—What are we going to do now that Trujillo is dead? Miraluz asked after attending a few of the meetings and listening to the men talk nonsense.

Trujillo was dead and the restlessness was everywhere. Even in the trees. People didn‘t know who to trust or what to believe. It took two days for the newspapers to announce the assassination.

—Do? Didn‘t you dream the answer last night? Don Chan teased her.

—Go home, little girl. We‘re doing what we gonna do, one man said as he passed around the tub of ice.

—We have enough to worry about, said another man. —I say Trujillo is dead, let‘s be grateful for our blessings and hope that the next government is kinder to us.

—Do you agree with him? Miraluz asked Don Chan directly. She was wearing the yellow dress. The hem went up high on her thigh. Don Chan wanted her to stop talking. He wanted to tell her to go home. But she wasn‘t a little girl. She wore the breasts and curves of a woman.

When he didn‘t answer, she walked away. Santo followed behind her so she wouldn‘t walk alone in the night. The flames did a different dance that night. One of hope, fear, excitement.

—Come back, little girl! Don Chan sobered up. —Didn‘t your family teach you to respect your elders?

—There‘s no time for respect. Unless you have something to say, I have better things to do.

Don Chan didn‘t know if he should be insulted or inspired. When Trujillo was alive, it was easy to discern who the enemy was and gather the people of Los Llanos to spit at the dictatorship. Even easier to learn about the atrocities and know who to punch at. But now that Trujillo was dead, where would they start? The government was in flux. The people confused. Don Chan saw the flames grow with the evening breeze. Miraluz was waiting for an answer. He didn‘t want to disappoint her.

—Haven‘t you read the news? Trujillo‘s men are taking over the office without asking the people what they want, Miraluz said.

—Yes I know, but what can we do?

—We can‘t just sit here, Miraluz urged.

—But we‘re not politicians.

—Who cares about politics? All over the world, people are fighting and we sit here and do nothing.

—And you think it‘s so easy?

—Then why do you bother and tell us stories about Toussaint, who fought for the freedom of his people, or Martí, who died in battle for Cuba? If you want us to sit here and do nothing, then talk about flowers and the stars that serve as an escape.

—What do you want us to do? he said, struggling to hold himself back from wiping the dust off her cheeks. She was beautiful when she was angry.

—Let‘s storm the palace. There are more of us than there are of them. Let‘s…well, I don‘t know, you‘re the one who has to tell us what to do. What do we do if we have another Trujillo? And that dictator decides to sell what‘s left of Los Llanos to some foreigners and we are forced to leave our land?—Do you have a title to your land? Miraluz asked and pointed to different people in the circle. All of them shook their heads.