“Hi, Mrs. Castillo.”
“No, no. It’s Tía. Remember?” she said. Her hair was piled high on her head and she had little diamond barrettes fastened on top.
I nodded and smiled, “Tía.”
“Isn’t she bonita?” Tía said.
Mateo rolled his eyes. “Geez, Mom do you always have to be so embarrassing?”
The cicadas clicked and snapped their wings overhead and I suddenly wished I could grow wings and fly away.
Mateo turned to me. “I mean you are pretty, I guess, I mean—oh, never mind.” And with that he turned and walked toward the house.
Did he really think I was pretty?
Tía laughed and rolled her eyes. “I always embarrass him. I really don’t mean to. Maybe it’s just because he’s a teenager now. Does your mama embarrass you?”
I couldn’t think of Mom ever being so forward, but wanted to make Tía feel better, so I said, “Yeah. All the time.”
That night, I couldn’t sleep, so I sat at the desk in my room and wrote on my story cards.
Once there was an enchanted place where people rode the skies to listen for the wind’s voice. But the wind didn’t talk to them. One day a wandering girl arrived and heard the wind call out to her. It had a secret only she could hear.
The steady pulse of the night was settling in and I felt the weight of a star’s heavy gaze through one of the high windows in my bedroom. I looked at the baseball, now sitting on the little weathered desk. My bare feet felt cool against the Saltillo tile. “What should the secret be?”
I climbed on top of the desk and slowly pressed open one of the small overhead windows framing the stars and waited for the wind to tell me.
8
Unfinished Stories and Squished Tomatoes
“Don’t you like the calabacitas?” Nana asked as we shared lunch the next week on the long back porch.
I stared down at my plate and scrunched up my nose. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the squash and corn was too mushy to eat.
“I guess I’m just not used to them.”
“Sometimes it takes time to be comfortable with new things.”
Nana stood and walked across the lawn to the vegetable garden, her bright white dress sweeping the ground. In this light, she looked like an angel. I traced my fingers over the thread of the baseball in my lap. It felt good in my hands and for some reason made me feel closer to Dad. I found myself carrying it around wherever I went.
When she returned she set two tomatoes on the table. “These you will love.”
Nana sat back down and wiped the tomatoes with a napkin. She eyed the baseball in my lap. “Where did you get that?”
“I found it. It was my dad’s.”
Nana hesitated, her eyes searching my face. “He was a good man.”
I scooted to the edge of my seat. “Tell me about him. Like what did he like to eat and where did he grow up? How did he meet my mom?”
Relaxing into her chair, Nana smiled and spoke slowly. “He grew up in Albuquerque and loved my cooking. Actually he loved anything spicy.”
“Do I … am I like him at all?”
Nana nodded and folded her hands in her lap. “You remind me of him quite a bit. Now, try my tomates.”
“But I want to know more about him.”
Nana sliced the plumpest, largest tomato. “All stories are told in due time. Just like these needed time to grow on the vine until they were ripe.” The juice slid down the back of her thumb. “An unripe story is like an unripe tomato—no good at all.”
A tomato wedge slipped from Nana’s grasp and fell to the ground. She handed me a fresh wedge and I popped it into my mouth. Its tangy juices spread across my tongue and down my throat. It didn’t taste anything like the ones Mom bought at the grocery store.
Disappointment at another unfinished story welled up inside of me. I sighed and squished part of the tomato on the ground with my tennis shoe.
“Today I have much work to do, so I asked Mateo to take you around the village.”
“I can go by myself,” I said, staring down at the splattered tomato.
Nana laughed. “No, it is better to have a guide. He will take you to the center. It is the heart of the village, the people, and all of our ancestors before us.” She patted me on the shoulder.
An hour later, I got tired of waiting for Mateo to show up, so I went looking for him. I zigzagged down the hillside beyond the garden. When I found him, he was asleep in a hammock tied between two cottonwood trees. I tiptoed toward the trees hoping to scare him, but instead of rolling him from the hammock like I’d planned, I stood watching his still face. For a strange moment I imagined if my father looked this peaceful when he died—then I shook the thought from my head. Stepping back, I flinched as a twig crunched beneath my feet.
Mateo jumped and pitched off the hammock onto the dirt. I covered my mouth to hide my giggles.
He stood up, brushed the dirt from the front of his jeans, and glanced toward the house. “I … I … didn’t hear you. How long does it take you to eat lunch? I’ve been waiting an hour.”
“You mean sleeping?” I mumbled. I didn’t think he heard me because he clapped his hands together and said, “Ready?”
I nodded and we set off down the same narrow path I had explored on my first day at Nana’s. Mateo picked up a small twig and snapped off pieces bit by bit, tossing them to the ground as we walked.
“So … have you always lived here?” I asked.
“My whole life.” He stopped along the shaded path and raised an eyebrow. “How come you’ve never been here before?”
I shrugged. “My mom is working on her PhD and we’ve never had time, I guess.”
Mateo fell in step as we continued walking. “Your mom isn’t a curandera then?”
“A what?”
“You know, someone who heals people with herbs and stuff. People come from all over to see Nana.”
“Like magic healing?”
Mateo laughed. “I dunno. I just know it works.”
He nodded toward the baseball in my hand, changing the subject. “So you play?”
“I’ve played at school before but not on a real team or anything. Do you?”
“Only for fun.”
I tossed the ball up, but before I caught it, Mateo grabbed it from midair with one hand. “What’s this?” He pointed to the words scribbled across. “Looks like there’s some words missing.”
“I don’t know. I think my dad wrote it.”
He nodded like he understood.
“I figure maybe six or seven letters. And it has to be two words because you always need a subject and a verb and—”
Mateo cocked his head to one side and laughed. “What’re you; like an English teacher?” He tossed the ball back to me.
I caught it with both hands. “No, but everyone knows a sentence needs a subject and a verb. At least in California they do.”
He laughed—which I wasn’t expecting him to do. All the boys I knew back home would’ve gotten mad.
“Besides I’m a writer. I should know these things,” I said.
“What do you write about?”
I pitched the ball in the air and missed it coming down. Mateo jogged across the trail to pick it up.
“Whatever I think about. Like right now I’m working on a story about—” I stopped as I remembered the map. “I can’t tell you. Sorry.”
Mateo let that last part roll right over his shoulder and right off his back. He grinned and nodded like he remembered, too. “You should talk to Socorro about your stories.” Turning the baseball in his hand, he said, “Now we just have to figure out the verb and subject. “Hey, I know a verb. Race!”
And with that he took off running down the narrow path through the trees while I followed on his heels.
He ran fast, but I could run faster. I just needed more trail. Every time I tried to pass him, he’d cut left or right, blocking me. When the path widened, I saw my chance. My lungs
burned, but I called out, “Hey, Mateo!”
He threw a glance at me. I tossed the ball, just out of reach.
“Catch!”
When he slowed to catch it, I flew past him and headed for a row of brown adobe homes up ahead. Mateo stumbled to a stop beside me and bent over, pressing his hands to his knees and gasping between each word, “That … was … low.”
I pressed a hand to my aching side and laughed. “So was calling a race without warning.”
Mateo straightened, finally catching his breath, and held out the ball. “Geez. You’re fast!”
I grabbed it and smiled triumphantly.
Mateo grinned back and turned down a path between two adobe homes. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”
As we passed through the village, people sat in their open courtyards, waving hello. A dog and a goat loped across the street in front of us and the same little boy who’d spilled his ice cream cone called out to them to come back.
As we crossed the road I asked, “How big is the village?”
“You’re looking at it, unless you count people like us who don’t live at the center. Not many people live here now; most have left for the city.”
We turned left and made our way down another short block that looked the same as the one before. I imagined my dad stepping across these roads. Smiling and waving to the neighbors.
“Why do people move away?” I thought about Mom.
Mateo shrugged and grinned. “I don’t know, but I’m always going to have a house here. Even when I go away to hunt treasure. I know I’ll always come back. My dad says this is where our family is rooted.”
I felt a pang of envy that Mateo had roots. A place to call home. Maybe that’s why Mom always moved. She worried we might grow roots.
The scent of sweet bread filled the air. “How come the shops look like houses?”
Mateo tossed the baseball high into the air, and this time I caught it with one hand.
“Most of the stores are the front of someone’s house.”
He placed a hand on my arm, stopping me in front of a bright yellow gate with a sign above it that read Panadería in purple hand-painted letters. “This is my favorite one,” he said with a smile.
We made our way through a small courtyard, where pink geraniums hung over the sides of terracotta pots lining the walkway. Above the bright turquoise door was a small painted tile that read Mi casa es su casa.
Inside, warm scents of vanilla and cinnamon floated through the air. My mouth watered while we waited. Mateo grabbed a pink box from the counter and filled it with a dozen sweet breads.
My eyes grew wide and I wondered how he could eat it all. He must’ve read my mind because he turned to me and said, “To take home to Nana.”
Outside, Mateo handed me what looked like a taco sprinkled with sugar and sealed with braided edges. “It’s an empanada with apple filling inside.” He chomped his in half with one bite. His cheeks got so big I thought he’d have to spit some out just to swallow.
I took a small bite.
Mateo shook his head and swallowed. “No, no. You have to take a bigger bite to get the filling. Like this.” He pulled another from the box, tossed his head back and shoved half of it in his mouth.
With one deep breath I stuffed half the empanada in my mouth and let the warm apple filling ooze across my tongue. It was delicious.
Mateo laughed. “See? It’s good, huh?”
I nodded and smiled as best I could with my full mouth.
We passed a florist, a grocer, and several fruit stands. People strode through the village and smiled as we walked by. An old man with a walking stick tipped his straw hat and said, “Buenos días, Mateo.” By the time we reached the center square of the village I had polished off three empanadas.
“That’s the village church,” Mateo pointed toward the same church I had passed with Mr. Castillo.
The church stood at the east end, marking what Mateo said was the border of the village. More store fronts faced the plaza, where a blanket of green grew beneath a cluster of large cottonwood trees. We plopped onto the grass to cool off in the shade. I rolled the baseball across the grass to Mateo.
He leaned on his elbows and squinted into the sun streaming through the trees and stared at the ball closely. “So, do you believe in magic?” he rolled the ball back to me.
The grass felt cool beneath my hands. “What kind of magic? Like wishes and stuff?”
“Nah, more like stuff you can’t explain any other way. Like the way Socorro can see the future. Hey—” Mateo was distracted by something behind me. “Speaking of … look.” Mateo snapped upright.
I turned to where Mateo pointed. There in the distance Socorro glided up the stone steps into the church. “She looks pretty busy.”
I didn’t feel ready to talk to Socorro. Not about her hair and for sure not about my stories.
“Well, then let’s wait for her,” he said.
I felt trapped. If I said no, Mateo would think I wasn’t brave. I stood up and brushed the grass off my shorts. “I can’t.”
Mateo jumped up. “Why?”
Looking at my watch I sputtered, “I gotta go. My mom might call tonight.” It wasn’t a complete lie. She had said she’d try and call whenever she was near a phone. But she hadn’t called. What if she never did? What if the summer was forever? I remembered her words the night she spoke to Nana back in California: Do you think she’ll forgive me?
Mateo sighed. “Oh, well when do you want to go see her?”
I put my hands on my hips. “You don’t believe she’s going to call.”
“I didn’t say that.” He stepped back in surprise. “Why would you think that?”
“Well, she is. Tonight!” I scooped my ball from the grass and squeezed it until my knuckles turned white.
Mateo rested his hand on my shoulder. “Hey, are you okay?”
“You don’t even know me and I don’t want to go on your dumb treasure hunt!” I whipped around to make my way back to Nana’s.
Mateo followed on my heels. “Hey, wait up! I was just saying that maybe it’s a sign that Socorro showed up.” He lagged. “And my treasure hunt isn’t dumb!”
I left Mateo behind and ran back to Nana’s. I didn’t need him to like me. And what was so great about his treasure hunt anyway? I gripped the baseball. Why hadn’t Mom called?
A small breeze curled around my arm, urging me away from the path toward the river.
Bella, it said with a whisper.
“You have the wrong girl. My name is Izzy!”
Nana’s house glowed in the distance, and I pulled away from the wind before it passed overhead.
9
Tortillas are Like Life
The postcard arrived two days later. The picture on the front showed a waterfall swallowed up by the green jungle. A bright green-and-orange bird floated in the sky.
Dear Izzy,
The rain forest is amazing. I saw a baby croc and a spider monkey this morning. The quetzal birds are incredibly bright. They have bright green heads and crimson bodies (like the one on the front). Sometimes they look like they are suspended on strings in the sky. Did you see the full moon on Sunday night?
Love, Mom
It was strange and kind of comforting to think that even though Mom was far away we shared the same sun, moon, and stars. It surprised me she noticed the moon though. She was always too busy to pay attention to that sort of thing. One time, the moon was so fat and big I thought I could reach out and touch it from our apartment balcony. I called to Mom to come and see, but she just nodded with her face in a book and said, “Yes, isn’t it pretty?”
I traced my fingers over the picture of the waterfall. Why hadn’t she called? Didn’t she miss me at all? I had so much to tell her.
I sat at the desk to write her a letter.
Dear Mom,
I got your postcard and even though I can’t mail this to you, it makes me feel like I am talking to you. Are you having fun? So
metimes the wind talks to me. It wants me to follow it. What do you think it wants to tell me?
Beyond the high windows in the distance, a bright yellow hot air balloon floated by, tiny as a bumblebee.
“Izzy?” Nana called from the kitchen.
I stuffed the letter in the drawer and hurried toward the kitchen for my first tortilla-making lesson.
As I dashed around the corner toward the kitchen, I slammed my forehead right into the top of the doorframe. Wham! I rubbed my aching head. Nana’s hundred-year-old house had narrow, short doorways designed to slow enemy attacks during times of war. Plus it helped hold the heat and cool in, but I liked the battle reason better.
Nana laughed. “I can always hear you coming, Izzy. When will you learn to slow down and duck?”
The doorways sure would’ve been great protection against tall enemies. But Nana, with her four-foot-eleven-inch frame, had no problems walking through them, while I had a throbbing head.
In the kitchen, sunlight bounced across the walls, and the soothing scent of cranberry and lavender filled the air. Just walking into this room made me feel good, like lying in the warm sun and squishing my toes into soft sand.
“Are you ready, mija?”
“Yep.”
“Then wash your hands and make sure to say the Hail Mary tres times to get all the germs off.”
Suddenly, my throat throbbed like I’d swallowed a baseball. “But I don’t know it.”
Nana raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know the Hail Mary? Didn’t your mama ever take you to church?”
I shook my head, feeling small and stupid.
She took a deep breath. “We can say it together.” As I washed, Nana recited the words, “Hail Mary, full of grace …”
By the third time, I had memorized the last bit of the prayer. Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.
Nana wrapped a worn yellow apron around my waist and gave me a squeeze.
“Now, first thing to know is that tortilla making is a lost art, but you don’t ever want to buy tortillas from the store, mija,” she said. “They taste like rubber.”
Nana pinned her hair up on her head with a pencil. “And the second thing is that tortillas are like life. It is best to keep it simple. For tortillas we need only white flour, lard, and hot water.”
Tortilla Sun Page 4