On the outskirts of the city of Guadalajara, in the state of Jalisco, Mexico The girl had spent the entire night howling. It was a visceral noise, more commonly associated with a wild animal, than the gaunt, virtually emaciated body of a little girl, who was barely ten years old. She lay curled up on a rough bed, which had been thrown together out of lumpy sacks of hay. Her parents, more out of desperation than resentment or fear, had confined her to a shed, which they used mainly for keeping the rain off the farming tools, and for storing a few low-value belongings that they had inherited over the years from different family members. The doctor approached the child with apprehension; she seemed to be sleeping, although her breathing was broken by a constant shaking that was not of human origin. “How many days has she been lying in this state?” “A... a week...” the mother dared to say, certain that she was about to receive an immediate reprimand from the doctor. The doctor heaved a sigh of resignation and, picking up the girl’s hand, he tried to measure her pulse.
