Later, I found out that Ifrahim had a bad heart and had been thrown out of the Foreign Legion on account of it. Sometimes, in the night he’d cry out and we would rush to where he slept in the storeroom to find him sweating and clutching at his chest. We would steady him, and spoon him oil and milk of magnesia until the racing began to slow, until his heart stopped trying to escape through his ribs. Perhaps it was an ill fit, too big or tender to last in our world.

Anything good I took from the inn, I took from Ifrahim. I wouldn’t be here now, speaking, if not for him. It was he who spoke for me, when not another soul would have.

I should explain. There are things you must be wondering about me, about the inn. You must have already guessed, with the little you know about her, that Mama Morales would not have kept me there for free.

Morales took guests and served meals and charged peasants and farmers to water and stable their mules while they were in town. She also kept girls, and that was where most of the inn’s money came from. About half a dozen year-round, who had to double up and share their beds with newcomers during the busy months. Most didn’t last too long, a year perhaps, or two. There were only five people who were constant: the old groom called Antonio who barely spoke, Ifrahim, when he came, Mama Morales and Elena and me.

Elena was Morales’ daughter.

People said she had hidden herself in Morales’ belly until it was too late to be rid of her, that even when Morales tried, the little thing wouldn’t be budged. She was a year older than me. Morales told me that if she hadn’t still been paying a woman to breastfeed Elena when I came along, I would’ve starved and died, for she certainly would not have fed me.

That was Morales for you.

The girls looked after Elena and me, and when we were old enough Morales sent us to school in the mornings, saying that she didn’t want ignorant lumps in her house who couldn’t figure a bill or read a name. The rest of the time we skivvied. Elena got an easier time of it, because she had fairer skin than me, and nice hands, and Morales didn’t want them spoiled by too much sun or hard work. It wouldn’t make a difference to mine, she observed.