The Inheritance of Orquídea Divina

by Zoraida Cordova

  “Come, we’ll be home soon.” Marimar hadn’t meant to say home, but the kid wasn’t the only one who’d slept uneasily on the flight. The rest of the Montoyas were back at Four Rivers waiting for them to lay Uncle Félix to rest, and her mind created scenarios that told her the little gold laurel that had taken so much of her energy was not enough to protect her family. She did not believe in God, but she had always believed in her grandmother, and the prayer that passed through her lips was for her.

  Rhiannon clung to Marimar and they zigzagged through the porters, families taping boxes that had been gutted by Customs. Bodies moved around them like waves, and if they weren’t careful, they were going to get separated or carried away by the current.

  “Auntie Mari, there’s a lady looking at us,” Rhiannon said. Her clear, soprano voice cut right through Marimar’s thoughts as she focused on the petite woman standing feet from their cloister.

  She had cat-green eyes and brown hair. The sign in her hand read: Montoya.

  Marimar let go of an anxious breath. She waved, then extended her hand in greeting. “Hi, I’m Marimar Montoya—”

  “Of course! I’m Ana Cruz. I’m sorry I’m late,” she said and pushed aside Marimar’s hand to better pull her into a tight embrace. Rey also allowed himself to be pulled into a hug and kissed, followed by the Sullivans.

  The woman’s name sounded familiar, but Marimar couldn’t place it. Her body needed sleep, but she knew enough that the taxi reservation had a man’s name on it.

  “Your Tía Silvia got the time wrong on your flight,” Ana Cruz said quickly in her lilting, accented English. “She didn’t account for the time difference. But it’s a good thing I checked the arrival board. You must be exhausted. Your rooms at the house are ready and waiting.”

  “I’m confused. Are you from the hotel?”

  Ana Cruz laughed and waved her many-ringed fingers in the air like she was swatting a fly. “I’m sorry, you’ve never met me so of course you look surprised. Orquídea was my sister. I’m your grand aunt. Or is it great-aunt? I don’t remember how it goes. Here we say, tía abuela.”

  Then it clicked. Ana Cruz Buenasuerte. Marimar remembered being in the old house’s dining room when the Buenasuertes arrived. Learning of Orquídea’s first secret family had been the least surprising moment of that night. Orquídea had asked for Ana Cruz, but she couldn’t remember why she’d stayed behind.

  “Wow! You didn’t have to come all the way here. There’s a shuttle taxi coming from the hotel.”

  “As soon as Silvia called and said that you were staying at a hotel I said, no way. You’re family. You’re Orquídea’s babies. So, she cancelled your reservation and you’re going to stay with me.”

  “Oh, how lovely,” Tatinelly said. She kissed Mike’s cheek. The trip had drained him, pronouncing the circles under his eyes. “Isn’t that nice?”

  Nice is one way of putting it, Marimar thought. “When did you talk to her?”

  “While you were flying. My sister has been on my mind lately and I reached out on a whim to connect,” Ana Cruz said, and stacked her hands against her heart, like she was praying. “I know, it’s a little bit strange. But family is strange. I wish I had been there to see her one more time. But I’m the youngest of my siblings, and I had to stay with my father. I couldn’t be there for her then, but I hope I can be with you now.”

  “Thank you, but—” Marimar began to say before getting cut off by Rey.

  “Give us a moment, Ana Cruz.”

  The Montoyas and Sullivans huddled together.

  “Before you say anything, Mari,” Rey continued, “I’m tired. I’m hungry. We have human remains in our bag. But remember we’re here to learn more about Orquídea. Doesn’t this feel like—”

  “If you say destiny, I swear to god.”

  Rey winked at Rhiannon who giggled at Marimar’s threat. “Fine. Doesn’t this feel like a highly improbable but welcome coincidence?”

  “It would be nice to have some help,” Tati suggested.

  Then it was agreed. They were going with Ana Cruz to the Buenasuerte house. Marimar put her phone away. The automatic doors hissed. She heard the rapid flutter of wings again, and this time she saw them. Hummingbirds flitting around them, welcoming them. They hovered by Rey’s hand, Rhiannon’s brow, her throat, and then they were gone before she could gasp.

  Marimar noticed the humidity first. It clung to her skin. Curled the ends of her hair right away. Clouds rolled in across the twilight sky. Even though sunrise was fast approaching, stars blinked for attention. They cut across the full parking lot, and Rey handed his roller bag and duffle to Mike, before getting in the front seat with a cheerful, “Shotgun!”

  “I’m so glad Rhiannon has a playmate her own age,” Marimar mumbled as she climbed in behind the driver’s seat.

  When they were all buckled in, Ana Cruz peeled out of the lot, stopping only once to pay for her parking ticket.

  “Sorry, I drive fast. I want to beat traffic and make sure you all get some sleep before everything you have to do.”

  “Speed demon, I love it,” Rey said.

  As they drove, they kept the windows rolled down. Guayaquil was alive despite the hour. When Ana Cruz warned about her driving, Marimar could understand why. Cars sped against each other, sometimes foregoing turn signals entirely. It was twice as heart-stopping as a drag race through Times Square. Highway lamps cast an amber glow along the roads. The yellow, blue, and red flag of Ecuador waved beside a pale blue and white one. What Orquídea hadn’t taught her, Marimar had learned by doing her own research. But the sight that drew her eye was the colorful houses layered on top of each other like the world’s brightest cake. If she stood still and tried to count the number of houses or floors, she’d never get close. Something at the very top sparkled with light, and Ana Cruz pointed out the lighthouse at the top of the cerro Santa Ana.

  They went through a tunnel. In the back seat, Mike was asleep, but the others had gotten their second wind. When the car emerged from the other side, the city came alive with the rising sun.

  “Who’s that?” Rhiannon pointed at a monument of two indigenous figures nestled at a traffic circle. The man held a spear and rested a hand on the woman’s back. She was topless and clutched a baby in her arms. A jaguar crept at their feet like a giant house cat.

  “That’s Guayas and Quil,” Ana Cruz said. “They were leaders of this territory. My father used to say they were Inca royalty, but when I went to school, they taught us they were Huancavilca indians. They fought the Incas and the Spanish, too. Legend says Guayas killed Quil and later himself so they wouldn’t be captured, and the city was named after them, but there are so many stories. It’s impossible to say what is true and what is legend.”

  “How romantic, question mark?” Rey said.

  “Daddy would have loved this. Is this Orquídea’s river?” Tatinelly asked, her voice rising over the horns and wind.

  “Sort of. Part of it. The Guayas River cuts down the coast of the city. Orquídea’s old neighborhood is just a tiny part of it.”

  Rey inhaled deeply and turned around in his seat. “Take in the inspiration, Marimar.”

  She shot him a glare. She hadn’t written a single thing since she dropped out of college and stayed in Four Rivers. He knew that, and still encouraged it.

  “Silvia told me you have a very creative family. You with your art and her sons with their music career. All of my brothers and sisters just became civil engineers like my father. By the time I came along, no one cared what I did, so I became a kindergarten teacher.”

  “Are your parents still alive?” Rey asked. “Grandma literally never mentioned them until the day she died.”

  “No, they both passed a couple of years ago. I wish my mother were here. She used to tell me so many stories about Orquídea. It’s a shame they never saw each other after Orquídea ran away.”

  “Uh, excuse me?” Rey nearly choked on his laugh. “Are we talking about the same pe
rson?”

  “She ran away?” Tatinelly said softly. Hadn’t Tati and Marimar done the same?

  Ana Cruz met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “There’s so much about your grandmother, my sister, that you didn’t know. That I don’t know. I will tell you what I can.”

  Guayaquil unfolded before them. The city was loud with air stinking of exhaust, not unlike Midtown traffic. The roads were all stacked on top of each other, creating underpasses. Some of them were lined with bright murals depicting the indigenous, African, and Spanish history that shaped the country. There were murals that called for peace and freedom. Some that said, “¡Primero Ecuador!” They passed rows of beautiful houses with red tiled roofs and manicured gardens, froyo stalls and sunrise joggers around parks. Then, a few streets over, there was a prostitute in high heels, her dress bunched over her thighs as she bore down to urinate on the sidewalk. A few turns later, new stairs were being paved and modern apartment buildings erected.

  Ana Cruz made a hard loop and drove up to a security check point at the base of a hill. She waved at the round guard drinking his coffee, and then maneuvered the minivan up a street so steep they slid back every time she switched gears.

  When they finally arrived, Marimar looked over the house with caution. Orquídea had run from the Buenasuertes and here they all were, unloading their suitcases.

  The Buenasuerte house was two stories tall. The roofs were in the Spanish design, with red clay tiles and a cream cement wall that appeared freshly painted. The lip of the walls around the house were covered in sharp spikes. Ana Cruz told them that’s how they kept thieves away. But in order to cover the gruesome appearance of the spikes, they’d tried to make vines and thin pink flowers grow like a curtain over them. The garage door opened onto a small courtyard. There was an angel statue and a tree with drooping branches. Marimar wondered if the others were thinking of Orquídea, too.

  “Did Orquídea live here?” Rey asked.

  Ana Cruz shook her head and dug in her purse for her keys. “No, that old house is in La Atarazana where we grew up. It’s sad what’s happening to that neighborhood, but that’s the way of things. I’m happy you get to see it before they demolish it.”

  “Demolish?” Marimar repeated.

  “They’re building new condominiums and extending the boardwalk. The whole neighborhood used to be full of Montoyas but after my father sold our plot of land to the city, a lot of people followed.”

  “What about your brothers and sisters?” Rey asked. “They were delightful.”

  Marimar elbowed him and was glad Ana Cruz didn’t mind his sarcasm.

  “Some moved to Hamburg. My sister Olga moved to Buenos Aires. Some people just seem to go.”

  Some people are forced to go, Marimar thought but didn’t say.

  Ana Cruz turned the key to several locks and offered Marimar a kind smile. As she stepped aside to let them enter she said, “This is my home. I have no reason to leave.”

  Lots of people had homes. Orquídea had a home with her mother once, too. Marimar wondered why some people left and others didn’t. Is it just that you stay until someone forces you out? Until it becomes uninhabitable? Until it gets demolished to make room for others? There were people all over the world who probably would have wanted to stay home, but they couldn’t. Something about Ana Cruz’s answer, as honest and simple as it was, bothered her. Orquídea had run away. Knowing that, it put a previous conversation with her grandmother into perspective.

  She’d asked Orquídea once. “Why did you leave Ecuador?”

  “I didn’t belong there anymore,” Orquídea said dismissively.

  “So where do you belong?”

  Orquídea had sucked her teeth and said, “You ask too many questions, Marimar!”

  Marimar had flashed a devious smile, the one she reserved for when she did and said things she wasn’t supposed to. “I just want to know.”

  “I belong wherever my bones will lie! Wherever my bones will lie.”

  19

  DOWN BY THE RIVER

  Tatinelly hadn’t slept in weeks. Not since the shadow of that man appeared out of the corner of her eye and she was the only one who seemed to be able to notice he was there. He stood at the end of her street, in the park where Rhiannon liked to swing. Once, she’d seen him on the roof of her neighbor’s home across the way. That was the only time that he had stared up at the sky instead of directly at her. Each time, Mike had talked her down from her fear. Anyone could stand on a street, in a park. That didn’t mean anything.

  “What about the roof? I’m going to call Bailey—”

  Mike had taken the phone out of her hand, gently, like she’d been holding scissors or a knife instead. “Honey, there’s no one on Bailey’s roof.”

  But she’d sit at the living room window, the one that took up the entire wall so that they never felt cooped up inside. She watched for the stranger, her stalker. If no one believed her, then she’d prove it to them.

  Of course, her stalker hadn’t appeared since they drove to Four Rivers, and she felt better with Marimar and Rey. It was good for Rhiannon to be around family, since Mike’s family never came by and seemed to forget to invite them to birthday parties and camping and barbecues.

  The Buenasuerte house was lovely. Their guest room had family pictures. Paintings of birds and butterflies and mountains. Mike passed out without showering, but Tati wanted to wash the all-day travel from her skin, and made sure Rhiannon did, too.

  Before she fell asleep, Tatinelly watched her two greatest loves. Mike’s eyes fluttered rapidly under closed lids, and she gently kissed his forehead, wishing him sweeter dreams. Rhiannon was curled between them like a little nautilus shell, like she could wind herself into a fetal position and back into the womb. She brushed the silky petals of Rhiannon’s rose, which had begun to change color. Tatinelly lay still. She convinced herself that things would be all right but, as she did, the heavy weight of panic settled into her bones, like she was being pressed to death. Rhiannon curled closer to her mother, and then the dread went away.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you. I will give my whole life to make sure you are safe.”

  She wasn’t sure where the words had come from, but she was overcome with the same sensation she’d felt all those years ago. The one that had led her to Mike in the first place. Purpose. Awakening. She would put her father to rest and enjoy the time she had with her cousins.

  In the afternoon, everyone crept out of their rooms following the deliriously enticing scents coming from the kitchen downstairs. Mike had woken up with a bug and was still sleeping it off.

  “¡Buenas tardes!” Ana Cruz said, folding her newspaper in half. “How did you all sleep?”

  Rhiannon sidled up to a barstool at the counter and accepted a glass of juice from Ana Cruz. “Awesome. I was dreaming of the moon. Sometimes, it talks to me when I sleep.”

  “It was her favorite book when she was a baby,” Tatinelly said, running her fingers through Rhiannon’s thick light brown hair.

  “Goodnight, Moon is my favorite book and I’m not a baby,” Rey said, emerging from the stairs in black sleep shorts, a loose gray T-shirt, and a peacock-green silk sleeping robe.

  Ana Cruz smiled deeply when she saw him. “Oh, qué fashion.”

  “I love you already,” Rey said.

  “You love anyone who compliments you,” Marimar said in her deep, sleepy voice. She pulled up a chair to the kitchen island. “What smells amazing?”

  “Jefita made something special for you,” Ana Cruz said.

  At the sound of her name, a woman stepped into the kitchen from the open courtyard. Jefita had deep brown skin and, despite her age, her ropes of straight hair were pitch black. Her dark eyes crinkled at the corners. She was crying.

  “Jefita, these are Orquídea’s grandchildren, and one great-grandchild. Ya, no llores.”

  “Aww, don’t cry,” Rey said, letting the woman take his hand and turn it over. She cupped his face and
said, “Qué bello.”

  But of course, Rey was beautiful. The most beautiful of the family, like Tía Parcha.

  Jefita moved on to Marimar, Rhiannon, and Tatinelly. Lament, real lament, looked like this. An old woman who held the memory of someone after all this time. “Mi Orquídea. I remember the night she left like it was yesterday. I asked her not to leave me alone, but I knew she had to go. It was not a good place for her. I always wished that I could see her again. My poor unlucky girl.”

  Tatinelly thought that was a strange thing to call her grandmother. As far as she was concerned, Orquídea was one of the luckiest people she’d ever known. She had a giant house and a whole valley. She had five husbands who had loved her. Children. Grandchildren. She’d never been sick. She’d had food and plenty of it. What happened later—the fire, her transformation—was that luck or her choice?

  “Jefita, save your tears for the funeral,” Ana Cruz said, resting a hand on her hip.

  Jefita made the sign of the cross over her body. Her words had a musical quality as she said, “I’ve never seen such a thing. A body in the river.”

  “Technically not a body anymore,” Rey said, and Marimar swatted his arm.

  “They’re his ashes,” Tatinelly explained.

  “It’s just not typical here,” Ana Cruz clarified.

  Rey sat next to Rhiannon and took up a glass of juice. “Speaking of inappropriate segues, what’s for brunch?”

  That seemed to be the magic words for Jefita to stop crying.

  She had prepared a feast of roasted pork with thick, crackling skin; bowls of fat white corn kernels sprinkled with salt; yellow potato patties she called llapingachos. Rhiannon loved them the best and devoured them greedily. She repeated everything that Jefita said, and when she did, the rose on her forehead changed color. It grew into a more saturated pink than the pale powder one it had been.

  Jefita made the symbol of the cross and pressed her hands together. “You are blessed.”

  “Does it always change color?” Ana Cruz asked more clinically than because she was awestruck with pious belief.