What the Moon Saw

by Laura Resau

  Back at the hole I knelt down. The rock face loomed above, about three stories high, with its curtain of vines dangling like growing-out bangs. On one of its jagged ledges, a white heron calmly watched us. I held perfectly still, watching the heron watching us. That was when I knew for sure that something big was happening.

  “Come down, Clara!” shouted Pedro.

  “Just for a minute,” I called. I felt the heron watching me as I dropped my backpack to Pedro and lowered myself. I felt solid rock under my toe and let my weight come down onto it. I sat on the damp stone and then slid down onto the floor. While my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I put on my backpack.

  We were in a small tunnel. Small enough that if I’d stood in the middle and stretched out my arms, my fingertips could have touched both sides. Water dripped down the rock walls. I reached my hands up and felt slick, wet stone just above my head. The sliminess made me pull my hands back quickly and wipe them on my jeans. A stream that looked about ankle-deep trickled down the middle of the tunnel.

  We headed downstream, sticking to the sides, where the rock floor sloped higher than the water’s surface. We made our way slowly along the edge of the tunnel with our sides pressed against the slimy walls. Pedro led with the light, and after a few steps, he reached back to take my hand. His hand was cold and wet. It didn’t give me the same tingly hot feeling as the last time we’d held hands, but at least it made me feel braver. The rushing sound grew louder and louder until I felt surrounded by it, inside an ocean of sound.

  Then the light went out. Absolute blackness.

  “Shake the flashlight a little,” I said. My stomach was already jumping around with panic. Hopefully the batteries had just lost contact for a moment.

  “What?”

  The sound of pounding water was so loud it swallowed up our words. “Shake the flashlight!” I yelled.

  Still no light. He handed the flashlight to me. I had to fumble in the dark to open it. I pushed down the batteries, screwed the top back on, and tried it again. Nothing.

  I moved closer to him and spoke right into his ear. “The batteries must be dead. Let’s go back!” I started to turn and tugged on his hand. Now the bad feeling was taking shape, becoming clearer. It was a dark cave feeling, blackness closing in. I thought of the goddess trapped in the steam bath.

  “Clara, wait! Do you see a light ahead?”

  A faint light came from a curve in the tunnel. Something was glowing beneath the surface of the stream. As we moved closer, it became clearer. It was sky—bits of sky, and vines, and leaves! Had we entered a different dimension, an upside-down land?

  Then I realized it was a reflection, moving on the surface of the water. It must be reflecting what was around the bend. I tightened my hand around Pedro’s and we kept going, following the curve. Another thing I was thankful for came to mind—that Pedro and I were exploring this place together, that it wasn’t my secret mission but our secret mission.

  How can I explain to you what we saw when we turned that bend?

  Imagine opening your closet one day, expecting the same dark, cramped space you see every day, and instead, being met with a humongous space full of light and water.

  The tunnel opened up into a giant chamber, higher than three houses piled on top of each other. On the left side of the chamber, at the top of a steep embankment, there was an opening—a dazzling window to the outside, where vines were hanging, and behind them, that crazy orange sky. A rushing sound filled the chamber and echoed off the walls.

  The stream emptied into a large pool in front of us. Other trickles of streams came out of the floor from under boulders and fed into the pool.

  Everything seemed huge. It felt as though we had entered a realm of giants. We climbed onto one of the boulders, and from here, we could see past the pool, where the cave sloped down sharply toward the right and narrowed into another tunnel. Water tumbled over the rocks, and white foam churned wildly. Pedro and I didn’t talk. We just tried to soak it all in, breathing in the spray and letting the mist coat our skin.

  After a while, I stuck the useless flashlight in my backpack and pulled out the mango. I peeled it and bit into its orange sweetness. I passed it to Pedro and we alternated taking bites.

  It felt enchanted here, and timeless, as though all the clocks in the world above could continue ticking and we’d sit here, forever. I looked at the vines whipping over the opening and remembered how it looked from the other side—the rock wall that rose like a skyscraper. From inside, the slope was gentler, but still steep—a slick embankment of rock and mud, dotted with a few shrubs and rocks. I wondered how high above the ground the opening appeared from the outside. The height of a house, maybe? It was the strangest feeling, seeing all this from the inside looking out. It made me wonder how many things I saw every day from the outside without knowing the inside.

  Pedro was looking up toward the light too. “Clara.”

  I had to move my ear close to his mouth to hear his voice over the pounding water.

  “Those are the same vines from that picture you sketched of me, aren’t they?” he asked.

  I nodded. “I had no idea what was behind them!”

  Our faces were close. “Good thing we found this before you left,” Pedro said.

  I did not want to think about leaving.

  “I had a dream last night that you left on the bus,” he said. “The bus was growing smaller and smaller, and I was left behind here. Everything seemed so empty. I thought I’d feel better if I played guitar, but when I tried to play, I could only do the fingers. I couldn’t strum. I couldn’t make any music. I wandered all over the mountains, looking for you to help me, but I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

  “I’m not leaving forever, Pedro,” I said. I handed him the mango.

  He took a bite and chewed slowly. A thin line of mango juice rolled down his chin and hung there.

  I reached my hand up and caught the drop as it fell.

  He held my hand there in midair, even though it was sticky with mango juice and slime from the tunnel. Like the last time, he began playing with my fingers, only now he looked up into my eyes.

  I let my face move toward his, first touching my lips to the spot on his chin with the mango juice, and then to his lips. It felt like smelling a flower.

  A crack of thunder made us jump. Lightning lit up the cavern.

  “The goats!” Pedro said.

  We pulled apart and I slung on my backpack while he lowered himself off the boulder. I slid off after him and we made our way back toward the tunnel. There was another boom of thunder, and then the rain began outside, whipping through the vines.

  We stumbled around the edge of the pool. The water seemed higher now. When we reached the place where the chamber narrowed into a tunnel, the stream was no longer a trickle. It had risen and widened, so now there was barely any room to walk along the edge without getting our feet wet. This time I led. I held Pedro’s hand behind me.

  The stream seemed to be rising by the second. Soon it covered our feet and skimmed our ankles, even though we were walking close to the wall. Now water dripped everywhere—down the walls, from overhead. I wished we could run, but with the stone beneath us so slippery, we had to take firm, careful steps. The darkness was so complete, I thought I would choke on it. I could barely tell the difference whether my eyes were open or closed.

  When we were halfway through the tunnel, Pedro gasped and dropped my hand.

  “What is it?” I groped around and found his shoulder.

  “I just touched something sharp, like broken glass,” he said.

  I could barely hear him. “How could there be glass here?” I asked with my mouth at his ear.

  “My arm!” He gasped again. “And my leg! Something’s stinging me, Clara!”

  It occurred to us at the same time. “Scorpions!” he yelled.

  I pulled him ahead.

  “There must be a nest of them, Clara!”

  I dragged him along and tried
not to slip on the slick stone. Now the water came up to our knees.

  “How do you feel?” I called back.

  “They stung me three times.” His voice was tight and strained.

  The flow of water felt stronger. It was pushing us back, and it became harder and harder to move against it. There was a flash of light ahead, followed by a crack of thunder.

  “Almost there, Pedro!”

  As we moved closer, I could make out the faint form of the triangular rock that we’d used as a stepladder. A few slivers of blue light shone down from above. I boosted Pedro onto the rock. I grabbed the top, found a crack to wedge my right foot into, and heaved myself up. Then I crouched on the rock and craned my neck and scanned the ceiling, trying to find the way out.

  Something was wrong.

  Where was the hole? It had been a big gap, at least two feet across.

  “This was the place, right, Pedro?”

  He didn’t answer. His breathing was shallow and fast, coming in little gasps.

  “Pedro!” I bent down and touched his face.

  “Yes,” he said, barely loud enough to hear.

  Three stings. Was that enough to kill a person?

  Suddenly I remembered the bundle of garlic and bars of chocolate in my backpack. My hands were shaking so much, it was hard to peel the garlic, but I did it and then gouged it with my fingernails to release the juice. I put it in his lap.

  “Rub this on your stings, Pedro.” I handed him the chocolate.

  “And eat this, all of it, okay?” I put my hand to his cheek and felt him nod.

  I stood up again, trying to feel the hole. I did feel a small gap, no wider than my hand, but something hard and rough scraped my fingers. The bark of a tree. It must have been knocked down by the wind, or maybe struck by lightning. I pushed and pushed, but it wouldn’t budge. My feet nearly slipped out from under me as I tried to find something to brace myself against.

  “Pedro! A tree fell over the hole!”

  He didn’t answer.

  “How can we get out of here, Pedro?”

  No answer.

  I bent closer. I smelled the chocolate and the raw garlic. “Pedro!”

  “If I die, my mother will be all alone.” His voice was already far away, fading fast.

  The water was churning and slapping against the top of the rock. I realized that if the water kept rising, it could fill the cave. We might drown, trapped in here.

  “Just keep rubbing the garlic on.” I prayed he wasn’t allergic to scorpion stings, and pulled the sweater out of my bag and wrapped it around him. “Stay here.” I eased off the rock. Now the water was up to my waist.

  I’d have to go back to the big chamber, I decided, and try to climb up the steep mudbank and out the other opening. But even if I could climb to the top, how far would it be to the ground outside? Never mind, it was the only way. Then I’d have to run around to the other entrance—I hoped I could find it again—and somehow move the tree trunk.

  Along the tunnel, the water was rising. At least it was flowing in the direction I was going. I gave up trying to walk and fell into the middle of the stream, letting it carry me down. I hoped the water had already washed all the scorpions downstream. Soon the current took hold of me with shocking force and threw me from rock to rock. I was a little insect being swept away, my legs and arms flying helplessly. I gasped for breath whenever my head came above the surface.

  Terrible ways to die flashed through my mind. I prayed the rocks banging my body wouldn’t knock me unconscious. I knew I’d have to somehow get out of the water fast when I reached the pool in the big chamber. If not, the waterfall would suck me down into the dark hole. Even if I somehow survived that fall, I would end up trapped in a deeper underground chamber. Meanwhile, Pedro might drown above me.

  Just before I rounded the last curve, I saw the light, not as bright as before. Just the faintest blue-purple glow. I grabbed on to rocks to try to slow down, but I seemed to go faster and faster.

  Once I reached the chamber, the sound was different, bigger, echoing off the rock walls. The stream led into the pool, and the current let up a little. Just ahead and to the right was the waterfall. I grasped more desperately at the rocks, trying to swim to the left, toward one of the big boulders at the edge of the pool. There, through the white foam, I saw the rock where Pedro and I had sat and shared the mango. Pedro’s face, clenched in pain, came back to me. Don’t die. Please don’t die. Words for him and for me. I had to keep myself alive to save him.

  My candle is still tall. Those were the other words that ran through my mind as the water and stones battered me—my candle is still tall. With all my strength, I threw my arms around the rock and clung to it with my arms and legs. My fingertips found a ridge in the top surface and dug in while my feet pushed against the side. Slowly, I raised myself up, lifted my left knee over the edge, dragged my right one after it. In one final burst of effort, I pulled myself up the rest of the way.

  For a few seconds, I rested, soaking wet, shivering, coughing, gagging on the water I’d swallowed. I wanted to curl up here and sleep, and hope that someone would save us. I didn’t feel strong enough to do this.

  But when I closed my eyes, I saw Pedro’s candle still tall.

  Pulling myself up, I made my way across the rocks, toward the opening. The embankment was steep and muddy. I began to climb, grasping at shrubs and vines. Halfway there, I clutched a root that came right out of the mud. I lost my balance and slid all the way back down.

  I lay curled in the mud for a moment, then forced myself to stand up. This time I used my feet more, bracing them against the bases of plants, so that when I had nothing to hold on to with my hands, I wouldn’t slide down again. My fingers burned.

  The ledge of the opening was right above me now. I grasped the ledge, pulled myself up, and threw my left leg and left arm over it, straddling it. Pushing up, I swung my right leg around and tucked my feet underneath me, so that I was crouched in the opening, looking out.

  How strange to be perched here, like a bird, watching the storm. Vines whipped in front of me. I pressed my hands against the sides of the opening to steady myself. Looking down, I felt dizzy. I was too far up to jump—at least two stories high. And rain ran down the rock face, making it too slick to climb down.

  I glanced back inside the cave. It looked strangely calm. From this bird’s-eye view I scanned the chamber to see if there was any other way out.

  No, this was it.

  As I turned back around, a gust of wind struck me and nearly knocked me back into the cave. To try to catch my balance, I leaned forward. Another gust of wind caught me. My foot slipped. My arms shot out, clutching at anything. I began to fall.

  My right hand grasped a thick vine. Now my other hand found it too, and then I was dangling, the bark burning my raw hands as I hung on, the wind pushing me this way and that. I couldn’t fall. I had to stay strong to rescue Pedro.

  I kicked the air with my legs until I was facing the rock. I stuck out my feet, pressing the soles against the wall. This took some of the strain off my hands. I let go with one hand and lowered it below the other, bouncing off the rock wall as I lowered myself. For the last ten feet my hands slid down the vine and I felt the top layer of skin on my palms rubbing right off.

  My feet touched the ground. My legs gave way underneath me and I collapsed in the mud, my body shaking. For a moment I stayed curled up in a pile of broken twigs and wet leaves, feeling my rubbery legs and the fire in my hands.

  Once again, I thought of Pedro, the water rising around him. Had it risen to his neck yet? I pushed myself back onto my feet. I steadied myself and wrapped my arms around a tree trunk and looked around to get my bearings. Branches were flying. Lightning was cracking. Chaos. I could barely tell which way was up. How could I find the entrance to the cave? Any of the fallen trees strewn around could be the one covering the hole.

  Then I remembered Abuelita’s words, as if she were right next to me, whispering
them in my ear. “Stay focused, calm….” The wind and rain and lightning seemed to fade, and I found a quiet spot inside myself.

  I turned toward the rock face. I followed it farther down the slope of the mountain, looking for the pile of rocks that I remembered seeing by the entrance. As I walked, I pressed against the stone, protected from the wind.

  Something bright white stood out through the sheets of rain. The heron. It stood on a freshly fallen pine. Its thin legs stayed steady in the wind. It stared right at me as I moved toward it. Just when I grew close enough to touch its feathers, it lifted its wings and rose up and over the treetops. Once it had disappeared, I looked down at the tree trunk where it had been standing. A small gap under the bark opened up into blackness.

  “Pedro!” I yelled down the hole. “I’m here!”

  I thought I heard a faint answer, but it could have been the wind.

  His candle is still tall. I know it is. I wedged myself between the rock face and the tree trunk, pushing out with my legs. The trunk moved a little but then rolled right back into place. I took a deep breath and pushed. Again, it rolled partway but then rolled right back.

  A thin voice pierced through all the wind and water. I moved my ear to the opening beside the trunk.

  “Clara! The water’s rising!”

  He was alive. I braced my back against the rock face and pushed out with my legs. The tree rolled and then paused, as if it were trying to make up its mind. Finally, it rolled away, revealing the opening underneath. I clutched a sapling with one hand and lowered my other hand into the hole.

  Pedro took hold.

  I pulled up, making myself light as a heron rising, lifting him up with me. He fell against me in the mud. I held him for a moment and felt a wave of pure, deep thankfulness. Then I helped him stand.

  With his good arm around my shoulder, he hopped along beside me. I led him to a protected spot beneath an overhang, where the goats were huddled against the rock wall. All ten of them. They’d survived.