By Carol J. Rhodes
“So now, it’s finally over,” thought the old woman. Wearing a stained, lifeless cottvn dress, she liinped through the
deserted street. The sun, just making its way into the tiny Mexican town, was already hot on her shoulders.
In the shade of a jacaranda tree she stopped to rest, keeping the worn cardboard suitcase tight against her
leg. Her face told of the pain she had suffered at the hands of the banditos: sunken eyes, hollow cheeks,
swollen lips, and a crooked nose she had not been born with. Satisfied at last she did not have the diamonds as she said, they turned her loose. “No use wasting a bullet on her,” they reasoned. “She won’t last another day anyway.”
Making certain no one was watching, she untwisted the wire holding the suitcase closed1 took out an old
faded blue sweater and spread it across her lap. Yes, the needlework classes at the convent had served
her well, as she felt the five perfect stones secured with minute stitches of embroidery only her practiced
fingers could detect.
Guest Column – Tit For Tat
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