Across the courtyard, Mr. Castillo slowly pushed the gate open.
“Izzy, I wasn’t expecting you.” He tipped his hat back. “I hope I didn’t startle you.”
I smiled. “No. I was just thinking.”
He turned off the electric switch by the French doors. “I came by to check the pump on the fountain. Your nana says it isn’t working.” After pulling off the top tier of the fountain, he stuck his arm inside.
“Are you having a good time this summer?” he asked.
“Yeah, it’s really different from California.” Mr. Castillo seemed like the happiest and simplest person I’d ever met. It was easy being around him. I felt a tug of envy that Mateo had him for a father.
Mr. Castillo pulled a small black box from the fountain and held it up to the sky for inspection. His eyes shone like polished black stones.
“Oh, sí. The village is different from anywhere on Earth, I think. Perfect skies, perfect wind.”
The memory of our first visit in the truck flashed in my mind. People come from all over to ride these skies.
The wind would be stronger up high, like Mateo had said. I leapt from the chair. “Remember when you told me the village has a hot air balloon?”
He nodded.
“Do you think we could find it?”
He fiddled with the little black box and laughed. “You know, it got me thinking that day I met you how long it’s been since I rode the skies myself. I finally remembered where the balloon was stored.” He set the box back in the fountain and replaced the top. “I think it’s in the old chapel behind the church.”
I wrapped my arms around my waist to keep from quivering. “Could I see it?”
Mr. Castillo flipped the switch near the French doors and the water flowed from the top of the fountain, splashing over the sides. “Just needed to be cleared out is all.” Mr. Castillo smiled. “Can you go now?”
“Yes,” I said excitedly.
“We’d better head over before the sun sets. There isn’t any electricity out there.”
I hurried behind him out the gate.
Mr. Castillo parked his truck in back of the church and we walked together toward the chapel, crisscrossing down the rocky hill.
“This used to be the village church before the new one was built. Must be a hundred years old.”
A smaller version of the adobe church stood in a thicket of trees. Long fissures ran down the walls like cracks in the sun-dried ground after a rainstorm. Strands of straw poked out from the exposed adobe bricks.
“We didn’t have the heart to tear it down, so we use it for storage.” Mr. Castillo pushed open the dilapidated door, just barely hanging on its hinges, and we stepped inside.
The air was thick and musty. We zigzagged through piles of boxes, dusty toys, broken chairs, even an old doghouse. Each item or box was labeled with family names: Sanchez, Garcia, Solis. Toward the back of the shed was a tall stack of more boxes. We followed the streams of sunlight filtering through the small stained-glass window, bathing the dark corner in pink light.
“There it is,” Mr. Castillo said, like he’d found a long lost friend.
Specks of dust swirled in the sunlight above a huge basket that nearly came to my shoulder. I traced my fingers over the intricate weave. A strip of dark brown wicker poked out from the side.
“This is it. I’m going to fly the skies, to talk to the wind,” I whispered as I tucked the loose wicker strip back into place.
“You want to climb inside?” Mr. Castillo asked.
I nodded eagerly.
He lifted me into the basket.
“Hey, there’s some stuff in here.” I bent down to sift through a jacket, an old pair of shoes, and a white jersey. I held the jersey up to the early evening light. “What’s this?” I asked.
Mr. Castillo stepped back and cleared his throat. “I didn’t know anything was still in here.”
I glanced down at the jersey in my hands, and saw the name Reed stitched on the back.
“Was this my dad’s?”
Mr. Castillo nodded. “We flew together all the time.”
All this belonged to my dad? I turned the jersey around. Across the front, black letters trimmed in yellow read Pirates.
Mr. Castillo spoke softly. “He played in the pros.”
I pressed it against my body. “Dad was a professional baseball player?” I said, barely above a whisper. “Was he famous?”
“A star on the rise. You should’ve seen him smack a ball across center field.” Mr. Castillo swung an imaginary bat and gazed toward the stained-glass window.
I shook the dust from the jersey and held it to my face, breathing it in.
Still gazing out the window he said, “It was hard on all of us when he drowned in the river. But he saved your mama. If only I had been there that day….”
“Drowned? To save Mom?” I jumped over the edge of the basket, knocking over a stack of boxes nearby.
Mr. Castillo looked back at me suddenly and rubbed the back of his neck. His black almond eyes drooped with sadness. “Didn’t you … I thought … I’m sorry. You need to talk to your nana.”
Tears trembled in the corners of my eyes making everything blurry. I was tired of no one telling me the whole truth. I darted from the shed into the twilight.
“Izzy, wait! Let me drive you.” Mr. Castillo called after me.
Darkness was fast approaching, but I didn’t care. My feet hammered the earth. I sprinted past the church, through the plaza, and down the hills behind the adobes.
Why hadn’t Mom told me the truth?
The words echoed in my head all the way to Nana’s house. I gripped my dad’s jersey tighter as I made my way past the rose garden. When I reached the house, breathless, I threw open the back door, and shouted for Nana.
I found her in the living room folding towels. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I held up the jersey. “He drowned? Saving Mom?”
Nana stood up. A look of acceptance crossed her face. Had she known I would find his things? Was she only waiting for me to discover the missing pieces?
“Please, Izzy. Sit with me.”
I didn’t move.
“Please.” She motioned toward the sofa. I sat down next to her, clutching Dad’s jersey on my lap.
She traced over the hem of the jersey. “He was just twenty years old when the Pittsburgh Pirates recruited him. He’d only been in college for two years.”
A thousand fireworks went off in my head at once. Nana’s eyes glanced around the room as if she were looking for the right words. Then she turned to me and spoke slowly.
“Let me start at the beginning.” She smoothed her hand over the top of mine. “Your papa loved our culture and my cooking. He learned Spanish and wanted to build a house here in the village.” Nana shook her head. “Your mama got so mad when the doctors told her she couldn’t move with him to Pittsburgh after he’d been recruited. But he just traveled back and forth and said this was the best place on Earth to live.”
I released Nana’s hand. “Why couldn’t she move?”
“She had a few complications during the pregnancy and needed to stay in the care of her doctor in Albuquerque.”
“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.
12
The Secret Ingredient
“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.
13
Some Threads are Shorter than Others
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.”
Tortilla Sun Page 6