After that sad day, Verónica began to write the last chapter of Lucia’s story. She hoped that Diana would let her add it to the book they were making. When she went to the meeting to get feedback on what she had written, she asked Diana if she could add a chapter. Diana said yes, and suggested that Verónica call it an “Epilogue” because it would be in her own words. But Verónica needed to finish it soon, because the book was “going to press.” We had never heard that expression before and we liked how it sounded!
As Verónica wrote the last chapter of Lucia’s story, she mourned for Lucia. She said that she felt her loss deep in her bones, like she imagines she will feel when I die.
It seemed that I had finished mourning Lucia long ago. Maybe telling her story helped me say goodbye to her. That was good, because I was able to comfort my daughter when a wave of sadness swept over her.
I also comforted Carmela and others in Lokan by organizing a service in the chapel in memory of Lucia. I had never taken charge of a public event before. I took gifts to many people to ask for help with the service. Victorio went with me and everyone said yes.
Almost everyone in Lokan came, even people who don’t support the Zapatistas. Lucia had healed anyone who needed her help, and people respected her for that. Madre Evangelina came from Yabteclum and Zapatista representatives from other townships arrived in a couple trucks. Everyone couldn’t fit in the chapel, so many sat outside on the grass under a bright blue sky with only a few clouds. Ángel de Jesús prayed a traditional prayer and Victorio read from the Bible. The Catholic women’s choir in Lokan sang, the string musicians played sacred music for the Holy Hills, and the guitar group played hymns. It was as it should be, the old and the new blending together, how Lucia had lived her life.
Before the service ended, I thanked everyone for honoring my friend who had given so much to the people of Lokan. My words came straight from my heart, and everyone clapped after I finished.
Later that evening when we were sitting by the fire, Verónica told me something that made me very happy. “Today I felt so proud of you, Mother. You showed everyone that the women of Lokan are true women of the mountains.”
EPILOGUE
IN 2008, about a year after I started to tell Lucia’s story, the book finally came out. The organization didn’t spare any expense to celebrate books! They planned a big party to present the book to the public in a building near the zocalo in San Cristóbal. Verónica and the other writers were told to invite their family and the women they had interviewed. Carmela, Ricardo, Ángel de Jesús, Sebastian, and Victorio and I accompanied Verónica. As we walked through the crowds in the market to the plaza, I overheard Ángel say to Verónica, “See how your family supports you? If only Lucia could hear you read her story. She would be embarrassed, but proud of you at the same time.”
Because the celebration happened just before Feast of the Souls, there was an altar and in front of it were candles and pine needles. On top of the altar were marigolds, oranges, bananas, peanuts, tamales, candy, sodas, and many other foods and drinks.
When I saw it, I couldn’t believe my eyes, and I exclaimed, “How beautiful they make their altars in the city!” In Lokan, our altars are simple. We only put out a little fruit, candles, tamales, maybe a package of cookies, and some flowers. I wished that we had had a photo of Lucia to put on the altar that night. But all we have are our memories of Lucia’s face.
Verónica asked if Diana would let her put a chair in front of the altar for Lucia. Diana liked the idea and brought a chair from her office and put it in front of the altar. It was a wooden one, not a folding chair like the ones we would sit on for the presentation. Diana asked Verónica to tell the people about the chair. “People from other countries will come to our presentation and they may not know what the chair means,” she explained.
Verónica sat in the front row with the other authors. I wondered if she felt nervous as the room filled with many kaxlanetik. A group of women in elegant dresses and silk scarves that coiled around their necks talked to each other in a foreign language. Later Verónica found out that these women were from a country called Switzerland, and they had donated money to the organization.
The women whose stories were in the book sat behind the authors in the second row. We parents and other relatives sat in the rows behind them, and everyone else filled the remaining rows. Not many of the women who were interviewed came, even though the organization gave the girls money for the women’s transportation to the city.
Some of the girls went to the women’s homes to bring them to San Cristóbal, but at the last minute several couldn’t go because their children were sick, or someone had died, or who knows what else was happening in their lives. But that was important to remember—books don’t matter when you’re struggling to keep your children alive. I was glad to hear Diana say that in her introduction.
Verónica was the last person to read. She told me later that it was hard to be last, but she tried to learn from what the other girls did right and wrong in their presentations. When her turn came, she read the part of Lucia’s story where I told about how the Virgin Mary had come to her in a dream when she was a little girl. Verónica tried to look up at people from time to time, as Diana had instructed her to do. When she looked at me, I looked straight back at her. I hoped she could see that I had never felt so proud of her. But in truth, I was also worried about how our work had changed Verónica and where it might take her in her life.
After she finished reading, Verónica told everyone why she put the chair in front of the altar and how Lucia had died. I saw tears in many people’s eyes! I didn’t know that Lucia’s story could touch people, make them feel for her.
I pushed my fears down about Verónica’s future for the rest of the afternoon while I sampled all kinds of delicious foods from a row of tables on the side of the courtyard. The rest of the family joined me, but they only ate tamales, taquitos, and fruit.
Just before we were ready to leave, Diana came over and introduced herself. She also gave her condolences to us. Then she looked at Verónica and said, “Verónica, I was deeply moved by Lucia’s story and your mother’s generosity in sharing it. I think you saw that many in the audience were affected by Lucia’s life. You have a talent for telling people’s stories. I would like you to have the opportunity to develop your gift.
“I want to ask you if you would like to work for the organization full-time. We could use your help in two ways, but you can choose which one is best for you. You could help us put the women’s stories into books. You would have to live in San Cristóbal, but you could return to your home on weekends.
“The other option is that you could work in Chenalhó training other girls to record the stories of women in their communities. That way you could live at home. Either way, you’ll need to spend a month with us in San Cristóbal learning about the organization and our project. We have a room in the organization’s house where you can sleep during the week and on weekends you can return to your family.
“After the training, we’ll have meetings in San Cristóbal twice a month with you and two other girls who will train women in Chamula and San Larrainzar. You don’t have to tell me your answer right now. But I want to take this opportunity to tell your parents how impressed we are with your work and that we want you to keep working with us.”
Verónica looked shocked at Diana’s words. I felt my worst fears might come true. We didn’t have much time to think because Diana wanted to give us three copies of the book: one for Verónica, one for me, and one for Carmela. We took the books and thanked her. Then Diana said goodbye and moved on to the next girl to meet her family and give them their books.
On the way back to Lokan everyone was chattering about the event, except Verónica and me. I was thinking about what Verónica would decide, how much harder and sadder my life would be if she decided to live in San Cristóbal. I don’t know what Verónica was thinking, but her thoughts had taken her far away.
The
topic of the job offer didn’t come up until Verónica raised it over breakfast the next morning. I was making tortillas when she came into the kitchen and stopped at the altar in the corner. The night before, I had put a copy of our book there. I had hoped that Verónica would see it sharing sacred space with the Bible and a picture of the Virgin of Guadalupe.
Verónica stood at the altar for a while. Then she sat down next to her father who had gotten up early and was drinking his matz. He was about to leave for a meeting in Polhó and didn’t have much time to talk.
Verónica cleared her throat before speaking. She spoke more formally than usual.
“Father, Mother, I never thought it would happen, but last night I got a chance to be something more in my life. I want to take this chance, to work full time for Telling Our Stories. But I don’t know which job to choose. A part of me wants to live in San Cristóbal to see what life is like there.
“But another part of me feels that I can do something important here with other girls and women. Either way, I’ll not be able to help Mother in our store during the week. But I’ll have money and can help you and others in our community. What do you think? Should I take the job? Which job should I take?”
We didn’t say anything right away. I think we were both collecting our thoughts. Then Victorio said, “Daughter, we don’t want you to leave your home again. We remember when you left to live with Rodrigo. You could have died had you stayed with him. We brought you home and after that we never wanted you to leave unless a good man came to ask to marry you.
“But you aren’t the same girl who came back to us. You’ve grown into a strong person who can think for herself and has learned to do many things. Only God knows your destiny. If you feel that he’s calling you to live in San Cristóbal, then neither your mother nor I can say that’s not true. It seems that the work they want you to do in the organization is like a cargo, even though you’ll be paid. You’ll serve the original people of Chiapas by recording their stories.
“When others read about us, they’ll see that we aren’t stupid and uncivilized. Indigenous women are as intelligent as mestizos. Just think about Lucia and your mother! The only difference is that they haven’t had the opportunities that mestizas have had. I want you to have opportunities like mestiza girls. I want you to learn. If you want to work in San Cristóbal then you have my blessing. If you want to work here in Chenalhó you know that your mother and I would like that best.”
Verónica’s whole body seemed to relax. Then she turned to look at me, waiting for what I would say. I think she was most afraid of what her father would say, but also wondering how I would feel about being left alone to care for the house and our store.
But I had changed from the mother Verónica knew when we first started this experiment. Looking back on my life and remembering Lucia had shown me many things, mostly the gains and losses that come with every choice a person makes. I looked into the fire and told my daughter, “You know that once I had a chance to live a different life from other women in Lokan. But my parents wouldn’t let me take advantage of that opportunity. I don’t want to do the same to you. I don’t want anything to keep you from working and learning. I’m not sure where God is leading you or what is in your heart. I don’t need to tell you that I would be happy if you stayed in Chenalhó and taught other young women to listen with their whole hearts, as you have listened to me. But whatever you choose, you go with my blessing. I’m proud of you and want you to follow your heart.”
Victorio didn’t say anything to us when he left, except, “Until later.” I think he was worried about losing Verónica forever if she chose to live in San Cristóbal. I got up from where I was sitting by the fire and went to help a customer in the store. I left Verónica sitting by the fire with her thoughts.
About an hour passed before I heard Verónica come down the path to the store and open the door. I was standing on a chair hanging candles on the ceiling with my back to the door. “Hand me those candles, daughter,” I told her.
Verónica did as I asked and then said, “Mother, I’ve been thinking, and I’ve made my choice.”
I got down from the chair and sat down in it, afraid to hear Verónica’s decision. She pulled another chair close to me and began to tell me what was in her heart.
“Not long ago I would have done anything to have a job in San Cristóbal and live there all the time. I’ve dreamt about that, about going to school and working, about selling my weavings to make extra money. I’ve even thought about how I could have a boyfriend without telling you and Father and having to do joyol!
“When Diana told me about the job, my heart felt like it would burst from all the hopes I’ve been holding inside me. But now I don’t know what’s going on with me because I don’t feel that much like taking the job in San Cristóbal. Maybe someday I’d like to live there, see how it is, go back to school. But something inside me has changed.
“It seems that now I want to do something here, for my people. Like Father said, if I take the job here it will be like a cargo. Before you told me Lucia’s story, I didn’t know how important cargos are, that through them we don’t just help others, but ourselves. I didn’t think one would come to me. Even if it didn’t come in a dream, it came in its own way. If I stay in Chenalhó I can help other young women learn the things I’ve learned.”
I was filled with relief and joy to hear Verónica’s decision. Before I realized what I was doing, I picked up a candle and put it on the table beside us. Then I asked Verónica to find a match and light it. We knelt there in front of the candle while I prayed to the Moon, Mother Earth, and all the saints and ancestors to bless my daughter in her work.
Verónica’s first day of training was in mid-November on a Monday morning. She said goodbye to me early in the morning and assured me that she’d be home on Friday evening. As she was leaving I gave her a little piece of advice: “Listen well, daughter!”
When she returned on Friday she couldn’t wait to tell me about her week of training and life in San Cristóbal. I told her to sit down by the fire, pretend I was interviewing her, and give me the long version! She laughed, took a sip of the rice atole I had made for her return, and told me about her week.
“When I got to San Cristóbal I bought a glass of atole and stood for a while drinking it, feeling like one of the many people in the market grabbing some nourishment before going to work. Then I went to the office. Once inside, Diana took me into the library and introduced me to the other team members, Maruch and Herlinda. They would be working in Chamula and San Andrés Larrainzar.
“Maruch gave me a big smile. I was happy that we would be working together. The next day I told her how my cake turned out, and she invited me to go home with her sometime to meet her family.
“The next thing Diana did the first day was tell us about the house. She said that soon after they started the organization, a retired teacher found out about their work and began to donate money to them. She was quite elderly and in time she couldn’t live alone in her house. A niece invited the señora to live with her. Instead of selling her house, the señora donated it to the organization.
“Doña Dolores had believed that indigenous girls should have the same rights as mestiza girls, and she had helped many go on in school past sixth grade. Diana pointed to photos on one wall of the study. From inside the row of frames, girls from different townships looked out at me with serious expressions. They held diplomas and all wore their traditional clothes.
“As I gazed up at the photos, I remembered the story of when you and Lucia ran away to San Cristóbal and the señora, Doña Dolores, who gave Lucia work and promised to help her go to school. I asked myself if she could be the same woman who donated this house. I could hardly wait until today to ask you if the last name of Lucia’s employer was the same as the woman who owned the house, but I didn’t have to wait that long.
“Diana left us to look around in the study at the books and other things Doña Dolores had left behind
. I reached for a book lying on its side on top of a row of books and turned the pages of The Nine Guardians by Rosario Castellanos. Halfway through the book I came to a piece of folded paper. I opened it up carefully, like an archaeologist discovering an ancient treasure.
“When I had smoothed it out, I saw that it was a letter on lined notebook paper. At the top was “Very esteemed Doña Dolores” and at the bottom was the signature of the letter-writer, Lucia Pérez López. Lucia’s signature was made up of little flourishes that rose above and dipped below the line, just as you described it. My heart raced as I read her letter, the one that sealed her fate. I tucked it in the folds of my belt and thought about how you will feel when you see Lucia’s signature. Here it is, Mother.”
Verónica held out Lucia’s letter to me. I didn’t take it right away. I couldn’t believe that something of Lucia’s could still be in the world and had now come back to me.
Finally I took the letter from Verónica and opened it slowly. I didn’t want to take the letter in all at once, so I started at the top and worked my way down, reading each line out loud, until I came to Lucia’s signature.
It didn’t seem possible that lines swirling around each other could bring a person back to life. But Lucia took form before me. She looked at me with her smiling eyes and motioned for me to kneel beside her. I grabbed my shawl from the back of my chair and knelt close to her. I smelled smoke in her hair, smoke from our fire. She reached for my hand.
When a Woman Rises Page 20