Don Martinez had visited them with the doctor.
Her mama had prepared corn tortillas and taught her the recipe. The molcajete was filled with golden dried corn and she watched her mama use the pestle to grind every kernel into a fine flour. She had asked Petra to help her pat the tortillas into thin rounds and she noticed the indents that both their fingers made in the dough. She examined the intricate designs of their thumbprints that mixed with the grain of the earth, and she felt power. When Petra looked at these women, she believed that they were the ones that she was meant to travel with North.
“Ladies! Ladies! I’m glad you’re still here. I apologize that I’m a little late,” a short man dressed in overalls said as he held onto the reins of three donkeys.
“Oh! You must be Juan. And aren’t these some fine donkeys,” Catalina said while untying a decorated leather pouch from her leather belt.
“What was it 5 pesos for all three correct?” she took out five shiny pesos from her embroidered pouch to give to the farmer.
“Oh no, senorita, it’s 7 pesos for these burros,” he smiled, and Petra could see that one of his front teeth was missing.
“No, no, no, senor, we had a deal yesterday. Five pesos for three of your burrows. What has changed the price since we talked?”
“Well…I’m not getting much money anymore since this fighting has started. My crops, they’re not doing so well these days…” he scratched his head.
“So, you’re telling me that this wasn’t going on yesterday when we first talked? ”
“No, no, no. senorita…” Julio trailed off as the donkeys became restless and started to make more noise.
“I guess I’ll let you have them for six pesos and a kiss,” he smiled at Catalina.
Petra examined Catalina’s face closely. She had just met this woman and was unsure as to how she would react to such a crass gesture. Petra knew what she would have said to the man, and it wasn’t anything her mother would approve of her saying.
“I think that I want the donkeys from the original price you bartered with me yesterday,” she said and folded her arms in front of her. Her Mauser rifle dangled behind her right shoulder and Petra thought she could see her flinch to control herself from grasping hold of it.
“Well, how about five pesos and a kiss, and you have that deal,” the man tried his last bit of bartering and begging.
“Fine,” Catalina answered faster than Petra thought she would. The man glowed with happiness and puffed up his chest as he prepared for the kiss.
“Close your eyes then,” Catalina whispered.
When he closed his eyes, Catalina looked at Petra and mouthed grab the reins to her. She was no longer rooted to the ground; she broke away and flowered.
“Take them”
Her mama encouraged her too. She snagged the reins from the farmer’s hand and ran. Looking back, she saw the women pull their rifles on the man as he protested.
“You no good bitches. I knew you were going to be nothing but trouble,” he said now glaring at Catalina and cursing at Petra from afar.
“Ah, there he is. Why do you wear that mask all day senor, doesn’t it get exhausting?”
“What mask? I’m not wearing a mask,” he spat.
“The one where you pretend to be a good person. Don’t worry, you will get your payment,” she still held the pesos in her hand and opened up her palm, dropping the shiny pieces of metal at the farmer’s feet.
“There. We’re square, I keep my word, unlike you.”
Petra’s grip on the reins remained tight and the three women soon caught up to her, each one swinging a leg over the donkeys to mount them. Catalina reached her hand down to Petra, inviting her to do the same. As she took up her hand and climbed on top too, she could hear the cooing of mourning doves and the faint whisper of her mother in her ear.
Mija, survive, survive.
On The Edge 
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