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The spirit of Santa Muerte is ever-present in three-time Printz honoree Marcus Sedgwicks timely new novel.
So its only fitting that it would be titledSaint Death.
Credit: Roaring Brook Press
She moves with the water, whispering through the bulrushes by the bank.
Her arms are out to the side, her legs splay, and tiny fish dance around her toes.
The hot sun warms her body against the cool of the water, which ripples peacefully as she drifts.
Never mind the tape around her head.
Never mind she was almost naked.
Never mind the marks on her body.
Now, tantalizing, her fingers stroke the northern shore of the river.
Over here, they call it Rio Bravo.
Over there, they call it Rio Grande, for that is El Norte: America.
ANAPRA
It doesnt look like the most dangerous place on earth.
It looks likesomewhere half-made, it looks like an aborted thought.
Left it to its own vices.
Theres no more than a hurried moment to look around this careworn land.
The best have cinder-block walls.
The worst take more effort to imagine than is comfortable.
Few have running water.
The jacales are things that might, some distant day, be the ghostly ancestors of actual houses.
Theres even the new hospital, up the hill.
The Del Rio store on the corner of Raya and Rancho Anapra, the main drag through the town.
Juarez is a new monster in an old land: Juarez is the laboratory of our future.
Juarez, from where the pickup truck approaches at pace, lies down the hill.
And the nights are long.
Thirteen hours of darkness in which all manner of evil can bloom, flowers that need no sun.
The night is yet to come.
Almost invisible, he steers his way steadily along Rancho Anapra.
He glances at the kids.
So seriously they play, that as Arturo weaves between them, they have no idea hes even there.
Some days he helps out in an auto shop and this is one of those days.
Cars come and go down the road.
A bus stops and a load of maquiladora workers climb out and stand around for a while, chatting.
A patrol car crawls by, a rare enough sight in Anapra.
One of the cops gets out and wanders over to the water shop.
He doesnt give them any money.
Trucks come and go all the time, but the people know what this is.
Its moving fast, it has the growl of a powerful engine.
It bowls into sight over the crest of the road and heads rapidly toward them.
It might be nothing, but better to be sure.
The truck gets closer; a flashy dark-red body, tinted windows.
Two guys in the cab, another four clinging on in the bed.
Everyone else has disappeared.
The policemen start their car and drive steadily away, back toward the city.
He makes himself small in the doorway, as small as he can, and stands very still.
The four men are dragging the owner of the shop into the street.
The man is called Gabriel.
Arturo doesnt really know him, nothing much beyond his name.
Arturo can see the blood even from across the street.
The mans head tilts back, his mouth open as he laughs.
He flattens his foot to the floor and the truck speeds away, back toward the city.
Its so strong a sensation that Arturo reaches up and tries to rub it away.
Above him, unseen, something hovers.
It is something with immense power.
Pure bone, and charcoal eye.
Ephemeral yet eternal: the White Girl.
Her shroud ripples in the breeze, white wings of death.
She holds a set of scales in one hand; in the other, she holds the whole world.
Her skull-gaze grinning, her stare unflinching.
She looks down at Arturo; she looks down at everyone.
Hijos de la chingada!
She screams it over and over.
It isnt clear if she means the men who have taken her husband, or herself, her family.
There are marks on the concrete, marks of chalk.
They are lines and curves; there are arrows, and small crosses and circles within the curving lines.
So now Arturo realizes where he is, which doorway he has backed into.
Cautiously, he edges away, and looks up at Santa Muerte herself, Saint Death.
La Flaquita, the Skinny Lady.
Shes printed on a plastic banner thats pinned to the wall of the house, right above the doorway.
Dont worry where youre going; you will die where you have to.
