Published: 2025-10-10

Lucia sat in her room while his father worked in the fields. Her head was buried inside a book. “The Economy And You: Understanding Money One Peso At A Time,” the title read. There were no libraries in New Town; therefore, Lucia would read whatever she could get her hands on. At only 13 years old, she had already read classics like Don Quijote De La Mancha and Hamlet; her appetite for knowledge was insatiable.

A knock on the door interrupted her intellectual escapade. She threw the door under the desk and turned around. The door opened. It was his father, Luciano.

He looked at the young lady, who nervously sat with her closed fists over his knees. He knew immediately.

“What were you doing?” He said.
“Just tidying up my room, Dad.”
“Didn’t I tell you to come help in the fields? That rice is not gonna plant itself.”
“I’m sorry, Dad. I lost track of time.”
“No, you ain’t, young lady. I bet you were—”

A roar reverberated across the town. Lucia and her father covered their ears, trying to withstand the thunderous sound that assaulted them. Lucia hid under her desk while her father struggled to stay on his feet. The roar stopped as abruptly as it had begun. Lucia, still under the desk, couldn’t stop shaking.

Her mother, Maria, ran to Lucia’s room, waving her arms violently in panic.

“Are you OK, honey?” Luciano asked, looking at his agitated wife.
“It’s The Benevolent Crew. They’re on the radio.”
“What? Their next broadcast is not scheduled until two weeks from now.”
“I don’t know about that; all I know is they’re broadcasting right now and you two better come listen.”

Maria, seemingly unconcerned with the well-being of her family, ran to the living room as soon as she delivered the important news. Luciano looked at her daughter and asked, “Are you OK?” As her eyes fixed on her father, she snapped out of her trance. She gave him a nod of confirmation as she crawled out of the table.

“Come, let’s go listen to the radio. Your mother says it’s important.” He said.

He patted her on the shoulder as they walked towards the living room. “And by the way, that room of yours is not tidy enough. There’s a darn book under your desk.” He said with a smile. Lucia left out a chuckle.

María held her face close to the radio while beckoning to them. “Stop fooling around and come here already.”

Lucia and her father sat next to each other. A deep, masculine voice, distorted after turning into radio waves and back talked with eloquence in the radio: it was a special report from The Benevolent Crew.

“Talula has decided to bless us with his protection,” the voice on the radio said, “the sun will shine bright in our fields and rain will be plentiful. Every man in the capital will have work, and his family won’t go hungry. In return, all Talula asks for is your contributions. He has determined a 25% increase in contributions from field workers. Long live Talula, the protector of the motherland…”

“Did you hear that?” Maria said, “Talula will bring sunlight to our fields and rain in the dry season. God bless our protector.” “God bless Talula, indeed.” Luciano said.

Lucia looked at them with amazement, her jaw dropped, and she felt furious. “What are you celebrating? Didn’t you hear they’re increasing taxes by 25%? A quarter of our fields will now be paid as tribute to Talula, and what do we get in return?”
“Don’t you dare talk about Talula that way, young lady.” María said.
“It’s the truth. We sat here praising him for his protection while he takes our hard work. What is he protecting us from? This country has not been at war in 100 years.”
“That’s enough.” Luciano said, “Listen, young lady, you might think you’re better than us because you know how to read and write, but I’m gonna tell you something, in this house we are loyal to Talula. I will have no traitor under my roof.”

Lucia was bewildered by the words of her father. He was blind to Talula’s abuse, and so was her mother. They would rather turn against their daughter before admitting the cruelties of Talula’s method.

She ran to her room while the same message came out of the radio once again.

“If only I had had a boy,” Luciano thought, “we would work the fields together and thank Talula for his blessings…”

Lucia sat at her desk, asking herself how could people be oblivious to the abuse. Not only her parents, but the whole town; nobody seemed to have ambitions beyond working the fields, listening to the radio, and thanking Talula for making the sun come out and the rain fall.

Lucia knew that sooner rather than later, she would have to leave home. In a couple of years, she would finish high school, and then what? Marrying one of her illiterate neighbors and working the fields until the day she died? The idea made her skin crawl. Lucia knew her fate awaited her in the capital, city of illustrious men and women, but also the city of Tolula, the monster.

A crazy idea raced through Lucia’s mind, “I want to see the capital. Now.” She shook with emotion at the thought. A country girl like her, daughter of a farmer, in the big city. She was decided.

The next day, she woke up early and sneaked out of the house. She knew her neighbors, Pedro and José Alcántara, drove her truck loaded with produce to sell in the capital every Tuesday. She would carpool with them and see the city by herself.

They arrived in the capital before noon. Buildings that seemed to disappear into the sky adorned the center of the city; Lucia hadn’t seen anything like it before. It was another thing that attracted her attention the most: a hit and run, right in front of her eyes.

The man crossed the street without paying attention to the traffic light. His clothes were raggedy and his hair was long and messy. The car approached him at full speed; he paid no attention. Lucia left screamed out as the car ran over the man. The driver didn’t notice and continued his voyage unpreoccupied. The man didn’t seem to care. The car phased through him as if he were a ghost.

Lucia squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. She could still see the man; he was, in fact, not a ghost. The traffic light turned red, and she ran towards him.

“Excuse me, sir, are you OK?” She asked.

The man turned around and looked at her.

“You can see me?” He said.
“Excuse me?”
“You ain’t from around here, are you?”
“I’m not, this is my first time in the capital.”
“You seem to be a well-educated young lady, and yet you can see me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Talula. This is his doing. My people are invisible. Only other poor souls can see me, but you are different.”
“Other poor souls? What do you mean?”

The man extended his arm to the sidewalk where dozens of people lay in the ground, their clothes raggedy, their hair messy.

“Welcome to the capital.” He said.

THE END.