The Distant Marvels by Chantel Acevedo

Agustín away, his body limp, his feet twitching, which she took as a sign of life.
    â€œViva España,” she whispered as she passed the captain, and he smiled again. I chose that moment to sneeze for the first time in my life, and then I began to cry.
    The captain said, “God bless you.”
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    Later that night, the captain came to the small inn where we had been put. The place was near the prison where Agustín was being kept, and a few guests milled about. “How is the baby? Is she catching a cold?” the captain asked from behind the closed door.
    Lulu jumped at the sound of his voice, and called out, “No, María is fine,” leaving out my full name again.
    â€œMay I enter?” the captain asked.
    Lulu contemplated her answer. Could she refuse? Agustín was in the hands of the Spanish. The enemies of freedom, as she thought of them. The captain knocked once more. Lulu heard him clearing his throat before speaking: “Please, may I enter?”
    Nervous, she thought. And she recognized at once that particular, tremulous quality in his voice. The captain was besotted. Lulu knew, because she’d always been a great beauty, and because boys had sought her out even when she was very small. Her mother had noticed this about her, too. She’d watched Lulu among her friends, how they gathered around her, laughing at even her smallest jokes, seeking her eyes as if Lulu could bless them with a glance. Her mother forbade Lulu from visiting the homes of school friends who had brothers, or whose fathers were too young. “A person never knows what’s in the mind of a man,” Lulu’s mother had warned, teaching her how to tell a man whose nature was simply fidgety from one who was falling in love.
    Lulu cracked open the door, and the captain thrust his nose in quickly. It was a nice nose, Lulu thought. Long, but straight. His pores were small. He licked his lips a few times before speaking. “Are you well?” he asked. “Do you need anything?”
    The truth was, Lulu did need a few things. She was weak from hunger, exhausted from lack of sleep; her breasts ached with too much milk and her ears rang from my cries. Furthermore, she was still bleeding, and had no little cloths with her. She’d torn her petticoat to shreds and tried to use that, but the material was too thin and scratchy. Lulu felt color rise in her cheeks. How could she ask this man, any man, for help in this regard?
    The captain must have mistaken her sudden blush for coyness. Perhaps he imagined that he was well on his way to conquering the beautiful wife of the rebel. So, he treaded gently.
    â€œLady,” he said in a soft voice. “Ask anything of me.”
    â€œFree Agustín,” Lulu said at once.
    The captain pursed his lips. A muscle twitched near his left eye. “It’s out of my hands. I imagine you will see him soon enough.”
    A flood of warmth pooled between her thighs, reminding Lulu of her immediate need. “The inn owner,” she said. “Surely he has a wife who can help me.”
    The captain raised an eyebrow, confused.
    â€œThe baby is only a few days old, capitán,” Lulu said slowly, her eyes cast down. She didn’t dare look at the captain, but could feel his discomfort even through the small crack in the door. “A woman has certain . . . things she must attend to regarding her . . . ”
    â€œOf course,” he said too quickly. “I’ll send the innkeeper up to . . . ”
    â€œNo. I’ll go to him, capitán.”
    â€œAldo,” he said. “My name is Aldo Alarcón.”
    Lulu let the name sink in, otherwise she knew she’d forget it. All names became Agustín in her head. Agustín. Agustín. Like a skipping record on a phonograph she’d seen once.
    â€œAldo,” she whispered, and it sounded like a sigh, so that the captain smiled and relaxed a