Echo

about their house catching on fire and his desperation to save her. The nightmares haunted him, magnifying his subconscious anxiety for her safety.
    He did not go directly home that day. He hurried from school, walking quickly down the unpaved stone street, the burning sun sucking the moisture from anything touched by its withering rays. He turned off the intersection to the country road that led to his home. Normally, he tried very hard to help his mama with Cara, but Senor Brooks asked him if he wanted to help him hold the monkeys while he cleaned their cages; always an ordeal. But a nice chance to hold the monkeys and distract them with play while Senor Brooks cleaned the big ornamental metal cages. Helping Senor Brooks with the monkeys left him feeling special. He liked knowing the monkeys needed him. They were significant to him. He knew they waited for him after school. He didn’t ever want to let them down. Mama and Cara would still be there when he eventually got home.
    Leaving Senor Brook’s house, he arrived home about sixty minutes later than normal. He walked along the red dirt road, three houses away, scuffing his feet in the hot dust, when he saw two men emerging from the metal gate in the front yard of his home. Their demeanor appeared suspicious. One of them carried a bundle in his arms. Jose noticed black and green pants under his serape. Glancing up at the sun, he wondered who in their right minds would wear a serape in this weather. It could only be the black and green uniform of the dreaded Sicario. Jose noticed they stared intently in his direction. He ducked his head down at his sandals quickly, managing to observe the bundle, clearly wrapped in an afghan with a maize design and a bright turquoise border, the design originated and crafted by his mama. Jose continued walking past his house until he could no longer see the two men.
    Doubling back to his home, he let himself in the gate. He ran through the house in a panic, calling for his mama. Stepping out to the terrace, he saw his mama fast asleep on her chaise lounge. Her leg, incased in the ever-present metal brace, had fallen off the lounge, her hand draped inside Cara’s baby carriage. He relaxed, relief instantly flooding his small body.
    Running over to his mama he called her name, laughing and chattering on about Senor Brooks and his monkeys. Rounding his mama’s chair he stopped in his tracks, his stunned eyes unable to comprehend the meaning of the thick bib of blood congealing down the front of his beautiful mama’s chest or the drying crimson slash across her throat. The same chest he remembered cuddling up to as a toddler. He would be seven years old tomorrow.
    Things happened quickly after he began screaming. He remembered Senor Brooks lifting him up in his strong comforting arms. His screaming abated as he was carried into Senor Brook’s garden where the monkeys lived. Reduced to a whimper, he felt himself carried upstairs and tucked into a bed in a strange room. Senor Brooks stretched out Jose’s vulnerable arm, inserting a needle. He tried to open his mouth to ask for his papa but couldn’t make his thick, sluggish tongue work. Gently, he slipped off to another universe, where his beautiful mama and Cara waited with incandescent smiles, his mama’s ugly brace gone; her leg straight and healthy, alongside his handsome papa who called to him.
    He heard his papa call his name again, sounding far away. He struggled to wake up but his eyelids felt loaded down with sludge. He could feel his papa helping him out of bed. He dressed slowly, his limbs insisting they belonged to someone else. Papa told him they must go to a funeral. He felt himself being carried down a staircase. He must not be at home; they had no stairs in the house. Coming to a stop he forced his eyes to open. He recognized the garden where the monkeys lived, their cages open and the monkeys gone. He must find Senor Brooks, he thought to himself, sluggishly. Someone made off with his monkeys. He struggled to keep his eyes open but failed.
    Helpless and unaware, hands tucked him into a car and drove off. Unable to stop himself, he slept. Feeling the car halt, he woke; his sight wavy and indistinct, objects faraway, as if underwater. The car door opened, a hand assisted him out. Dozens of eyes pinned him down as he struggled to stand. A priest appeared, his silent mouth moving, hands gesticulating. Jose shrank back, confused and disoriented. His eyes tried to