by Laura Resau
But slowing down for the animals meant my cousins had time to catch up, too. “Hey, wait for me!” Lalo shouted. He was just a couple years younger but still whined like a little kid when he felt left out. “Where are you going, Teo?”
“Nowhere,” I called back. I wanted to greet Esma and her people first, have them to myself for a bit. Soon enough they’d be mobbed.
Of course, Lalo followed me anyway, and then little red-faced Chucho caught up, too. When they caught sight of the caravan, Chucho yelled so loudly the entire village must have heard. “THE GYPSIES!”
For someone so small, he had a giant mouth. Within moments, children appeared like bees on sweet rolls. They ran ahead to the Rom, as I hurried my animals along. The adults soon abandoned their chores and followed, too, jostling past. I picked up Flash so he wouldn’t get stepped on. Thunder shot warning whistles at anyone too close to the goat—her own large, furred, four-legged baby.
Now the nervousness set in. What if Esma had changed? Gotten a new best friend for life? Forgotten about our fortune altogether? Or what if she needed to be saved? Could I do it? Maybe rescuing animals was practice for saving the Queen herself one day.
I continued down the dirt road, trying to calm my thudding heart. But even the morning birds were chirping with the thrill of the Rom coming. What would I say to Esma? She was just minutes away now, three more switchbacks down the road. I peered at the valley where the villagers had already reached her caravan. They were petting the horses, running their hands over the carved swirls of the wagons, reaching out to shake the Rom’s hands.
I was squinting, searching for Esma, when I noticed footsteps and the pungent smell of shoe polish. A rough voice said, “Hola, Nephew.” It was my uncle Paco, who’d recently returned from working for three years in Mexico City. The way he talked about it, you’d think he was mayor of that place.
He’d had a round paunch before but now was thin, almost caved-in looking, with bloodshot eyes. He claimed it was lack of sleep from the ruckus out here in the boondocks—roosters and crickets and dogs. Supposedly he’d gotten used to sleeping to the civilized sounds of buses and automobiles and streetcars out the window. Real glass windows, he was quick to point out. He rejected farm chores and spent most of the day polishing his shoes, which was another reason for not working—he didn’t want to dull the shine.
Thunder didn’t like him. When Uncle thumped me on my back—a little too hard—she spewed out a string of disapproving whistles. He gave a vague kick in her direction, which only served to sharpen her whistles to a shrill siren.
“Shh, Thunder,” I said. If Uncle didn’t calm down soon, she might bite his ankle. You didn’t want to get on Thunder’s bad side, especially when she was protecting her little family.
“So, Nephew,” he said, walking stiffly in his shiny shoes. They were so small and pointy, I had to wonder how he crammed his feet into them. “What’s all the fuss about?”
I answered softly. “The Rom are here. The Gypsies.”
He reeled. “You all permit them in our village?”
I blinked. Why wouldn’t we? “They’re our friends,” I said. “We welcome them.”
Uncle shook his head. “You all really are as ignorant as city folk say.”
My muscles tensed. Why had he even come back to the Hill of Dust, only to insult us?
“In the city, we scorn the Gypsies.” He spit on the ground, a yellow glob of phlegm. “They’re all dirty beggars. Sneaky, out to steal kids and every last centavo.”
I swallowed hard, wishing I could pick up the pace and leave Uncle behind, but then I’d also be leaving behind Spark and Thunder. I patted Flash as he wriggled around in my shirt, patches of black-and-white fur peeking out here and there.
“Well, Uncle,” I said finally. “I don’t know about the Rom in the city, but this caravan is good and honest. They show us movies in exchange for hats and baskets. And they tell our fortunes. You’ll see.”
“Right, and they pick your pockets while you’re busy watching. Or ransack the houses you leave empty. Now in the city …”
I blocked him out, tired of hearing about the wonders of the city—electricity, phones, radio, television. But it pained me to hear him insult my friend for life and her people. I racked my mind for an excuse to get away from him.
As I thought, I stroked Flash, who was creeping around my neck now, nibbling at my collar with sharp, tiny teeth.
Uncle stopped his ranting and said, “Is that a skunk on your neck?”
I gave him a bewildered look. “You’ve never noticed Flash before?” But as I said it, I realized that of course he hadn’t. He was so absorbed in his own complaints, he barely noticed the goings-on of daily life around him. “Yes,” I said. “He’s a skunk. Only three legs, but he manages.”
Unaware that Flash’s stink glands were no longer intact, Uncle took a step away and wavered there, watching my skunk warily and muttering about backward villagers like me.
Thunder took advantage of his distraction to waddle over to Uncle’s left shoe and let out a goopy, greenish-yellow stream of poo on the freshly polished leather.
She half-flew, half-waddled away before he could kick her. She sat at the edge of the road, fluffing her tail feathers, indignant, watching Uncle’s reaction from the corner of her eye. He was livid, jumping around and cursing, and finally stormed off toward our home, probably to spend the morning removing every last trace of duck poo from his precious shoe. Once he disappeared around the bend, a satisfied Thunder strutted back to my side.
Through the mesquite leaves, a breeze rippled, like the light sound of Lucita laughing at my duck’s antics. Grateful that Thunder had freed me of Uncle, I rounded the last curve and found myself at the edge of the crowd swarming the Rom—practically the entire village. This time, everyone greeted our visitors warmly, eager for the wonders they’d brought. My people spoke with the Rom in broken Spanish, asking what they’d seen in their travels over the past year.
I breathed in the rich horse smells, the scents of amber tea and fringed carpets and far-off lands that clung to the wagons. The acrid scent of the Duke’s onions cut through the dusty haze. My eyes lingered on the wagons’ golden spirals, the deep red and turquoise flowers, all of it more ornate than even the gilded, angel-speckled ceiling of our village cathedral. I tried to glimpse inside one of the wagons, through the blue curtains, but it was too dark and stayed hidden in mystery.
Searching for Esma, I wove through the throng, eyes skimming over the flower-clad boria with babies strapped to their backs. There were Da and Ga, whose hair had sprouted out in waves, like agave leaves. There were the men with gold jewelry sparkling in the sun. There was the nose of Roza, Mistress of Destiny, twitching and dancing with delight over her pipe. And there was the Duke’s mustache, prancing around as he smiled and laughed and munched his onion. The warmth of familiarity filled me, and I hugged Flash tightly as I took it all in.
Finally, I spotted Esma. She looked the same as I remembered, only taller, and with a different dress and scarf—all royal ruby reds, poppies and roses and dahlias. And more necklaces of beads and shells and coins; it looked like a thousand jewels had spilled from a treasure chest hidden beneath her scarf.
On seeing me, a smile lit up her face like a sunrise, more dazzling than in my memories. On her hip, she held Ba, who sputtered off words in Romani, his sounds now broadened beyond ba.
As she set him down and loped toward me, I drank her in like a glimmering red glass of agua de jamaica. She came close, and for a moment I thought she’d throw her arms around me. But she said, “My friend for life! I missed you!”
I nodded, overcome with the miracle of Esma in front of me, in the flesh. This was the moment I’d dreamed of all year. She stood so close I could smell the spice of her breath—cinnamon and sweet tea and unknown scents.
“Me, too,” I whispered. And then I added with a shy smile, “Queen Esma.”
She stared at me for a while, a huge grin on
her face, and I tried to look back but it was too much, like looking at the sun. “Your eyelashes grew,” she observed.
I blushed, stared at my feet.
She spotted Thunder, who was prissily preening herself. “Your duck grew up! And look at your new little creatures!” She petted Spark’s soft ears, watching Flash wriggle in my arms. Then she took Ba’s hand and smoothed it over the silk of Spark’s fur, murmuring something in Romani.
Then, like a dark shadow, her stepmother closed in, frowned, and snatched up Ba. She bonked Esma’s head and dragged her away by her elbow.
I sighed. That was one thing that hadn’t changed.
With her other hand, Esma waved vigorously. “See you tonight, Teo!” she called back. “I have a surprise!”
As the projector beam illuminated moths and bats, I knelt on the dusty ground with Spark’s head in my lap. Thunder settled at my side, her beak resting drowsily on my knee. In front of me, Flash played with a bit of string, pouncing on it like a cat. When he got too rowdy, Thunder let out a grumpy barrage of whistles.
I kept glancing over my shoulder, searching for Esma, wondering what her surprise could be.
Excitement hung in the plaza like electricity, even more so than last year. Most everyone on the Hill of Dust had been looking forward to this day all year. As the Duke and his sons fiddled with the projector, spooling spirals of film, nearly all of my village sat on the edge of our little wooden chairs. In eager voices, people speculated on what this new movie might be, and mused over questions they’d ask tomorrow at the fortune-telling.
My cousins Lalo and Chucho insisted on sitting beside me, vying for a prime place to rub Spark’s ears. Nearby sat Aunt Perla and her new husband and my other aunts and uncles and cousins, each with freshly woven hats on their laps. My mother was at home, as usual, shrouded in her shawl, huddled over her cardboard box of treasures.
This was something new she’d started this past year. She’d place the worn box on her lap like a baby, then carefully pick up a necklace, admire it, put it back. Next, she’d choose a fancy spoon, which she’d admire, then tenderly set down. And on it went with a silver candlestick, a tin box, a picture frame, gold earrings, and a random smattering of other shiny possessions. Grandfather suspected my mother deemed it safer to love things she could keep protected in a box. He gave her healing teas and did cleansing ceremonies for her, but she only cared about the contents of her box.
And Grandfather, he rarely left home now, claiming he wanted to keep an eye on my mother and the animals. But there was more to it. I tried not to notice how just crossing the courtyard left him breathless and limping.
The movie started, and everyone hushed. When the star actress came on-screen, I gasped. A stab of recognition shot through me. Those heart-shaped lips, those impossibly long, curved eyebrows, that soft, dark cloud of wavy hair. The sight made my legs quake, my stomach churn, a cold panic grip me.
This was Maestra María, the teacher I’d had during my stint in first grade. Or at least the spitting image of her.
Six years earlier, on that first morning of school, I’d thought, Oh, how beautiful! But before the first lesson was over, I’d witnessed the evil hidden beneath all that beauty. And by the afternoon, I’d fallen victim to her wrath, and trudged home in tears. It had been the same day after day: One of us students offended her somehow. In retaliation, Maestra María would raise a long, curved eyebrow like the bow of an arrow, just before her attack. Her weapon of choice was not an arrow but a wooden ruler, an innocent tool until you saw how ruthlessly she wielded it. To this day, her memory struck an instinctive fear, a reflex to cower and flee. I suspected a gaping hole where her heart was supposed to be.
Wincing, I forced myself to watch the film, noting that this actress wasn’t quite identical to Maestra María. I was somewhat reassured by the slight difference in nose length and chin width and curve of her shoulders. Yes, it must have been a different woman altogether, but she proved just as heartless, and moved her eyebrows in a similarly vicious manner.
La Mujer Sin Alma—the Woman Without a Soul—the Heartless Woman. This was the name of the movie and the main character. She was a beautiful and evil lady who made rich men fall in love with her. Compared to my teacher, she was sneakier with her evildoing, and targeted grown men rather than innocent children, yet both she and Maestra María lacked a soul.
Afterward, everyone was still shivering and marveling over the horrid, gorgeous movie star—whose real name, someone said, was María Félix. Another María, I noted. Although, in fairness, half the women I knew had María as one of their names.
I was relieved when the movie ended. I liked the funny ones with songs and silly mustached men better. While the others were picking up their chairs and bidding each other good night, I spotted Esma at the edge of the cornfield. I hoped she would sing and play violin while her people packed up the film, as she had last year.
But no, she was standing there, staring at me. Silver eyes glittering, she motioned for me to join her. And she disappeared into the tall stalks.
Heart pounding, I stood up and strolled over to the milpa, as casually as I could with three animals at my heels. A bossy duck, three-legged skunk, and blind goat usually attract attention, but everyone else was still under the movie’s spell and didn’t notice me slip into the cornstalks.
A few rows back, I stumbled right into Esma. Embarrassed, I staggered backward.
With a grin, she grabbed my hand and steadied me. She led me deeper into the shadows of the field, where no one could hear or see us. Her hand was warm, and I could feel her lightning pass into my palm and spread through my body.
When she released my hand, I was breathing hard.
“Teo, my friend for life!”
“Esma, my queen,” I whispered, my voice soft beneath the crickets’ chorus.
She greeted my animals, cooing and fussing over them, and then stood up to smile at me. Her teeth glowed as white as a crescent moon.
I swallowed hard. “What’s your surprise?”
She pulled a small card from her pocket. “Look!”
I held it up, out of the shadows, against the sky. There were letters and swirls and stars. I could sound out a few short words, thanks to my time in school six years earlier. Of, the, a … words that didn’t tell me anything useful. “What does it say?”
Her shoulders fell. “You can’t read, Teo?”
I looked away, ashamed. “No.” And feeling the need to defend myself, I added, “Hardly anyone can read in my village. The kids work all day.” I didn’t say that the beautiful and evil Maestra María had terrified me—and most of the others who had dared go—into quitting school.
Esma tapped her finger to her chin. “Then we’ll have to find another way.”
“But what is it, Esma?”
“A business card.” Eyes flashing, she tossed a shell-laced braid over her shoulder. “See, Teo, one night my family was showing films near Mexico City, and I was singing and playing violin after the movie, just fooling around. I didn’t think anyone was paying attention. And when I stopped, a man and his wife came up to me, clapping.”
Esma’s eyes were wide as she spoke, her hands and arms making sweeping gestures, painting pictures of her words. After a dramatic pause, she continued. “Teo, the man was a music agent! He said I could be a star! A famous singer!”
I was speechless. Of course, I knew she could be a famous star. But it was something else altogether to hear about another person recognizing her talent. Someone who could make a difference in her life. I wanted to be the one to save her. Or at least help her.
This was her dream. Yet I remembered what it would mean for her—leaving her family forever. And for me—if she left her family and settled in the city, I’d probably never see her again. But she had to leave. If she stayed with her people, she’d have a life full of squash-head insults and bops to the head. I kept my thoughts to myself and said only, “That’s your dream.”
“Yes!
” Esma’s chin jutted out in that fierce way. “Then the Duke came over, and when the man asked him about training me for a professional career, he said, ‘Absolutely not’ and walked away. But the woman slipped me this card and whispered that if I ever decided to try, I could live with them until I made enough money to put me on my feet.”
Esma cradled the card against her cheek. “I was hoping you’d read it,” she said.
“Well,” I said, “we’ll find someone who can. My uncle just got back from working in Mexico City. Maybe he can read a little.”
She paused, shook her head. “I wanted you to teach me to read.”
I furrowed my eyebrows. She wanted my help, yet I couldn’t give it. “Why, Esma?”
She raised her arms, palms upward, as though channeling celestial light. “Reading is like lightning.”
I tilted my head. “Lightning?”
“Power, Teo. If I’m going to be out on my own in the gadjé world, I need to know how to read. So no one takes advantage of me.”
“Doesn’t anyone in your family know how to read?”
She shook her head, adamant. “My people don’t read, don’t approve of their kids reading. They say we’d become marime, part of the gadjé world.”
That word again, marime. Impure. My gaze fell to the ground, where Flash was nibbling on Spark’s ear. “Well, I can’t help you, Esma. I’m sorry.”
She looked at me wildly. “Nothing is impossible.”
Cringing inside, I thought of Maestra María, that terrible, elegant eyebrow arching upward.
“I know!” Esma said. “Why don’t you start going to school now? Then next year when I come back, you can teach me.”
I rubbed my temple, remembering Maestra María’s ruler, the sting, the hot, humiliating tears, the bruise that lasted days afterward. “But who would herd the goats and do my chores?”
“You’ll find a way.”
And then she dropped to the ground and held her palm out to Thunder, who crawled right into her lap. She started petting Spark, letting the goat nuzzle against her. She reached out to Flash, unafraid of the possibility of stink.