I got this scar when I was three. It was my first memory of Papá leaving for el norte. During his absence, I was inconsolable, so when he finally returned, I had flown down the path to meet him. Sobbing hysterically, unable to see through my tears, I stumbled on a stone step, landing flat on my belly and chin. With the wind knocked out of me, I awoke in my father’s arms, blood soaking both of us. I remember the pain of a needle, the tug on my chin over and over again, while my mother’s scolding voice tried to pierce through the deep, gentle cooing of my father. “Ay niña, mi ángel . . .”
Often, even now, I run my fingers over this jagged scar and listen for—and almost hear—those soothing sounds of comfort.
5
Simple Solutions
Manuel returned wearing a yellow T-shirt two sizes too large and dragging behind him a couple of reluctant beasts. The old, gray, slay-backed horse ambled from side to side as if it had had a bit too much tequila, while the mangy-looking burro looked like its disgruntled mate. By the time they finally reached us, both Rosa and I were worn out from laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Manuel asked. “I think I look pretty hot. Huh?” He struck a pose that made us giggle even more, then asked, “You are feeling better, Rosa?”
He knelt beside us, and still holding the rope in one hand, he slid a brown sack off his shoulder to the ground. I opened it to find a plastic jug of water.
“The old woman said to bring you to the house, and she will see what she can do. I told her you were my sisters, and we were on our way to Oaxaca.” He nodded to the creatures that were grazing on the few weeds beside us. “She said not to touch the other horses, to take these two. I guess she figured we couldn’t get very far on these poor souls.”
We eagerly took turns drinking from the water.
Manuel and I then helped Rosa get up onto the old horse. She settled her hips into the deep curve of its back and then leaned forward, resting her head on the back of its neck, her arms hugging it tightly. She sighed, then winked at me, “Beat you back! ¡Ándale!” We used to say that to each other on our way home from school in Oaxaca just as we reached a certain curve in the road.
I turned to the burro, which was smaller than the horse, but the thought of climbing on with one hand, and my tender shoulder and burning thigh, seemed a daunting task. Just as I reached up to grab the burro’s mane, Manuel’s arm went around me, and he whispered in my ear, “Here, turn toward me.” I held my breath. How I wanted to lean into him, to let my head rest on his neck. Our cheeks brushed as I turned. Then he squatted and lifted me at the waist, high up in the air, well above the burro’s back. I lifted one leg up and over, and he gently lowered me and let go. Our eyes met for a moment, then he turned and, picking up the ropes, began to lead us. My heart pounded faster than my throbbing shoulder.
There were four different houses spaced a good distance apart. The one in the center was the largest, with a brick front and tin roof, while the others, built with wood, were smaller. Beyond the houses were a dilapidated barn and a fenced-in field where two brown horses grazed. An older woman stood in the doorway of the brick house, her long gray braid hanging down over her right shoulder. She held her hand up to block the sun as she watched us approach, but when she lowered her hand, what I had thought was a squint was clearly a grimace. Once we dismounted and Manuel led the animals away, she looked us over head to toe, then after pointing toward a water pump, she disappeared inside, returned with towels and a bar of soap, and handing them to us, she asked, “One of you is ill?”
I turned toward Rosa as she answered, “I am feeling a bit dizzy. I think I need to eat something and rest, and I’ll be fine. Muchas gracias. Thank you for the water.”
She nodded, then turned and went back into the house, clearly latching the door behind her. A few minutes later, we heard the latch again and out she came carrying a sack and a few blankets. We could smell the food even before we opened it. She motioned toward a few oak trees beside the house. “Rest in the shade. If you wish, you can join us for dinner later when the men return.”
Exhausted and starving, we eagerly spread out the blankets under the oaks, devoured the food, and then, without a word, stretched out and fell deep asleep. I woke briefly to the cries of a baby inside one of the smaller houses, but Manuel and Rosa didn’t stir. Later, when a truck pulled up and male voices boomed from within the brick house, we all came fully awake. Shortly after, a stocky man, wearing a straw cowboy hat, approached and motioned us to follow him into the house.
A long table took up the length of the room and seated around it were three men, two women, one holding a baby, and three little girls with large dark eyes. A bench was pulled up for us to join them. As I settled in, I noticed the few small windows were dressed with colorful fabrics, just like Mamá used to do, bringing tears to my eyes. The old woman entered carrying a large pot, but despite the vibrant yellow apron she wore, her face remained somber.
As
