In Pie in the Sky: A Novel by Janet L. Finn, two young women from opposite sides of the Americas forge an unexpected friendship amid the political upheaval, labor struggles, and hopes for social change sweeping 1970s Chile. Below is an excerpt from the novel.

Prologue

I. Tarapacá Province, Northern Chile, December 1907

The morning of December 21 broke cold as the sun rose over the ridgeline, reflecting mauve and blue in the barren folds of mountain light and shadow. The high pampa’s frigid morning would soon give way to brutal midday heat. Nitrate miners, their wives, and children huddled in close groups for warmth, their breath visible in the morning air. They had made their way from the nitrate oficinas in the interior of Chile’s desert north to the port city of Iquique and gathered near the grounds of the Santa María de Iquique School.

Life in the oficinas was harsh and unforgiving. Nitrate was the backbone of Chile’s economy at the turn of the 20th century, forced from the earth through backbreaking labor. Miners toiled in virtual servitude, beholden to foreign magnates and company stores. But their quiet desperation was transforming into a new consciousness. They had organized a general strike demanding better wages and working conditions. Oficinas throughout Tara pacá Province were shuttered.

Hernán, a leader of the nascent workers’ council, took his young son’s hand and told him why they made the journey.

“Dignidad, Arturito, dignidad. A worker deserves a real wage, not tokens for the company store. A family deserves a home, not a hovel. You deserve an education, not a pick and shovel.”

Arturito loved the cadence of his father’s voice when he talked of workers’ rights. He loved the way his mother Ana’s eyes shone when his father spoke. He loved to hear her play the quena and sing norteño folk songs, adding her own lyrics about la dignidad del pueblo.

Chile’s President Pedro Montt ordered troops by land and by sea to crush the strike. But the miners would not be deterred. Hernán and other leaders of the movement pressed forward to confront the mine owners with their demands. Arturito clutched the edge of his mother’s apron, his little sister Lety bundled tightly in her arms. He continually scanned the crowd for a sighting of his father, a tall man with the broad shoulders of a miner. But there were too many people, and he was too small to see over them.

Arturito fought to tamp down his fear. He longed for the warm clasp of his father’s hand. Lety started to cry. He caught the worry in his mother’s voice as she whispered soothing words in Lety’s ear. The press of the crowd jostled him and made his heart pound. Arturito tightened his grip on his mother’s apron, feeling a flush of shame. He was six years old, not a little boy.

The mine owners, emboldened by support of the state militia, were in no mood for negotiation. Late in the morning, they ordered the crowd to clear the school grounds and gather at the horse track on the edge of town. From there, they would be boarded on trains that would take them back to the mines dotting the vast pampa. But the strikers held their ground as the sun rose high in the sky. A return to work was simply a return to misery.

At 2:30 in the afternoon, a warning blared: “Disperse now! You have one hour! We will open fire!” The cacophony of the crowd rose to a fevered pitch as word of the order traveled. Women calling to their husbands, shouts of protests, cries of children. Arturito felt the rising panic around him as he searched the crowd for a glimpse of his father.

At 3:30 in the afternoon, under a blazing sun, a barrage of gunfire ripped through the crowd. Arturito was shoved to the ground, losing hold of his mother. Blasts, wailing, trampling feet… dust thick in his eyes, nose, and mouth, choking him. Arturito was on all fours, trying to crawl, only to be knocked back to the ground. He thought he heard his mother scream his name. He coughed out a desperate call, “Mamá! Papá!” Then he collapsed, knocked unconscious in the madding crowd.

More than a thousand men, women, and children were slaughtered in a hail of gun fire. Among them were Hernán, Ana, and Lety. The dead were buried without ceremony in a mass grave. The survivors were marched at gunpoint to the horse track then forced on trains for their return to the nitrate oficinas.

Arturito awoke in the arms of Luis, a wiry man who had worked alongside his father. A crushing ache coursed through Arturito’s small body as he was rocked by the relentless rhythm of the train. Beyond that, he felt nothing but endless emptiness. Luis gently stroked Arturito’s brow as he murmured over and over, “Arturito, mijito. Somos familia. Nunca vamos a olvidar a tu mamá, ni tu papá. Nunca vamos a olvidar a tu hermanita. Somos familia ahora.”

Arturito closed his eyes again and let waves of pain and grief take him. In the months and years that followed, nitrate miners were subjected to a reign of terror at the hands of ruthless mine owners and the state. But Arturito was beyond fear.

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