Not the stories of inquisitions and floods and ancient civilizations that stalk the area like ghosts, but the stories of 16 women, each a retired sex worker who has found herself without the support of family, without money, and, in many cases, without her health. Casa Xochiquetzal opened the following year. I visited the house several times over the last few months, sitting on the sunny patio of the 18th-century house with women who were willing to share their stories.
One spoke of her petsβstray dogs that had accompanied her through some of her most difficult times; the other spoke of poetry; another woman talked about her relationship with God and childhood memories. None of them spoke of the sex trade. Those are not the stories that define them. They would go together to cantinas and spend long nights out drinking beer, a habit that, over the years, led to alcoholism and addiction.
On one side I see trees, on the other rocks, and in the distance a lot of water, but also dogs. I love dogs. I get to where they are and start to play with them.
One night I fed her and then decided to have a beer with a man in a car. The police arrested me and took me to jail, and I behind me, I could hear a lot of barking. Someone killed my little dog. I stayed up all night [sometimes] drinking and [sometimes] not drinking and around four in the morning I dug a hole in the garden [in San Fernando].
He had one blue eye and one white. The house has its rules. There are no pets allowed, for instance, not even for an animal-lover like Norma. The women share the household chores, taking turns to clean and cook meals for each other. The facility receives federal funding and oversight for hygiene and security. Marbella Aguilar Sosa, 61, spends at least a few hours most days working at one of the many street stalls in this area that sell dolls dressed in voluminous, shiny gowns, and tulle wings.
