Just before siesta, Anna climbed the stairs of the longhouse. Claudia in her arms, she handed me a few of her and Franz’s clothes that needed repair, insisting there was no rush. Her face still held her terrible grief, but I’d caught her smiling a few times in the last several days. Having Omar gone was frightening and exhausting for me, but she seemed almost relieved when the men were out hunting for weeks at a time, happier and more relaxed. The jaguar platform had been all but abandoned; it seemed its best purpose now was to shade the Anaconda Bar.

She eyed my ever-present backpack. “Lily, I was hoping we could do an exchange. I like your bag very much. May I look at it?”

I took it off slowly, as if shedding a second skin. In doing so, I pulled down the strap of my dress. I hurried to yank it back up, but Anna stayed my hand.

“Wait. Your skin.”

I felt her lift my hair from my shoulders, followed by the dry whisper of her fingers across my shoulder blade. I winced—I knew my bites were infected; that sort of pain was familiar to me. But ever since I was a little kid, all my infected cuts and scrapes had eventually healed, hadn’t they? I couldn’t waste my time worrying about it.

“Wow, lots of bites here.” She shook her head. “A bunch together. They look pretty bad. Do they hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

I flushed out my bottle of iodine. “Can you put some of this on?” I handed her a piece of cloth from the pile next to the sewing machine.

“Did you know, they are calling you Chica Púrpura,” she said softly. “Purple Girl.” My third nickname. Maybe I’m growing on them, I thought as her small fingers dabbed at me. It hurt more than it should have, but I felt sure the iodine could take care of everything. Besides, FrannyB, a real doctor, had given it to me.

Beaming, Anna slipped on my backpack and adjusted the straps. “I feel like a real American now. May we put two holes in the bottom? That way, I can carry Claudia in the chacra. It’ll be so much safer for her that way, and my hands will be free to work.”

I thought of her, eight months pregnant, child on her back, digging yucca out of the hard earth. “Okay.”

She laughed. “Your face! You look so sad! It’s just a bag. Don’t worry. For God’s Sake told me he’s going to bring us yards and yards of pretty fabric. We’ll make party dresses for everyone.”

I had to laugh. I took my precious bag back from her and with my switchblade cut two holes for the baby’s legs to go through. She put on the backpack and I slipped Claudia in, facing away from her mother, her sweet face smiling up at me. It was as if the bag were made for the task.