Tortilla Sun

by Jennifer Cervantes

  She grabbed a blank card, and with her tongue sticking out one side of her mouth she wrote: Flyeng Princis. Then, she handed me the card. “As a reminder case you forget.”

  I tugged on one of her braids gently. “I won’t forget, but Mateo is waiting for our treasure hunt.” And to finally show me the map. “You ready?”

  I grabbed my canvas bag, which I’d filled with tortillas, and darted outside.

  Outside, Frida raced ahead, stopping every so often to sniff the ground as if she were hunting for clues. As planned, we met Mateo by the hammock, then followed the dirt-lined path through the trees. My bag bounced against my hip, my ball tucked safely inside.

  Mateo walked in front, clutching the map. “Pancho Villa was a famous bandit from Mexico who robbed a U.S. Army wagon and hid the treasure somewhere near here.”

  “Mateo, how do you know about the treasure?” Maggie asked, walking behind us.

  “Well, my father told me, and his father told him.”

  “Why do you think no one has found it?” I asked.

  Mateo put his arm around my shoulders. He leaned into my ear and whispered, “Because ghosts guard the treasure.”

  I allowed him to linger for a moment before I pulled away.

  “The legend says that Pancho Villa killed his guards and threw them in with the treasure so that it would be guarded forever,” he continued.

  “Are they gonna get me, Izzy?” Maggie ran to me and put her arm around my waist.

  I gave Mateo a dirty look. “No. Don’t be silly. Ghosts can’t hurt you, Maggie.”

  Mateo patted the top of Maggie’s head, “No one will get you. I’m the one who’s going to go after it.” He gave me a crooked smile. “I heard someone found where the treasure’s buried, but was too afraid of the ghosts to uncover it. He was the one who made the map. My great grandfather won it from him in a poker match.”

  Putting out my hand expectantly I said, “So a deal’s a deal. I proved I’m brave, so, show me the map.”

  Mateo hesitated, but then, head bent low, handed me the map. “For you, brave Izzy.”

  I stood straight and winked at Maggie as I took it. It was a wrinkled, brown paper, torn at the edges. It looked more like a small wadded-up lunch sack than a treasure map. Mateo stood over my shoulder as I scanned the words and childlike drawings. In the upper-right corner was a compass rose pointing in the four directions. At the center of the map were five squiggle lines, a hand drawing of three trees to the east of the squiggles, mountains above the trees, and a big X next to a cluster of bushes. At the bottom of the map were these barely legible words scribbled in cursive:

  There you must soar with fire, to see the treasure you desire.

  I held the map up to the sun that was peeking out from behind silvery clouds.

  “Does it make any sense to you?” Mateo asked. “I know it’s to the east of the river. But what do you think those words mean?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said.

  Mateo kicked at the dirt. “There must be something I’m missing.”

  “Well the X is near a bunch of bushes, we know that, right?” I said.

  Mateo huffed and leaned in closer. He smelled of soap and water.

  “I want to help.” Maggie reached for the map but Mateo pulled it from me before she could touch it.

  Maggie’s bottom lip quivered and I shot Mateo a look that said, give it back, or else. “No one ever said she couldn’t see it, just not touch it, right?” I asked.

  Mateo reluctantly handed it over. Maggie smiled and stepped closer, gazing at the treasure map. “Hey, they can’t write very good.”

  “Who can’t?” Mateo asked.

  “Whoever drawed this. That’s a backwards B.” She pointed to the small cluster of bushes. “It’s supposed to be one line up and two loops to the right.” She sang the words. “That’s what my teacher teached me.”

  Mateo swept Maggie into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “You’re a genius. That’s it. Now we just have to find a bunch of bushes shaped like a B.”

  I scanned the thicket of trees and bushes. “You know how many bushes there are around here?” I said.

  Frida licked her paws, seemingly bored with all our talk of treasure maps and letters.

  “I’m hungry.” Maggie said as she took a pile of treats from her pocket. Frida stood on her hind legs and waited for Maggie’s commands to sit, roll over, and shake. With each successful trick she gulped down a peanut butter treat.

  “Come on. Where’s your adventurous spirit?” Mateo raised his eyebrows at Maggie.

  Maggie rubbed her stomach. “Mine’s eating my tummy.”

  I handed her and Mateo each a tortilla from my bag. He held it up to the sky for inspection. “Who made this? It sure doesn’t look like one of Nana’s tortillas.”

  “Well, then don’t eat it if you don’t like the way it looks.” I threw my head back and walked in front of him. “Can you make tortillas?”

  He laughed and jogged to catch up to me. “Is everyone from California as funny as you?”

  “Only about their treasure.”

  Bowing, he said, “And the brave Izzy can make a joke.”

  Suddenly, the wind swirled through the trees, whispering in my ear. Come.

  “I have an idea. I’ll walk south along the river, and try to find a cluster of bushes shaped like a B, and you can walk north. We’ll cover more ground that way,” I said quickly.

  Maggie grabbed my hand. “Will you be sad, Izzy, if I go with Mateo? I just think he can fight off ghosts better.”

  “It’s fine.” I breathed a sigh of relief, grateful to be alone to follow the wind.

  The wind had a raspy, impatient tone. Thirsty trees bent over the edge of the upper riverbank kissing the heads of white wildflowers sprouting near the sand. I imagined my mother as a little girl saving the fish and giggled to myself. Following the river downstream, I threw rocks and twigs along the way. The stretched-out clouds overhead cast long shadows across the water.

  In the distance, something white caught my eye. I stomped along a shaded path overgrown with woody branches until I reached a small wooden cross. It was surrounded by piles of red-and-white plastic roses. The wind twisted through a thicket of trees, finally settling into a faint breeze that stroked my cheek.

  Bella.

  “Why did you call me here? And why do you keep calling me ‘Bella’?”

  I knelt down and swept my fingertips across the top of the crooked cross. Was someone buried here? Why was there no name across the front? The breeze lingered, waiting to see what I might find.

  My heart beat to the rhythm of the pulsing river: quiet and steady. The gentle murmurs of the swaying trees, the gurgling river, and the faint breeze created a symphony of sounds that sang out, you belong here.

  I laid on my stomach and noticed something silver peeking from beneath the roses. Sweeping the flowers aside, I found a small metal box. The latch was locked.

  Maggie and Mateo’s voices came to me on the wind, and soon they were upon me.

  “Did you find anything?” Mateo asked. Small scraps of hope fell from his words.

  I held up the box. “This was here.” I sat back on my knees in front of the cross.

  “What’s inside?” Mateo said.

  I shrugged. “It’s locked.” I looked back to the cross. “Is this a grave?”

  “It’s a descanso,” Maggie said. “It’s for dead people.”

  I scooted away quickly.

  “Well, not exactly. It marks the place of someone’s death,” Mateo said.

  “Whose is it?” I asked.

  But in my heart I already knew the answer.

  19

  Bella and the Marshmallow Ghost

  When Maggie and I got home, the house smelled of fresh green chile enchiladas and chicken soup. I was happy to find Nana in the kitchen rolling out tortillas. Maybe things were finally getting back to the rhythm I had gotten used to—and liked.

  Maggie f
ell asleep in Nana’s room with Frida, so I hurried into the kitchen to talk to her alone.

  “Can I help you, Nana?”

  “Of course, mija.” Nana set a bowl of dough in front of me. I began to roll small balls and set each aside.

  Turn. Press. Roll. Turn. Press. Roll.

  One tortilla looked like it might turn out the way I wanted it to. But the harder I tried, the more it stuck to the counter, and before I knew it, it looked like the letter D.

  For death. Descanso. Dwell. I pushed the dough into a ball and rolled it across the counter. With a sigh I watched Nana press and roll with perfect rhythm.

  “I found something at the river today,” I said. “The wind called me there.”

  Nana turned back around to finish the dishes in the sink. “What did the wind say?” she asked as if it was the most normal thing in the world to talk to the wind.

  I took a deep breath and thought about my words carefully. “It led me to a white cross. Maggie called it a descanso.”

  “Come. Let us sit.” Nana led me to the living room and lit the candle in her Santa Maria altar. Silver medals and cards with Mary’s picture filled the space. In the back was a wood carved statue of Mary, like the ones I saw in church, with two plastic red roses laid at her feet.

  “A descanso is the marker of an interrupted journey. When life is cut short. I put it there,” Nana said.

  “My father’s,” I whispered.

  Nana nodded.

  A million whispers glided down my spine.

  Nana continued. “It is only a marker. It is part of our tradition to honor and celebrate the life of someone we love. I placed the marker there to honor him.”

  “Is that where he … drowned?” I asked as I watched the flickering candle wick burn so low I thought it might burn out.

  Nana rested her small hand on my leg. “Sí, mija.”

  I reached for my bag at the foot of the sofa and pulled the box out. “So this was his too?”

  Nana scanned the metal box and smiled. “I left it there for you. Your papa would want you to have it.”

  “But why didn’t you just give it to me?”

  “I knew you would find it when the time was right. It wasn’t up to me to decide.”

  I cradled the box as if it were a newborn baby. It felt light and hopeful. “It’s locked.”

  “Un momento.” Nana disappeared down the hallway, reappearing a few minutes later. She handed me a small silver key.

  As I stared at the key in the palm of my hand, I whispered, “Thank you.”

  Needing to be alone, I carried the box to Estrella and set it on the bed.

  I carefully inserted the key into the lock and unlocked the box. When the lid lifted, my eyes at last glimpsed the face I had searched for. A face like my own.

  Lifting the photo from the box, I studied his deep-set green eyes. My eyes. He squinted into the sun, his smile wide and welcoming. He stood on a baseball field with a bat swung over his left shoulder and a baseball in his right hand. My baseball!

  My breath quickened as I studied the picture closely. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t read the words written across the front of the ball in the photo. But one thing was certain, there were two words floating between because and magic.

  Beneath the photo was a small ivory note card. I opened the note; it was dated the week before I was born.

  How is our little girl doing? I can hardly wait to meet Bella.

  Did the wind have the right girl after all? I folded a corner of the card back and forth trying to make sense of it all before turning back to the note.

  Will be home soon.

  I love and miss you both.

  Jack.

  My head felt like it might float out the window, just like a marshmallow ghost.

  20

  The Shattered Truth

  Nana left a note on the kitchen table the next morning, telling me she was shopping in the village. She drew a smiley face and an arrow pointing to a plate of bacon-and-egg burritos.

  I grabbed one from the plate and strolled back to Estrella. When the phone rang, I expected Mateo or Nana’s voice.

  “Izzy?”

  “Mom?”

  She laughed on the other end. “I’m so happy I got you. The connection is awful here.”

  I didn’t know whether to be happy or mad. “I need to talk to you …”

  “I can’t wait to see you. Just a couple more weeks. Do you hear the rain?”

  Her voice reminded me how much I missed her.

  “Why couldn’t you tell me? About my name? About Dad?”

  Static.

  “Hello? Mom? Are you there?” I tapped and shook the phone. “Mom?”

  Silence.

  There was so much I wanted to ask, but reaching her seemed more impossible than sending a tortilla to the moon.

  “Izzy, help, help! I’m bleeding!” Maggie hollered.

  I hung up the phone and ran out to the living room, banging my head on the bedroom doorframe on my way out.

  “Let me see. Where?”

  Maggie leaned on the sofa crying. She opened her mouth wide. Blood oozed from her gums.

  I laughed. “It’s just a tooth. Is it loose?”

  She shook her head and cried some more. “No. I can taste it. I’m dying!”

  I walked her to the bathroom sink and let her spit a few times. “You aren’t dying. I promise. Do you want me to pull it out?”

  Her eyes widened. “My tooth? No, I want to keep it!”

  “But Maggie, it has to come out otherwise the new one can’t come in. And don’t you want the tooth fairy to visit you tonight?”

  “Fairy?”

  I nodded and she let me pull her front tooth.

  “Hey, it didn’t hurt,” she said with her new toothless smile. After she swished warm water around her mouth a few times she pushed her tongue through the hole and giggled. “It feels funny, slippery.” Then she turned to Frida. “Do I look any different?”

  Looking at Maggie with her missing tooth reminded me of that first day in our new apartment on M Street, the day I found the photo of myself as a six-year-old on the beach with Mom. The same day I found the baseball. Now it seemed so, so long ago.

  Frida stood on her hind legs as Maggie smiled down at her, and for a moment I thought she might bark.

  Maggie and I sat on the edge of my bed, planning a celebration for her lost tooth.

  “Can we have ice cream, Izzy?”

  “Of course. We’ll have a tea party with ice cream and sopaipillas.”

  Maggie squealed and hugged me. “Can we bring your glass sun? It would look so pretty hanging from the tree.”

  “Uh-uh. Socorro told me to leave it in the window.”

  Maggie reached up and took it from the east window where it had hung since the day at Socorro’s.

  “It’s so pretty though.”

  “I said no!”

  She glared back at me defiantly. “It’s just a piece of glass.” She stood up on the bed and held the truth catcher up to her face, giggling. “Everything is yellowy.”

  “Put it down.” I reached over to grab it from her. But she pulled back, and the truth catcher tumbled from her hands in slow motion like a giant snowflake twirling from the sky.

  It crashed to the Saltillo floor before I could catch it.

  I stared at the shattered pieces. The broken tiles all over the kitchen floor back on M Street flashed through my mind. “You broke it!”

  Maggie jumped off the bed and dropped to the ground, “Oh, I’m sorry, Izzy. I didn’t mean to.” She tried to pick up all the pieces. “Socorro might give you another one.”

  “No she won’t. It’s one of a kind.” Anger swelled inside. “Just leave me alone!”

  “But our celebration—”

  “Just forget it. There’s nothing to celebrate.”

  I gaped at all the broken pieces. Now I would never see what Socorro promised.

  Hours later, twisted feelings bounced in
side me, unsure where to land. I thought about all that Maggie had lost, and felt mad at myself for being so mean to her. Then the thought of my shattered truth catcher reminded me of all the pieces of stories Mom hadn’t told me about my father, and now my name, and I got angry all over again. But with each hour that passed, it was harder to apologize, so I just stayed mad and Maggie stayed in my room the rest of the afternoon.

  When Nana got home I was chomping down my third tortilla in the kitchen, hoping each one would make me feel better. I didn’t even bother to slather butter on this last one. Cold and plain did just fine.

  Nana set down an armload of brown paper grocery sacks. “Hola, Izzy. You all right?”

  Shaking my head, I picked at the brown spots on the tortilla and my stomach began to ache.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Maggie broke my truth catcher! The one Socorro gave me.” I blinked hard trying to keep my tears from falling. “Now I’ll never see the truth.” I buried my face into my folded arms on the table.

  Nana sat next to me and stroked my hair. “What truth would you like to see?”

  I didn’t answer for a long time. Then I raised my head and wiped under my eyes with my fingertips. “I don’t know. I’m just tired of it coming in pieces.” I leaned my elbow on the table and rested my head against my hand. “Like my name. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Nana smiled softly. “But I did. I gave you the key to the box.” She folded my half-eaten tortilla in half and pressed along the seam, but it didn’t split like the store-bought ones.

  “But what does it mean? Is my real name Bella?

  “This is a lot for you to think about. That is why it comes in pieces. You can better absorb it then.” Nana reached for my hand. “Your father and mother named you Bella before you were born,” she said softly.

  “Then, because of all that happened, your mother chose Isadora instead, which is also a beautiful name.”

  Was this last part supposed to make me feel better? I flicked a speck of tortilla from the table.

  “The name you are given is not as important as what you carry inside here.” She pressed her palm over her heart. “And that’s the truth. If you are meant to see another truth, you will.”

  “But how? Socorro gave me the truth catcher to show me the most important truth. And now that it’s broken I’ll never know.”