Entangled Moon

by E. C. Frey

  Margret, the wife of one of the denizens of Beverly Hills society smiled. “Well, that’s quite a spitfire for a daughter you have there.” She turned on her heels and left. The other women smirked and followed.

  13 Jorge Nunez

  Jorge picked himself up from the mud and vomit. Normally, children played in the street and the smells of corn and chilies perfumed the hot and dusty air. Today, there were no smells of food to aggravate his already troubled stomach, but the stench of sewage from the recent downpours made him double over and heave. He clung to the side of a makeshift house and emptied the rest of his stomach.

  The neighborhood was silent. There were no women carrying buckets from the river. No balls to dodge. Jorge felt the panic rise, but his body would not cooperate. He needed to get home, but he could not gain any ground against his illness.

  Delirium threatened to overwhelm him. His hands shook and he brought them close to his dimmed eyes. Black and blue spider veins spread from the throbbing blisters he had received at work.

  He vomited again.

  His stomach spasmed and he fell to his knees.

  He could not lie down here. He was so close—only a few steps from home. He called weakly to his wife. There was no answer.

  He called out for help, but no one came. He fell back and vomited yellow liquid. How would he go to work tomorrow? A little thing like this could mean he lost his job. It could mean he could not feed his family.

  He struggled to get up. Staggering to the front door, he collapsed into the house. He called out again. His wife. Where was his family? Where was the laughter? There was only an odor of death. His death? He wept. He tried to push on.

  He prayed to God then. If only the darkness of his nightmare would lift. He would wear the protective gear next time. He would help his neighbors more. He would be more thankful for every morsel of food with which they were blessed. He would be thankful for his job. He would go home. There were so many things he would do.

  He vomited again but nothing came out, only a heaving that threatened to break his back.

  He moved again through the nightmare and called to his children. They did not answer. It was too late for them to not be home. He called to his wife. She had not started dinner.

  He called again.

  He found the door to the bedroom. The knob refused to turn. He was too weak. He turned it again and it twisted in his palm.

  He pushed through.

  The room smelled of death, up close and personal, and he collapsed to the floor.

  Opening his eyes, he stared into the shrunken, discolored face of his wife. Folded into her arms were his children.

  Cholera had come to Ciudad Frontera.

  14 Esperanza

  It’s June and the air is warm and scented. Winter is a long and introspective affair in New Hampshire. Summer visitors leave with the first snowflake and don’t return until the ice recedes. We live too far from the ski slopes. I initially bristled at the idea of a New England life—it doesn’t suit my temperament—but we couldn’t turn down a post at Dartmouth College. So I packed up our house in Tampa Bay and headed north.

  Tom worked, published, and networked until he became tenured. I adjusted by focusing on my family and spending at least one month a year in Puerto Rico with my retired parents. It’s as close to Cuba as Mimi can get. Tom comes for a week, but then he returns to the mainland to focus on his research and writing. It’s not his world. His family has long roots in California. Californios, they were granted lands from the abandoned missions that followed the El Camino Real Trail on the last coast.

  Carlos and Izzy climb into the SUV and Angelica follows, her arm cast the same size as her body. The memory of the car crash remains. Sideswiped by someone playing with the radio, I was not faulted. It doesn’t matter. I fault myself. I should’ve been paying attention. I should’ve seen it coming.

  I agree with Heather and Mariah. Fate is dogging us.

  “Izzy, buckle up.” Izzy stares out the window, twirling her hair and humming a tune. “Izzy!”

  “Yes, Mommy.”

  “Buckle up, por favor. Stop dreaming, my angel.”

  “Oh. See that cloud up there? Over to the left? It looks like an eagle. Mariah would say I’m having Eagle medicine today.”

  “How do you remember that?”

  “She told me over the phone.” Izzy’s voice drifts.

  I adjust the rearview mirror so I can see her. “What do you mean?”

  “She called.”

  “When?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Yesterday? What did she say? What did she want? Why didn’t you tell me? Izzy, get your head out of the clouds and focus. Did she leave a message?”

  “No. She wanted to know how we are. How Angelica is. She said she would call you later. Mom, why can’t we go to Charleston?”

  “You know it’s just us girls. When today?”

  “I’m a girl.”

  “That’s not what I mean, Izzy. We have a lot of catching up to do and not a lot of time. You know how you can’t wait to see Katrina after you’ve been in Puerto Rico and you spend hours talking and catching up?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, that’s one month of catching up to do. I have twelve months of catching up to do.”

  “That’s not the same. Katrina and I are best friends.”

  “What do you mean? Those are my best friends.”

  “I don’t know, Mom. Katrina and I are pretty close. We’ve been through a lot. Like the time Melissa and her weirdo friends decided I couldn’t play with them but Katrina could. Katrina left them. That’s a real best friend.”

  “You’re right, Izzy, that’s a tough one to beat.”

  “You’re such a dork, Izzy. It’s not the same thing.” Carlos rolls his eyes.

  Izzy sticks her tongue out.

  “That’s not true, Carlos. Everything is relative. In Izzy’s world, that’s a big thing. If Katrina had gone with those girls, it would’ve been a monstrous betrayal. I’m older now. Perhaps, it takes more to betray me.”

  “That’s lame, Mom. Betrayal is betrayal. Maybe you can argue degrees but it still hurts when someone does something to hurt you.”

  “Did something happen, Carlos?” Sometimes I have to remind myself he’s fifteen. Fifteen is when my world turned upside down.

  “Nothing happened. Why do you always think something happened?”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just you don’t usually know this unless you have experienced it.”

  “That’s not always true. Sometimes you just have to watch people and they screw up. You don’t always have to be the person they’re messing with.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Don’t worry, Mom. This has nothing to do with you or anyone in our family, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “Maybe I wasn’t thinking anything.”

  “Yes you were. You’re always thinking. You’re always trying to figure out the hidden meaning, and what you think we could be up to, and what you could do to make it better, but sometimes what we say is exactly what we mean and nothing more. It doesn’t always mean something else is going on. You can’t fix everything, Mom.”

  “It’s just it’s hard to imagine you would naturally have such insight.”

  “Mariah says perception is nine-tenths of reality.”

  “Did you talk to Mariah too? Where was I?”

  “You were at the grocery store. Dad took the call and we all talked to her.”

  No one told me.

  “Don’t worry, Mom. There’s no great mystery or conspiracy. She called for you but you weren’t there. She said she could talk to you about it later.”

  “Quit reading my mind, Carlos.” It comes out sharper than I intend.

  “I’m not reading your mind. It’s just I can figure out what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

  All three kids watch me now.

  “Golden
rainbow, Momma.” Angelica claps her hands as we approach McDonald’s.

  “Angelica, Mommy doesn’t like fast food,” Izzy chides her.

  “Why?” Angelica demands.

  “It’s bad for you,” I say.

  “Why?”

  “Because it has lots of chemicals in it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it makes it easier.”

  “Why?”

  I sigh. “Oh, I don’t know Angelica. You’re wearing me out.”

  “I wanna treat.” Angelica claps her little hands again, the monstrous cast a stark white in motion.

  “There’s a cool treat you get with the kids’ meal now, Mom. Can we go for Angelica?” Izzy looks pleadingly at me, a huge, goofy grin animating her face.

  What harm could this once do? “Oh, all right.”

  Izzy and Angelica clap. Carlos remains unfazed.

  “Is that okay with you, Carlos?”

  “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

  I dial Mariah the minute I get the kids settled down with homework. The phone rings and her message machine answers.

  “Mariah. I’m sorry I missed your call. I’m at home the rest of the evening. Call me. Te quiero.”

  I need a cup of tea. The hot water kettle screams and I pour the steaming water over the tea bag. I retreat to the table in the garden, where the children can easily find me. The birds chatter, jump, and land on the newly sprouted tree limbs. Their energy reminds me of my teenage years in Sunny Hollow. We too had such vitality. Even in the midst of trying to save Heather, we believed anything was possible. I still remember watching Eve and Mariah marching to the principal’s office, proud and determined.

  It was the same time of year, June. It was steamy. Mr. Curtiss turned down the lights and used a film to demonstrate the misunderstandings inherent in civil disobedience. His point? The danger of the anti-war movement. Poor Mr. Curtiss. He tried too hard. He used the movie Cheyenne Autumn as a case in point. When it was over, he called on Mariah to explain its relevance. We knew his mistake, but it was fun to watch him make it.

  Mariah tapped her desk. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Well, you’re Indian. You must have some thoughts on history.”

  “Well, which history are you talking about?”

  “Indian history.”

  Eve and I giggled. Moron.

  “You mean Cheyenne. I’m not Cheyenne. I’m Lakota and Winnebago. As to the history and so-called disobedience in the movie, the US government broke its promise. Isn’t that a big surprise? The only thing that makes Cheyenne history similar to Lakota or Winnebago history is their relationship to each other and to the lying thieving government. So, ‘civil disobedience’ was caused by the government. Gee, there’s another surprise. Why don’t you make your point without dragging me into it? Or, was your point that the government begins all disobedience, so we should all carry on with the anti-war movement?”

  Eve’s eyes widened.

  I was proud, but I knew Mariah was in trouble now.

  “Get out of my classroom, you little brat. Get out now. Go straight to the principal’s.”

  “Oooooh.” The whole classroom pretended to be shocked, but everyone knew Mariah.

  Eve turned around and stared each classmate down.

  It didn’t matter. It never did. Her parents never punished her.

  After class, we rushed to the principal’s office. Mariah’s mother had arrived to pick her up. Her mother hugged her and spoke something in her language. I never knew what it was, but it made Mariah smile.

  Three days later we retreated to the Rose Garden. Even that most special of places had lost its enchantment. The elderly women shushed us and the caretakers trailed our movements, prohibiting us from “loitering” on the benches or dipping our feet in the fountains. We moved aimlessly, but someone was always on our tail. The borders of the Rose Garden had retreated, hemmed in on four sides by streets and houses that watched our shrinking world. No longer vast and sacred, the Garden had become part of the establishment. And the system didn’t want anyone who didn’t fit into its well-ordered world. We were being chased from our childhood.

  It was Fiona who came up with the plan to hang out in Tallon Park in the Berkeley Hills. Fiona rarely took note of current events, except when they affected her friends. She was more pulled by the effect her beauty had on the opposite sex. If she was not obsessing about Jazmin’s boyfriend, Damon, she was mad about the students at UC Berkeley. So she hatched the plot to hitchhike in groups to the Park. The first time we tried it was successful. The second time was a disaster.

  I hear the phone ring inside, and then Carlos walks out holding the portable phone. “It’s Mariah, Mom.”

  “Thanks, honey.” I take the phone and settle back into my seat. “Hi Mariah.”

  “Hi Espy. I can’t wait to see you.”

  “Me too.” I wait, but she’s quiet. “Is that what you were calling about?”

  “No. I’m in Mexico.”

  “Mexico? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It happened quickly. There’s something going on here and I need to know what that organization is called that Tomas told me about. Do you know when he’ll be home?”

  “What organization? What’s going on? It’s almost time to meet in Charleston.”

  “Remember I told you I was doing a series of articles on water? Well, I’m in Mexico doing a piece on virtual water, but it’s become more complicated. There’s a company polluting the water and acting unethically in its water management contract. My colleague who was investigating it in Kuala Lumpur has gone missing. I can’t contact him. He was in the middle of explaining everything to me, but he was cut off. I think he might’ve been . . . killed.”

  I sit up straight. “What? Mariah, you’re always in the middle of things. One of these days you’re going to have to accept that there is bad in this world that you can’t fix.”

  “I know, but now is not that time.”

  “You’re talking about Tribunal Latinoamericano del Agua. I’m assuming that’s what you’re talking about? LAWT. They’re only a judicial tribunal that issues nonbinding decisions, but they hold a lot of clout in the court of public opinion. I’m not sure that will help a lot with a multinational company that knows what they’re doing is wrong, but it might help kick them out of the water business at least in Mexico.”

  “That’s it. I don’t know what else to do. I’ve contacted World Health Organization because there’s a cholera epidemic, but I need someone to bring this more fully to the world’s attention. WHO is not here yet.”

  “Oh, mierda. But what about your articles? That will bring it to the spotlight.”

  “No. These articles aren’t like that. They’re just supposed to be informative.”

  “You mean you’re doing something more than your work asks of you.”

  “Yeah but my coworker was too and now he might be dead.”

  “Are you going to make it to Charleston? I mean, were you exposed to the cholera?”

  “No. I’m fine. I’ll be there. I’ll bring my work with me.”

  What else can I say? “Okay. Be safe, chica.”

  “Thanks. Maka Manana.”

  My tea is cold. My soul is colder. I need Mimi’s rosary.

  The night descends quickly despite the longer daylight hours. Dartmouth demands long hours these days—exams will begin next week and graduation will follow. Angelica and Izzy are in bed, but Carlos, who negotiated for a later bedtime some months ago, is in his room. The television and electronic games have to be off by the time the girls go to bed, but I relent on the computer issue. After all, I was a telephone junkie at his age.

  There was a time when the five of us, the posse, lit up the phone lines. In truth, we still do. Cell phones have just made us mobile junkies. We are wandering conversants.

  I stand at the dryer in the mudroom. Often, no one thinks to look for me here—either that or they’re avoiding an obvious work zone. The
night is quiet. Tom will be home soon. The stars are brilliant against the inky darkness of the night sky. I fold the warm laundry and hug it up against my face. The fresh scent comingles with the comfort of my well-lit world. It’s safe in here.

  Out there, the cosmos crashes and reinvents itself in great cataclysmic events. Stars collide and black holes suck up neighbors. Creation and destruction—God is out there. The universe stretches and flexes, space-time warps in response to massive bodies, my body, curved space, and disturbances to the fabric of the universe travel at the speed of light, the light which never sleeps and never ceases its journey, the consummate wanderer. To surrender to those forces is to surrender altogether. They terrify me even as they thrill me. I am losing myself. I know, even as I pray to God, I will have to seek forgiveness for my part in that night before it is too late. I will have to be reconciled before I can fully redeem myself and return to Him. I need time, but the storm is fast approaching.

  The shrill of the buzzer signals the end of the dryer cycle. I peer out into the night sky. This is the year. It is time. I feel it in my bones. Destiny calls.

  15 Heather

  My day-timer system rests open-faced on the bed. The boxes of days line up in rows, but the orderliness is an illusion. More like hopscotch. The meetings and events require things to be done days and weeks ahead. I’ve ordered the driver to pick me up at 6:00 a.m. sharp four days from now and deliver me to the airport. Three days from now, Eve, Mariah, Fiona, and Esperanza will already be there, rejoicing, while I’ll still be here. Jealousy gnaws at my core, but it’s my fault. I’ll need the extra day to plow through the investigation and the audit.

  I should’ve worked last weekend instead of going to the amusement park. I can’t explain that decision as anything other than a deep-seated need to self-sabotage. I teeter along the line between being seen and disappearing. Brandon had made some excuse about working at the office and vanished for the remainder of the weekend. Shannon and I went on rides, made brownies, and drew butterflies all over her bedroom walls. Work was simmering on the back burner then, but it sizzles and pops now.