“Perdóneme, hija!” Maria’s cracked voice sounded again. Forgive me, daughter.
“She’s not talking about the men she’s killed, Elena.” Grady went to Elena and took her face in her hands. “Listen to me. So much of your story is true. What you’ve been told about Maria and her husband’s abuse is true. The stories all your grandmothers have passed down about the man’s violence, his brutal beatings, really happened. I could feel her fear of him, her panic as she ran with her children to the river.” She brushed a fresh tear from Elena’s cheek with her thumb. “But her husband didn’t kill them, sweetheart.”
“What?” Elena whispered.
Grady closed her eyes, the scene replaying again in her mind in spite of herself. She couldn’t tell Elena about the little boy’s frantic struggles as his mother peeled his hands off her arms and cast him into the river—a river deep and fast enough in those days to swallow a child whole. She couldn’t bear to relate the details of the infant, wound in its blanket, hurled into the swift current.
“She was convinced she was saving them, Elena. She believed her husband was coming to kill them all. But her mind was gone. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere near them. Maria drowned her two sons. Then she had a horrific moment of sanity and realized what she’d done.” Grady had to clench her teeth to get past the visceral anguish of that memory. “She followed her children into the river.”
“That can’t be.” Elena looked as dazed and vulnerable as if Grady had struck her physically. “That’s impossible. You didn’t understand her, Grady.”
“I’m sorry, honey. I did understand her.” Grady turned Elena toward the river. She stepped behind her and wrapped her arms around Elena’s waist, supporting her until she could stand on her own again. “Maria has never appeared to you, or to any of her daughters, because of her shame. She’s guilty of killing her children, and she couldn’t face you.”
Maria’s doomed eyes brimmed with tears as she gazed at Elena. “Perdóneme. Perdóneme, hija!” Grady realized these were the last words the woman had uttered in life, a despairing plea to the little girl watching her from the spindly branches of a juniper tree.
“Can you do this?” Grady’s lips moved in Elena’s hair. “Can you forgive her?”
“I d-don’t know.” Elena’s hands on Grady’s forearm were cold.
“She was so crazy, Elena. So very sick.”
“She murdered her sons.”
“Yes.”
La Llorona wept quietly, scrubbing her face with the backs of her hands, her thin shoulders quaking. The night was otherwise silent around them, the river so still it seemed nature itself had paused to await Elena’s decision.
“Your heart is strong enough for this,” Grady whispered into Elena’s hair. “I know it is. You think with your amazing heart, so follow it now. I believe in you.”
She heard Elena begin to pray. The words left her in a choked whisper. She sounded very much like the first Elena, who had sobbed in the same broken voice as the person she loved most in the world drowned her brothers. That small girl prayed for the soul of her mother. This Elena prayed for the grace to escape generations of conditioning in a single night. Finally, she quieted and rested the back of her head on Grady’s shoulder. “Tell her this, please.” Elena spoke the words in English, then Spanish, and Grady delivered her message.
“Grandmother. All my life, I have believed in the decency and goodness of your living spirit. Tonight, through the grace of my Goddess, I still do. I believe your madness blinded you. It tricked you. You never would have harmed your children, in your right mind.”
Maria lifted her head from her shaking hands, her face still anguished, but a pathetic hope began to dawn in her features.
“I will forgive you, Grandmother, and in my name, you will have the forgiveness of all your descendents. But my mercy comes with a price.” Elena lifted her head from Grady’s shoulder, and her voice was firm and clear. “You must never shed mortal blood again. The vengeance of La Llorona must end here, tonight.”
Maria stared at Elena, and with a disquieting twinge, Grady realized the undead murderess was finding the choice difficult. Maria was struggling with whether she could give up the dark pleasures of revenge, the joy of taking human life, in exchange for Elena’s forgiveness. Just as Grady was content to consign this diseased spirit to any eternal hell out there, Maria gave Elena a look of such heartbroken, loving maternity that Grady felt tears rise in her eyes.
“Sí, mi Elena.” The words were a rusty sigh lost on the light breeze coming off the river.“Buscaré hombres no más.”
Grady repeated the words.
“I will hunt men no more.” Elena pulled Grady’s arms tighter around her waist.
The River Walker smiled shyly at Elena. And then she continued her search, without ceremony or farewell. Grady watched the weak dregs of humanity left to the ghost fade from her pale features, until she looked only damned and insane again. The grim gray light around her pulsed with her sorrow.
“Dónde están mis niños?” Maria rasped. Her haunted gaze drifted up the riverbank, and her battered feet carried her slowly upstream. Grady held Elena tightly while her shrouded form dwindled and then was swallowed by the night.
Then Grady held Elena tightly for a long while after that. They were both trembling at first, and a few minutes passed before Elena released a deep sigh and turned in Grady’s arms.
“All those generations, Grady. My mother, my grandmother, every daughter in Maria’s line. We all believed our destiny was to prove her innocence.”
“And all Llorona ever wanted from you was your forgiveness.” Grady traced Elena’s brow with one finger. “Now you’re the daughter who granted her that blessing.”
“Yes. She carries such pain.” The moonlight revealed the tracks of tears on Elena’s face. “At least I was able to offer her that small comfort tonight.”
Grady held Elena’s face gently in her hands again. “Tonight, I’m hoping you can give me what you gave to Llorona.”
“Forgiveness?”
“Comfort.” Grady searched Elena’s features, needing to be sure this was right for them both. She waited until the lines of Elena’s body softened into welcome, and she knew to her core that she wasn’t alone in wanting this. She lowered her head and brushed her lips across Elena’s, then kissed her head-on, long and slow and deep. They managed to sink in tandem to the ground still in full liplock.
Making love on a historic riverbank was not as aesthetically erotic as Grady might have guessed, what with scratchy grass and tree roots and stony earth and so forth. But the kind of open eroticism that finally flowed between her and Elena didn’t require a luxurious bed, and it didn’t involve great carnal bombast. They touched each other with a gentle, sometimes clumsy fervor, and the sweetness of her hand cupping Elena’s full breast at last flooded Grady’s heart.
She couldn’t stop looking at Elena, as mesmerized by her eyes as by the sensual contours of her body. They explored each other with languid curiosity at first, then moved together with an increasing heat. The long warm night seemed endless, and their passion was sated and became sweetness again, slow and searching. They were learning a new dance, one that bridged two cultures, and each in turn was patient teacher and eager student. The sun was beginning to rise when they lay still.
It occurred to Grady that five hundred years ago, a little girl named Elena witnessed three horrific deaths from the branches of a juniper tree. This morning, dawn was breaking over a young woman of the same name, lying under the same kind of tree, asleep and safe in the arms of her lover. Grady did find a measure of comfort in that, a small hope that the universe would finally offer healing, if they were only patient enough.
Chapter Twenty-three
When the sun had finished showering gold light over the peaks of the Organs to the east, Elena stirred in Grady’s embrace, then gasped and sat up quickly.
“What?” Grady looked around, instantly on guard for bullying
thugs or supernatural mayhem.
“I think something bit me.” Elena pulled open the collar of her torn blouse and bared the cap of her left shoulder. Then she looked up at Grady.
“I know,” Grady whispered. “I don’t see it either.”
The small, red birthmark on the top of Elena’s shoulder was gone. Grady had brushed her lips against it more than once only hours ago, yet now the smooth, coffee-colored skin was clear.
Elena brushed two fingers over her shoulder. “My mother has a mark like mine, in the same place. So did her mother.”
“I’m thinking every woman in the pictures on your walls had a mark like that. Maybe all the way back to Maria herself.” Grady pulled the white cloth closed around Elena’s throat again; the morning air was chilly. “And I’ll bet Inez woke up a few seconds ago, just like you did, and hers is gone, too.”
“I bet you’re right.” Elena reached up and patted Grady’s cheek gently. “You surprise me, Grady. Tell me why you think so.”
“Well, dawn means last night is over. It’s the end of an era, isn’t it? Llorona told you she would ‘hunt men no more.’” Grady didn’t know where her certainty came from, but she was sure. “I think that birthmark was her promise to each of her daughters that she would protect them from violent men. The mark has disappeared because Llorona made a new promise last night. She’ll never kill again. You’re free of that violent legacy now.”
Elena gazed up at her, a mixture of wonder, fondness and amusement passing over her features. “Grady, you’re talking like me. Do you hear yourself?”
“I know.” Grady frowned. “Jesus, I hope I’m not still connected to that ghost—psychically, or whatever. I hope I’m not still…channeling her. Ish. Do you think?”
“No.” Elena’s palm slipped from her cheek and rested on Grady’s heart. “I believe you’re just learning to think from here, Professor Gringa. Finally.”
Grady smiled. Their kiss this time was smooth, even graceful, as if they’d been intimate for several lifetimes.
Elena sighed and sat up again. “Catholics drive me crazy.”
Grady found it an odd time to discuss comparative religion. “They drive you crazy in general, or a given Catholic in particular?”
Elena snickered. “Catholics drive me crazy because of their general fondness for early Saturday morning weddings.”
“Oh.” Grady checked the angle of the sun. The fact that Cesar and Sylvia were getting married in a very few hours had escaped her notice entirely. The prospect of a sedate church service seemed more than a little bizarre after a night of such extended ghostery.
“And yes, we must go,” Elena said sternly. “It’s a very special day for them.”
“I think we must, too.” Grady climbed to her feet stiffly, then helped Elena rise. “We need to let Inez know you’re all right. I should call Janice and let her know, too. I want to stop by my office, then find some clean clothes.” She brushed dead grass from Elena’s back solicitously. “Sheesh.”
“I know.” Elena wrapped her arm through Grady’s, and they started for her truck up on the frontage road. “Everything seems so simple, so ordinary, eh? Compared to the world we visited last night. I have to remind myself all the time never to forget how very thin the veils between worlds can be.”
“Last night was probably a one-shot deal for me.” Grady and Elena were both walking like senior citizens, leaning heavily on each other. “I doubt I’ll ever see a ghost again. I hope not. I don’t see how you can do this work, Elena, all this messing with spirits. My heart couldn’t take it.”
The truck started on the first attempt, as trucks are supposed to do. The drive back to Elena’s store was uneventful, unmemorable. Except for their clasped hands, resting on Grady’s knee. They both kept glancing down at their entwined fingers. They didn’t look at each other much, but Grady chanced a quick glimpse of Elena’s face, and she was smiling broadly.
She cranked the wheel and turned onto Elena’s short street, then she braked swiftly. A thin figure stood in the middle of the road, his shirt flapping open, his arms raised. Manny Herrera’s dark hair was matted and wild and his eyes were filled with tears. Grady heard him bawl Elena’s name again, and she reached for her door handle.
“No, let me, Grady.” Elena was already stepping out of the truck.
“Hey, wait. What if he’s not—”
“He looks alone to me.” Elena closed her door and peered in the open side window. “I promise not to barge in on the classes you teach, Dr. Gringa, and you must promise to sit back and let the spooky curandera do her job.” She grinned, patted the windowsill, then went to the shivering teen awaiting her in the street.
Grady kept her window down, unwilling to lower her guard. This kid had almost taken a noose to Elena last night. She could hear their voices, but most of their talk was in rapid-fire Spanish, so she got lost quickly. Luckily, their body language spoke volumes.
Manny was apologizing to Elena again and again, his hands clasped before him. He kept looking around furtively, afraid of pursuing vengeful ghosts, Grady surmised. Shorter than the boy by nearly half a foot, Elena shook a finger in his face and gave him the rough side of her tongue for a good five minutes. Manny kept nodding and apologizing, shifting from one foot to the other. Finally, he dropped to his knees and clenched Elena’s leg, but Elena sighed and hauled him to his feet again. She spoke more quietly to him then, straightening his shirt, brushing his tousled hair out of his eyes. She took Manny’s bandana out of his pocket, spat on it neatly, and used it to rub the sheen of dirt off his face.
“Gracias, Elena! Thank you, Elena!” Manny made half-bows as he backed away from her, obviously relieved.
“And you take good care of your abuela, Manuel!” Elena shook her finger again. “Every day, for the rest of her life.”
“I will. Thank you! I will, Elena.” Manny turned and ran down the far side of the street, then disappeared around a corner.
Elena sauntered back to the truck, looking pleased with herself. She leaned her arms on Grady’s open window. “There goes a boy who’s going to mind his curfew every night for the rest of his life. I told him there will be no more suicides, so word will probably spread all over Mesilla by noon.”
“You have a generous spirit, spooky curandera.” Grady wanted badly to plant a kiss on those full lips, but she remembered where they were. “You forgave him, just like that?”
“Well.” The dimple in Elena’s cheek deepened. “I figured I’m on a roll with the whole forgiveness thing.”
A distant, hoarse voice called, “Hey!”
Grady and Elena both craned toward the sound. Inez Montalvo was leaning out of her open window, scowling down at them.
“My birthmark is gone!” she yelled. “Get up here and tell me what you two crazy pendejas did last night!”
*
Three hours later, showered and properly attired, Grady walked beside Elena down the carpeted center aisle of San Albino Church. The nave was transformed with fresh flowers, and white satin ribbons bedecked the side of each pew. The seats were filled with murmuring guests, a nice turnout. She remembered Cesar and Sylvia were born in this valley, and it seemed their large families had many friends, both Hispanic and Anglo, apparently none of whom objected to rising this ungodly early on a Saturday morning.
But surely all of whom could not possibly have heard about the dramas, mundane and spiritual, that had played out by the Rio Grande the night before. Grady didn’t think she was being paranoid when she noticed an unusual number of heads turning as she and Elena were seated. Her senses prickled, ready to pick up the hostility and wariness Elena’s presence sometimes evoked in the people of Mesilla, but there was none of that energy here. She caught only timid smiles directed Elena’s way, even a few nods of welcome.
“Does news travel that fast in this town?” Grady leaned closer to Elena and spoke quietly. “If I’m not mistaken, they’re looking at you like you’re Gandhi.”
“Yo
u’re mistaken,” Elena whispered back. “They’re all ogling the cute atheist gringa sitting beside me. Oh, look, there’s Janice.”
Grady turned and spotted Janice hovering near the back of the church. She smoothed her blue skirt nervously with her hands, her gaze moving over the full pews. Grady looked at Elena and raised an eyebrow.
Elena smiled. “Of course.”
Grady rose, and when she caught Janice’s eye, she lifted her hand slightly in welcome. Janice seemed to sigh in relief, and she stepped carefully down the carpeted aisle to their pew. Elena patted the cushioned seat, and Janice settled beside her.
“Good morning, mi amiga.” Elena kissed Janice on the cheek. “You look beautiful today.”
“Not as beautiful as you. I’m so glad you’re all right.” Janice kept her voice low in the murmuring church. “Hello, Grady.”
“Hey, you. Thanks for your help last night.”
Janice smiled at her with shy fondness.
“Now hush,” Elena whispered. “Or we’ll all go to hell. It’s starting.”
All traces of weariness gone, Elena looked eager, as if they were watching the curtain rise on a well-loved play. Grady got it. Other cultures might celebrate rites with a dramatic flair, and other religions offered pomp and ceremony, but a traditional Catholic wedding truly engaged the human yearning for ritual.
A large woman in an elaborately ruffled dress walked demurely to the head of the nave, then faced the congregation. She sang the processional a capella, a sweetly formal old hymn delivered in a pleasing and reverent voice.
All the players in the pageant assembled, the priest, the couple, their many attendants. Cesar looked freshly scrubbed and handsome in his crisp Mexican wedding shirt. Sylvia glowed beneath the white lace mantilla covering her head and shoulders. The nuptial began, and Grady watched the draping of the long rosary over the couple’s wrists. Cesar gave his gift to his bride, thirteen coins in a silk scarf, a symbol of his trust and confidence in their bond.
River Walker Page 20