THE GIRL IN WHITE

Lina arrives, frightened, and sees the door. Before her stretches a solitary passageway, barred by a dark iron gate that conceals a mystery and casts doubt upon her future after this day. She takes a deep breath. She steels herself and whispers inwardly: You agreed. You need the money. What could possibly happen…?

The lights are about to flicker on; the thin daylight is fading. Cold and sorrow are preparing to spill into the streets. She looks around, searching to see if anyone is watching her—perhaps the person she knows only through messages is observing her from somewhere unseen. Or perhaps it isn’t just one person. Perhaps it is someone who already knows her. Insecurity floods her mind; doubt and fear long to claim her.

Lina grew up in the countryside, her dreams dimmed by need and poverty. She had a happy childhood alongside her brothers and sisters. Her father was a stern, hardworking man. There was never abundance, yet there was always food on the table. From an early age, he taught them to work the land, to understand where the food that filled their plates came from and how it was grown. Lina loved playing in the cool soil, searching for worms after recess or lunch.

Today’s meal had been boiled potatoes with cheese from Lidia, the cow Mama cared for more than for us—hehehe, she smiles. The fresh earth gives us strong worms, the favorite dish of Pía, the little chick Lina adopted as her own. Pía loves worms; they are her favorite. I’ll take her some today—I’ll gather as many as fit in my apron.

Her mother scolds her. “You know Pía—or whatever her name is—will be for your father’s birthday. Don’t get attached. She’s food.”

“I know, Mama, I know. But I’ll take care of her until that day.”

Lina lived from day to day. She had long understood that her pets were not meant for her happiness, but to feed her family. Her older brothers had already devoted themselves to the fields. They had finished primary school and now worked full-time. Grown now, each had his role in the chacra beside their father. They understood their future was immediate and rooted in the land. They had to cultivate as much as possible during the rainy season and harvest enough to sell, living off that money for the rest of the year.

They had not wanted to continue to secondary school, though Lina would tease them: “You were donkeys—you weren’t born to study. The pickaxe is your wife and your pen. With it you speak, think, and live.” They would smile when she said that, always indulgent with her, the youngest, the favorite, the spoiled one.

“When you were born, you came home wrapped in a white gown,” they would tell her. “That’s when we said you’d be Mama’s nurse.”

From the time she could remember, Lina felt she was treated with special care. Whenever fleeting happiness brushed their home, someone would say, “Lina, we are all farmers. At least one of us must become a professional. Don’t fall in love with anyone—we’ve seen you looking fondly at the neighbor’s son. Be careful you don’t get pregnant and end up alone with a child. You see how we live. What we produce is just enough to survive. One more mouth would ruin us.”

Smiling in her innocent, candid world, she would reply, “With that ugly boy? Am I blind?” And they would all remember how to laugh, how smiles could still form on faces hardened by cold and sun.

But her father would only look on sternly—perhaps embittered by the harsh life he had endured, perhaps afraid that his authority would fade with a smile.

“Here, anyone who doesn’t help—or who has a man or woman to attend to—must leave. We feed those who do something,” he would say dryly, and the air around them would freeze.

Lina finished school—the only one in her family to reach such a level. She had no boyfriend, no suitors—perhaps because they lived far from town, or because her father’s character inspired fear.

“Papá, I want to keep studying,” she said one day during a family meal.

He looked at her harshly, as if resenting the moment he had always known would come, unsure how to face it. Something consumed him—sadness, helplessness. A cold wind slipped through the kitchen.

“You won’t be able to study. It’s difficult. And we have no money. Alone in the city, being a woman—something could happen to you. Stay and help us. There’s plenty to do in the fields. I’ll set aside a plot for you like your brothers’. Plant it, earn your own money. Then when any man comes asking for your hand, you’ll at least have something of your own. You won’t leave with empty pockets.”

She wanted to cry. She wanted to answer him—to say, I am not a peasant woman. I will not die in a smoke-filled kitchen, hands blackened with soot. She looked at her mother, at her daily suffering, inventing new meals from whatever ingredients were at hand. Buying things was rare in their home. Her mother’s eyes, rimmed with dark circles, her face etched with lines fighting for space, spoke only of exhaustion. That suffering was the dagger urging Lina to flee.

“Papacha, when I was born you said I came dressed in white—that I would be a nurse. That’s what I want to be. I’ll take care of you. Here, a woman only cooks and serves a man; in the fields they wear out quickly. I want to study. I can pass the exams—I’ll work hard. The institute will teach me to be independent, to have a different destiny. I’ll work there—I’ll wait tables, I’ll clean, I’ll do whatever I can so you don’t have to spend on me. I want to be like Señora Vilam from the health center. Doesn’t she help you when you’re sick? Isn’t she kind when we have no money? Doesn’t she receive things when we need medicine? I’ll try to be like her. I’ll work hard.”

Days passed like waters carving through swift, winding rivers. No one spoke of it again. Life returned to its usual rhythm, as though that conversation had never happened, as though the calendar had erased the day entirely.

Weeks later, her father spoke. He told her she would have one opportunity. If she failed, she would never again insist on studying. She could travel to the city, gather information, and report back on the costs.

She burst with joy. She embraced her father—an uncommon gesture in their home. Tears sprang to her eyes, though she quickly hid them. Before Papá, no one cried without reason. And that day, Lina would never forget, was the day she first knew happiness.

She knew deep down that if her brother had not supported her, she would already be sweating in the fields, turning potatoes or stirring lunch. She marveled at how a single well-spoken word could change an entire destiny. In another universe, she would have remained in the countryside, married, raising children, repeating the cycle—living in quiet need, comforting her children, pleasing her husband, burying her own dreams. Alive, yet not living.

Lina hurried to the city. She knew it only from brief visits with her father to process documents or sell produce. Adventurous by nature, she did not fear the noise or traffic. She arrived where she had been told to get off, asked directions, and reached the institute the nurse had once mentioned. She imagined herself there—studying, laughing with classmates, living alone, discovering streets and neighborhoods. The thought overflowed her like water spilling from a brimming glass.

The entrance exam was soon; she could still register. There were twenty-five openings in her chosen field, and classes would begin immediately after selection.

She returned home eager, certain the stars favored her, that God was guiding her. At dinner, she shared everything. Her enthusiasm made it impossible—even for Papacha—to object.

That night, her father admitted he felt proud. “I never imagined any of our children would even finish school. It moves me to know Lina wants to become a professional. She’ll be the first among our families to pursue higher education.”

Her mother said nothing, only nodded, the day’s weight heavy on her shoulders.

The exam day arrived. Lina left before dawn. She packed food in her bag because bus rides made her dizzy. She carried her pencils and required items. Her heart beat with anticipation.

“Applicants, in order! Only pencil, eraser, and ID. Leave everything else outside. Anyone caught cheating will be expelled. The exam lasts two hours. Answer only on the sheets provided. Good luck,” the proctor announced.

Luck is what I’ll need, she thought. So many people. I hope I don’t disappoint my parents. This is my only chance to escape the destiny chosen for me.

The hours passed. The exam ended. She returned home quietly. No one asked how it went. No one even remembered she had traveled. Each was consumed by chores. Her brothers assumed she had gone to town for paperwork. Her father thought she was in the kitchen.

That night she sat before the radio, waiting for the results. When the list for her field began, her name had not appeared by number twenty-two. Tears welled up. I chose the wrong answer. I should have changed it. She wanted to turn off the radio.

Position twenty-three. Not her. Twenty-four. Not her.

She felt defeated.

Finally, number twenty-five.

“Lina…”

Her name.

She did not know whether to scream and wake them all. Instead, she swallowed her cry. Tears that had begun as despair turned crystalline with joy. I will be the nurse you said I would be.

The next morning, she rose first, lit the stove, and waited for someone to ask. No one did. At breakfast, as silence stretched, she finally spoke.

“Yesterday was the exam. I got in—for nursing.”

All faces turned toward her. For a moment she feared their reaction. Then the stone-like expressions softened into smiles.

“Congratulations, sister,” her eldest brother said. “When you’re working, you’ll support us, I hope.”

Her father only said, “Work hard. This is just the beginning.”

For the first time, Lina felt she was her family’s pride.

Months passed. She studied, worked cleaning vegetables at the market, spent little, saved every coin. She climbed, step by step, toward her goal.

Now, Lina trembles before the iron gate. She asks herself whether this is truly the path she wants. The boy she met online promised money—safe, discreet. She weighed her needs and found herself cornered.

She turns back once—then stops. If I run now, I will always run.

She has never entered a hotel before. The boy told her what to do.

She knocks at the gate. “Room 304,” she murmurs to the porter, ashamed. He opens the door without a word.

She climbs the stairs, heart pounding. Is he alone? What if it is someone else? What if she has been deceived?

Forget it. You’re already here.

She knocks.

Again.

Footsteps approach.

The door opens.

“Hello, Lina. Come in.”

Her body steps forward while her mind screams, Go back.

The door closes.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” he says.

“I was afraid,” she answers honestly.

“If I do this, it’s only because I need to,” she declares at last—surrendering to necessity.

Leon Antov…

… "

–Continue reading in its original Spanish language at fictograma.com–