Into the Tall, Tall Grass

by Loriel Ryon

  I was practicing.

  Blood sage had exploded with scarlet flowers between the orchard rows, leaving a pungent aroma hanging in the cool evening air. I had just discovered I could move butterflies and fireflies without even touching them. I had always known my skill would eventually come, but the skill with the insects was quite frankly unexpected. Raúl was amazed at what I could do.

  “Josefa, how did you know?” Raúl’s eyes shone in the reflection of the light from the kitchen.

  “They started following me,” I said. “I wasn’t sure at first, but—” I danced three butterflies in a circle around his head.

  He gazed at them and smiled. “Wow. I can’t wait for mine to come.”

  “Mira,” I said. “Look.” I jumped down from the tree and gently touched the tiny red buds of blood sage that hadn’t bloomed yet. They burst open with the touch of my fingertip.

  “Wow, did you do all of this?” Raúl spread his arms wide. “The sage isn’t supposed to bloom for a few more weeks.”

  I grinned sheepishly as I climbed back into the tree next to my brother and summoned a few fireflies into my palm.

  A visitor came to the orchard that night. A visitor who would change everything. He was a man with curly black hair sticking out from a newsboy cap, rolling an enormous black trunk behind him.

  Mami knew he was coming because she left out an extra plate of food for him. She’d had a dream he was coming. She was always having dreams about things that were going to happen. So while she was usually one step ahead of everyone else, it didn’t mean she knew everything. She just had a feeling about things. We watched the man walk straight up the steps and knock on our front door. Later Mami told me he asked for the Rodríguez brujas and she shut the door right in his face. She hated being called that.

  She said he knocked again, apologized profusely, and was actually quite charming. It wasn’t every day a visitor came to our orchard, and Mami hated to be rude, so she let him in and fed him supper. After he ate, the man washed the dishes at the sink, obviously grateful for the meal. Raúl and I watched on and off through the bay window, from our place in the tree, busy with the insects.

  I was letting Raúl peek inside my glowing hands when the man screamed. The fireflies flew into the night as we ran to the house, up the steps, and straight into the kitchen.

  The visitor clutched his hand, blood dripping into a dark burgundy pool on the oak floor, his face pale white. Mami grabbed a dish towel and pressed it into his hand. A knife, bloodied and shiny, lay between his feet.

  “It slipped while he was washing it. Get Violeta!” Mami shouted. I ran as fast as I could up the stairs to her room, but she was already coming down. She had heard the man scream too. The man began to shake, and Mami held his hand tightly, trying to stop the flow of blood. Raúl hid behind the counter, his face white.

  My sister moved toward the man straightaway, pushing Mami out of the way. She removed the dish towel, and the blood oozed out of a large gash in the man’s hand. White tendons were exposed in the bloody cut. She placed her hand directly on top of his hand as he winced in pain. She closed her eyes and her shoulders fell as she relaxed, taking deep breaths. The man, mesmerized, watched her every move, enchanted by the rhythm of her breath.

  She removed her hand, now covered with the man’s blood, and pursed her lips, blowing softly over the open gash. The dripping blood slowed. It seemed to go backward, back into the man’s wounded hand, and the cut began to close.

  He pushed a flop of black curly hair from his brow with his good hand as my sister met his gaze. Their eyes locked, the fire between them sending a jolt through the room.

  That was the moment my sister fell in love with Benjamín.

  Twenty-one

  AFTER she finished speaking, Wela ate half a banana and fell asleep, weakened and too tired to continue the story. The group picked up and continued navigating their way through the tall, tall grass. Sonja and Yolanda cut the grass up in front as Hasik pushed Wela in the wheelbarrow in the back. Ghita walked with Rosalind Franklin between the wheelbarrow and the sisters.

  “Was he right?” Ghita said carefully. “I know you hate that word, and I know your family has those special skills, but are you what he said?”

  Yolanda reeled. “No one is a bruja! We are not witches!” She couldn’t believe Ghita would bring that up. Ghita knew how they loathed that word whispered under the breath of passersby. How could she think that about them? “People in this town call us that because they are afraid. They’ve been calling Wela that since she was a child.”

  “Well, don’t they have a reason to?” Ghita asked. “It’s because of the drought, right? When she and Welo moved back, the drought came. That’s what Eli told me.”

  Sonja rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you’d listen to anything Eli Jensen says. His mother and grandmother are the worst culprits of spreading around those rumors about our family.”

  “Well, did they cause the drought?” Hasik asked. “My dad said he’s heard the same sort of thing. Everything died and the river dried up when they moved back into that house.”

  Yolanda felt the heat rise up the back of her neck. It was hard to listen to Hasik and Ghita talk about her family like that. How could they believe such things? The Patels were supposed to be their allies, the only people in town who would even speak to them. It wasn’t easy to hear the way they were talking about Wela and Welo as though they weren’t to be trusted.

  “None of that is true,” Yolanda said matter-of-factly. “You guys need to think about who you are talking to. Wela and Welo did not cause the drought.”

  Sonja swiped the machete at the grass. “I get how the town perceives Wela. It’s not like she’s made a huge effort to get to know people.”

  Yolanda pursed her lips. She couldn’t believe Sonja was taking their side. “That still doesn’t give them the right to call us brujas!”

  Sonja looked taken aback. “I didn’t say it did. I’m just saying Wela and Welo didn’t help their situation any.”

  “Welo tried to!” Yolanda cried. “He worked his whole life to explain the trait, to figure out how to explain it so people wouldn’t think it was strange!” Yolanda’s heart pounded in her chest. Her own reaction surprised her. She knew she was still upset about Wela burning Welo’s notes, but this was the first time it occurred to her that Welo’s work was more about trying to be accepted for who they were instead of a scientific discovery. The loss felt even greater now.

  “I’m not blaming Wela. She had a lot of bad things happen when she was a child. Something terrible happened to her sister. It was very tragic,” Sonja said quietly.

  Yolanda knew something had happened to Violeta, but she didn’t know details. And it sounded like Sonja did. Why didn’t Wela ever tell her anything? Why did she save all the family stories for Sonja?

  “That’s why it so important for me to learn how to control the bees—and pretend I’m just interested in studying them. Because when people find out about the truth, it can be dangerous.”

  Sonja sliced an arm through the grass, accidentally dropping the machete to the ground.

  “I can help.” Ghita held out a hand. “I’m sure you guys are tired.”

  “I don’t need your help.” Sonja picked up the machete and ignored her. She continued to slice the grass.

  “It’ll be easier if we take turns. Then everyone can have a break.”

  “I said no,” Sonja said.

  Ghita’s face fell, and Yolanda suddenly felt a little sorry for her. Then Sonja’s bees darted dangerously close to Yolanda.

  “Here.” Yolanda handed Ghita the machete. Another bee flew by her ear. “I could use a break.”

  Ghita pressed her lips together in an almost smile and took Yolanda’s spot next to Sonja.

  “Just because you said no to me at the house doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends,” Ghita whispered to Sonja. She held the machete awkwardly and struggled to cut the grass. Sonja watched her out o
f the corner of her eye but didn’t say anything. Ghita continued to swat at the grass without actually cutting any of it.

  “Use it on an angle. It’ll cut better.” Sonja placed her hand over Ghita’s. “Like this.”

  Ghita adjusted her grip and started cutting again, her eyes a little brighter, and this time with much better results. Long blades of grass flew out on either side of her.

  * * *

  Last summer, when Welo got sick, Ghita and Yolanda had spent all of their free time looking for a cure. Every morning before the sun came up, Yolanda waited by the dirt road for Ghita, and they walked to the college where Wela worked and searched websites, self-help books, and health magazines looking for anything new in brain tumor research that could help Welo. They even found some of the latest scientific periodicals and tried their best to understand what the articles were saying. They sat side by side, poring over articles, sharing half-cold burritos out of the vending machine until it grew dark. And every night, when she got home, Yolanda crept into Welo’s room and smoothed the serape over his thinning body and whispered, “We didn’t find it today, Welo, but we will. I’ll keep searching. I won’t give up.”

  Sonja would be snoring next to him, her red hair falling on her freckled face, exhausted from all of the up and down. Getting him glasses of water, bringing him meals and medicine, helping him to the bathroom. Sonja took care of him as Wela worked at the college and Yolanda desperately searched for a cure.

  One evening, as they walked home, a look of concern came over Ghita’s face. “Even if we do find something that could help your Welo, it won’t matter. We won’t be able to help him in time.”

  Yolanda sucked in a breath as though she’d been punched in the gut. How could Ghita be so careless with her words? Surely she didn’t mean it.

  But Ghita kept going. She turned to Yolanda and looked down at her hands.

  “Face it, Yo—he’s dying.”

  “How could you say something like that?” Yolanda was stunned. She blinked back tears. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “I’m sorry, Yo. I …” Ghita held out her hands and shrugged helplessly.

  Yolanda knew Ghita wasn’t going to stop. She never did. She always barreled right through without a thought for anyone else.

  “I just think you are wasting your time when you could be spending it with him.”

  “You promised you would help me.” Yolanda glared at Ghita. “I can’t believe you!” How could her best friend say such a thing? How dare she? In her heart she knew there was truth to what Ghita was saying, but she couldn’t admit it. Admitting it would mean they were running out of time. Admitting it would mean that Welo was really dying. Yolanda turned, cinched her backpack over her shoulders, and ran home, leaving Ghita in the middle of the road.

  The next day Yolanda didn’t wait for Ghita.

  And when Ghita showed up at the library later that morning, Yolanda ignored her and continued thumbing through a nutrition textbook.

  “I’m sorry, Yo. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.” Ghita picked at a hangnail. “I know this is hard for you. I’ll keep searching.”

  But Yolanda didn’t look up. Cancer would not beat Welo. Yolanda could fix this. Science could fix anything. You just had to know how to use it. And she didn’t need Ghita or anyone else to help her do it.

  Ghita stood there for a long while in awkward silence, but Yolanda still wouldn’t utter a word.

  Then Ghita pulled up a chair, sat next to Yolanda, opened her own notebook, and began to read. For the next two weeks, Ghita waited outside Yolanda’s front door every morning. And they would walk in silence to the library and work side by side together.

  But Yolanda still wouldn’t speak to Ghita.

  Ghita’s words had hit something deep within Yolanda. The fear of losing Welo and having others see it as possible was too devastating to admit. But Ghita was her best friend, and the fact that she came every day to help Yolanda changed her heart. After one particularly long day of reading, Yolanda decided she had been too harsh with Ghita. She missed her best friend and was glad that she was still helping her. She decided first thing the next morning she would apologize.

  But the next morning Ghita wasn’t waiting at her door. Yolanda waited until the sun came up before she realized Ghita wasn’t coming at all and walked to the library alone.

  Three days later Welo died.

  And Yolanda never forgave Ghita. She couldn’t forgive her for abandoning her right when she needed her the most.

  A few weeks after Welo’s funeral, Ghita came over and tried to talk to Yolanda. Wela pleaded with Yolanda to hear her out. But Yolanda refused to see her. Ghita had abandoned her, and she wasn’t going to fall for that again. She watched from her bedroom as Ghita sat on the front steps, with her brand-new shiny gold nose ring, whistling away on her flute, waiting for Yolanda to come out.

  Yolanda never did.

  But Sonja did.

  Ghita and Sonja sat on the porch, next to each other, as Ghita played her flute and Sonja’s brand-new bees swirled around their heads to the beat of the music. Ghita, her lips pressed on the flute, smiled at Sonja. Sonja’s freckled cheeks shone pink.

  The lump in her throat sat hard and heavy. That was the moment Yolanda realized she had lost her best friend and her sister.

  Twenty-two

  WELA slept most of the afternoon, waking for a sip of water and falling right back to sleep. Yolanda had hoped that after a quick stop at the casita, they would make it to the river by nightfall, but Sonja was right; something strange was happening. Even though the grass was dense and their progress was slow, they should have made it to the casita hours ago.

  After the sun tipped over the highest point in the bright blue sky, they stopped for a water break. Yolanda’s stomach growled as she dug around the bottom of her pack, pulling out a piece of stale naan and two brown bananas. Once they ate this, they would be out of food. Reluctantly, she split up the food and handed it out, no one daring to complain about the small portions.

  Ghita stood and brushed her hands on her pants. “Hasik, I want to look for the house one more time.”

  “Give it up already!” Sonja threw her hands up. “The house is gone.”

  Ghita ignored Sonja. Hasik climbed to his feet and helped Ghita climb onto his shoulders.

  “There’s something over there. It’s an old house.” Ghita pointed. “It’s not far.”

  “Finally!” Yolanda said, relieved. She glanced at Wela, who was still asleep. Hopefully the box she was looking for was there. “It’s got to be the casita.”

  “Dad and I stopped there once,” Sonja said. “Maybe we can camp there tonight.”

  “Camp again?” Ghita climbed down. “Amma is for sure going to kill us. We are supposed to leave for Kolkata tomorrow morning!”

  “Forget about Kolkata!” Sonja yelled.

  The group fell silent. No one sure what to say. Rosalind Franklin pranced around in a circle, her tags jingling. The hot sun beat over them as Yolanda’s stomach growled again.

  “Maybe by some miracle there will be food or water at the casita.” Yolanda gently wiped the sweat that had gathered in the creases of Wela’s face with the serape and sighed. She was looking worse. Her hair was not as bright, and her skin was more yellow than it had been.

  Hasik gripped the handles of the wheelbarrow as Sonja and Yolanda walked ahead to cut the path.

  “I’m worried about Wela,” Yolanda said. “She doesn’t look good.”

  “Well, of course not,” Sonja snapped. “She’s dying, Yo, and you brought her out here in the heat.”

  Sonja’s attitude was getting worse by the minute. “She asked me to! Just wait. You’ll see.” Yolanda didn’t want to talk to Sonja about Wela anymore. Sonja always thought she knew everything—about everything.

  Ghita walked behind Hasik, and they could hear her huffing and puffing.

  Sonja looked back and rolled her eyes.

  “What’s going
on between you and Ghita?” Yolanda whispered to Sonja. “You’re being so snippy.”

  “You should talk.” Sonja sliced the grass in front of her. “You’re the one who’s been giving us both the silent treatment for half a year.” Sonja picked up her pace and moved in front, her bees flying right into Yolanda’s face.

  “Can you get these out of my face?” Yolanda ducked down, avoiding a stray bee. “I don’t have my medicine with me.”

  Sonja ignored her and continued cutting down the grass in front. Yolanda had no choice but to ease back and away from the bees.

  The sun pulsed overhead, radiating heat into the thick grass scratching at her legs, leaving red, itchy marks across her shins. The monotonous rhythmic squeak from the wheelbarrow blended in the noise of her thoughts.

  Shortly after Sonja’s bees first came, they were getting ready for bed and Sonja started pacing back and forth. She was biting her thumbnail. “I need to tell you something, Yo.”

  They had just returned from the hospital after Yolanda’s first bee sting, and Sonja had been acting weird about the whole thing. Yolanda assumed she felt bad about the bee sting and Yolanda almost dying.

  “I’m different.” Sonja’s voice was shaking.

  “Of course you are different. We are all different in this family.” Yolanda rolled the hospital bracelet around her wrist and rubbed the red spot on her arm. “One day my skill will come, and hopefully it has nothing to do with bees—or anything that can hurt anyone else.”

  Sonja shoulders sagged and her expression turned serious.

  Yolanda faced her sister. She obviously felt really bad about the bees. It had scared all of them—Wela too. “I know you didn’t mean to—with the bees. I’m okay. I really am. I’ll have to learn how—”

  “No.” Sonja shook her head. “Not that.” Her eyes darted around the room, and she pushed her red hair back from her face with both of her hands. Something was bothering her. She hadn’t looked this worried since Welo got sick. “I think—”