—Oh, it seems Adelaide had a great harvest today.
When mom rushed back to the tunnels, soone with a dirt-covered face greeted her. It was as if the gri had been part of their skin since the day they were born, a permanent mask that told stories of hard work and deprivation.
Most people in the shelter shared that appearance. Their faces, darkened by dust and soot, were silent witnesses to the long days in the nearby coal mine. There, n, won, and even children worked in exchange for a little food, sacrificing their health and dignity to survive one more day.
But it wasn't just coal extraction that defined their lives. Any dirty or dangerous task that needed to be done fell to those desperate to stay alive. The underground shelter offered access to aquifers and subterranean rivers, but the amount of water each person received was strictly rationed. No one dared ask for more, as sources of clean water were scarce and, worse yet, dangerous. Wild beasts congregated in these places, turning them into forbidden zones for the district's inhabitants.
That's why dirt was a constant. The faces of the residents were as indistinguishable as the shadows surrounding them. However, my mother seed to be the exception. Her skin, though marked by effort, maintained a cleanliness and glow that defied the circumstances.
I had never seen her work in the coal mine. She had her own way of surviving, one that didn't require getting dirty like the others. When soone greeted her, she wouldn't respond. Her only goal was to return to our hut as quickly as possible, as if the outside world were an enemy she needed to avoid.
The reality of this underground world was cruel. Few managed to reach adulthood. I saw other children, so smaller than , others barely able to walk, struggling against hunger and disease. Most succumbed to unknown plagues or simple colds that, without dicine, beca death sentences.
Pregnant won faced an even grimr fate. Giving birth under these conditions was like walking along the edge of an abyss, and the survival of both mother and baby was a rare miracle. My mother, despite her sweet and harmless appearance, always carried a bone knife while foraging. Her eyes, always alert, scanned the shadows for any threat. She was a woman who knew that survival required both strength and caution.
Despite everything, she maintained an optimistic attitude. She constantly talked to , telling stories, describing the objects she found, and teaching new words. It was her way of bringing a little light into this dark world. I responded as best I could, with babbles and coos that, although simple, seed to fill her heart with joy. Each of her smiles was a reward that encouraged to keep trying to communicate.
Language was a challenge. Without clear references, my progress was slow but steady. I had learned basic words like "milk" and "food," essential for our daily survival. My body was growing, but my ability to speak remained frustratingly limited. No matter how hard I tried, I could only make basic sounds. The powerlessness of not being able to express my thoughts weighed on like an invisible burden.
One morning, a noise from outside startled . Instinctively, I looked for my mother's face. Her eyes, full of unconditional love, cald down. I felt my facial muscles respond with more control than I had ever had before, forming a genuine smile.
—You smile every ti you see —she said tenderly—. Do you like that much? Am I so beautiful?
In my mind, the words flowed clearly: "Yes, you are. I love you so much." But my mouth could only emit a childish lody.
—My little one, are you singing? —she asked, amused.
Her delight at my attempts to communicate made up for the frustration of not being able to speak. I wanted to show her my love in every possible way, even if they were as simple as those inarticulate sounds.
—I know you ca from , but you're too cute —she continued, bringing her face close to mine—. Who's so pretty? Yes, you are.
Instead of kissing my lips or cheeks, she found my tiny feet peeking out from under the blanket. She kissed them repeatedly, tickling in a way I couldn't help but enjoy. Then, naturally, she lifted her shirt and took in her arms to feed .
I sucked her breast eagerly, noticing how my senses had sharpened. The taste of the milk, with its subtle hint of coconut, was more distinctive than ever. My eyes better captured the details of her face as she fed , and my ears perceived every small sound around us with greater clarity.
When I was satisfied, my lips continued moving by instinct, though I was no longer swallowing. It was a reflex that, according to my mother, would disappear over ti.
—Baby, grow healthy and strong —Adelaide whispered as she held against her chest—. I love you so much.
Unable to respond with words, I concentrated all my energy into my gaze, hoping my eyes could convey the ssage my mouth couldn't pronounce: "I love you too, mom." I thought it with such intensity that I could almost feel the words vibrating in my little body, wishing that, sohow, she could perceive the depth of my feelings.
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