Until I Find Julian

by Patricia Reilly Giff

  She might be right. The men put their heads together to check a piece of paper and one of them points toward our kitchen.

  But they don’t come, not yet. They hop up and sit on the edge of the truck, with coffee cups in their hands. They’re in no hurry.

  But we are.

  We move fast, scooping everything up from the table, the paper, the backpacks, the guitar against the wall. The ads we studied slide away onto the floor; the picture of the woman with the bracelets snaking up her arm stares up at me. I leave them there.

  What else do we need?

  We grab the food that Sal has given us, sweeping it out of the cabinet, and the money I’ve left on the counter.

  I remember the flashlight on the couch and dive for it.

  Do we have everything? I stare at the pile on the floor in front of us. How have we gotten all these things? I came here with almost nothing, and now there’s really no way to carry it all.

  Angel frowns. “We won’t even get out the front door.”

  In spite of our rush to get somewhere safe before the men open the back door, I give Angel a quick grin and she nods.

  There’s no time to pick and choose. We leave half bottles of soda on the counter, and then we run out the front door with whatever we can carry, as we hear the back door open.

  We’re just in time. We’re not caught.

  We look around, hoping no one is on the street to see us in the daytime. A car passes, and we duck our heads, but it doesn’t even slow down.

  “Where, Matty?” Angel mumbles. “Where?” and I tell her, “We’ll go to the pine forest.”

  “That’s a terrible idea.” She raises her hand without thinking and drops a can of food. It rolls down the street.

  “Not so terrible.” I go after it. “You’ll see, Angel.”

  The cave and the gray rocks are still in my mind. I wish I knew how large that cave was. Suppose it isn’t even a cave, but only a jagged bunch of rocks with nowhere to sit inside?

  Still, we hurry down the street. The sun is hidden behind sullen gray clouds, and it’s so hot it’s hard to move.

  We look over our shoulders; we have to run, we have to hide. I can’t wait to reach the friendly arms of the pine trees.

  We turn left, taking the straight road toward that cool place with the cave.

  The trees are up ahead, that green fuzz that promises safety. I hitch up Sal’s food, the guitar over my shoulder, and run the last few feet. I show Angel the sandy path, our feet scattering pine needles.

  I’m in such a hurry that I take a wrong turn and the cave isn’t in front of us. I can’t even see gray rocks.

  “I’m lost.” I can hardly get the words out. “I can’t find…”

  I dump everything on the ground in front of me.

  “Slow down,” Angel says. “Take a few breaths. We’ll be all right.”

  She doesn’t mean it, though. I see her glance over her shoulder, even though I know the men unloading furniture are far behind us, and there’s no one nearby.

  I pick up our bundles, and we wander into grass that’s high as our knees and bends gently in the hot wind. Underneath, the ground is soft, and the pine trees surround us with thick branches.

  I feel safer here.

  Angel still doesn’t feel that. She zigzags ahead of me, dragging our things.

  But then she slows down, stops, out of breath, and I catch up to her. We sit at the edge of the field. Around us, noise begins. It’s the sound of frogs, so maybe we’re close to a pond. One frog begins, glunk, glunk, another chimes in, and then a third. Over our heads a bird flies up. “Talk to me, talk to me,” it seems to say.

  The sun comes out and plays over our eyes. We close them and yawn. We doze for a while, leaning against our bags.

  But later, the wind is stronger, flattening the tall grass. The birds are silent, and only the frogs continue their strange music.

  “We have to sleep somewhere tonight, really sleep,” Angel says.

  “Yes, you’re right. You’re always right,” I say, trying to make her smile.

  We leave our bags under a tree, careful to remember exactly where they are. Then we wander, and almost like a miracle, the trees and the narrow path begin to look familiar. “The cave is near.”

  She doesn’t answer. She’s fed up with the pines and the wind blowing through the grass.

  Maybe she’s even fed up with me.

  We duck under trees, the guitar still slung over my back, and there in front of us is a jumble of stones, almost hidden behind trees with uneven arms and bent trunks.

  I think of the bobcat, but I don’t tell Angel that the cave might be too small for us, or even that an animal might be living there.

  I switch on the flashlight. Its thin beam shines into a pair of dark eyes, a groundhog maybe, which lumbers away and disappears.

  “Wait here a minute,” I tell Angel.

  She slides down against a bare tree and closes her eyes.

  As terrible as all this is, I have to smile. I’m really in charge: the boss of the pine-tree world.

  Not Angel.

  She knows it. She’s not happy about it.

  We don’t go into the cave yet. I’m glad to put it off, and I think Angel is too. We spread our things around us: the guitar, Sal’s food, a can opener, bottles of water, of soda, spoons….

  “Where’s…?” I begin.

  “What?”

  “The quilt from the bed.”

  I don’t say it’s the quilt Mami and Abuelita worked on at our table in the kitchen, probably sewing while I stood at the stove taking spoonfuls of rice from the pot.

  How could I have forgotten it? How could I leave it there for someone else?

  It’s the quilt they made for Julian.

  “I’m going back for it.”

  She shakes her head, then changes her mind. “Yes, we’ll need it.”

  She doesn’t offer to come with me, and I’m glad. I have to do this alone.

  The truck is gone; no one is around. But still, I move slowly, looking everywhere to be sure I’m alone. I dart across the yard, empty houses on each side of me, and go up the three steps to the door.

  It’s locked now.

  But maybe the kitchen window.

  I give it a push and it creaks up, I boost myself to straddle the sill, and then I’m inside. If people saw me now they’d be sure I’m a thief.

  I feel like one.

  I slide into the bedroom, passing a living room with a different couch, striped, cleaner than the one that was here before, a couple of chairs, tables, and a bookcase that’s filled with books.

  I can’t waste a moment. Whoever owns all this must be coming.

  The quilt isn’t in the bedroom. A pale blanket is spread across the bed. Have they taken Mami’s away in the truck with the old couch? If only I had remembered to take it!

  Back in the kitchen, I close the window. This time I go out the door.

  There’s a clean garbage can next to the bottom step. I open the lid. The picture of the lady with the bracelets looks up at me, and underneath…

  Mami and Abuelita’s red and yellow quilt!

  I pull it out, careful to keep it off the ground, rolling it up. I hug it to me, almost as if Mami and Abuelita are there beside me, and Julian too.

  And then I hurry back to the forest, to Angel, and the cave.

  It isn’t huge, it isn’t even big, but it’s enough for the two of us. At least, that’s what I think at first.

  We sit just inside under a rocky roof, wishing we’d taken the rest of the food we’d left in the cabinet; we listen to the plink of water dripping inside.

  It’s hot and humid, and the rocks are hard even with the quilt folded underneath us. In the distance I hear the roll of thunder. I think I’ve never felt worse.

  “Remember that first soup?” Angel says.

  I do. Then I sit up straight.

  Sal.

  “We can’t stay here in this heat,” Angel whispers, as
if someone might hear us. She pulls her hair up off her neck. “It’s worse than prison.”

  I stand up quickly and stumble over one of the bags. “I have to go back right away. Sal thinks I’m coming to help today.”

  I think of Miguel and the factory; I think of the fist-sized dent in the car door. I even think of taking the old woman’s broom. I’ve done so many things wrong! But I can’t let Sal down.

  “Just stay here, Angel,” I tell her. “I’ll come back when I can. I’ll give you the flashlight so you won’t be alone in the dark later.” I turn it on to show her.

  She looks furious. “You think I’m going to stay here? When you come back, I might be gone.”

  “Gone again?” I don’t say it nicely. At the same time I drop the flashlight. It rolls between us, lighting the floor of the cave, lighting…

  Something familiar?

  But there’s no time to go back and look.

  Angel’s face is flushed from the heat, and I feel sorry for her. “Listen. I’ll come back as soon as I finish work. We’ll figure something out.”

  She barely looks at me, but she nods, and then I crash through the trees. I’m a mess, with twigs in my hair, and my face probably filthy.

  I run along the streets, past the houses, along the avenue.

  How could I have forgotten?

  There’s a crack of lightning. I actually see it—an angry flash that zigzags across the sky, and a clap of thunder so loud it makes me jump.

  But the store is in front of me. Kids are coming out of school, so I’m not late after all.

  Inside, Sal is turned away from me, taking an order on the telephone, I guess.

  I rush into the little bathroom in back that’s filled with boxes and pails. I turn on the faucet and dunk my head in the sink to wet my hair, my face, and my neck. I wash with soap until my nails are clean. Then I shake the twigs out from the bottom of my shirt. I’m ready to work.

  I get the broom and sweep around the front, thinking of Miguel at the factory. The car I dented wasn’t his. Did he have to pay for it? Did he have to explain to the owner that two kids were playing ball with a piece of the motor?

  I can’t think about that now.

  I sweep harder, then lean the broom against the back wall. Sal waves at a few cartons. I know exactly what to do. I rip open those cartons, pile cans of dog food on the dog food shelf, canned peas on the vegetable shelf, and root beer in the refrigerator.

  There’s another flash of lightning; I look up waiting for the thunder…

  Which doesn’t come.

  Sal, at the counter now, wipes his hands on his apron. He’s glancing out too.

  “A storm,” I say, one of my new words.

  “No. Heat lightning.” He makes sure I understand, raising his arm in a zigzag motion. “Zzzzz,” he says.

  “Yes. Lightning.”

  He talks slowly, still using his arms. “If the lightning hits a tree…” He stops and waits for me to catch up as I mouth the words.

  “Boom!” he yells.

  I jump.

  “The tree explodes.”

  “Fire?” I ask, and he nods.

  I think of the pine forest, and Angel sitting in the cave.

  How soon until I go back? I look up at the clock.

  Sal sees me watching. “Take some food, Matty.” He points to the shelves. “Help yourself. Then go home. See you tomorrow?”

  I nod. “See you tomorrow.”

  I take water, oranges, and juice, things to quench our thirst on this hot day; then I make two sandwiches, rye bread with ham and cheese and mayonnaise dripping out the sides.

  Sal reaches out with money, but I shake my head. “Enough,” I say, pleased that I know that word.

  I rush back to Angel, glancing up at the sky. One cloud rolls over another and thunder rumbles in the distance.

  We sit at the edge of the cave, the quilt under us, munching on Sal’s sandwiches, not talking. We can’t stay here. Tonight is all right, maybe even tomorrow, but this isn’t a place to live.

  I think of everything I’ve done to find Julian: walking along the street looking for him, climbing the building, asking the women at the factory, even hoping there’d be a clue in the house we’ve just left. I can’t imagine one more place to search for him. And then I wonder: could I find that woman, Elena, and ask her?

  Next to me, Angel slurps down water and peels back the orange rind.

  “Matty?” she says.

  From her voice, I know she’s holding back tears. “I think about going back. Maybe I belong with my grandfather.” She brushes her cheeks. “I dreamed last night that I was in school, that I could read and write, that my grandfather was waiting for me at the gate in the afternoon, asking if I had a good day.”

  “Was it a happy dream?”

  “I don’t know. The dream was over before I found out. But maybe I do have to find out. We could stay here, just another day. I’ll keep learning words. But just a day, no more, even if I don’t go home.”

  “We have to look for another place,” I say.

  “But if I did go home, I’d tell my grandfather I can’t read. Maybe then he’d help.”

  She’s really thinking about it. I imagine crossing the border again, that terrible trip, but worse this time because I have to tell Mami and Abuelita and even Lucas that I didn’t find Julian, never even came close.

  Don’t think about it right this minute.

  I put my empty water bottle back in Sal’s bag. “Angel? I’m going to take a look in back of the cave.” I stand as a bolt of lightning streaks across the sky, the light flashing from one end of the horizon to the other.

  I take the flashlight. It really isn’t much of a cave. As I go in, the wall slopes on each side, the ceiling slants downward with a thin line of water pooling in one corner. I have to duck my head to walk farther.

  And then I see it! It’s so small it would be easy to miss: a splash of paint, a river of blue, a hint of a boy standing at the edge.

  I’m the boy.

  Julian is the artist.

  He’s been here, right where I’m standing, and I feel how close he must be.

  I put my fingers over the blue river, over the boy, and I hold back tears.

  I go out to Angel. “I think you’ll be happy in school,” I say. “But maybe not yet. Maybe you’ll wait a little longer, just until I find Julian. Because now I will. I know I will.”

  She stares up at the sky, and then at our poor things gathered around us. “I guess so.”

  So I take Mami’s quilt—the home quilt, I call it in my mind—and spread it out inside. I bring in the rest of the things and put them under the painting. All we have to do is wait for the next few hours when it will be dark, and hope for rain that will cool off the rest of the world.

  In the meantime, I tear off a piece of paper from Felipe’s notebook, which Angel and I share now, and begin to write; it’s just bits and pieces about what’s happened to me since I’ve been here. I search for a word to say what it was like to see that painting, to know that Julian is nearby.

  So I’m not going home.

  I’m going to keep looking.

  Tomorrow I’ll find the woman who owns that ghost building and ask her about Julian. Sal might know where she lives.

  I fill the paper in front of me now, half listening to Angel as she writes too, mumbling the words. I can hear the satisfaction in her voice.

  But the air feels strange, the light in the sky almost a neon green. An animal crashes through the trees nearby. Are we really safe here in this rocky cave?

  The next bolt of lightning and the thunder that follows are so close that the ground seems to vibrate. There’s another huge crack. It almost deafens me.

  Angel jumps to her feet, her paper floating away from her, and takes three steps out of the cave.

  I’m up too. I see a curl of smoke and a flash of fire bursting from the top of the highest tree nearby.

  The tree explodes, sending showers of s
parks up and out to cover the branches nearby.

  I push Angel back into the cave, but she grabs my arm. “We won’t be able to breathe,” she says. “We’ll have to run.”

  I glance back at the quilt, at the guitar; they’re lost. But that’s only the moment before we run. Hands covering our heads, we rush down the narrow path, feeling the heat of the fire behind us, mouths open to the smoke, coughing….

  We throw ourselves down at the edge of the road, gasping for breath.

  And I see…

  A truck comes to a stop, almost hitting the nearest tree. Three people jump out. Angel and I scramble out of the way as they pull a huge round hose off the back and attach it to a fire hydrant I didn’t notice.

  They pass us, and I realize that one of them is Elena, who owns the ghost building.

  I don’t know who the second is. A man.

  But the third…

  The third person…

  Brushes my head as he drags the hose, the water, coming now, gushing.

  It’s my brother.

  Julian.

  “Boys don’t cry,” Damian said once.

  “He’s wrong,” Abuelita told me, her voice fierce. “Good men cry because they care.”

  I’m glad she said that, because I’m crying, really crying, now.

  Angel thinks it’s about the fire. “It wasn’t your fault,” she keeps saying, her hands on my shoulders. “And those people will put it out.”

  I can’t answer. I stand there, not even trying to hide the tears. I grab her arm, shaking my head. I feel the tick of my heart, because I’m afraid now for Julian, and the other two, so close to the smoke and the fire.

  Over the flaming trees, water sprays in a thick arc, back and forth. Several branches split and crash to the ground. The heat is so fierce that Angel and I move across the street where several people have gathered, watching, pointing. No one seems to wonder about who we are, or care; they move over to make room for us.

  Flashes of lightning zigzag across the sky, one after another, and there’s a constant rumble of thunder. But finally, I feel it…