by Mary Alice
Billy was standing at the edge of the road, looking out across the vista. His face was lit up like a boy’s as he pointed to a distant hillside carpeted with yellow flowers. The dew from the earlier rain glistened in the sun. “That’s El Cerrito, the Little Hill. That’ll be their first stop. They’ll fill their tanks before they head up to the sanctuaries for the winter. Let’s go!” He sprinted back to his car.
Mariposa called him back. “You go ahead. That’s in the opposite direction. We’re going straight to Angangueo. Our family is expecting us.” She looked at Luz, to confirm that she agreed with the plan. “Okay?”
Luz nodded in agreement, then looked to Margaret.
Margaret walked over to Luz and took both her hands in hers. “Hey, I get why you’re going straight on to town,” Margaret said. “But this is the fork in the road for me. I’ve always wanted to work in the field, and Billy is giving me that chance.”
“But Margaret! To go off like this with Billy. It’s so . . .”
“Spontaneous? God, I hope so. I’m tired of waiting on the sidelines, taking the safe route.”
“But . . .”
“I’ll be fine. Billy’s great and we work well together. We think the same. Hey, don’t look so sad. Be happy for me. This is the adventure I’ve been waiting for.”
“Will I see you in town?”
Margaret shrugged her shoulders and offered a good imitation of Billy’s lopsided grin. “I don’t know. But you’ll hear from me. You have my cell number and I’ll call you. Don’t worry!” She pulled Luz in and hugged her tightly. “Thank you so much for letting me come with you. You’re braver and stronger than you think. You’ve changed my life.”
Margaret released her, hurried around the truck, and climbed in as Billy fired the engine. He stuck his arm out the window for a quick, spread-fingered wave. As he pulled back onto the road, a grinning Margaret stuck her head out the window and yelled, “I hope you get to where you’re supposed to be!” Laughing, she slipped her head back inside.
Luz laughed and waved as she watched Billy’s truck disappear down the road. Who knew, she thought, and her mind drifted to Sully.
“I know where we are,” Mariposa said, her eyes gleaming as she climbed into the driver’s seat. “Get in! We’re almost there.”
Twenty-Two
The Mexican holiday known as the Day of the Dead on November 1 and 2 corresponds with the arrival of the bulk of the monarchs to the overwintering sites in Michoacán. Locals consider the monarch butterflies to be the souls or spirits of departed relatives that have returned for an annual visit.
The small colonial town of Angangueo was nestled in a narrow valley, its tumble of colorful stucco houses terracing the mountainside. They passed small farms dotted with modest wood slat houses, goats and sheep, and majestic pine forests. El Toro whined as it climbed the rutted roads close to town, but Mariposa drove the old car like she was born for the task.
At last they reached the narrow town that seemed to stretch out along the winding, constricted main street. The white storefronts were topped with tile roofs and window trims as bright as the peppers and tomatoes sold in the open market. The town was decorated with festive streamers looped between the buildings, their plastic colored flags flapping in the breeze. Locals thronged the sidewalks, carrying baskets overflowing with orange flowers, bread, sweets, and traditional foods for the Day of the Dead.
Mariposa’s fingers danced on the wheel as El Toro inched along the congested cobblestone streets. Looking out the window, Luz chuckled at the irony of the Corona beer sign blocking her view of the beautiful church in the square at the end of the street.
Mariposa pulled into a parking space before a white building with the name MERCADO on a large, hand-painted sign. A black cat sat on the windowsill in front of large flower boxes filled with flowers the colors of jewels. Luz looked up to see a hand darting back and white lace curtains fluttering in the second-floor windows.
Mariposa turned off the engine and El Toro rumbled, then stilled. “We’re here,” she said, and exhaled the stress of miles.
Almost on cue, the door of the grocery store swung open and a boisterous line of men, women, and children filed out, arms waving in excitement and shouting exclamations of welcome and joy.
Family, Luz thought. She felt frozen, unaccustomed to such a welcome from any family, much less so many! She knew that Tía Maria had telephoned her brother the day they’d left to give them notice of their arrival, but she hadn’t expected them to be waiting with anticipation. Mariposa turned to smile encouragingly at Luz and pat her hand. Then she unbuckled her seat belt and lurched from the car. She ran like a young girl, her long hair flowing behind her, into the open arms of waiting women. A few of them looked to be of Abuela’s generation. They wore dresses with cardigan sweaters and had the same terra-cotta skin and long braids. They drew Mariposa into their circle to pat her back, all crying with joy.
With a gesture, Mariposa indicated Luz sitting in the car. The older women’s faces lit up at seeing her, and with a fluttering of hands, the matriarchs rattled off instructions to two of the younger women standing nearby in jeans and sweaters. The girls hurried to the car, opened Luz’s door, and drew her out with great smiles, saying, “¡Hola! ¡Bienvenido! ¡Venga!” They led her toward the cluster of older women, who welcomed her with great hugs and kisses like she was a long-lost daughter, exclaiming, “¡Que bonita!” Their heads tilted toward one another as they spoke rushed words. Luz felt nervous but endured their scrutiny, her smile plastered across her face. She smoothed her hair, worn again in the traditional braid.
There was a stirring behind them and the women parted to make way for a barrel-chested man in an embroidered white shirt that matched his thick hair. He was an imposing man, clearly the patriarch. He stood with his broad shoulders back, assessing her with his dark eyes. Luz stared back, thinking this had to be her tío Manolo. He was a twin to Tía Maria.
Tears slowly filled his eyes. “You look just like my mother!” he exclaimed. He swept open his arms and lifted Luz into the air with a tight embrace as the women laughed and applauded. Luz was giddy with relief and joy at the hearty welcome, so much like his sister Maria’s. Mariposa flew to his side and he wrapped one arm around her, too.
He spoke to Luz rapidly in Spanish, and nervous, she couldn’t understand even a few sentences. She tried to shut out the noise of chattering around her and concentrate on the words. He had slowed down and she understood that he was asking her if she spoke Spanish. Luz’s throat felt tight and her heart pounded loudly in her ears as she managed to choke out some words.
“Un poquito.”
Manolo stopped talking and turned to look at Mariposa questioningly. She only lifted her shoulders. He then turned back to Luz. “You speak a little, eh? ¿Un poquito? ” he asked, teasing her with her own words. “Spanish is the language of our people. Of your family. How could my mother not teach you?” he said in flawless English.
Luz was shocked at his fluency until she recalled that Manolo had spent years in the United States. In a flash, Luz recalled Abuela’s face, imploring her to speak in Spanish.
“She tried,” Luz replied. “I understand more than I can speak.”
Understanding flickered in his eyes. “I speak English, but my wife, my children, all the family, they speak very little. But you will practice while you are here, eh? We will help you. Before long, you will be fluent!”
“Voy a tratar de hablar en español,” she said, grateful for this kindness.
“Good girl!” Manolo exclaimed, beaming with approval. “You were the light of her life, you know that? Mami was always talking about you, praising you. You could do no wrong.” His smile fell and his expression grew tragic. “I cannot believe she is gone.” He lifted his arm from Luz’s shoulders to pound his chest. “It is empty in here. Nada. There’s a hole I can’t fill.” He hugged his sister in a consoling embrace.
“Manolo,” Mariposa said, wiping her eyes. “Luz
has brought you a great gift. Go on, tell him, Luz.” She looked at Luz with encouragement shining in her eyes.
Luz turned and walked back to the car. She didn’t hurry, aware that every eye was on her. She opened the door and, moving aside bags, pulled the box of ashes from the backseat. The paper flowers were more raggedy than ever and petals of the brown marigolds flaked off and scattered in the wind, but to her eyes the box looked beautiful. She returned to her uncle, surrounded now by a tight cluster of women.
“Tío Manolo,” she said. “Abuela’s last wish was to come home. These are her ashes. I’ve brought her home to Angangueo.”
Manolo’s eyes widened, then his face shattered with heartbreak. He reached out and with great tenderness lifted the box into his big hands. He held it before him with the reverence of a priest. He turned to Luz. Though tears overflowed from his eyes, his voice was strong and level.
“You could not have brought us a greater gift. You honor us. You honor our mother. You have great heart to make this long journey, Luz. It is no wonder that our mother loved you.”
His wife, Estella, stepped forward. Her thick salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back tight from her attractive face, from which her bright eyes radiated warmth and intelligence. “We thank you for bringing our Esperanza home,” she said in Spanish. “This is your home now, too.”
Manolo turned to face his family, twenty strong. He raised the box of ashes higher into the air. He spoke in Spanish, but his words were slow, in the manner of a pronouncement. Mariposa came to slip her arm around Luz’s waist as they listened.
Now that the spotlight was off her, Luz could relax and found she understood more of what her uncle was saying. She might have missed a word or two, but it was enough to understand that he was explaining how his mother had returned home. There were mumblings of excitement at this news. Smiling now, Manolo went on to say that this miracle had happened just in time for them to build the most beautiful ofrenda to honor her. This they would do in time to welcome her spirit home for the Day of the Dead!
While the family erupted in excitement and joy around her, Luz looked at the small box in her uncle’s hands and felt a tremendous sense of relief. She thought, We made it, Abuela! We’re really here!
That night there was a great reunion. Though the weather had grown unexpectedly cold, family members walked or drove miles to reach the home of Manolo and his family. The large apartment took up the entire floor above the store, and this night it overflowed with men, women, and children, many of whom resembled each other. Beer flowed and the long, scrubbed wood table in the main room creaked with the load of the feast as each guest brought dish after dish to share. Estella had especially prepared local trout and fresh guacamole made from avocados grown on the tree in the back. There was much laughing and hugging and kissing.
Luz sat in a place of honor at Tío Manolo’s left, and Mariposa sat on his right. They were not allowed to help in the kitchen or carry food to or from the table, as all the other women did. Instead they shared stories of their long journey, Mariposa translating for Luz when needed. Manolo relished the stories and his boisterous laugh began in his belly and rumbled out forcefully with his head thrown back. When he spoke, his booming voice dominated the room, and he shouted out greetings to anyone who came into his home to join the party, ordering his wife and daughters to hurry and bring more beer!
Estella was in her element at having the family gathered for such a joyous occasion in her home. She flitted about the room refilling glasses, directing the women, wiping a child’s mouth. If Manolo approved of Luz, then she did, too. However, it gradually became clear to Luz that the affection Estella showed her did not extend to Mariposa. Estella was polite to her husband’s sister, but not warm. In fact, she was noticeably cool. She treated her in the same manner she would any stranger in her home.
“And how is my darling sister, Maria?” Manolo asked Luz. “She should have come.”
“She seems good, I think. She has a very nice house.”
“She isn’t lonely, living alone? It is sad her children moved away, leaving her alone. They don’t come to visit. Can you imagine such a thing?” Then he glanced at Mariposa and his expression grew sheepish.
Luz swept past the awkwardness. “I don’t think Tía Maria is lonely now. She’s babysitting my dog. A Chihuahua. I think it was love at first sight.”
“Good! This is good!” He smiled and it was filled with warmth. “You are an angel!”
Luz smiled, amazed she could do no wrong. Everyone kept offering her more food and more beer. The more beer she drank, Luz found, the more her tongue loosened. Before long she joined in the conversations, murdering the language, but no one seemed to mind. They all smiled at her, seemingly grateful at her effort. She was surrounded by people who looked like her and Abuela. Especially her sisters, Tía Rosa and Tía Marisela. They had Abuela’s wrinkled, vibrant face and dark eyes, sparkling with joy at Luz’s homecoming. Luz’s heart lurched when they clasped their hands at their chest in a gesture so like Abuela’s. But there was so much family! When introduced Luz smiled and repeated the names and hoped she would get better at remembering them all in the days to come.
Mariposa and Luz were given a spare bedroom in the back of the apartment overlooking the garden. Two narrow twin beds with wood headboards painted in brilliant blue, green, and red were separated by a small table covered with a lace cloth. A lamp warmed the room with soft light. There was no rug and only a flimsy covering of lace at the window, so Luz undressed quickly, glad for the large shade tree that scraped against the house. She slipped into thick wool socks and a sweatshirt, then unwound her hair and combed it with her fingers, in a hurry to climb under the thin blanket.
“It’s so cold,” she whispered, rubbing her feet together and shivering.
“You forget how cold it can get in the mountains,” Mariposa replied. “We’re so high up. Would you like another blanket? I could ask Estella.”
“No, she’s exhausted,” Luz said, her teeth chattering. “I’ll be all right.”
Mariposa rose and walked to the closet, where she pulled out a wool shawl from the shelf. Luz was surprised when she came to her bed and spread the heavy shawl over her shoulders, tugging it up close to her chest. Luz felt the warmth immediately.
Mariposa paused with her fingertips resting on the shawl. “Good night, Luz,” she said softly.
“Good night.”
Mariposa smiled slightly, then reached over to extinguish the light. Luz thought she was about to smooth her hair or kiss her cheek but thought better of it. She could hear her move on her mattress, settling under the blanket. The moon was bright outside their window and filled the room with a soft, gray light. Luz lay on her back with her eyes open, trying not to move noisily from side to side on the thin mattress. She could smell the musty wool and remnant spices from dinner still wafting in the cold air. Closing her eyes, she tried to empty her mind of thoughts, to settle on the soft wind blowing outside the window, but once again her brain returned to the conversations of the evening. Faces from her large, extended family—Manolo, Estella, Marisela, Rosa—appeared in her mind, each leaving an emotional imprint.
But none more than the woman in the room with her. This was the third night they’d shared a room and she still could not grasp the reality that the faceless silhouette of the woman lying in the bed across from her was her mother. Was she really here? Or was this like her dream? If she reached out to touch that faceless visage, would she vanish again?
Mariposa awoke as the first rays of dawn broke on El Día de los Muertos. She rose from her bed and dressed quietly, careful not to disturb her sleeping daughter. The air was chilly and even though Luz slept in her sweatshirt under the blanket and shawl, she was curled up like an infant. Mariposa gently removed the shawl and took the blanket from her bed and laid it over Luz.
Mariposa gazed at her daughter, soaking in her features. How many years had she dreamed of just such a moment? Yet, although Luz was a
grown woman now—so strong and independent, more than she knew—when she slept she still looked like the little girl Mariposa remembered. She let her fingers gently graze her daughter’s hair, smoothing it from her face. Then she bent and softly kissed her cheek, pausing to inhale her sweet scent.
Luz stirred and sleepily waved her away. Mariposa held her breath and stepped back. When Luz was quiet, she went to the closet. The door squeaked on its hinges. She froze and glanced back at Luz. She opened it fully and very quietly pulled the box of Abuela’s ashes down from the shelf where Luz had put it. Mariposa smiled when she saw all the adornments Luz and her friends had taped to the box. Young girls could be so silly. She knew they meant no harm, but she thought pinning all that garbage onto the box bordered on the disrespectful. She intended to fulfill her obligation as a dutiful daughter and create a beautiful altar at her mother’s gravesite today, one that respected their traditions. It would be the most beautiful ofrenda in the cemetery, worthy of her mother.
Quickly and without making a sound, Mariposa tore off the paper flowers, labels, cards, and booties and tossed them into the trash basket. Then, grabbing her purse, she slipped from the room with the ashes, closing the door soundlessly behind her. She made her way down the dark back stairs to the kitchen at the rear of the house. Here the fire was burning and she found her sister-in-law, Estella, with her hands already molding a firm ball of masa flour in her hands.
“Good morning,” she said in Spanish.
Estella glanced up from her work, then as quickly returned her gaze to the table. “You’re up early. There is coffee on the stove.”
“Thank you.” Mariposa helped herself to a mug and poured a cup of the steaming black, rich coffee. She took her first sip, sighing with pleasure. “Mmm . . . good,” she murmured. “We talked too much last night. We’ll be sleepy at the vigil tonight!”
