Mañanaland

by Pam Muñoz Ryan

  Max was growing weary of the clinic talk. “Guess what? I went to the ruins. And I went inside the tower.”

  Chuy sat up, wide-eyed. “You did?”

  Max told him about the site and the noises in the tower.

  “So there are ghosts,” said Chuy.

  “I definitely heard things and felt a presence, but you know Papá. He wouldn’t admit to anything.”

  “But you heard them. What did they sound like?”

  Max lowered his voice. “Whispering and sad crying. It was creepy. And I thought I saw someone, or something, standing near the tower. Then it just … disappeared.”

  Chuy gasped. “I knew it. Everyone says so. Do you think it was the ghost of a hidden one?”

  A shiver ran through Max. “Maybe …”

  Just then, they heard a shriek and both boys startled.

  “What was that?” Chuy rubbed his arms. “I got goose bumps.”

  Max’s head whipped around. In a blur, someone flew down the mud slide and splashed into the pool. Then another splash. A boy sprang up, spewing water like a fountain. It was Ortiz, and Gui was right behind him.

  Max looked at Chuy in disbelief. “You told them about the water hole?”

  Chuy shook his head. “I didn’t. I swear.” He stood up. “What are you guys doing here?”

  “Ortiz and I went to your house,” said Gui. “Your mom said you and Max went swimming near the raspberries.”

  “We followed the yelling and splashing,” said Ortiz. “It wasn’t that hard to find. Wow. This is a great spot.” He swam across to them, slicing the water and sending it splattering over their heads. “How come you guys never mentioned it?”

  Max and Chuy didn’t answer.

  Ortiz climbed out of the pool and joined them on the rock. “I heard your father went to San Clemente to prove you’re a person.”

  Max froze. How did Ortiz know?

  “My dad’s on the council. Mayor Soto told him your dad went to get a copy of your birth certificate. Guess everyone is scrambling with the new rules. Better hope he returns before tryouts.”

  “Don’t worry. He’ll be back in plenty of time,” said Max, relieved that Ortiz didn’t ask questions about why he didn’t have one at home.

  “Less competition for me if he isn’t.” Ortiz flopped back into the water.

  “Pay no attention to him,” said Chuy. “The coach told us there was a boy who didn’t have a birth certificate because it was lost in a fire. The league accepted his baptism papers from the church, and a letter signed by people who knew him from birth. And there was another boy who used his hospital record. But it had to be notarized.”

  Since Max was born at home, there wouldn’t be any hospital records. But there was a photo somewhere of Papá holding him on the steps of Our Lady of Sorrows on the day he was baptized, so there must be a record. Had Papá thought of that?

  Ortiz climbed from the pool and started uphill. “Chuy and Gui, let’s go for some leche quemada. I’ll buy. Remember what our coach said about teammates. The more time we spend together on and off the field, the better we’ll play as a team.”

  Chuy stood up.

  “Are you leaving?” asked Max. “We just got here.”

  Chuy shrugged. “Our coach did say that. Do you want to come?”

  When Max didn’t answer, Chuy scrambled uphill, waved, and called, “See you next Saturday!”

  Ortiz waved, too, and affectionately rubbed Chuy’s head. Then he hugged Chuy to his side and mimicked his voice. “See you next Saturday!”

  Max lowered himself from the rock into the water, swimming beneath the surface. When he came up for air, Chuy, Ortiz, and Gui were gone. As he climbed from the pool and dressed, he thought about what Papá had said, that he and Chuy would always be like brothers. It didn’t feel like it anymore.

  A strange knot of hurt shadowed Max. On the way home, he pounded the path to the cottage, trying to outrun the feeling.

  But it followed, nipping at him like a hungry goat.

  “Buelo, where’s my baptism record?” asked Max as he burst into the cottage.

  Buelo looked up from where he sat on the sofa, lacing his work boots. Max could tell by his flushed cheeks and mussed hair that he’d just woken from a nap. “I am not sure. Why?”

  Max put his hands on his hips. “I have a baptism record, right?”

  “Of course. Your father has it somewhere. What is this about?”

  “Sometimes you can use your baptism record from the church to register for fútbol if you don’t have a birth certificate.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Chuy’s coach told him. Can I look for mine, in case Papá doesn’t get back in time?”

  Buelo frowned. “I do not believe it would serve any purpose. Anyway, it is probably with the personal papers your father keeps. He would not want anyone going through them unless it was an emergency.” He stood and grabbed his sun hat. “If he is not home in time for the tryouts, I will look on your behalf. Now, come.” Buelo clapped his hands. “I am feeling energetic. The heat has let up, and I want to start preparing the wood for the falsework. Let us see how much we can get done before dinner, shall we?”

  Max followed Buelo into the yard. He didn’t understand why they couldn’t look for the baptism record now. If they found it, Max could stop worrying.

  Buelo gave instructions and Max set up the sawhorses and laid the wood planks across them. He measured and marked a line in chalk, then carried each length to the battered workbench where Buelo used the handsaw to cut it. Max carefully loaded the wood into the wagon, stacking it by size so it could be unloaded the same way, exactly as Papá would have done.

  “Once we finish cutting this wood, we will haul it to the site and build the arched wooden hull,” said Buelo. “When your father gets back, we will begin the stonework over the falsework, building symmetrically from the abutments toward the center.”

  “I know,” said Max. “And after the stones are mortared, and the bridge is built, we will remove the falsework to reveal the tunnel.”

  Buelo laughed. “I suppose you have watched us enough times.” A shadow passed over him and he glanced up. “It looks like your friend is paying us a visit.”

  The peregrine hovered above them.

  Buelo craned his neck. “Isn’t she a magnificent pilgrim?”

  Max nodded. “I saw her nest at the top of La Reina when I was at the ruins.”

  All the questions and secrets crammed in his mind flooded back to him. Papá had said he could talk only to Buelo about such things, and in private. He looked around the yard. “Where’s Tío?”

  “He has a council meeting this afternoon, so we are on our own.”

  “Buelo, Papá said I could ask you when we were alone about Los Guardianes de los Escondidos. Was it exciting to be a guardian?”

  Buelo stopped sawing. “I was wondering how long it would take you to ask. The truth? It was far more dangerous than exciting. And a huge responsibility.”

  “Were there a lot of hidden ones?”

  “When I was a young man during and after the war, there was a big wave, mostly soldiers and their families. And then for twenty years, while your father was growing up, only a handful. But there was another wave after that. We called it the Brigade of Women.”

  “It was all women?”

  “Yes. Some babies and small children, too.”

  “Why did they run away? Was there another war?”

  “A different type of oppression. Countrymen fighting countrymen about what a woman could and could not do. Some of the women were mothers whose families had banished them because there was no father to support them. Others wished to escape their husbands who had mistreated them. Some were servants who were considered less than human. We hid them in the tower and, as quickly as we could, secretly moved them to the next safe place.”

  “But the war was over by then. Why couldn’t you tell anyone?”

  “The law. It was, and st
ill is, illegal to harbor people fleeing other countries. In some places it is even illegal to be compassionate and provide water or directions to a fugitive. But they were in grave danger. Some of the men from Abismo—who considered the women their property—came after them or hired people to find them. They would show a picture around and offer rewards. People talk for money. How could we not protect them?”

  “Why would anyone come here to look?”

  “There are only a few villages and towns between Abismo and the bigger cities north, east, and west of here,” said Buelo. “Santa Maria is small, but it is on the way to everywhere.”

  “Did any of the hidden ones ever stay?”

  “We are too close to Abismo for comfort. And there is greater safety and opportunity in the bigger cities where they could hide in plain sight, working and living like everyone else. If they had tried to stay in a small village like Santa Maria, and people discovered they were from Abismo, they would have been shunned. Spit upon. Or worse. It only takes one or two people to generate hate and make it escalate. I do not like to admit it, but there are people here in Santa Maria who have been my neighbors for years who behave that way.”

  “Ortiz said bad things about the hidden ones. What were they really like?”

  “No two had the same story. But generally speaking, they had all been on a difficult journey for weeks on foot. Sometimes separated from their families. Tired, frightened, anxious. Angry at injustice. Sad to be leaving their homeland but wanting a new life, a different tomorrow.”

  “That must have been hard for them.”

  Buelo nodded. “No matter their disposition, though, I had to be calm and reassuring. And stay focused on delivering them safely. Anything could happen along the way, and I had to be ready to improvise at any moment.”

  “Did you take them in a car or a truck?”

  “No. Too dangerous. There are always checkpoints for vehicles. On foot, we were safer and could get to places that were better hidden. Places a police car could never access.”

  Max shuddered. “If it was so dangerous, why did you do it?”

  “I felt a moral obligation. How could I ignore their predicament?”

  Max turned the information over in his mind. Could he risk his own life, knowing that he might end up in jail, just to make someone else’s life better?

  “Did any of them ever come back?”

  “They could not chance it. And that always tugged at my heart. During the journey, there were those who kept their distance and put a wall between us the entire trip. But more often, by the time we arrived at our destination, we had become friends. It is sometimes easier to tell a stranger about yourself, especially one you are never going to see again, than it is to share your secrets with those closest to you. Knowing their stories and being their friend made saying goodbye difficult. I like to think, though, that their spirits return to La Reina Gigante, like they say … on the wings of the peregrine.”

  “So you believe it?”

  “Of course I do. It comforts me.”

  “When I was at the tower, I heard the whispering.”

  “I believe you. You were brave to go inside.”

  “I didn’t even go beyond the locked gate and I was scared. But I guess the tower would seem welcoming if I were running away from Abismo. You were the brave one, Buelo, to be a guardian.”

  “Well, it was worth finding the courage … to give people hope. To show them that the world is not all ugliness, but holds beauty and goodness. Being a guardian is not about borders or laws or money. We never took money. It’s about people helping people.”

  Max turned all the details over in his mind. “How did they get into the tower?”

  “The key is hidden behind some thorny vines where no one would accidentally find it. I’ll show you someday.”

  “And then where did you take them?”

  “Far away. It took three overnights to reach the next safe place.”

  “Did you ever keep going, to see where the hidden ones ended up?”

  Buelo shook his head. “There is a strict code among the guardians. We take the hidden ones only to the next safe place. We cannot assist farther unless that guardian asks for help. This protects the privacy of the hidden ones. Believe me, they do not want to be found.” Buelo stretched. “That is enough for today. Help me put away the tools.”

  Max followed closely behind, gathering his courage. “Papá said my mother was a guardian.”

  “Well … yes.”

  “Why was she allowed to break the code and travel on?”

  Buelo rubbed his eyes. “That is not for me to say.”

  Max persisted. “The other day, Papá didn’t tell me everything. Do you know what else there is?”

  “Maximiliano, your father will discuss such things with you when the time is right.”

  “Buelo, what’s the difference if I know now or when he returns? Please tell me,” begged Max. “Or I can ask Tío and my aunties …”

  Buelo turned and held up a hand to signal Max to stop. His eyes filled with a look Max had never seen before. Was it anger? Or fear? “You will do nothing of the kind. You will wait for your father. Besides, they would never interfere.” He took his handkerchief from his pocket and blotted his forehead. “I said that was enough for today. The heat is catching up to me. I need to go inside.”

  In his entire life, Max had never heard Buelo speak with such fierceness. There was no reason to press. Buelo wasn’t going to budge.

  Max cleaned the yard and played with Lola.

  At dinner, Buelo was quieter than usual and for the first time that Max could remember, he said he was too tired for storytelling and went to bed early.

  Later, when Max could hear Buelo snoring, he stood at the window in his room, looked up at La Reina Gigante, and said his usual prayers. Then he placed the compass on the sill with the face up. The needle bobbed north, pointing straight at the giant queen and beyond. Was his mother in the north? Was that what Papá and Buelo were hiding—the name of the place she now lived?

  Or were they keeping something more from him?

  Another week threatened to pass, much like the one before, with no news from San Clemente.

  “What is taking Papá so long?” demanded Max. He led Dulce and the wagon filled with wood down the hill toward the new bridge site. Buelo sat on the wagon’s tailgate, hitching a ride to the Saturday market. Lola trotted behind.

  “Patience,” said Buelo. “We knew it would take some time. The tryouts are still almost three weeks away.”

  Max kicked at the dirt. His summer was nothing he’d hoped for.

  Just before the village, Buelo climbed down and patted his shoulder. “Are you sure you can unload the wood by yourself and get Dulce home?”

  “Buelo, I already said I’d lift one board at a time,” said Max. “And even Lola could lead stubborn old Dulce.”

  Buelo patted Dulce’s neck. “Max doesn’t mean it, sweet girl. He’s just bad tempered of late. I know you’re as reliable as the sun.”

  Max rolled his eyes.

  “After the market, I’ll have lunch with Mariana. Don’t worry about picking me up. I’ll get a ride or walk home.”

  Max nudged the burro forward without even waving goodbye.

  At the bridge site, Max cleared a level place for the wood and put down a tarp. Lola promptly claimed a corner.

  “Don’t get too comfortable,” said Max as he carried the lengths from the wagon to the tarp. When he needed more room, he ordered, “Off, Lola!”

  She skulked away.

  What was wrong with him? How could he yell at such an innocent animal? “Sorry, Lola … Come.”

  As he petted her muzzle, something sailed overhead and splashed in the river in front of them.

  Max spun around.

  “Relax, Max. It’s just us.” Ortiz and Gui ran past him to the river’s edge, lobbing rocks into the water.

  Chuy was right behind them. He stopped to pet Lola. “We saw Buelo
in the village. He said you were here. We’re going to the water hole. Want to come?”

  “I can’t,” said Max. “I have work to do.”

  Chuy shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Max.

  “Ortiz said if I didn’t tell you, he would.”

  “Tell me what?”

  Chuy lowered his voice. “Last night, Gui and I went to Ortiz’s for dinner. All his mother talked about was the tryouts, and how Ortiz is the best goalie, and how the league is finally enforcing who can play and who can’t. Then she started talking about your family. She said they’re all criminals and should be reported. And that if the league finds out about their past, someone will have something to say about you playing on the team.”

  The blood drained from Max’s face. Did Ortiz’s mother know that Papá and Buelo had been guardians? And his aunts and uncle, too? Was she one of the people who had made pointed comments?

  “What did you say?” asked Max.

  Chuy looked helpless. “Nothing. I … I didn’t know what they were talking about.”

  Ortiz and Gui walked toward them, shoving each other and laughing.

  Max stepped forward. “Ortiz, your mother should mind her own business. She doesn’t know anything about my family!”

  “Didn’t mean to upset you or throw you off your game,” said Ortiz. “Just doing you a favor. I’d want to know if my family was full of criminals.”

  Fury rose up in Max. “They’re heroes. But your mother? She’s a gossip and a liar!”

  Ortiz lunged at Max and shoved him to the ground.

  Max jumped up, swinging.

  Ortiz blocked Max’s punches and knocked Max down again.

  Lola bared her teeth and growled at Ortiz.

  “Sit, Lola!” called Max. This was his fight.

  Max stood and set his fists, expecting Ortiz to come after him.

  Instead, he walked away. “Come on, Gui. Chuy.”

  Max watched him go, Ortiz’s words thrumming in his ears.

  He felt Chuy tug on his arm and he spun around, yelling, “You’ve known our family your entire life! How could you not defend us, no matter what? I thought you were my friend!”