Sister Justicia
Convento del Rosario
Colonia del Valle
Mexico City
Lina Beltran sat in her tiny room in Mexico City brushing her raven black hair.
Looking at her reflection in the small mirror, she thought her young face was still attractive, but her eyes betrayed the hard years of living as an orphan on the streets of Mexico City.
Her room was mostly bare except for a small bed, nightstand and reading desk. She had a small vase with a few bright paper flowers and a photo of her parents which sat on the bedside table in a small silver frame. The room was typical of a young novice except for the yellowed copy of a newspaper article that was pinned on the wall with a nail.
The headlines read “Narcos fuera de control…Matan a familia innocente.”
She would never forget the night when she was seven years old and a scar faced man and his thugs came to their small farm and murdered her parents.
Having mistaken them for a neighbor who had betrayed the local cartel, they brutally assaulted and killed her parents in cold blood.
She could not erase the screams and pleas for mercy as she hid in the closet. She would never forget the horror of that night and could still see the man with the scar laughing as they killed her mother and father.
In her mind, those years of survival had aged her terribly. After her parents’ death she lived with an abusive uncle until one night she decided she had had enough. Deciding that a life on the street was better than living in a dysfunctional household, she slipped out and found her way amongst the street orphans who populated the streets of the city.
Her best friend was Javi, a very street wise kid who took her under his wing. He was from Tlalpan, a poor neighborhood on the outskirts of the capitol and had drifted to the city looking for work. He was a couple of years older and very resourceful.
He taught Lina how to survive and even showed her how to shoot a pistol. It was a small chrome plated .357 caliber Smith and Wesson. She never asked how he found it, but he always kept it in his waistband and said it would keep them safe.
Life on the streets was hard, but she learned to endure and despite the hardships, she was happy being with Javi. Despite the constant hunger, they had fun as only adolescents can have. They would go to the Plaza Garibaldi and listen to Mariachis and laugh as they observed clever pick pockets snatching wallets from the unsuspecting tourists.
They even got good at shoplifting from the local Supermarket. Fortunately, they were never caught and along with picking up odd jobs from local vendors they somehow managed to survive. Their favorite place of all was a small street taco stand called La Carreta. The owner was an easy-going “Viejo” (old man) and would feed them in return for cleaning up the stand. Life was tough but they were alive and she was free.
One night as they sat on the street corner in the Zona Rosa watching the wealthy and fashionably dressed entering the latest clubs, Javi confided in Lina.
“Lina…Ya me voy pal norte”
“Mi Tia Alicia contacted me and said I can get a job in her restaurant in Nogales”
“It beats living on the streets down here”
“But Javi…I won’t ever see you again”
“Take this” and he handed her the pistol” It will keep you safe”
“I will send for you someday”
She held the pistol in her trembling hands and cried as her friend Javi ran off into the night.
Two years later and now a young novice, she still remembered the night when her best friend disappeared. The pain of losing him still hurt deeply. But after Javi settled in Nogales, he was able to locate her and would send a letter from time to time. She never really stopped thinking about him, but she was almost a nun now and had found a safe and peaceful refuge in the convent. Perhaps it was best to leave the past alone, yet, there are somethings you can never forget nor forgive.
As she looked out the window at the manicured garden below, the bell for afternoon vespers sounded. Quietly putting on her habit, she walked down the corridor to meet the other sisters for prayers.
Chilpancingo, Guerrero, Mexico
La Sierra Madre del Sur
Five years later
Sister Justicia stepped off the bus onto the cobblestone street of Chilpancingo, a small town located high in the mountainous region of the Mexican state of Guerrero. She was born there a lifetime ago and it felt strange to be back.
Lina was seven when her uncle Severo took her to Mexico City. It was the weekend after her parents’ death.
Lina would often shut the doors of her bedroom and bury her head in the pillow trying to drown out the sound of Severo beating his wife Blanca whenever he came home drunk. He was a horrible man and was glad the day she bolted from their house.
It had been a long and exhausting ride along the winding mountain roads to Chilpancingo and she was to report to the small school of San Cristobal upon arrival. Carrying a small suitcase, she walked among the brightly colored houses with clay tile roofs that lined the street and remembered happier days with her parents.
Finally arriving at the little church school, she was greeted at the door by Reverend Mother Maria Luisa.
“Welcome Sister Justicia…We are happy to have you.”
“I am happy to be here Madre.”
After Sister Justicia was shown to her room and refreshed herself, she put on a fresh habit and joined the other sisters for dinner.
“Everyone…this is Sister Justicia…she is from Mexico City…remarked the Reverend Mother.”
“She will be responsible for teaching first grade.”
“Welcome Sister….We are happy to have you here.”
Chilpancingo was a mining town founded in the 1500’s but it’s recent fame came from its robust Heroin trade. The local “Narco jefe” was known as “El Muneco” (The doll). It was an ironic name as his pock marked face was badly scarred and his gold toothed smile and pitiless eyes revealed a soulless human incapable of anything but violence.
Reverend Mother Luisa cautioned Sister Justicia to be careful while outside of the convent and reminded her that the Narcos who ran this town were ruthless men.
One Sunday afternoon, Sister Justicia walked down Calle Texcoco and stopped to pick up vegetables at the local market. As she chatted with the local farmers, she carefully selected jalapenos and tomatoes and onions and a bar of chocolate to make a delicious salsa of Mole. A traditional sauce for this evening’s Sunday dinner. Reverend Mother Maria Luisa had given her the list of ingredients and pesos to buy them.
As she walked among the vendors’ stalls, she sensed fear was everywhere. Armed men in cowboy boots and gold watches strutted boldly with impunity in the town square…A constant reminder of the Drug cartel’s hold over the town.
Even the Mexican military rarely ventured up this high in the mountains of La Sierra Madre del Sur. When they did arrive, it was usually with the Press and only to burn a random poppy field illustrating the government’s commitment on the drug war.
The Gringos also showed up from time to time to assist the military. Mostly DEA, but it was a futile attempt to curtail the colossal demand for heroin that existed in their own country. Sadly, that addiction was root cause of the problem. The local police were also incapable of confronting the Narcos and stayed hidden out of fear for their lives.
Up here in the Sierra, this was “Narco country” and the lucrative heroin trade was very much alive and prospered unfettered.
As Sister Justicia walked down the street back to the convent carrying her bag of vegetables, she was stopped by two young thugs apparently drunk who began to question her.
“Who are you Hermana?”
“We haven’t seen you before”
“You’re nice looking…come inside”
“We’ll buy you a drink”
Laughing one of them grabbed her arm and squeezing tightly said,
“You will come inside for a tequila”
Sister Justicia no stranger to the ways of the street brightly smiled and said,
“Claro que si!”
“Pero sepan que soy una monja!”
Laughing they walked in and as they approached the bar one of the men reached out to touch her breast when she suddenly grabbed a bottle and smashed it on his face.
As he stood there stunned and bleeding, she quietly said
“Dejame en paz” and walked out the door and strode back to the convent.
Casa del Muneco
Barrio Mayo
Chilpancingo, Guerrero
Looking at the disfigured face of his lieutenant Paco Morales, El Muneco, was not pleased.
Outside, a dozen heavily armed bodyguards sat around the patio smoking lazily, while inside the Villa at least another half a dozen men walked the corridors.
“Paco..Que paso?” He coldly asked his Lieutenant.
“Bueno…Bueno jefe”….he stammered…incapable of telling the boss a nun did this.
“Una monja….Una monja hizo esto!”
“Si jefe with shame it is true.”
“You have made me a laughing stock!” screamed El Muneco.
“Pero Jefe....it happened so fast.”
El Muneco motioned at his gunmen standing in the corner.
“Matalo!”
Paco screamed and begged for mercy as he was dragged outside.
“Pinche puto” thought El Muneco.
But something deeply bothered him about this new “Monja”.
“Find her and bring her to me now!!”…he screamed to the men in the patio.
Escuela de San Cristobal
Chilpancingo
Dinner at the convent was lively as the sisters had a modest but delicious mole sauce with chicken. Normally fasting was the rule, yet on Sundays in Mexico dinners were always special and Mole was a special treat.
Sister Justicia was very quiet that evening and Madre Luisa asked,
“Que te pasa hermana…you seem very distant”
“Nada Madre...there is nothing to worry about”
“Un poquito cansada no mas…si?”
“Si”
“Get some rest hermana” replied Madre Luisa.
“Gracias Madre”
Sister Justicia laid down in her small bed that night and hoped the news of the altercation in the bar would not reach the ears of the Reverend Mother.
“That guy was a pig and deserved a gash in the face….That kind of stuff won’t sit well with his pals” she thought.
She laughed at the thought of him explaining to his boss who gave it to him.
But as she thought back to her youth she began to cry.
Clutching a faded newspaper article in her hand, she drifted into a dreamless sleep.
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El Muneco was enraged the more he learned about the altercation between that “maricon” Paco and the young monja.
The whole town was talking about it and had to be addressed immediately or he would lose control of the small town.
Let alone, if word got to his superiors he would be burned alive and would be lucky if that was all they did to him.
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The following evening, Sister Justicia closed the door to her room.
She had just come from Madre Luisa’s office and was confronted with the facts about the altercation in the bar yesterday.
Madre Luisa said she must leave now…not because of what she had done...but because of the risk to her life…You must leave tonight!
Packing her small suitcase, she cradled the pistol her friend Javi had given her so many years ago. Slipping it underneath her tunic top she prepared to return to Mexico City.
As Sister Justicia knelt one last time in the small Chapel, Madre Luisa gave her a blessing..
“Good bye my child…May God bless you…May you have a safe journey home.”
Sr. Justicia embraced her superior and then briskly strode down the street to the local bus station.
It was 9PM and Sr. Justicia sat alone in the dimly lit station waiting for the last bus to Mexico City.
As she waited, her eyes darted nervously surveying the situation when two armed men walked in and approached her.
One of the men had a menacing tattoo on his face said “El jefe” wants to see you…now”
She laughed and said…”Cual jefe…ni que jefe.”
Taken aback, one of the men reached out to grab her arm, but in a flash she pulled out her pistol and shot him in the head.
His brains splattered in a pink mist on the white plaster wall.
And as the other man ran out of the bus station in terror, Sister Justicia shot him in the leg.
As he lay screaming on the ground, she stepped on his leg and ground her heel on the wound.
“Quien es tu jefe?”…she shouted.
“El Muneco” he blurted out.
“Where is he?” she calmly said while keeping her pistol to his head.
“No se” he replied sobbing.
“No mames buey…Dime!!”
“Se llama El Muneco y vive en la Calle Mixteco, numero 797”
“He is there now”
“Gracias…Adios pendejo”…she said and pulled the trigger.
Arriving at the front door of the fortified residence of El Muneco she knocked loudly on heavy wooden doors.
She was immediately surrounded by bodyguards and was taken to the inner compound of the jefe of the local cartel.
Sitting behind his desk, El Muneco watched with curious interest as his bodyguards brusquely escorted the nun into his office.
“Who does she think she is?” he thought.
“She’s got guts..I’ll give her that”
“But she must be made an example”
“Well Sister, you have caused a lot of problems for me tonight” The cartel boss casually remarked as he lit up a cigarette.
“Who are you and why are you here?”
Sister Justicia remained silent.
“You know after you struck that maricon Paco, people will think me weak”
“Ni modo…you’re going to die”
Looking at his bodyguard he said,
“Chama…Take her out and kill her”
“Rid me of this troublesome nun.”
As the bodyguard reached for her arm, Sister Justicia grabbed a pen from the desk of El Muneco and viciously stabbed the bodyguard in the neck. Choking, the bodyguard stumbled back and fell to the floor.
El Muneco stood in shock and hesitated for a moment before reaching for his pistol. In that split second, Sister Justicia whipped the belt off her habit and cracked it across his face.
As El Muneco fell onto the desk, he said in a barely audible voice…”Who are you?”
Taking off her headress and tossing her raven black hair,
She said…”You can call me Venganza”
“Soy Lina Beltran”
“Adios cabron”
And pulled the trigger.
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The following day….
Putting on her sunglasses and dressed in jeans and a cotton top, Lina climbed aboard the morning bus to Mexico City. As she sat down, she read a letter she had received months ago from Javi.
“Join me Lina..I am in Nogales…Am doing well and miss you….”
As the bus pulled away, grinding and swaying along the old street, she pulled down the window and tossed out a faded yellow newspaper article.
Closing her eyes, she fell asleep dreaming of Nogales.
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