by Laura Resau
I lie in my hammock, alone, swinging slowly, listening to the waves, watching the stars. It’s late, close to midnight, nearly the end of August second. A year and a day after the handfasting in France. This is the day Wendell and I promised to meet if we want to stay together.
He’s been gone nearly two months. With every phone conversation and text, I’ve felt our paths diverging farther and farther. He’s caught up with new friends, classes, ideas. Hey Z! Gotta run! More later …, and the later becomes later and later. And there’s not more, but less.
But it’s not just him. I’ve become absorbed in life here, helping with the cabanas, meeting new guests, hanging out with my cousins and the other bolibolistas, filling up more jade notebooks. It’s the same on my side—Busy now, W! Love you! Thinking about you.…
And I am thinking about him. But mostly just during the quiet times, and those are few and far between. Sometimes a fleeting sadness overwhelms me unexpectedly, like a wave sneaking up on me from behind. The tears come, and I hold on to that feeling from the jungle, the moment I believed in with my whole heart. The moment I still believe in, even now that our handfasting anniversary has almost come and gone.
I push the ground with my toe, giving the hammock a fresh swing, and soak in the expanse of stars. Suddenly, it seems unbearably sad that we picked the perfect spot for the handfasting, yet at midnight, it will be empty.
I sit up. I’ll go alone. It will be just me and the sea turtles, but I’ll be there. I peek at the clock by my bed. Eleven o’clock. There’s still time. I grab a light shawl and head through the jungle toward Playa Mermejita. Emerging from the trees, I see the beach gloriously full of small olive ridley turtles—this season’s species—inching up the beach, at various stages of their journey. I breathe in the salty air, wishing Wendell were here to see this.
As I weave around the turtles, careful not to disturb their nests, I ponder their journey, the same one their grandmothers took. This beach is a constant in their lives, over so many generations. This beach, in some way, defies the limits of time.
The moon is nearly full, illuminating the waves, the surf, the determined mass of little shells moving up the beach. I find the spot near the giant log of driftwood where, many months ago, Wendell suggested we renew our handfasting. I sit down on the sand, hugging my knees, grateful for the company of turtles. I wonder if they understand that this journey is just one of many in their lives, in the lives of their ancestors, the lives of their descendants. I wonder if they grasp this miracle.
Gradually, I sense another presence on the beach. A human presence. Someone is walking toward me, skirting the surf. I watch the figure draw closer and closer. The moonlight bathes him, almost ghostlike. A visitor from my past, or maybe my future, slipping into the present.
“Wendell?” I call.
“Zeeta,” he calls back.
“You came,” I say, my voice breaking.
And now he’s here, at our spot, our handfasting spot, and I’m staring at him, wondering if he’s real. He leans in, kisses me, wraps his arms around me. “Of course I came.”
I want to explain to him what I was just thinking—about the turtles, about so many journeys, about glimpsing the sum of all the journeys in our lives. Instead, I kiss him, until he pulls away, sits in front of me on the sand, his eyes on mine.
“Zeeta,” he murmurs. “I could only come for the weekend. But I needed to tell you something. A vision I had.”
I close my eyes for a long moment. I’m not ready for more danger. Not after all we’ve been through. “What is it?” I ask under my breath.
“Something I saw while I was stranded in the ocean. When I thought I was about to die.” He pauses, his eyes growing shiny.
My muscles taut, I reach out and take his hand. “What did you see?”
“I saw you and me, Z. Together. You—you had white hair, and wrinkles, but the same eyes. I could tell it was you. You were crouched down, digging in a garden, planting flowers or something, and you looked up at me and smiled.” His voice cracks; his eyes fill with tears. “The way you looked at me—you knew me better than anyone in the world.” He swallows, cups my face with his hand. “We’ll be together at the end of it all, Z. I don’t know how we’ll get there, but we’ll be together.”
And that’s when, finally, I trust, deep in my bones, that I can let him go completely. He can go to the far reaches of the sea—or wherever life takes him—but he’ll come back. We sit, hand in hand, the miracles of turtles and waves and sky and stars and a zillion grains of sand surrounding us, things you can never quite grasp, things of infinite beauty, pathless mystery, things that are rough yet smooth, simple yet complex, things without end.
GLOSSARY AND PRONUNCIATION GUIDE
Since Mexican Spanish has sounds that don’t exist in English, this pronunciation guide is an approximation. Note that the Mexican v is often pronounced as a soft b. The -o/-a ending indicates masculine and feminine genders, respectively.
abarrotes ah-bah-RROH-tays groceries
abuelitos ah-bway-LEE-tohs grandparents
adelante ah-day-LAHN-tay go ahead
agua de espanto AH-gwa day ays-PAHN-toh “fright water” (a Oaxacan medicinal herbal brew)
agua de horchata AH-gwa day or-CHAH-tah cinnamon-rice water
agua de jamaíca AH-gwa day hah-MY-kah hibiscus water
agua de papaya AH-gwa day pah-PY-ah papaya water
agua de sandía AH-gwa day sahn-DEE-ah watermelon water
agua de tamarindo AH-gwa day tah-mah-REEN-doh tamarind water
amate ah-MAH-tay a kind of tree bark
aquí ah-KEE here
así es ah-SEE ays that’s how it is
ayúdenme ah-YOO-dayn-may help me
bien padre bee-AYN PAH-dray really cool (slang)
bolibolístas boh-lee-boh-LEE-stahs volleyball players
bruja BROO-hah witch
buena suerte BWAY-nah SWAYRR-tay good luck
buenas tardes BWAY-nahs TAHRR-days good afternoon
buenos días BWAY-nohs DEE-ahs good day/good morning
cabaña cah-BAHN-ya cabin
cacao cah-CAH-oh cocoa
cariño cah-REEN-yoh affection
carnicería carr-nee-say-REE-ah butcher shop
Castillos cahs-TEE-ohs last name; literally “castles”
chavos CHAH-vohs guys
chicos CHEE-cohs kids; guys
chido/a CHEE-doh/dah cool (slang)
chiles rellenos CHEE-lays ray-AY-nohs stuffed peppers
chiquitito chee-kee-TEE-toh very tiny
Chucho CHOO-choh nickname for Jesús
claro que sí CLAH-roh kay SEE of course
cochino coh-CHEE-noh pig
comal coh-MAHL clay plate for cooking
compañeros cohm-pahn-YAY-rohs buddies/friends/teammates
corren COH-rrayn run
cositas coh-SEE-tahs little things
Cruz KROOS last name, literally “cross”
de nada day NAH-dah it was nothing (a response to “thanks”)
dedo DAY-doh finger
dígame DEE-gah-may tell me
Don DOHN Mr./sir (respectful term)
Doña DOHN-yah Mrs. (respectful term)
empezemos aym-pay-SAY-mohs let’s begin
Ernestino ayrr-nays-TEE-noh male name
espérate ays-PAY-rah-tay wait (a command; informal address)
espérese ays-PAY-ray-say wait (a command; formal address)
Gatito gah-TEE-toh Kitty
Gerardo hay-RAHRR-doh male name
gracia GRAH-see-ah grace
gracias GRAH-see-ahs thanks
grandes amigos GRAHN-days ah-MEE-gohs good friends
Guadalupe gwah-dah-LOO-pay female name (after the famous Virgin, patron saint of Mexico)
güey WAY dude, man (slang)
hasta luego AHS-tah loo-WAY-goh see you later
hermano ayrr-MAH-noh brother
hola OH-lah hi
Horacio or-AH-see-oh male
name
huevos a la mexicana way-vohs ah lah may-hee-KAH-nah eggs scrambled with peppers, tomatoes, and onions
huipil WEE-peel traditional native tunic
incendio een-SAYN-dee-oh fire (in both Spanish and Portuguese)
Jesús hay-SOOS male name
José Luís hoh-SAY loo-EES male name
La Llorona lah yoh-ROH-nah The Weeping Woman (from Mexican folklore)
Lupita loo-PEE-tah nickname for Guadalupe
magia del mar MAH-hee-ya dayl MAHRR magic of the sea
mamá mah-MAH mom
maravilloso mah-rah-vee-OH-soh wonderful
Mazunte mah-SOON-tay small town/beach in Oaxaca, Mexico
Meche MAY-chay woman’s name, nickname for Mercedes
media naranja MAY-dee-ah nah-RAHN-hah literally “half-orange”;
slang for “better half,” romantic partner
mi amor mee ah-MOHRR my love
mija MEE-hah my daughter (contraction of “mi hija”)
mijo MEE-hoh my son (contraction of “mi hijo”)
mis hijos mees EE-hohs my children
mole MOH-lay traditional Mexican chocolate-chili sauce
molito moh-LEE-toh affectionate term for mole
muchacha moo-CHAH-chah young girl
muchachita moo-chah-CHEE-tah affectionate term for a young girl
muchachos moo-CHAH-chos kids, guys
música de rock MOO-see-kah day RROHK rock music
muy MOOY very
nada de turistas NAH-dah day too-REES-tahs no tourists
narcos NAHRR-kohs drug dealers (short for narcotraficantes)
oiga(n) OY-gah(n) hey; listen (formal/plural)
oye OH-yay hey; listen (informal, singular)
palapa pah-LAH-pah open-sided, rustic hut made of natural materials
papá pah-PAH dad
Pepe PAY-pay male name, nickname for José
pipian pee-pee-AHN Mexican sauce made with pumpkin seeds, corn, and chile
perdón payrr-DOHN pardon me
pescado a la plancha pays-CAH-doh ah lah PLAHN-cha grilled fish
picante pero sabroso pee-CAHN-tay PAY-roh sahb-ROH-soh spicy but delicious
pinche PEEN-chay damn
Playa Mermejita PLAH-yah mayrr-may-HEE-tah Mermejita Beach, a small beach in Oaxaca
pobrecita poh-bray-SEE-tah poor little thing
por favor pohrr fah-VOHRR Please
pozole poh-SOH-lay stew made from hominy (corn), pork, and chile
primo/a PREE-moh/mah Cousin
pues PWAYS well
Punta Cometa POON-tah coh-MAY-tah Comet Point
pura POO-rah only, just, pure
¿Qué me cuentas? KAY may KWAYN-tahs What’s up?
qué milagro KAY mee-LAH-groh what a miracle
¿Qué onda? KAY OHN-dah What’s up? (slang)
qué padre KAY PAH-dray how cool
que te vaya bien kay tay VAH-yah bee-AYN take care (literally, “may it go well with you”)
¿Quién es? kee-AYN ays Who is it?
quién sabe kee-AYN SAH-bay who knows
rápido RRAH-pee-doh Fast
Raúl rrah-OOL male name
Rogelio rroh-HAY-lee-oh male name
ruda RROO-dah rue—a strong-smelling herb used in Mexican spiritual cleansing rituals
Santy SAHN-tee male name, nickname for Santiago
sapo SAH-poh Toad
se devoran los intrusos say day-VOH-rahn lohs een-TROO-sohs trespassers will be devoured
se vende mole say VAYN-day MOH-lay mole for sale
señor sayn-YOHR sir/Mr.
señora sayn-YOH-rah ma’am/Mrs.
señorita sayn-yoh-REE-tah Miss
sí SEE yes
sobrina soh-BREE-nah niece
suavecito swah-vay-SEE-toh softly, gently
telenovela tay-lay-noh-VAY-lah soap opera
tengan cuidado TAYN-gahn coo-ee-DAH-doh be careful
territorio prohibido tay-rree-TOH-ree-oh proh-ee-BEE-doh forbidden territory
todo TOH-doh everything, all
tortillería tohrr-tee-yay-REE-ah tortilla shop
tranquilo trahn-KEE-loh calm, tranquil
vámonos VAH-moh-nohs let’s go
vato VAH-toh dude, guy, man (sometimes connoting a gang member)
verdad vayrr-DAHD Truth
Xochitl SOH-cheel female name
¿Ya ves? yah VAYS See?
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Although the locations in the book are real, I took some liberties with details of the landscape and building layout to fit the needs of the fictional story line. If you do visit Mazunte one day, have fun (it’s one of my favorite vacation spots), but don’t be surprised at the tweaking I did!
LAURA RESAU lived in Oaxaca, Mexico, for two years, teaching English and doing cultural anthropology research. When she is not traveling, she can be found at home in Colorado, writing in her silver trailer and enjoying life with her young son and husband. Laura’s time abroad also inspired her novels What the Moon Saw, available from Yearling, and Red Glass, The Queen of Water, Star in the Forest, The Indigo Notebook, and The Ruby Notebook, all available from Delacorte Press.