Chapter Text
Talking to animals wasn't that bad, most of the time. It wasn't bad in the way Antonio loved all the gossip he heard, or how they were always glad to do stuff for him. It wasn't bad in how whenever one of the animals was hurt, he’d know exactly how to help.
However, every pro comes with a con.
It started with the toucans, who had mildly scary stories to tell.
Stories of what lay outside,
Of all the suffering.
They wouldn't ramble out and roll on the way the smaller birds did, but when they dropped information like that, it stung. It stung because he knew it was true, because the toucans don't lie.
But over time, it became very clear he didn't want to hear about it, so then again were their beaks filled with lively chatter and the latest avian drama.
Then it was the rats.
They led him behind the painting, into the walls.
They told him all about how life worked behind there.
Of course they said everything,
Finally, someone who could make out their words!
“It's nice having Bruno,”
They told him.
“But only if he understood like you do.”
La familia doesn't talk about Bruno,
But the rats do.
And they've seen so much more.
But after Casita returned, things started to change. There were more rats simply about now, despite finding comfort in the walls, there was always little opportunity for food, they told him. They also told him how much they preferred to be with Bruno, it was always Bruno.
It made Antonio begin to wonder, how did it start? Of course, in the walls, right? When they said he first went into hiding?
Pepa has to say otherwise.
She used to complain sometimes, before the family was stitched back together, “El diablo con ojos verdes y sus ratas. Siempre las ratas, porque no ratones? At least mice are cute. Why not something cuter, something cleaner? Ever since he was young… ” Pepa would go on and on and her tone would grow fierce with her thunder. Rain inside was never good for the flooring, but Casita dealt with it, and Felix always hushed her angered state before she began full on storming. She got worse with age, but ever since everyone lost their gifts and got them back, she's been getting better at controlling her emotions.
Ever since he was young.
That stuck with Antonio.
It wasn't prying, because he'd never outright pry, but he began to ask questions about Tio Bruno from when he was younger to the rats. They said all kinds of things, mainly focusing on how he was treated after his gift ceremony. It was quite chilling, to hear of such an innocent man to be treated in such a cruel manner. All because of his gift, all because of things people outright asked him to do.
What made Antonio's blood boil even hotter was how everyone was taught to not talk about Bruno after he “disappeared”. No one talked about Bruno, we didn't talk about Bruno, we didn't ask questions about Bruno, we didn't ask if Mirabel would fall to the same fate as Bruno.
“We don't sympathize with the ones who've hurt la familia Madrigal, Antonio.”
We don't question it when Camilo shifts into el Diablo con Ojos Verde, and says ridiculous things. We say not to encourage it, but it was always a fun horror story by the campfire. Bruno, at some point, was nothing more than a fairy tale for parents to get their kids to bed on time, or to stop them from wandering into the mountains.
To some, that's all Bruno ever will be.
To some, he’ll always be El Diablo con Ojos Verdes, who ruined their lives.
But now we do talk about Bruno, but don't we dare ask questions about what we were taught. Why do morals switch at the flip of a coin en la Casita? But don't you dare speak a word out loud, because heaven knows Dolores will hear, and if Dolores hears, you might as well have shouted it for the whole world to hear.
So, he has to be vague about all of it, disguising and draping it as innocent questions; that's the gift of being the youngest. You learn from your hermanos’ mistakes. Never speak in a manner that's different from the usual chatter of the townsfolk, never yell while you're in Casita. And for your own sake, try not to drop anything or bump into any walls during the night, because word will get out you were the one who stole the last of Tia Julieta’s arepas.
The Rats also talked about what Bruno was like during “the wall days' ' (as they call it), they tell Antonio all about the measures of good luck rituals, the way he picked at his skin was he was anxious. They said lots of good things about him too, like how he’d build up the courage to repair the walls by using his “Alter Ego”, or how he always let la familia eat first, then he’d ask for the rats to get the food.
However, it was the concerning habits of his that stuck in his brain. It was those habits he thought of whenever he saw Tio Bruno, it riddled him with guilt and pity, even if he wasn't the one who enforced the belief that “Bruno” was a forsaken and cursed name, never to be uttered.
Whenever Antonio saw Bruno, he always made sure to try and get a better look at his hands, to see if he could spot the ringed indents from his nervous gnawing on his palm. The first time Antonio checked, he noticed the distinctly fresh bandaging wrapped around where the rats said the scars would be, but the next day there were no bandages, and no scars. That's something he needs to ask Tia Julieta, if her cooking even mends years of scarring.
The rats told him about when Tio Bruno would convulse, stumbling to the floor. They spoke of the way his eyes burned green, they told with horrific detail how he became nothing more than a heap on the floor, muttering faint prayers, prayers of being freed from his misery. How he’d knock on wood, how it was a knock, knock, knock, and a sharp thud as Bruno would bash his head against the wall until his eyes stopped their glowing.
The rats saw it all.
And Antonio thought back to Dolores’ line,
“I knew he never left,
I heard him every day.”
Dolores,
What did you hear?
Did the picking,
The tearing of skin,
The thunking of a bruised head,
Ever become too much for you?
Did the gentle
tap,
tap,
tap
of warm blood
on the cool floor
drive you insane?
Dolores,
If only Antonio could say sorry
If only he could erase what she heard.
It made him wonder,
What other dark secrets lurked in the nearby shadows.
What other things,
He wasn't supposed to know.
But there was one story, the rats only spoke of by the time Antonio was “old enough” to know. As if an age so young, could fully grasp what he was being told.
He still wished,
The rats said something sooner.
They spoke of the way, a while after Bruno's gift had taken its true effect on the Madrigals' lives, and Bruno began to isolate himself. It was either isolation or be victim to the townsfolk's words, to Abuela’s cruel words. When he wasn't there, they didn't talk about Bruno.
The rats kept him company, but even a mound of rats can't imitate a person. They can't speak, they can barely do what's considered “socializing” with Bruno. The bags under the then young man's eyes darkened, and he became sluggish, he didn't want to wake in the mornings- and on the days he managed to actually pull himself out of bed the rats had to bring him food. A reminder to eat, that's the thing with a sorrow so great.
You forget to be human, you forget the body you inhabit. With all urges forgotten, you begin to rot. You barely notice your teeth turning yellow, your hair growing matted. How could you notice, when you feel you won't be alive the next day to care?
It became all too clear to Antonio where this story was going.
The rats grew silent as they watched Antonio's face fall, the jaguar that always hung around in his room let out a low, comforting trill as it butted its head against Antonios shoulder, resting a sheathed paw onto his lap.
“... would you be okay if we continue?”
Antonio was choked out of his words, and gave a dry nod instead.
“It was early in the morning, too early..” The little creature began with a low voice, slowly growing louder, “I was just going for a nap when it happened, when I was told what was going on. Then I saw it. I was young, so i… i didn't get it at the time but.. Brunito..” the rat's voice faded out as its ears drooped, and it retreated into the crowd of the rats, unable to complete its section of the story.
Another rat chimed in, “Bruno stood with… he had noose. He had the stool, we could see him counting. We all knew, we didn't think that he would actually… There was so much panic, everyone was yelling, we scurried to the rafters.”
Before the rats had known it, Bruno's counting had ended. Most of the rats admit they blacked out from the abundance of adrenaline, in the sense that they don't remember anything. They remember working fast, one recalled in vivid detail;
‘Bruno,
The stool kicked over.
But i promise you
The regret in his eyes was clear as day.
Bruno
Kicking his legs,
Desperately searching without eyes
To find a solid piece of ground.
We knew what he was thinking,
He must've realized.
Bruno,
might have imagined Julieta's sobs,
As she found something not even her baking
Could fix it.
Bruno,
Must've Imagined the horrid, pounding rain
That might threaten to flood the town.
Caused by Pepa.
He saw it clearly,
Maybe it was one last vision.
You could smell the fear
That choked the air
As Bruno's eyes began to flicker shut.
As his face grew purple.
But the rope snapped,
We did it.”
How does a child,
So young
Respond to a tale
Like that?
Do you celebrate, over the joyous ending?
or weep, knowing your own family made Bruno feel so isolated he...
Where are you even supposed to begin, with something as fragile as this?
and this is why, sometimes, it's better if things stay between the animals. Some things are never meant to be heard by the human ear, and this was one of those things, it was a story that should've never been told. Yet, Antonio had asked for it, so he can't blame the rats. Maybe this is one thing, that's better to be kept from Tio Bruno, to keep from the Madrigals. It was a weight that no one should carry, so maybe it would be better if only one person was subjected to such a cruel, nearly forgotten history.
"It's okay," Antonio whispered to the rodents gathered around him, "your rat tails are safe with me."