“But there’s something else. I feel badly about things I did before I was married. Telling Lucia’s story reminds me of how confused I was back then. I wanted a life different from my mother’s, and that made it seem that I didn’t respect her. I was afraid that I was losing my soul. It was as if someone was tying up my animal soul companion making me sick.
“Now I feel that that same thing is happening to me. I feel sick from regret about the pain I caused my parents through my actions, through my desires that I didn’t control. I can still see my mother and father crying. But I cried too. I cried myself to sleep for a long time after I had to give up my dream of being a teacher. I know you need to know about my story to understand Lucia’s, but I have to wait until my sickness passes.”
“I’m sorry this is making you sick, Mother. We’ll wait and talk again when you’re feeling better.”
I continued working in the kitchen trying to make my sickness pass while Verónica went back to the store to work on a weaving she’d left on her loom. On the blouse I was embroidering, the black, silver, and gold threads were coming together to make the flowery head of a saint. I liked how the head stood out against the purple and blue striped background. The design made me think of Lucia and me, how we had wanted to stand out too, to have a different life from other women in Lokan. I decided that I should burn a candle and say a prayer to the Virgin Mary. With her help, Our Lord would accept my offering and help me feel free and well again.
Verónica and I stayed apart that afternoon until it was almost dark, and I heard her fasten the latch on the store. By that time my sickness had passed, and I was embroidering the last saint in a row of other saints. Verónica came into the kitchen and quickly pulled a chair near me. “What’s that?” she asked. “Oh, nothing, just something I made up.” My daughter inspected my work. I was torn between wanting to tell her how I made my new design and getting back to Lucia’s story. I decided we could talk about the design tomorrow, so I laid the blouse over the back of my chair, tightened my shawl around me, and said I was ready to talk about Lucia again. I waited while Verónica found the tape recorder and turned it on. I continued with our escape from Lokan when we were just thirteen.
Lucia and I were determined to have different lives from our mothers. So we started to plan our escape, though it was difficult to do that because we knew so little about the city. But we knew one thing for sure—we had to hide it from our parents. This was hard because we had never lied to them, at least not about something important. Being truthful was part of being respectful, and that was very important back then. Except for the day we got drunk, we had been respectful and obedient girls.
So what lies did we tell our parents? Ah, big ones! Totally untrue things. Lucia told her mother that she was going to San Cristóbal with my mother and me and that we would pay her bus fare. I told my mother that Lucia and her mother were going to San Cristóbal to buy medicine for Hilario and that Lucia wanted me to go with them. My mother believed me and gave me bus fare and money to buy rice and thread for our store. I put the money in a change purse and tucked it into the folds of my belt. The money stayed there for a couple days burning a hole in my stomach. I’d never stolen from my mother or anyone.
Once in a dream I stole corn with Lucia. We were yearning to eat fresh corn and our fields didn’t have any yet. So, when it was dark, we crept into one of our neighbor’s fields and gathered up as many ears of elote as our shawls could hold. A mayol, one of our policemen, saw us scrambling up the hill with corn spilling out of our shawls and yelled for us to stop. Thank God, I woke up before he arrested us and put us in jail! When I realized it was a dream, I felt such relief. That’s how much I was afraid of stealing.
When I took my mother’s money, I feared that God would punish me severely. Still, I took it.
We decided to go on a Monday. We spent most of Sunday in church with our parents. I prayed to the Moon Virgin to accompany me on the road to San Cristóbal and to take care of me in the city. When we were finally on the bus with our homes disappearing behind us, Lucia told me that late Sunday night, after Hilario and her mother were asleep, she had gone outside to light some candles and pray to the Mother-Father-Ancestor-Protectors to keep our souls from getting lost on the road. Hilario taught Lucia that souls are tied to the place they are born. In order for them to accompany their owners when they travel far away, a special prayer is needed.
I got up about 4 a.m. and tried not to wake my father, my brother, and my little sister. I scooped up my extra skirt and blouse that I used for a pillow and put them in my net bag along with my comb, my graduation sweater, a few pesos I’d saved, and the money my mother gave me. Outside in the dark, I searched for a bucket of water. I found one filled to the brim and splashed the water on my face and feet and smoothed my hair with my wet hands. But it didn’t do much good. It had rained heavily in the night, and the mud in our patio just kept sloshing onto my feet.
I hung my bag on a tree branch and went inside the kitchen where Mother gave me a gourd of matz and some toasted tortillas for the road. I drank the matz quickly and said goodbye, nearly forgetting my bag in my rush to meet Lucia. It was still dark when the bus passed on the road below our house about 5 a.m.
We climbed onto the bus, already full with what looked like half of the township! We shared a seat with a woman and her baby. The baby started to cry when we sat down next to her, but Lucia soon turned her tears to smiles by jiggling the tiny gourd rattle hanging from her wrist. Eventually the baby tired of playing and turned to her mother’s breast. Her mother pulled a shawl over both their faces and laid her head against the window to get some sleep.
I held onto the back of the seat in front of us to keep from falling into the aisle as the bus swerved from one side of the road to the other to keep from sinking into the holes the rain had left. As the bus lurched ahead, a sick feeling began to take over my whole body. I felt that this was not going to end well, that I was about to feel a level of suffering and sadness that I’d never known.
But Lucia was excited. The whole way to San Cristóbal, she chattered about the things we’d do when we found work and started to go to middle school. She didn’t seem worried about what we would do when we arrived in the city, how we would find señoras to work for, where we would sleep that night, and what our parents would do when we didn’t come home.
All we knew in San Cristóbal was the cathedral in the center of the city and the market, which is where the bus dropped us off. I’d been in the market many times with my parents, but I always stayed by their side while they talked with the fruit and vegetable vendors. When they climbed the tall sidewalks to enter a store, I’d sit outside on the edge of the sidewalk and tuck my feet under my legs so a truck wouldn’t run them over.
My toes curled up when I got off the bus as my bare feet hit the icy cobblestone street. Lucia landed squarely on both feet and grabbed my hand. I thought she would jump for joy when she said, “Look at all the kaxlan ladies!”
Lucia was right, surrounding us were more mestizas than I’d ever seen in one place. They carried baskets and wore black, brown, and grey shawls and were rushing past each other heading for stacks of fruit and vegetables that the people from the country towns were unloading. The oldest ones wore ugly black shoes, but if one of them had given me her shoes I would have gladly worn them!
I think it was fear that made me so cold. I was much more afraid than Lucia. But looking back, maybe we would have been better off had Lucia been more afraid.
I don’t know how long we stood there holding hands and watching the people buying and selling everything anyone could need. We were standing next to an atole vendor, and the smell of cinnamon was too much to resist. She was busy trying to keep up with all the people who wanted atole. We got into the line and when our turn came asked for two glasses of rice atole. We held the glasses to our mouths, taking slow sips so the steam from the hot drink warmed our faces as well as our stomachs. We tried to make the atole last as
long as we could, but we had to give our glasses back to the vendor so she could wash them for the next customers. It was a cold morning, and people kept lining up in front of her metal pots.
What to do next? I knew a stall where my mother bought onions and tomatoes. Lucia said we should go there and ask the vendor if she knew any kaxlan ladies who needed a maid. I didn’t know exactly where the stall was, but I remembered that the vendor was from Chamula and had a gold tooth that shone brightly when she smiled. So we went looking for a woman in a blue shawl with a gold tooth.
We found her in her stall with two girls about our age. The three were busy selling to a crowd of ladies. After the crowd moved on, one of the girls sat down by a charcoal fire and warmed her hands over the red coals. I wanted to ask if we could join her, but Lucia beat me to it.
“Do you mind if we warm our hands a little? We’re really cold.”
“I don’t mind,” the girl said.
Lucia motioned me to come closer. I didn’t waste any time squatting next to her and stretching my hands over the coals.
“Where are you from?” the girl asked.
“Lokan, Chenalhó,” Lucia answered.
“Where are your parents?”
“At home.”
“Ah, your parents let you come to the city without them? How old are you?’
“I’m fourteen. We want to go to middle school, and our parents don’t have money to send us. We came here to find work so we can pay for school by ourselves. Once we find work we’ll tell our parents.”
“And the other girl? Is she your sister?”
“No, we’re best friends from school. I’m Lucia and she’s Magdalena. What’s your name?”
“Esperanza.”
“Where do you live?”
“I live at the edge of the city. I used to live in Chamula, but we had to leave and come here.”
“Do you like it here?”
“Not as much as Chamula. I miss my sheep. But I’m getting used to it here.”
We sat and warmed our hands for a while until I surprised myself when a flood of words came out of my mouth about how we didn’t know where to find work and did Esperanza’s mother know a couple of kaxlan ladies who needed a maid? I said we knew how to cook, wash clothes, clean the house, and take care of children and many other things and also we spoke a little castellano, especially Lucia who spoke it well.
The girl’s sister must have heard my explosion of words because she came over and asked if we were friends from school. Esperanza explained who we were and that we were looking for work. That caught her mother’s attention, and she called over from the other side of the stall.
“The señora who just left, the one in the brown shawl with the cane, she might need a servant. Yesterday her maid left to get married. She’s over there, looking at some lillies. Go ask her.”
Lucia leapt up and ran to the flower vendor’s stall where the woman was paying for her flowers. I followed as soon as I realized that Lucia had gone. When I got close to the señora, her back was to me. Her black hair was streaked with grey and wound up in a big coil. When she turned, I saw her face. It looked much kinder than I expected. The wrinkes in the corners of her eyes spread out like rays of sunshine when she smiled. Still, I was afraid to speak, but as usual Lucia found her words.
“Señora, pardon us, but the Chamula lady over there told us that you might need a maid. My friend and I know how to work hard. We can clean, wash, cook, and anything else you need us to do. We only ask for a few hours off to go to school. You see, we want to have different lives from our mothers.”
The señora looked surprised, but she was smiling at us. Finally, she said, “Well, well. I see from your blouses that you are girls from Chenalhó, and at least one of you speaks castellano. So you are looking for work? It’s true my maid just left, and I do need another one, but I don’t need two.”
“We understand, señora. But maybe you have a neighbor or a relative who needs a maid?”
“I don’t think so. At least I haven’t heard that anyone is looking for help.”
We hadn’t talked about what we would do if it happened that we found only one job. We hadn’t planned anything, really. So here we were with the possibility of a job for Lucia, but not one for me. Lucia’s mind seemed to be racing ahead trying to figure out what to do, while I just stood by her side not knowing what fate held for me.
“Señora, I would like to work for you if you’ll have me, but I need to help my friend find a job too. If you want me to start today, I just need a little time to find work for her. After you’re done shopping, we can follow you home, and then go ask the señoras in your neighborhood if they need a girl to work for them. That way, my friend and I will live close to each other.”
Our luck finding one job gave Lucia faith that it would hold out long enough to find another. I wasn’t so sure, but as usual I trusted Lucia. Still, I didn’t like that she took the job so fast without talking to me first.
The señora told us that we looked like girls she could trust and that she would like Lucia to be her maid. Then she said that she had a couple more things to buy, so we trailed behind her until her last stop circled us back near Esperanza’s mother’s stall. Lucia ran over to tell Esperanza’s mother the news about her job and thanked her for her help. Then she motioned for me to follow the señora. I looked longingly at Esperanza and her sister hunched over the coals. I wanted to stay with them and warm myself, but my future was like a living thing running off without me, and I had to catch up.
On the way to the señora’s house, Lucia carried the basket of vegetables while we walked single file along the narrow stone sidewalk. We were getting further and further from the market and had no idea where we were. The houses in the señora’s neighborhood were connected by tall walls. It was hard to know when one house began and the other ended. A few branches of purple bouganvilla climbed over the walls. We wondered what else filled the patios on the other side of those walls. Were they full of flowers and fruit trees? Were there vegetable gardens, chickens, and turkeys in the backyards?
When we finally arrived at the señora’s door, she took a big key from around her neck and unlocked the door. We never locked our doors, so this was something new for us. We waited patiently until the door creaked open. The señora turned around and said, “Come into the kitchen, girls.”
To get to the kitchen, we had to walk through a patio full of bouganvilla, rose bushes, and flowering fruit trees with a tank of water in the center and benches along the walls. In the kitchen, the first thing that caught my eye was a big white refrigerator. I’d seen them in Chenalhó. From the gate outside Doña Ermita’s bakery, I’d crane my neck to see her refrigerator and imagine what might be inside—heaping plates of candies, cream, cheese, and bottles of sweet milk.
The señora told us to sit down at her table. Then she explained what would happen for the rest of the day. But first she asked us our names and told us hers.
“My name is Dolores . . . (I don’t remember her last names.) Then she said, ‘You may call me Doña Dolores. Lucia, later I’ll tell you about your work here. Right now it’s best for you to look for a job for Magdalena. When you talk to the señoras, explain that you are my new servant. That might help. But I want you back in two hours to help me prepare dinner. It’s noon right now. Be back by 2. After dinner I’ll show you where you’ll sleep, and later we’ll talk about letting your parents know where you are. Do you need a glass of water before you go? In the cupboard are some glasses.”
The glasses were lined up in neat rows on the bottom shelf. We picked a couple that weren’t too big, filled them with water from a pottery jug, and gulped the water down.
We had to be back in two hours. We knocked on one door after another until we were far from Doña Dolores’ house, and my feet were aching. At every house we were rejected. Sometimes a maid came to the door and told us the señora didn’t need help. Other times a child opened the door and went to get her mother who fina
lly came to tell us she didn’t need a servant.
One señora looked us over like we were a couple of pigs she was thinking about buying and then closed the door before we had a chance to say we were sorry to bother her. One señora was very kind and recommended some houses that might need help. But no one needed a servant.
Before our time was up, I had my fill of rejection.
I was really worried as we headed back to Doña Dolores’ house. Where was I going to stay that night if we didn’t find work for me? Would Doña Dolores let me stay in her house with Lucia? With my head full of worry we knocked on Doña Dolores’ door.
Doña Dolores didn’t seem surprised that we hadn’t found work. She told us that after we ate we could go back out and try again. She put us to work chopping vegetables that she had washed and laid out on the counter. There were little red potatoes, chayotes, carrots, onions, tomatoes, and chiles. And a chicken was cooking on the stove. I could smell it when we came in, and the thought of eating chicken made me forget my worry. While the soup was cooking, Doña Dolores showed us Lucia’s room on one side of the patio. It had a bed, a table, and a clothes cupboard. There were burlap bags with something in them stacked in the corner. Doña Dolores gave us two clean sheets to put on the bed and told us to make the bed while she finished the meal. We had never slept in sheets or on a bed with a mattress. I helped Lucia lay the smooth sheet over the mattress and then another one on top of it. We figured out that must be how it’s done. I asked Lucia if she thought Doña Dolores would let me sleep in the bed with her that night. Lucia told me that even if we found a job for me, she would ask the señora if I could stay in her room that night, so we could talk about what we would say to our parents when they came looking for us.
When a Woman Rises Page 4