The Butterfly’s Daughter (45 page)

Moments later a painfully thin boy, no more than twelve or thirteen, with spiky, black hair appeared at the door. He glanced sullenly at Luz, clearly annoyed that he was called to duty on his holiday. After some terse and hasty instructions from his father, the boy stomped inside to return a few minutes later wearing a long-sleeved flannel shirt and an orange cotton scarf tied around his neck. He stepped outdoors without as much as a nod of acknowledgment.

“Go with Pablocito,” the man said gruffly. “He will take you.”

“Thank you,” Mariposa answered with a slight bow.

The women followed Pablocito to the ramshackle barn, where he pulled two horses from their stalls. Mariposa took the large, spirited white one, Blanca. Luz got the smaller black horse with
the sling back named Negra. After saddling them, the boy grabbed the rope to Luz's horse and gave a quick, impatient
Come along
wave to Mariposa.

Mariposa stroked Blanca's neck as she murmured a few words of assurance. The horse's ears twitched and she rolled her eyes back to inspect Mariposa. Then Mariposa climbed up quickly and settled in the saddle. Luz had never ridden a horse before and she felt sure the horse knew it. Pablocito came around, linked his fingers together, and bent to offer her a leg up. With his firm hoist, Luz clumsily slung her leg around the back of the horse, practically falling off with the effort. Taking a deep breath, she got comfortable in the leather saddle and picked up the reins. Pablocito grabbed hold of a rope and led her horse out from the corral at a leisurely walk.

With a click of her tongue and a gentle kick, Mariposa trotted ahead of Pablocito, making it clear that she was not about to let a boy lead her to her family's sacred spot. She looked elegant astride her large white horse, with her shoulders back and her chin up. She led them across the dirt road to a narrow opening in the dense foliage of the mountainside.

Luz's poor beast was as thin and rangy as the boy, but it thankfully moved at a steady pace, one hoof in front of the other along the narrow, dusty trail. Luz clung to the horse's mane with one hand and the saddle with the other, holding on for dear life. They slowly made their way up the rocky trail through the dense forest. The gray volcanic soil was so deep and powdery that Mariposa's horse kicked up clouds of dust on Luz and Pablocito. From time to time Luz's horse sneezed, and Luz felt guilty for riding above the dust while the boy leading her horse breathed it into his lungs. He was, she thought, no better than a boy in the coal mines.

They climbed higher and higher up the precipitous mountain. The air grew thinner and colder. It was a hard, uncomfortable ride, down steep paths where she leaned far back in the saddle, and up precipitous inclines where she leaned forward and prayed her horse didn't fall. Worst of all, the trails were so narrow at points that her horse's hooves sent cascades of stones tumbling down the rocky cliff. At such times Luz held her breath and looked up at the sky.

Then, on a breath, she saw a butterfly. A beautiful, big monarch floated on a breeze right past her. She felt the thrill of discovery and wanted to call out to Mariposa, but her grudge kept her silent. So she privately marveled at the single monarch—as if it were the first she'd ever seen in her life. Pablocito saw it and turned his head. Seeing her smile, he chuckled, digging deep crevices into the dust on his face. He pointed farther up the trail.

“
¡Más! ¡Muchas más!
” he told her.

He was right. More monarchs began flying past her, in groups of ten and twenty. When they passed what looked like a dry riverbed she saw hundreds of butterflies shooting past her and her poky horse, taking a shortcut straight through that path to the treetops. Luz laughed out loud with delight. Now she saw them everywhere, in the trees, on the ground, sipping nectar in meager patches of sunlight.

They'd climbed for almost an hour when the shaded path opened to an idyllic meadow. Like a deer stepping from the dark woods, Luz lifted her face and felt the warm kiss of sunlight on her skin. The soft, green grass was spiked with all kinds of wildflowers; purple, red, and yellow. Luz smiled to herself, thinking Margaret would be in heaven here, writing down the names of the plants and sketching them in her notebook. She would know them
all. Monarchs on gossamer wings flitted about like dainty fairies, nectaring on the colorful blossoms and basking in the sunlight.

Mariposa stopped and dismounted; Luz followed suit. Her legs felt watery after the long ride and she stretched them while Mariposa spoke rapidly to the boy in Spanish. He nodded in understanding and led the horses to a spot in the shade.

“We'll walk from here,” Mariposa told Luz. “Here.” She handed her a bottle of water. Grateful, Luz drank thirstily. She'd not packed anything for this last-minute trek. Mariposa kept her word and remained silent. When Luz finished, Mariposa took the empty plastic bottles and put them in her backpack.

“Don't forget to bring the ashes,” Mariposa said.

As if she would forget them, Luz thought to herself. Inside, she was torn between the resentment she held against Mariposa and her desire to share these amazing moments with her. She wondered if Abuela would have been able to make the climb, and what she might have had to share. Luz followed Mariposa's long strides, two silent women walking through the meadow.

The next section up was arduous as they climbed a steep mountain bank choked with vines. Luz felt her chest constrict in the thin air and her breath come short. She had to stop frequently to catch her breath, bending over like a winded old woman. The altitude didn't seem to bother Mariposa. She walked on ahead, quiet on her feet, and her long legs quickly outdistanced Luz.

Luz saw Mariposa stop in the trail to bend and pick up a butterfly. Catching up, Luz saw it lying still in her hands, but alive. Mariposa cupped the butterfly in both hands and, bringing it close to her mouth, softly blew a few warm breaths on it. She opened her hands. The butterfly shivered, flexed its wings a few times, and flew off into the air.

Luz looked at her mother with surprise. The woman was a series of contradictions. Restrained one moment, emotional the next. Cold, then hot. Destructive, then a savior. Luz was getting dizzy just trying to keep up.

Mariposa rose and slapped the dust from her hands. “Sometimes they get cold up here and fall in a stupor. They just need a little CPR,” she added with a smile.

Luz didn't laugh, but she began looking for other butterflies that needed CPR.

“This last part is a little difficult, but you can do it,” Mariposa said, her voice encouraging. “Just be careful not to trip on the vines. Ready?”

“Okay.” Mariposa held out her hand and gave Luz a firm tug to help her up a rocky bank. They continued upward for another half hour of tough hiking, until suddenly Mariposa stopped at a ridge and stood motionless.

“There it is,” she said in a soft voice.

Luz came to her side, looking around with curiosity. It all looked like the same forest to her. She followed Mariposa to an enormous fir, a granddaddy of the forest. Mariposa pointed. On its massive trunk were beautifully carved ancient symbols that Luz couldn't identify. Mariposa let her fingers glide across the wood carvings as myriad emotions flickered across her face. Then with a deep breath she grabbed hold of the trunk with both hands and in a flash rounded the massive base, descending to a lower ledge, and disappeared. Luz's breath caught. A few seconds later Mariposa poked her head around.

“Your turn,” she said to Luz.

Luz balked.

“Don't be afraid. Women in our family have done this for
generations and we haven't lost one yet. Use both hands and swing your leg around. I'll help you. Careful now.”

Luz licked her lips and looked beyond Mariposa's head to the steep cliff that seemed to drop to infinity. If she fell here, no one would ever find her. Did she trust her mother to catch her if she fell? She hesitated at seeing the muddy incline caused by Mariposa's boots.

From somewhere inside she heard Abuela's voice.
Courage!

Luz suddenly thought of the story of Little Nana and how she'd stood bravely at the precipice while the gods commanded her to jump. Come on, Luz told herself. This is your moment. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed hold of the trunk with shaky hands. She mimicked Mariposa and swung around the base of the tree. Instantly Mariposa's strong hand was on her arm, guiding her around to safety on the ledge. Luz took a long, shaky breath and brushed the slivers of wood and moss from her jacket. Then she lifted her head.

All that she had read, all the stories she'd heard, all the photographs she'd seen couldn't capture the impact of experiencing this sacred cathedral of stone and trees. She stood on a cliff overlooking cragged mountains that climbed high into the clouds and between them lay a deep valley. The forest of giant oyamel trees, mysterious and mighty, stood with their boughs heavily laden with thick clumps of brown and gray leaves.

Only they weren't leaves. They were thousands—millions, an incomprehensible number—of monarch butterflies with their wings in closed position, clinging to the branches of trees in clumps, like beehives. She was so close to some of the branches that she could have reached out and touched them, but she didn't.

Mariposa spoke in a hushed voice at Luz's side.

“Abuela brought me to this same spot, as her mother took her. We believe that this is the temple of the goddess Xochiquetzal. It is said that she lives in a garden high up in the mountains surrounded by flowers. But what are butterflies if not flying flowers?”

She turned to face Luz with solemnity. Slowly, with purpose and determination, she breathed deep and straightened her back. Any weakness or excess emotion she might have shown the night before fled from her. Mariposa became otherworldly, her beauty ageless. She appeared as one with all the natural elements that surrounded them. Her high, sharp cheekbones were like the chiseled rocks of the mountains. Her hair flowed down her back, the same sienna color of stone. Her eyes glittered like obsidian, gleaming with mystery. She was a high priestess of this ancient and holy temple as she turned to face the great abyss. Her voice resonated with the rich timbre of conviction.

“This is the place, deep in the heart of the Mother of Mountains, the Sierra Madre, where monarchs have come for millennia following the call of the gods. This is the place where women in our family have come to offer them praise for generations. I call out to our mother, Esperanza, to join us here as we pay homage.”

Mariposa took a deep breath; then, raising her arms in supplication, she began to sing. Luz's breath caught at the purity of her voice. She sang a song unlike any Luz had heard before. Though she recognized the language as Purépecha, she couldn't understand the strange keening of syllables and sounds. Yet in the universal language of music, Luz intuitively knew that her mother sang a song of women. As Mariposa stood at the precipice, her sweet voice sang of love and duty and heartache and commitment. The song pierced Luz's heart with its haunting melody, filling her soul with unspoken expectations of womanhood.
When Mariposa was finished, Luz reached up, surprised to find tears on her face.

Mariposa turned to face Luz and in the manner of ceremony, she reached out to clasp Luz's hand firmly in her own “My daughter, I pray that you are blessed with many children. That you have the strength to fight for them when needed. The wisdom to give good counsel. The heart to offer love and compassion. And the serenity to leave them in joy and peace when you are called to join the spirits.”

Mariposa turned again to face the valley and called out in a ringing voice, “I stand here to humbly ask the Greater Spirit for your blessing. To help Luz in her transformation from child to woman. Grant her the gift of life and light. Give her wisdom to become one with you.”

Mariposa turned and smiled benignly, almost shyly. She'd relinquished the role of high priestess as she released Luz's hand. “I'm going to leave you for a while,” she told Luz. “I won't be far. Just to the other side of the ledge. You need to be alone now. There are times when words are a distraction. You must experience the moment in your own thoughts. Now you must listen to the butterflies.” She leaned forward to kiss Luz on her forehead, lingered a second, then without another word turned to walk to a farther distance along the ledge.

Luz hadn't expected to be left alone. She breathed in the cool, moist air that tasted and smelled of pine. She thought of her mother's singing, feeling again the soul-stirring connection. Then she turned to face the fierce, cragged wall of sienna-colored rock that soared into the sky to pierce the soft, white clouds. Giant oyamel firs grew on the sides of the mountains, creating a canopy that protected the colonies of butterflies. She stared out at the forest, at
its great quiet and stillness. The butterflies clung in tight clusters, appearing as hefty gray hives hanging from the branches.

Suddenly the sun broke through the clouds and in that miraculous moment the sky exploded in a burst of orange glitter. Cascades of monarchs took to the wing, dancing and swirling across the brilliant blue sky like orange snow. They were everywhere—over her, around her, in front of her. Seeing them, she was infused with a joy so intense and palpable that Luz felt her heart expand and grow with it. She opened up her arms to embrace the moment, filled with happiness, laughing out loud. The sound of a million beating wings filled the valley, echoing like the wind. She felt the fluttering of wings across her hair, her cheeks, her shoulders like kisses and heard the voice of Abuela sing out,
Dance,
querida
!

Abuela's spirit filled her mind and heart and soul. Luz felt she was in the sky, dancing with the butterflies. There was no past. There was no future. There was only this glorious, glittering now. It was, she knew, what heaven must be like.