16 “The Drug” by Shakira Del Toro

The blazing heat beats down upon the overworked farmers approaching their 13th hour of labor. Santiago, a short stout 12-year-old boy, brushes sweat off his bushy eyebrows, as he places the red cherries into his basket. Mama Margs is sitting a few feet away from him, picking the sores on her feet. A high-pitched horn pierces the air. Mama Margs quickly puts on her stained, worn-out shoes. Santiago picks up her basket and together they tremble towards the owners’ manor. Dozens of farmers trudge behind them.

Daisy Ramirez, co-owner of the plantation, briskly chews tobacco on the porch and watches the poor peasants make their way towards her. Her husband and co-owner, Christian Ramirez, brings out two big mugs of coffee. He has a war horn hanging down his neck. He kisses Daisy on the forehead and hands her a mug. She swigs the dark liquid, and a strange fiery light appears in her eyes. She grins. She turns to the farmers and yells, “Hurry up! Before I send you to la verga.” She takes another chug.

Daisy descends the porch’s steps. “Get in line! There better be 15 pounds in your basket if you want to eat,” she commands, as she spits onto the ground. There is a table displayed on the front lawn, furnished with whips, chains, and knives. In the certain lies a scale. At the side of the table, a large pot boils over a fire pit. The air smells like fermented beans.

Christian stirs the soup and gags. “I think there’s too much froth in this.”

“Food is food. They’d eat each other if I’d let them.” Daisy drinks from her mug.

As Santiago approaches the table, he looks down at the two baskets he is carrying. His basket is in his right hand, which is starting to cramp up. However, his left hand is unbothered. There are only around 60 coffee beans, barely enough to make a cup. Mama Margs has been tending her sores all day. Santiago hands Mama Margs his basket and keeps hers slightly behind his back. Mama Margs whispers, “Son. This is yours. Please hand me my own.”

Santiago faintly shakes his head, “That one is yours.”

“Do you have something to say, boy?” Daisy marches over to him and lifts his chin up towards her.

“N-No ma’am,” Santiago gulps.

Daisy looks at his hidden hand. “You must be in a hurry to go first. Show me your basket.” Santiago places the basket on the scale. It’s barely a pound. “You stupid boy. Que chingado estabas haciendo todo el día?!” Daisy grabs the whip off the table. Santiago stumbles backwards. “You have two healthy legs. You can be running a marathon at your age… What kind of mockery is this?! Answer me!”

“I-I tried. But I- had a terrible stomachache. I couldn’t move much with—”

“That’s enough! You’re a disgrace!” Daisy chugs her coffee and pushes Santiago to the ground. The fire in her eyes escalates, and she raises her whip.

“I’m sorry! No please. Please I’m begging do—” Santiago is cut off by his own howl.

Daisy whips Santiago across the body, unapologetically. She repeats the motions, followed by Santiago’s agonizing screams. The farmers remain motionless. They cry out, but they are too afraid to help him out. However, Mama Margs throws herself onto Daisy, only to have Christian drag her screeching body away. Santiago’s screams finally come to an end.

“Get out of here. All of you. There will be no food today.” Daisy dumps out the pot. Sticky soybeans swarm down to the ground, surrounded by foaming liquid. “And get rid of that body. It reeks.” Daisy’s bloody hands reach for her coffee mug, and she swallows what is left. She strolls into her manor, enraptured by her drug.