Tortilla Sun (8 page)

“So Mom just lived here in the village while he was away?”

“Well, she didn’t want to. But she stayed here because your papa wanted her to be close to me and the doctor just in case.”

Suddenly I realized that if Dad had saved Mom that meant she had to have already been pregnant. Which meant he’d saved me too. I gripped the jersey tighter. “What happened?”

“Well you were a fussy baby even in your mama’s tummy and this worried your mother.” Nana glanced toward the burning candle on Mary’s altar across the room. Cranberry scents filled the air. “Your mama found a doctor in Albuquerque who specialized in these kinds of things.” Nana’s eyes drifted toward the stream
of moonlight bathing the
Saltillo
floor, as if she could still see the moments in time she was describing.

“Keep going.”

“Your parents were picnicking on the Rio Grande. It was an unusually hot spring day. The wind was strong enough to push angels from clouds.”

She took a deep breath. “Your mama waded in, just to cool off her feet, but she must have lost her balance, because she fell in and the rush of the water pushed her down. Of course your father jumped in to save her. The river was so high that year, like it is now.” She shook her head.

“He pushed your mom toward a log in the river where she grabbed hold, but when she looked back, your papa was nowhere to be seen. His leg had become wedged between two rocks.” Nana wiped a tear from her cheek. “She was eight months pregnant.”

My head started to spin in circles, making me dizzy.

And like the wind, Nana warmly touched my cheek. “I’m sorry. This is so much to hear at once.”

I pulled the jersey over my head and wrapped my arms around myself. It smelled of fresh earth after a summer rain. I ran my hands down the front, smoothing the worn lines. “Don’t stop.”

“When your mother was brought to shore, the shock of it all sent her into labor. Thank goodness other people were with her. And that’s where you were born,
mija
.”

“I was born on the river?”

“
Sí
. You came out so quickly that no one had time to get your mother to the hospital.” She took my hand in hers. “But you, you were the
milagro
, the miracle, Izzy. You were born early, but strong.”

“Mom said he died before I was born.” My voice quivered.

“Your mother thought it was a bad omen to have a birth and death on the same day. She was just trying to protect you.”

I pictured a calendar in my head and put an
X
over my birthday. No wonder she always seemed so unhappy on my birthday.

“It’s my fault,” I said. “He died saving me. Maybe I wasn’t meant to be born.”

Nana squeezed my hand. “No! When it is our time to go, it is our time and nothing can stop that. And when it is our time to be born, we come to this earth. Don’t you ever think it was your fault.” She tilted my chin upward to make eye contact. “Do you hear me?” she whispered. “We weren’t made to understand the ways of the Lord, but we have to trust that everything happens for a reason.”

“Why didn’t Mom give me his last name?”

Nana straightened the stack of towels on the coffee table. “You are just as much Reed as you are Roybal. Your mama went back to her maiden name after … to get a fresh start, I suppose.” She
hesitated for a moment and just as she opened her mouth to say more, the phone rang.

Nana scooted to the edge of the sofa to stand.

“Don’t answer it. I want to hear the rest of the story.”

“It might be important.”

“Please.”

Nana and I looked at each other for what seemed like forever waiting for that dumb phone to stop ringing. I knew it would be quicker just to answer it than to let it ring.

Finally, I sprang from the sofa impatiently and ran to the phone. Dad’s jersey hung almost to my knees. “Hello?”

“Izzy?”

“Mom?”

“I’ve been calling and calling, but couldn’t get through. How are you? How’s the village?” She took a deep breath and laughed. “I have so much to tell you. It’s—”

Static filled the long distance between us.

“Can you hear me, Izzy?” Her voice crackled.

“Mom? Wait.” I moved the phone to my other ear. “Why didn’t you tell me about Dad?”

“Dad?” The next words were garbled before she said, “Did you hear me?”

“No. You’re breaking up.” I tapped the phone with my fingers before placing it back against my ear. “Mom, I need to talk to you.”

Three seconds of clear reception followed, long enough for Mom to say, “I love you.”

Before I could say another word, the phone went dead.

“Izzy, wake up,” Nana whispered as she shook me by the shoulders the next night.

I rubbed my eyes and sat up. “What time is it?”

“It’s midnight. There is no time to lose. Hurry, get dressed.”

I threw on some clothes, half-dazed, then I followed her out the house. “But where are we going?”

“To the mesa above the river. Tonight we are gathering
yerbas
. Come, come.”

Outside, the cool air cut through my sleepiness. The flashlight lit the path in front of us. I followed close as Nana led me down the trail toward the other side of the river.

At the water’s edge the currents tumbled past in a sea of white that reflected the light of the moon. With each step I thought about my dad. Did it hurt to drown? Had he been afraid?

Nana and I crossed the swaying bridge held together loosely by wood planks and rope.

She gripped my hand. “Be careful where you step. This bridge is very old and sometimes moves so much I think it might throw me over.”

We reached the top of a cliff that overlooked the valley below. By the moonlight, the life beyond the river stood still. The quiet ached for attention.

“What’s a
yerba
?”

“Herbs. And they must be picked at the right time. There are cycles I must respect, like the lunar cycle.”

We hiked along the edge of the cliff, and even though I didn’t completely understand what we were doing, I felt part of something. Kind of like being picked first for a team at school. Nana’s head moved back and forth as she surveyed the land in front of her. She crouched over the ground and picked up handfuls of dirt, sifting each through her small fingers.

“Ah, yes, here it is.” Nana dropped down onto her knees. “Come take a closer look.”

I got down on all fours and pushed my face close to the ground. “I don’t see anything.”

“Here. Shine the light over here.” She pointed to a small three-leafed plant barely sticking out of the earth.

“See?” she whispered.

“Why are we whispering?”

“We don’t want to wake the village,
mija
.”

“No one can hear us up here.”

She raised her left eyebrow. “Oh,
sí
. The sounds of this valley carry for miles. I can hear even the smallest bird calling across this river from the
casa
.”

She pointed again at the plant. “This is a medicinal plant and it is very powerful. It is the most potent at night and can only be plucked from the earth under the light of the moon. It won’t have the same power if it is picked tomorrow. Timing is the most important thing.”

She removed a small velvet pouch from her waist and gently tugged on the plant. “When you pull the
yerba
from its home, you must always leave some of the root behind, so the plant has a place to heal and grow.”

The moonlight cast a soft shadow across half of Nana’s smooth round face and for a moment I got a glimpse of what she might have looked like when she was young.

“What does it do?” I asked.

Nana smiled. “This
yerba
is one of the most special because it can only be picked once every twelve months. But a little goes a long way. This is part of what goes into my
tortillas
. It is a secret my own nana shared with me.”

Beyond the village, the Albuquerque lights flickered like a thousand tiny twinkling stars. A distant howl flew on the edge of an approaching wind; within seconds it had found us on the mesa. It whipped around, loosening Nana’s bun and then descended into the village below, gliding like a ghost.

The next morning Nana stood on the back portal beating dust from a rug while I watered the potted flowers. Just as I turned off the hose, Frida dashed across the lawn toward me, meowing loudly. Looping and winding through my legs, she whimpered as I crouched down and scratched under her chin.

“What is it, girl? Where’s Maggie?”

Without a word, Nana gathered up her skirt and scampered across the lawn. I followed behind her down the hillside. I didn’t need to ask where we were going.

When we arrived at Gip’s little
adobe
home, Gip was on the bumpy tile floor; she lay very still. Maggie sat on a tattered rug next to her, stroking her hair and whispering, “I’m here, Gip.”

“What happened?” Nana asked as she rushed to Gip’s side.

“Gip looked tired. Maybe that’s why she falled on the coffee table.” Maggie rubbed the tears off her pink cheeks. “I knew you’d come.”

“I’m fine. Just help me up,” Gip said.

Nana waved me over. “Izzy, help me move her to the sofa.”

I reached under Gip’s left arm while Nana lifted Gip’s right. “Careful Izzy; we must be gentle. Does it hurt, Gip? Tell us if it hurts.”

Gip shook her head. “No, no. Just get me to the sofa so I can rest.”

“Lay her gently,” Nana said.

“Do you need a pillow or anything?” I asked.

Gip smiled and closed her eyes, “No, dear. This is fine.”

The left side of Gip’s thin face had a long gash and her left eye was beginning to swell like a water balloon. I turned away from the blood and saw Maggie sitting on the floor.

I walked over and knelt down. “Hey, Maggie. I think she’ll be all right.” As soon as I said those words, I wished I could take them back. What if she wasn’t?

Maggie held up four fingers. “Last time I stayed with your nana for four days.”

“Last time?”

She nodded. “Gip has to get help lots.”

Once we’d settled Gip on the couch with a cool cloth over her eye, Nana walked me out to the porch. Tears collected like little pools in her eyes.

“Is she going to be okay?” I asked, hoping I wouldn’t be a liar to Maggie.

Despite the tears, Nana’s voice remained steady and calm. “I need you to take care of Maggie while I go with Gip.”

“Go where?”

“Back to the hospital. She needs her doctor.”

My head felt fuzzy. “What do you mean? Can’t you help her?”

Nana shook her head. “She needs more than I can give. I will explain later. Just take Maggie and Frida home with you.”

“We’ll go right now.”

“Good. Give her a snack and try to distract her. I’ll call you in an hour or so.”

I turned to go inside for Maggie when Nana grabbed hold of my arm. “Please light the Santa Ana and Mary candles when you get back to the house.”

Nana had said an hour, but that hour grew fat and round until it felt like it would explode. Each second ticked by at the pace
of Earth rotating around the sun. Outside, the trees bent to the wind’s command. I wanted to run with it all the way to Costa Rica. Or to anywhere that death and sickness couldn’t climb the walls and come inside.

“You wanna play a game?” Maggie asked as she stroked Frida gently on her lap.

“You know how to play Go Fish?” I asked.

“Yeah. I know where the cards are.” She set Frida down and ran to the kitchen. She returned with a deck of cards with little cherubs’ faces on the backs.

We sat on the floor around the coffee table in the living room. Maggie scattered the cards on the table and pushed them back into a neat pile.

“Hey, Maggie, why do you call her Gip?”

“When I was really little I couldn’t say grandma, so I put grandma and her name, Pauline, together to make ‘Gip.’ Sounds better, don’t you think?”

I nodded.

“You deal,” I said.

Maggie was intent, dealing out the cards one by one, but her shoulders, slumping into her chest, and her arms hanging like limp spaghetti noodles made her look small and hollow, as if there were nothing inside to hold her up.

I studied her little face. She had a small brown spot on her left cheek.

“Is that a birthmark?” I pointed at the spot.

She touched her cheek. “Yeah. Gip says it’s where Jesus kissed me before I left heaven.”

“I have one too. I stuck out my lower lip to show her the small white dot I’d had since birth. “See?”

She frowned. “Jesus loves you more.”

“Why would you say that?”

“’Cause he kissed you on the lips.”

I rubbed my bottom lip and wondered if Jesus really had favorites. If he did, I didn’t feel like one of them.

Maggie won six games of Go Fish before she grew bored and plopped onto the sofa. “Will you tell me a story?”

“I don’t know any good ones.” I yearned to create a story just for Maggie, to make her feel better, safer. But nothing came to me.

Maggie rested her head on a pillow, yellow curls circling her face. She pulled her knees into her chest, her small arms wrapped around Frida, and soon gave in to sleep. Her pale face appeared ghostly in the afternoon’s gray light.