by Loriel Ryon
Hasik’s eyes widened. “How did you … ?”
Within seconds the juicy fruits were the sizes of limes, plump and ready to be picked.
“Now your turn.” Wela handed a stick to Sonja.
Sonja bit her lip, three bees darting in and out of her braids. She touched the top of the cactus with her fingertip, but nothing happened. She tried again, but once again nothing happened. Her shoulders slumped in defeat as she looked at Wela and handed the stick back to her.
“It’s okay, mija. Try again.” Wela put the stick back in Sonja’s hand. “Deep breaths this time. Feel it out.”
Sonja took a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she touched the top of the cactus, and this time, tiny plum buds began to slowly emerge.
Sonja bit her lip, but the buds stopped growing and stayed the size of three purple peas. Sonja shook her head and handed the stick back to Wela.
“You just need more practice, mija. That’s all.” Wela touched each fruit, and it quickly swelled to the size of the others.
Before long, Wela had supplied the group with enough prickly pear fruit for dinner. Hasik and Sonja worked to cut and peel the fruit, while Ghita and Yolanda stuck the fruit onto sticks and roasted them over the fire.
“Your shoulder looks better,” Sonja said, taking a bite of the fruit, the juice dribbling down her chin.
Yolanda glanced at her ripped, bloodstained shirt. The pain was gone and the bite marks nearly healed. It had been only a few hours.
“That turmeric must work.” Yolanda ran her fingers along her arm. “Wow.”
Wela’s wrinkled face glowed in the flames. “What’s that?” Her brow was furrowed. “That box. Is that it?”
“I think so.” Yolanda had almost forgotten about the box. She tapped the top of it. “I found it in the casita, but I can’t open it. It’s locked. I’m sure Sonja can pop it open for us.” Yolanda slid the box across the ground.
Sonja dug in her pocket and pulled out a pocketknife.
“Don’t open it.” Wela held out her arms to stop Sonja. “A ver, I want to see it.”
Yolanda carried the heavy box to Wela and laid it in her lap. Wela brushed the sand off the top, and her hand shook as she ran her index fingers in the grooves. “Dios mío,” she whispered.
“What? What is it, Wela?” Yolanda asked.
“This is it. You found it. We must take this.” Wela’s fingers curled around the box. Tears brimmed in her eyes, shining in the fire.
“What’s in the box?” Sonja asked.
“It’s time for the next part of my story,” she said.
Twenty-five
AFTER my sister healed Benjamín, it was silly to think he would leave on his own. Mami knew the truth, of course. He had fallen in love with Vi. You couldn’t really blame him. We’d all felt the chemistry between them. And she’d saved his hand. But no one dared tell Papá. Violeta was his firstborn. He could never admit that she was turning into a grown woman. Oh no, he would have lost his mind had he known what the rest of us knew.
Benjamín loved Violeta.
And she loved him back.
Benjamín stayed through the summer. My sister convinced Papá to let him help out on the orchard after his hand fully healed, which took a few days. He was a strong young man and a hard worker, determined to spend as much time as possible with my sister. Papá agreed because we had a lot of work to do and could use the extra help. But in the end, I think Papá might have suspected something because he insisted Benjamín stay in the adobe casita.
Benjamín moved himself into the casita the next night. I offered to help him move, as his hand was still a little sensitive and healing. And I was curious. Who was this young man who had come and fallen in love with my sister? As we walked down the center of the orchard, our path lit by an orb of fireflies, he refused to let me help with the massive black trunk on wheels. He wouldn’t even let me touch it. This only made me sure I needed to find out what was in it.
During those summer nights, long after supper and long after all the lights were out, I would sneak out of the house, tiptoe as quietly as I could through front door and down the creaky steps, climb up the low-hanging branch of the pecan tree out front, and practice. The butterflies slept at night, so instead I danced fireflies in my palms and summoned them from afar. I coaxed summer buds to bloom and turned pecan flowers into nuts. I don’t know why, but I enjoyed working at it alone, without anyone knowing or seeing what I was doing. And it felt good to be outside, in the warm moonlight, discovering it for myself. In private.
Some of those nights, Violeta would creep out the door and wait on the porch swing, her nightgown to her ankles, looking like an angel in all white. I would never move when she came out, for fear of her discovering me. And I knew what she was up to.
She would glance over her shoulder now and again, rocking the swing back and forth as the chain creaked, and wait.
Benjamín would arrive sometime later, walking up the center of the orchard, pushing his black curls from his brow, hands shoved in the pockets of his gray tweed pants with a wry smile on his face. Both of their faces would light up when they saw each other, as though they had been apart for so much longer than the few hours since supper. They would swing and whisper, their heads bent together. Vi would tuck her head into the crook of his arm and trace the scar across his palm with her finger.
After a little while, they would step into the orchard, holding hands. And as they walked by my tree, their blue shadows dancing between the moonlit rows of the orchard, I held my breath, terrified they would see me.
But they never did.
Night after night, I watched them. I never knew where they went or what they did. I could only guess, but they stayed out so late that many times the sun would wake me as Vi came running up the center of the orchard.
One evening after supper, while Violeta and Mami were cleaning up, Benjamín strolled back to his casita. I followed him, hiding behind the pecan trees so he wouldn’t see me.
When he got to the casita, I waited until he went inside and shut the door before peering in through one of the foggy windows. He flipped the latches of the black trunk and lifted the lid. Inside was a contraption I hadn’t seen before, black and shiny with different brass knobs and buttons. Benjamín lifted it carefully out of its case and set it on the table.
I wasn’t a master with the insects back then, but they certainly had an affinity for me, and in the end they revealed my presence. It’s hard to ignore a ring of fireflies thumping against the glass after dark. And so Benjamín waved me in without even glancing toward the window.
As I stepped into the creaky old casita, I noticed books stacked on the desk, some open to random pages, others flagged with bookmarks. Many of them had illustrations, drawings of people. But they were strange, like parts were missing or layers of skin flipped up.
“Human anatomy books,” he said, fiddling with the knobs of the contraption and squinting an eye into the eyepiece on the top.
The calm in his voice gave me permission, and I stepped closer to the desk and turned the pages, entranced by things I had never seen before. “Why do they look like that?”
“They’re drawings.” He took one of the books into his hands and flipped to a page. “See this here?” He tapped with an index finger. “This here is the human brain. Scientists and doctors are just starting to learn about the structures of the brain and what they do. The brain controls so much of what we do, who we are, and why we are the way we are.”
I sat down next to him as he flipped to another page.
“This here? These are the kidneys, the filters for the body. They are the most magnificent organ because their structures are so tiny, so minuscule, but they do all of the work, filtering toxins, returning important nutrients back to our blood, and making urine,” he said.
I made a face.
Benjamín laughed. “Everyone makes urine, Josefa.”
I felt my face flush. “But do we have to
talk about it?” I pointed to the black contraption with the knobs. “What’s that?”
“This.” He stood and pushed his shoulders back proudly, a black curl falling over his forehead. He tapped the contraption with his palm. “This is a microscope.”
“What does it do?” I stepped a bit closer.
“It magnifies things so you can see the tiniest of structures. Things you cannot see with the naked eye.”
“Like a magnifying glass?” I said.
“Yes, but much more powerful.” He opened an oak box on the desk, revealing rectangles of glass tucked in a ruby velvet lining. Crouching down, he located the one he was looking for, carefully slid it out of the box, and placed it in the microscope. While he fiddled with the knobs and squinted his eyes, I tried to read the tiny writing on the glass.
“Ah ha, here we go. Josefa, have you ever seen something so beautiful?” He guided me to the microscope. “Look right in there.”
I did as I was instructed and looked into the eyepiece. At first it was blurry and hard for me to see, but after a few seconds my eyes adjusted, and the most beautiful image emerged. What at first looked like colorful bubbles turned into shining defined circles. Tiny dots marked the center of each bubble.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s the cross section of a pecan tree branch,” he said, smiling.
“It’s beautiful.” I peered into the microscope. “I had no idea a branch looked like this.”
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Benjamín paced around the room excitedly. “Each little structure you see in there is one vital structure to how a pecan tree functions. It’s absolutely astounding we can see it.”
I stepped back. “What else is there?”
Benjamín pulled out another slide, a cross section of the human kidney. He explained the different structures and how they worked to clean the blood in the human body. With each slide of plants, parts of the human body, and bacteria, Benjamín grew more and more excited.
His enthusiasm was infectious and exhilarating. I had never heard of such things before. I was amazed. We stayed up late into the night, until he had explained every last slide from the box.
“How do you know all this?” I asked.
“I’m a scientist,” he said.
That evening changed my life forever.
That was the night I knew I would become a scientist.
Twenty-six
THE NEXT morning, as soon as the sky began to lighten, everyone quietly packed their gear into the backpacks. No one mentioned leaving without Rosalind Franklin even though Yolanda couldn’t get her out of her mind. She looked around longingly, hoping that she might saunter in from the grass. All night long she had tossed and turned, worrying about her sweet, mischievous dog.
Sonja climbed up on Hasik’s shoulders and determined which direction the group would venture. They started out again, leaving the casita behind and heading toward the river.
“It shouldn’t be taking this long.” Sonja swiped at the grass with a machete.
“It’s a strange land, mija,” Wela said sleepily from the wheelbarrow.
The food from the night before had helped their hunger, but it hadn’t been enough. They needed water. Yolanda tried to swallow, but her mouth was so dry, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She looked around at the popping grass and tried to take her mind off of Rosalind Franklin. Wela’s story about the microscope had reminded her of the time she and Wela had looked in the microscope together.
It was a couple of weeks after Welo got sick. Wela was standing at the workbench and brushed her white curls from her face with the back of her hand. Little beads of sweat had collected in a row across the deep lines in her forehead. The butterflies nestled into her hair as she arranged her tools, a microscope, a box of glass slides, and blue dye.
“Today we are going to look at cells,” Wela said. “But first, it’s a bit hot and a bit dark in here.” She opened the window, allowing a slight breeze inside the stuffy workshop. With a flick of her wrist, a swarm of fireflies flew in and formed a glowing ball above their heads, providing just enough light to work.
“When will mine come?” Yolanda had asked, still amazed at the skills Wela possessed.
“In time.” Wela handed her a cotton swab. “Now, take this swab and scrape the inside of your cheek and then rub it on the glass slide here.”
Yolanda did as she was told, and Wela prepared the slide. “What if I’m like your brother, Raúl?” Yolanda asked.
Wela shot her a look. “Basta, mija.”
Wela set the slide into the notch in the microscope, adjusted the knobs, and peered into the eyepieces.
“Ah! Here! These are your cheek cells. Each one has a dark blue center called—”
“A nucleus,” Yolanda said. “I finished the book you gave me. The nucleus of a cell contains the DNA, the building blocks of all living things. One set comes from your mother and one from your father.”
Wela smiled and pushed the microscope toward Yolanda, who stood and peered into the eyepiece. “It’s pretty incredible those little things are the key to life.”
“Why did Welo’s cells break? What went wrong?”
Wela sighed and looked at the ground. “We don’t know what causes a cell to mess up its own process and replicate out of control. They are finding more and more about it, but we don’t have all the answers.”
“I want to save him,” Yolanda said hopefully. “I want to discover something amazing to help people who are sick. Give them hope.” Yolanda’s heart swelled as she said it. Science had done so many things to help people’s lives, and she would love to be able to add something meaningful.
Wela didn’t say anything for a while, as though she was deciding what to say. “It’s hard work being a scientist, but I wouldn’t change anything about it. You know, mija”—Wela turned to Yolanda—“you’ve got it in you. If you are dedicated, I know you will do amazing things.” After a long pause, Wela fiddled with the knobs on the microscope. “Let’s see if I can stump you.” She zoomed in again and refocused the lenses. “What is this?”
Yolanda peered into the eyepieces. “Oh, that’s easy. Mitochondria, the powerhouse of the cell.”
“Very good. But did you know the most interesting thing, or at least what I find to be the most interesting thing about mitochondria?”
Yolanda hesitated. She wasn’t sure what Wela was getting at, and she didn’t like to answer questions if she didn’t already know the answer.
“The nucleus is not the only place in the cell where DNA lives. The mitochondria also contain DNA, but it’s a special kind. Passed down from mother to child. So, those mitochondria right there contain DNA that’s been passed from your mamá to you. From me to your mamá and from my mami to me and so on and so forth back and back until … well, I don’t know how far, but very, very far.”
Yolanda thought it over. “So, we are all connected. Daughters and sons, mothers, grandmothers, great-grandmothers.”
“Sí, niñas y niños, madres, abuelas y bisabuelas. All of us are connected.”
“Is that why we carry the Rodríguez name?” Yolanda asked.
Wela nodded. “Rodríguez is the maternal name, so while our last names can carry a hyphen when and if we decide to marry, Rodríguez is to remain with us always. I want you to remember that.”
And Yolanda did. She thought of it often, that even though Mamá was long gone, they were connected—all the way back to ancestors she would never meet and names she would never know.
* * *
Hasik and Yolanda took turns pushing sleeping Wela in the wheelbarrow as Sonja and Ghita sliced a path through the grass. Wela’s head lolled back and forth, her curls sticking to her forehead.
All morning they walked, the sun hot and high in the sky, the wheelbarrow wheel squeaking and the grass popping and clicking.
Then eventually and suddenly, the grass ended.
They had arrived at the edge of the river.
But it wasn’t what they expected.
“How can there be no water?” Yolanda’s chin dipped to her chest as her mouth went immediately dry. Her lips stuck to her teeth. “It’s a river. This is supposed to be a river.”
The hollowed-out pit of the river was dry and cracked, leaving a vein-like pattern etched in the earth. The lump in Yolanda’s throat sat there, unmoving, threatening to turn into tears.
“I’m so thirsty.” Ghita’s bottom lip quivered.
Hasik pinched his eyes shut.
“We can follow the riverbed to the base of the butte and look for water along the way,” Sonja said. Her lower lip had split down the center and was starting to bleed. She slid down the bank and into the deep dry bed, kicking up dust underneath her feet. Ghita followed, and then Yolanda and Hasik guided the wheelbarrow carefully down the hill and into the belly of the riverbed.
“There has to be water here somewhere.” Sonja stabbed one of the shovels with a clink into the hard ground. “Ghita and I will go this way. You two take Wela and go that way.”
“Look for cottonwood trees or salt cedars,” Hasik called. “They grow near water.”
Ghita turned back. “Let’s meet back here in about fifteen minutes.”
As they separated, Hasik kicked at the dirt, his dark shirt clinging to his sweaty back. Tiny black curls stuck to the wet skin on the back of his neck. He wasn’t his usual chipper self.
“Thank you”—Yolanda tried to wet her lips—“for coming along.”
When Hasik smiled, his teeth were extra bright through the layer of desert dust covering his face. Yolanda’s throat went dry, and she couldn’t tell if it was from his smile or the fact that she desperately needed some water.
“I’m glad I could help,” he said.
“Me too.”
They walked along the dry riverbed with no trees in sight. The side of the riverbed they had come from towered with beautiful tall green grass. The other side was dry, covered with curling cacti spines glowing in the sunlight.