Manuel had been known for his bad temper, and Curva made it worse by standing up to him, something she frequently did. Actually, she didn’t so much stand up to him as stand over him, and that increased his irritation with her. From her early teens, she was as tall as Xavier, who had already reached six foot. This made her feel equal to her padre—and to all men—in every way. These extra inches, so unusual for a woman, gave her a unique perspective and helped her to see one source of male power over the centuries. Those extra inches gave bigger men more authority because of their size.
Xavier, now considered the man of the house, had felt differently about his padre. The son had expected to step into his father’s shoes and take charge of the household, but Curva straightened him out fast. She didn’t believe women had to wait on men all their lives, and she could fight as well as any chico. After she gave him a couple of black eyes and broke one of his teeth, he stopped trying to run things.
Their madre was so grieved by her husband’s death that she followed him a few months later. Curva didn’t understand how her madre could have loved Manual so desperately that she would abandon her bambinos. Why did she want to continue with such a difficult man? Her madre, always deeply involved in rescuing dying plants and animals, gave in to death’s call and couldn’t save herself.
Curva’s loss of her madre shook her deeply. Determined her madre would live on through her daughter, Curva committed herself to her mother’s important work of promoting the growth of all life.
After burying both parents, Xavier and Curva tried to find odd jobs cleaning shops or picking vegetables, but there weren’t many to be had. Even the adults had trouble staying employed because there were so few opportunities. Who was going to hire two niños? Thus, they became scavengers, checking out the dump every day for anything that looked sellable. Sometimes they got lucky and found castaway kitchen items that hadn’t yet seen their last days—eggbeaters and pots and pans and dishes that they cleaned up, polished, and sold.
With no other family members to call on, they scraped by. Curva kept her mother’s garden going with seeds dried from previous years. They had enough vegetables to eat—sweet potatoes, tomatillos, jicama, peppers, tomatoes, green beans, and lettuce. Sometimes Xavier would catch a wild rabbit, skin it, and roast it over an open fire. They feasted for days.
During this time, the two shared a pasión for Luis Cardona’s novels, especially Paraíso. It featured a town called Berumba, and while reading the book, Berumba began to appear in their dreams, offering a lush contrast to their barren village. Berumba conjured up images of trees weighted down by oranges, apples, and bananas. They fell in love with the place and the Pacheco family that founded it. Instead of straggly plants struggling to survive in arid soil, Berumba really was a paraíso. And so this world became as real to them as the village where they had grown up.
In their imaginations, Ana Cristina Hernandez and Ernesto Valenzuela Pacheco replaced their own dead parents. Ana Cristina seemed to give birth to all of Berumba; Ernesto Valenzuela fathered most of the children, but not always with his wife.
Ana Cristina, whom Curva came to adore, was an independent woman, though she also carried out the traditional female role of managing the household and raising kids. She ran a successful dairy business, contributing substantially to the family’s income and to the town’s health. Her cows gave such a prodigious amount of milk each day that Ana Cristina’s hired help could barely keep up with the milking required. She resembled the cows somewhat, her own breasts large and still producing, even in middle age. So abundant, they overflowed onto the land, leaving rivers of milk in their wake. Eager to please their owner, who sang to them each night before they went to sleep, her cows also yielded well past their prime.
A fruitful time in Berumba, the place flourished in an era when slow was anything but dull. Life moved at a snail’s pace, and sometimes even that seemed too fast for its residents; they wanted time to watch the flowers grow and to sit with one another at the end of a long day’s work, recounting in minute detail each aspect of their day, examining these elements as one might a precious jewel. Berumba residents also held fiestas to celebrate anything of consequence (or not of consequence), with singing, dancing, skits, food, and vino providing the center of the fun. Berumba’s lively presence attracted visitors from all over the world, including Kadeem, a Trinidadian.
Kadeem was a festival in of himself. A calypsonian that played the steel pan, his brown face resembled a cherub, his cheeks dimpled in a constant smile. Though he visited Berumba often over the years, he never seemed to age, somehow embodying what Ernesto Valenzuela Pacheco and Curva both sought: eternal life. Kadeem wore a stovepipe hat he’d made himself, its wide brim adorned with the Trinidadian flag’s red, white, and black colors, as was the cape he wore. Built like a draft horse, Kadeem’s muscular body resembled a wrestler’s, yet he moved like a ballet dancer, appearing not merely to walk but to glide across the land. From the time he was a boy, he pursued what was beyond the horizon, both in the physical world and the one beyond. His desire for knowledge was great, but so was his craving for fun. He somehow managed to marry the two in his work as a musician and traveling salesman.
Some thought Kadeem was in competition with Ernesto Valenzuela Pacheco. They both sold medicines. Ernesto’s drugs, however, were viewed as legitimate. He had trained as an apothecary and mixed potions that the medical world agreed were effective. But Kadeem’s concoctions had more of an alchemical base and weren’t intended for treating the usual ailments. They were meant to emotionally transform the person who had the illness, instilling a powerful impulse to be whole and therefore well. He had read ancient philosophical texts that skirted mainstream thinking. Over intimate late-night suppers, Kadeem passed on this knowledge to Ernesto, who hungrily absorbed it all—the Hermetic treatises on alchemy and magic; the astrological lore that went beyond astronomy. Theosophy.
Luis Cardona’s books gave Curva and Xavier much to talk about during their long evenings. They speculated on the characters and the town, piecing together their own version from what they’d read. Both children liked to guess what book the writer would create next and put their names on a waiting list for it at the small local library.
Though Curva and Xavier had much in common, and were also the same height, his facial bones were more pronounced than hers. But they shared similar eye and hair color, and he wore his dark hair long, too. The mujeres all were after him. Curva teased him about the women who strolled by their house, hoping to get a glimpse of Xavier. But he would say, Curva, you are my best girl. She believed him. They knew each other like no one else did. How could anything ever separate them?
One day she raced home from Tiquicheo’s central plaza after overhearing some of the elderly men talking about their travels on the Old North Trail. Bounding up the stairs to the front door, she yelled, Xavier, Xavier, I have news!
He called from the backyard, I’m in the jardin.
Panting, Curva joined him. Getting down on her hands and knees, she yanked weeds from the ground, throwing them on the pile Xavier was making.
What’s the big news? he asked.
I heard Juan and his friends talking about the Old North Trail. They traveled it all the way to Canada and back.
Canada?
Sí, I saw it on the map at school. Muy grande!
He shivered. Brrrr. You want to go to Canada? It has igloos and crazy people who live in them.
I want to travel the Old North Trail! It will take us to many places. Not just Canada. Who knows where we’ll end up? Don’t you want adventures, Xavier, like Kadeem?
He shrugged and resumed weeding, digging his fingers into the soil.
But Curva talked about it so much that Xavier finally got excited, too, his eyes growing very big when they discussed the escapades they would have and what they’d take with them—matches, warm clothes, guns, flour, sugar, grains, dried
beans, water, a tent. And where would the money come from to buy all these things? They sold their parents’ casa and used the profits to stake their journey, purchasing a couple of strong young saddle horses and another one to pull the travois they’d made.
Not knowing when and if they would return, the night before they left their home for good, sister and brother visited their parents’ graves and solemnly told them of their plans, promising to take good care of each other. A full moon illuminated the cemetery. Curva knelt at her madre’s grave and kissed the gravestone. Xavier did the same for their padre, but Curva didn’t join him. She’d had enough of that man. After, the siblings returned to the house for their final night there and packed the rest of their belongings, taking only the necessities.
The next morning, following a mapa the elders had given them, they started out. For the first leg of the journey, the mapa said to follow a stream for twenty miles and then go north for eight days. They found what once had been a stream, but now it was dried up. Guessing at how many miles they had traveled, by nightfall, they were exhausted. After setting up camp and feeding the animals, they sat around a fire, trying to decipher the ratty piece of paper the old men had said would guide them.
Curva shook her head and said, These marks and instructions don’t make sense, mi hermano.
Don’t worry, he said. We’ll figure it out. If those old men could do it, we can, too.
The next morning, they packed up and started off again on their horses, singing to pass the time and sharing stories from their childhood. They also talked about what they might find along the trail. Xavier said, Maybe we’ll discover gold.
Laughing, Curva said, And we can build a casa grande on a beeg river where we can fish and swim.
Bueno!
The days passed in this way, and they convinced themselves they were making progress. But for directions they depended solely upon the sun’s rising and setting as well as the constellations, not realizing they were heading south rather than north. Recalling the promise they’d made to their padres to care for one another, they shared plans and fantasies to keep their spirits buoyed. Finally, after climbing a steep hill, Curva stopped her panting horse in the shade of a banyan tree and turned to Xavier: We’re lost, mi hermano. Those old men gave us bad directions. The stream disappeared long ago.
Xavier nodded and said, Maybe we’re under a spell. I’ve lost track of time. I don’t remember how many days we’ve been traveling.
Curva’s horse whinnied and shook its head in the direction of a distant valley visible from the hilltop. Look, she shouted, a village!
Xavier, who had been drowsing in his saddle, stirred. Una aldea, he cried, raising his canteen to the heavens. Gracias, he said, downing a big slug of water before passing the container to Curva. Viva, mi hermana, he said, guiding his horse down the other side of the mesa, Curva and the packhorse following.
With great relief, they approached a town that looked vaguely familiar. Curva said to Xavier, Look, those trees are like the ones we read about in Paraíso. So much fruit and I’m so hungry!
Xavier pointed at a large two-story house surrounded by green pastures where cows grazed. Si, I’m hungry too…and thirsty.
As they drew closer, a woman stepped out of the house, wiping one hand on her apron, the other hand shielding the sun from her eyes. She said, I’m Ana. Our family welcomes you! Dinner is getting cold.
Curva cried out, We’re in Berumba, Xavier! That must be Ana Cristina Hernandez from the novel we read. I can’t believe it!
Nor could Xavier. He whooped and yelled, Berumba. We’re no longer lost. Let’s eat!
In later years, Curva remembered Berumba as a dreamy, enchanted place. It smelled of sage and other especias: cinnamon, cumin, nutmeg. The scent of jasmine wafted through her bedroom window, evoking thoughts of faraway places she had only read about. And the night felt velvety on her skin, as if the moon had poured its creamy substance onto the land. Even the daylight had a silky feel to it, the sun not hard-edged and glaring but caressing her face and bare arms. The many tropical birds—flamingoes, scarlet ibises, parrots, peacocks and swans—seemed like desserts for the eyes, their vibrant colors enlivening the landscape. Their peculiar birdcalls resembled haunted human voices.
This early experience of Berumba branded Curva, leaving a deep impression she couldn’t shake. Prior to her time there, life had seemed harsh, as did the barren land where she had grown up. Being in Berumba had awakened a thirst in her for beauty, and she wanted more of the same. The town had shown her not only its tropical abundance but also a more intensified way of living—the residents inhabited each moment as if it were their last. The ambience stayed with her, and she thought of the place often during her travels, so when she later settled in Weed, she longed to recreate Berumba—or something similar.
But Curva’s taste of paradise was short-lived. While the Pacheco household flourished in spite of a dark cloud that cast a shadow over parts of the area, the town itself didn’t fare as well. Several parties tried to overthrow the Tiburcio Carías Andino regime. The twins joined one of Ernesto Valenzuela Pacheco’s sons in defending the Liberal Party, hoping to improve the peasants’ living and working conditions. This new pursuit made it necessary for brother and sister to master the art of shooting. Curva and Xavier went up into the hills where they learned how to load and aim a .38 and a rifle. They shot at paper targets of human silhouettes, aiming for the heart and the head.
Sí, mi hermana, Xavier had said. You are good! Better than I am.
Curva playfully pointed her unloaded gun at him. He raised his hands in mock horror. No, no, don’t shoot.
She loved the way the rifle kicked when she pulled the trigger; it was like handling something alive. The bullet tore into the target, ripping away the heart. And while she couldn’t imagine actually shooting a person, she ended up fighting side by side with the men until a fragment from a stray bullet wounded her. Years later it still lodged in her thigh.
After Curva got shot, Xavier decided they needed to leave the area. He said to her, It would kill me if anything happened to you. I couldn’t live. We must get away from here.
She agreed. Watching men injure and sometimes kill each other made her realize what a romantic idea it had been to think she and Xavier could relieve the peasants’ struggle. The two of them were like ants fighting an army of giants. She also became aware that Ana Cristina Hernandez and Ernesto Valenzuela Pacheco’s interest in developing their businesses added to the town’s changes. They put it in contact with the outside world and altered life there forever. The Berumba Curva had once known now mainly existed in her dreams.
Since there was no longer a future for them with the Pachecos, Curva and Xavier decided to move on, alerting their hosts to their departure plans. The trail still called to them, and Kadeem gave them instructions on how to locate it. They planned to depart the following month, and this time they would take a compass.
Sabina and Victor
Caught up in Weed’s reconstruction, hammering and sawing where needed, and the demands of her own place, Curva ignored the changes happening to her body. In spite of working long hours at her property and in town, as well as helping to raise Victor, Curva still put on weight. The extra pounds seemed to be concentrated in her breasts and stomach, causing many to gossip about her condition. At Nathan Smart’s General Store, the neighbors chattered constantly about the alterations they were witnessing in her. Finally, Curva could no longer deny that she was pregnant, though she refused to think about her condition and continued her life as usual for the nine months it took to incubate a child.
Some speculated that the doctor had inseminated half the town and then fled (fortunately, Victor had the same birthmark as Henry, a butterfly shape on his buttocks like a cattle brand, so he wasn’t one of the doctor’s offspring), though Curva had dallied at times with the doctor. But she’d always taken preca
utions with him and her other lovers—and so had the doctor. Many thought that Henry was the father of the unborn child since he and Curva spent so much time together. It’s true it didn’t take them long to discover each other’s bodies, but that happened well after Curva became pregnant.
Rub two dry sticks together and you might get fire; combine a tornado, a mysterious bone, and female genitals and something totally unexpected can happen—not exactly a miraculous conception, but close to it. After nine months, Curva gave birth to a fully formed girl of almost three years of age. She announced immediately mi nombre es Sabina. A camera in one hand, a sombrero in the other, and copper- colored hair reaching her shoulders, Sabina formed perfect sentences from the time she was born. Already expert with the camera, she shot whatever crossed her path, as skilled with it as her mother was with a gun.
Curva, who hadn’t expected to give birth in her early forties, at first felt fate had played a cruel trick on her, leaving her with this unusual niña to raise but no marido to help out. At least Curva didn’t have to change diapers again as she had with Victor and care for a totally helpless infant, freeing her to tend the greenhouse and grounds. Sabina’s independence also allowed Curva to enjoy her daughter as an autonomous being right from the start, not just as someone Curva had given birth to. And while Henry appreciated Curva’s continuing help with Victor when she had extra time, he wasn’t free himself to offer marriage. He did tell Curva that once he was divorced, they could hook up permanently. However, first he had to locate Olga, and that wouldn’t be easy.
Nor would it be easy to convince Curva to marry. Not eager to give up her independence, she preferred walking marriages. A woman invites a man to spend a sweet night with her, but he must leave by daybreak. Besides, though she appreciated Henry’s decency, she felt more passion for his son than she did for him. Victor had some bite to him—a little of the devil. But Henry? He was too good and therefore a bit dull. She couldn’t imagine herself settling into domestic bliss with anyone, far less Henry.
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