There was something about those children: a silent dignity, a discipline that did not correspond to their age.
But there was someone in the market who didn’t like what he saw.
The guard Carlos Méndez.
His wife had a small dry fish stand, but almost no one bought. On the other hand, in front of Doña Ana’s stall there were always people.
Every time he passed by he murmured contemptuously:
—Now do you think you’re a saint? Feeding the homeless…
Ana pursed her lips and pretended not to listen.
However, he knew that Carlos could cause problems. And if that happened, Matthew and Paul would be the first to suffer.
From that day on he began to help them with more discretion.
He passed the food to them in a bag, as if they were orders. Sometimes he called them behind the post.
The boys noticed the change.
But they never asked.
One cold afternoon, when the market was almost empty, Mateo spoke about the subject for the first time.
—It’s because of the watchman… right?
Ana hesitated for a moment and then nodded.
—I don’t want them to have problems. There are people who don’t understand why one helps others.
Pablo placed the jacket he was carrying on his shoulder.
—If it becomes dangerous… we will stop coming.
He said it calmly.
But those words weighed on Ana’s heart more than any insult.
“We’ll manage”.
That meant cold.
Hunger.
Nights on the street.
Winter came early that year.
The market began to run empty. There were fewer and fewer clients, less money.
Matthew and Paul began to come less frequently.
Some days only one of them appeared, with red hands from the cold. Other days none came.
Ana waited for them every morning, inadvertently looking towards the end of the street.
Until one day they didn’t show up.
Not even the next one.
Not even the other.
After a week, Ana went to Industrial Street. He asked the neighbors. Someone told him that the basement had been closed after a complaint.
The boys had left that same night.
Nobody knew where.
Doña Ana sat on a bench and remained looking at the ground for a long time.
I felt a weight on my chest.
Then he returned home.
Life, after all, doesn’t stop for anyone.
Years passed.
The La Merced market declined until it closed completely. Doña Ana retired and continued living in her small apartment.
Sometimes when I peeled potatoes just for her, I thought about Matthew and Paul.
He wondered if they had survived.
If they would stay together.
If that dream of opening a bakery had resisted hunger and cold.
He never talked about them with anyone.w
But he never forgot them.
One fall morning, many years later, he heard a strange noise under his window.
Two shiny black Lexus were parked in front of the building.
