“Look!” Juanita said, pointing to the land coming closer and closer. “It looks just like . . .”
“Our swimming hole!” Velia and Delia jumped up in the boat with excitement as they finished Juanita’s thought. The canoe rocked severely, and before Abuelita could pull the twins down beside her, it capsized. We all fell overboard, landing in the waters of our very own eddy in the Rio Grande.
“We’re home!” Pita screamed as she tried to stand up in the water. Velia and Delia scrambled across the water to help her as Juanita, Abuelita, and I helped Ixtali drag her canoe to shore.
Juanita helped our grandmother out of the water. “I’m sorry about this,” she told Ixtali, who was standing on the riverbank wringing the water out of her dress.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Ixtali said, looking up from her dress. “It’ll dry out before I get home.”
“Thank you. Thank you,” the twins kept chanting as they held Pita up between them, her arms wrapped around their shoulders for support.
“Thank you for the pleasant company,” Ixtali said.
As the girls helped Pita sit down on a huge flat rock a few feet away from the shore, I held my grandmother’s hand in mine. She was looking at Ixtali’s boat, and I could tell she didn’t want to get back in it.
“One last hug,” Abuelita said. Her voice cracked and quivered with emotion as she leaned down and hugged me tight.
“I’ll see you soon,” I said. At my words, Juanita, Velia, and Delia convened around us, trying to get one last hug out of Abuelita.
“We’ll visit you soon!”
“We’ll take the bus and come see you!”
“We promise. We promise,” they all said as they hugged her. Even Pita from her place on the shore was calling out similar promises. Our grandmother leaned down and hugged her before heading back to join Ixtali in her little boat.
By the time she settled into her seat, Abuelita was crying so much she was rendered speechless. All she could do by then was wave at us.
“It has been an honor bringing you home,” Ixtali said as she waved good-bye. Then she anchored her paddle against the bed of the river and pushed her chalupita off. They were gliding away as Ixtali said, “May the Great Mother be with you in all your travels, and don’t forget to pick the flowers.”
“The flowers? Oh, yes. The roses for Mamá,” I yelled back. “Thank you. Thank you for reminding me.”
We walked out of the water then, and stood on dry land watching Ixtali row away from us until she and Abuelita Remedios were nothing more than a memory in the thin mist that still hung over the Rio Grande.
“Let’s go, girls. You heard the lady. I have roses to pick,” I said.
The twins shouldered Pita between them and they hollered and hooted all the way up the hill as we left the riverbank behind. Our bodies were worn out, but we didn’t let that stop us. We hiked through the sparse woods, making our way carefully down the beaten path we had created that summer, the summer of the mariposas. Only there were no butterflies anywhere. Maybe they were asleep and would awaken with the sunrise, a sunrise that seemed to elude us as we walked along.
Pita looked more than tired. The twins were doing their best to steady her by hoisting her arms around their shoulders and bearing most of her weight, but she still looked like she was ready to keel over. We had been walking slowly, carefully, for at least twenty minutes as the woods became more dense, pushing the hackberry bushes and hierba de zizotes out of our way, when we saw light breaking over a hill to the left of us.
“Well, look at that, the sun’s finally coming out,” Delia said, stopping to admire the new dawn.
“No. That’s something else.” Juanita stepped forward to take a better look at the wooded area being illuminated. “I think it’s your roses.”
“Let’s go,” I said. I headed into the woods in the direction of the glow.
We were barely over the cerro when we saw them to the right of us, in a clearing, on yet another hill: hundreds of snout-nosed butterflies hovering over dozens of rosebushes. The rosebush clusters bloomed joyously, their blushing white crowns illuminating the darkness we had endured for so long.
The joy of finding the roses was short-lived as I realized all our belongings were still in Abuelita’s truck, sitting in front of the Santuario de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe, right where we’d left it before we were transported here. “I don’t have anything to cut them with,” I said.
“Oh. I do,” Velia said, reaching into her pocket and unfolding a blade out of a complicated gadget that looked like twenty tiny tools in one. She handed me the small contraption. “Here you go. Can I come? I can hold them for you.”
“Okay.” I looked at the others and smiled. “This won’t take long. I promise.”
Juanita took me by the shoulders, pointed me toward the hill, and gave me a tiny push to get me going. “Go on. We’ll wait here. Pita needs to rest,” she said.
Velia and I walked all the way up the hill, the bright morning light illuminating our steps as we trampled through the brush. When we got to the roses, we both gasped. Their pale complexions blushed with an iridescent splendor that made them look almost magical.
Velia touched one of them, her eyes sparkling with admiration. “They’re beautiful.”
“Yes, they are,” I said. “Come on. Let’s not waste time.”
Velia stood just behind me as I started to cut the roses. When I handed her the first one, she untucked her shirt and pulled it forward, creating a bed for the blossoms. I carefully pressed the thorns off their stems with my forefinger and thumb before laying them on the cradle of her shirt. Their wide leaves trembled delicately as they lay one on top of the other.
Velia folded her shirt over the ten roses I’d already given her. “You almost done there?”
I pricked my finger on a thorn and winced at the pain. “¡Ay! See what you made me do? Be patient. I’m almost through.”
“I don’t care if you take all day, but we don’t have that kind of time,” Velia continued.
“What do mean?” I asked, sucking on my throbbing thumb.
She tapped my shoulder and pointed down the hill. “I think our ride is here.”
I turned around and saw them coming too, two border patrol trucks rolling up the hill with their headlights full force on us. “Oh, thank God,” I said, relieved. “Now we don’t have to walk.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be so happy right now. Or did you forget?” Velia asked, turning to look at me with a furrowed brow.
“Forget what?” I asked, annoyed. I wasn’t sure what she was getting at.
“Hello!” Velia retorted. “We don’t have our papers with us. And Pita is hurt. They’re going to call CPS on us for sure.”
EL CORAZÓN: “Sin aliento y sin calor,
un corazón sin amor no palpita.”
THE HEART: “Without breath or warmth,
a heart without love cannot beat.”
The border patrol called the police, the police called the FBI, and they all sat in front of us at a small table in a nice little office at the International Bridge Customs Station. They asked us the same questions over and over again. The FBI agent was the nicest one. He was tall and well-groomed, but most impressively, he was Mexican-American. His name was Special Agent Gonzales, and the girls were in awe of him. They thought he was brighter than the moon.
They were very nice to us. However, no matter how many times they asked us the same questions, we always stuck to the same story; we found a body and went to Mexico to deliver it. On the way back our car broke down so we had to abandon it. We walked to Abuelita’s house and she drove us back, but when we realized we didn’t have our papers with us, we swam back across. When they asked us how we made it across the river if grown men were known to drown in it, we said we were great sw
immers. We’d been swimming back and forth across that river all our lives.
“Oh yeah.” Special Agent Gonzales leaned in to speak to Pita directly. “So what happened to your leg?”
“A stray dog bit her, but she’s all right now. Abuelita gave her some antibiotics and cleaned the wound for her,” Juanita said, jumping in to save Pita from having to explain. Abuelita Remedios would probably forgive us for that one white lie, given that there was no other way to explain a chupacabras bite. When Special Agent Gonzales continued to question us, we all followed Abuelita’s advice and stuck to the more realistic part of our story.
We hadn’t been there very long before Officer Lopez, a young woman, came into the room and said, “Gonzales. The mother’s here.”
“Mamá!” Pita said, almost jumping out of her chair.
Juanita stood up and looked at the door behind the officers in the room. “You mean our mother?”
“Where is she?” I asked.
“Can we see her?” the twins asked, standing up to flank Juanita and Pita.
“Bring her in,” Special Agent Gonzales said, nodding toward the door.
And so it was that on the twelfth day after our departure, we were finally reunited with Mamá. I’ll never forget that moment when the door of the office first opened and Mamá stepped timidly into the room. One look in our direction and her eyes lit up like stars, and pure, unrestrained joy glittered and shone in them. She was more than happy. She was ecstatic. As soon as she saw us, Mamá ran around the table to reach us. Her purse fell out of her hands and hit the floor with a muted clank as she put her arms around Pita. Tears rolled down her face as she hugged and kissed us one at a time, again and again, like she never wanted to stop. She was so overwhelmed with such relief, such joy, she could hardly talk.
“I love you! I love you!” she kept saying as she kissed us repeatedly and held us tight.
“Please sit down,” Special Agent Gonzales said, watching Mamá surrounded by the love of five grateful daughters. “Would you like something to drink? We have coffee. The girls had soft drinks while we waited.”
“No. Thank you, I’m fine,” Mamá said. “When can I take them home? They’re drenched. I can’t believe they swam all the way across the river.”
Special Agent Gonzales smiled, a sincere smile that made his full lips curl up softly at the corners. I noticed that his eyes shone more when he made eye contact with Mamá, like he was genuinely happy for her. “We’ve asked the girls what happened so we can file our report. I’m sure Officer Lopez has already informed you of the details, but I can go over my report with you if you like. You’ll get a copy of it before you leave here today, of course. But if you have any questions, any concerns, you can always call me.”
Mamá turned around to look at Special Agent Gonzales without letting go of Pita. “I appreciate that. I’m forever grateful to you.”
“Well, we didn’t do much,” Officer Lopez said, standing behind Special Agent Gonzales across the table. “The girls got themselves home. Oh. I almost forgot. They brought you a gift.”
“Yes. We have roses for you,” I said, turning to look at Mamá. “Officer Lopez was kind enough to put them in a vase so they would stay fresh for you.”
Mamá took my hand and squeezed it, her eyes suddenly misty. “Roses? For me? Whenever did you find the time to get me roses?”
“They are a gift,” I said, clinging to Mamá’s warm, loving grip.
“Officer Lopez will get them for you,” Special Agent Gonzales said, and the young officer left the room in a hurry. “Now, there’s one more thing. The girls were concerned about Child Protective Services getting involved.”
Mamá’s grip on my hand suddenly slackened, and I squeezed it tightly, letting her know silently that we were not going to let anything happen to our family — that we were going to be there for her. “CPS . . .” Mamá’s voice trailed off and she stood rigid, waiting for Special Agent Gonzales to continue.
“Yes,” Special Agent Gonzales said. “It is procedure to report any incident involving children to them. Someone from their office will make contact with you soon. Now, I’ve explained to the girls that they should tell the CPS investigator exactly what they have told me. Personally, I don’t see a problem here, not as far as you are concerned. But they have their own procedures to follow and my report will indicate that I see no evidence of neglect on your part. If you should need my assistance in any way or have any questions that I might be able to answer, I am here to help you.”
As Mamá processed the information, Officer Lopez walked back into the room carrying the vase. “Here you go,” she said.
I took the vase from her and speculated on the luminous white roses. The Virgen said they would transform Mamá, and I wondered how the change would manifest itself. Would the presence of others affect Mamá’s transformation, or would it be instantaneous? Not knowing what to expect, I hesitated.
“These are for you,” Velia said, taking the vase out of my hands and presenting them to Mamá, who gave us a watery smile and took them with great appreciation.
“Thank you. They’re beautiful,” Mamá said, putting her nose into the bouquet and smelling them. “I love them almost as much as I love you.”
As the white rose petals caressed her face, I held my breath, waiting for that glorious moment, the moment when she would become more than ordinary, when she would be touched by the divine. However, the only thing that happened was that Mamá put the vase down on the table and turned around to wrap her arms around us again.
“Well, we won’t take any more of your time.” Special Agent Gonzales held out his hand for Mamá to shake. “Señora Garza, we thank you very much for your patience. If it would be okay with you, I’d like to personally escort you home in our unmarked units. It would make things easier, more private for you.”
Mamá accepted Special Agent Gonzales’s proposal and we were all driven home in a couple of dark sedans. The vehicles pulled up to our driveway and we jumped out and stood on the sidewalk waiting for Mamá to come in with us.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for us,” Mamá said, her eyes misting over again, as she stood just inside our fenced yard, shaking Special Agent Gonzales’s hand.
“We were glad to help,” Officer Lopez said, extending her hand to Mamá and then giving her a small, friendly hug. “And remember, if you should need anything, we’re a phone call away.”
No sooner had they left than the girls were all over Mamá. They clustered around her in the front lawn, pouring so much sugar on her that she looked downright mystified.
I walked up to the house and stood on the front porch holding Mamá’s roses, waiting for them to start walking up the driveway. I rubbed a translucent rose petal between my fingertips, wondering why they had failed to transform her. Looking sideways at Mamá, I could see that nothing had changed about her. She looked as pretty as she ever was, but not in any way different, not enchanting, not bedazzling in her daughters’ eyes, at least not in mine.
“Let’s go inside,” I said. “I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed tonight.”
“Mamá.” Juanita stood in the driveway at the far right corner of the house, looking at something the rest of us couldn’t see. “Whose car is that?”
“What car?” Mamá asked.
Juanita pointed toward the back of the house. “The blue Honda parked in the back.”
Mamá walked over to look down the driveway. I stayed on the porch holding the roses with the twins and Pita around me, waiting. “¡Ay, Dios mío!” Mamá said, and she glanced around the neighborhood nervously, like she was expecting someone to step out of their house and attack us. Then she turned around, stepped onto the porch, and hurried up to the door, but she didn’t open it. She just stood staring at it, blinking and looking confused, as if she didn�
�t know how to open her own front door. “It’s all happening so fast. I didn’t see it coming, and on the same day — all at once.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, but Mamá’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears and her hands were trembling as she held the keys in a tight grip.
“Girls. I have to tell you something.” Mamá’s voice suddenly cracked, and her forehead creased with worry lines. She took a deep breath and stammered on. “Things have changed. Nothing’s ever going to be the same again for you . . . for me . . . for us.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “What’s changed?”
Mamá let out a short, heavy breath, and she pressed her fingertips against the frown that puckered her brow together. “Maybe we should just go inside,” she whispered, as if she were suddenly afraid the neighbors would hear us.
“Okay,” Juanita said, raising her eyebrows and shaking her head to let me know she had no idea what was going on.
As soon as I walked through the door, I set the vase down on the coffee table in the hallway to the left of the front door and turned around to hug Mamá tightly. I had missed her so much. She had been absent from our lives far longer than the twelve days we’d been gone, and I was thankful for the comfort of her love.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered into her ear as she held me in her arms.
Mamá squeezed me tightly. “It’s okay. We can get through this. Whatever happens, I promise you everything’s going to be all right.” Being in her arms gave me the feeling that everything was going to be all right. But just when I was beginning to feel at ease, the most startling thing happened.
We heard footsteps — cowboy boots, unmistakably loud and clear as they walked on the linoleum. Letting go of Mamá, I turned toward the source of the footsteps to see the figure of a lone man standing at the threshold of the kitchen door. Papá paused, then stepped into the hallway. We didn’t react immediately. Instead, we stood there, all five of us, shocked at the sight of him after all this time.
Summer of the Mariposas Page 23