I felt such a mix of emotions as I climbed out of the truck and stood waiting for the others to join us. I searched for Manuel, but his truck was nowhere in sight. Listening to the cries of the vendors and the distant threads of ranchero music coming from the zócalo, I suddenly felt a deep sadness. Somehow, I thought coming home to Oaxaca would be different.
Rosa turned to me and said, “I want to help Lupe here at the mercado tomorrow. The men are setting up camp close by. We can help unload the crafts and . . .” She paused. “Let’s tell her we will join ‘our cousin’ after the mercado ends tomorrow. That would give us time to make a plan.” She spoke rapidly with a strained look on her face, but as Lupe’s truck with the wares pulled up, Rosa’s eyes lit up and her face softened. I couldn’t say no to that.
A few hours later, Rosa and I strolled the familiar streets around the zócalo, arm in arm, past sidewalk cafés strung with lights, past a young man playing a soulful accordion, past a group of giggling children hopping up and down the bandstand steps. We were both quiet, feeling a mixture of fatigue, relief, and sorrow. We did not speak of tomorrow or yesterday. We simply walked.
Rosa broke the silence with a whisper, “We are getting closer to Papá. I can feel it.”
“Do you think so? ¿Verdad?” I heard my small childlike voice respond. To hear her say it, gave me such hope. I leaned into her as we walked. “Rosa,” I said gently, “it doesn’t feel like home, does it?”
“No, not at all.”
We walked a few paces in silence.
I stopped and turned, facing her. “Then let’s just keep going. North. Take a bus maybe as far as we can to the border. If we stay here, we will spend our money just spinning our wheels. Let’s just keep moving!” My heart raced at the thought. “You just said it yourself. We are getting closer to Papá—but he’s not here!”
She took a deep breath before she spoke, and when she did, her voice was firm and strong, “I have been thinking the same thing. Lo mismo.”
“Are you serious? You have?”
She nodded. “We need to check in with Mundo first and see if he has heard anything. I’m not sure what Mamá told him before we left, if she said anything at all, and I’m not sure if he would have been able to reach us in Chiapas anyway.”
The thought of that desolate stick house and Tito’s foul belching turned my stomach. “I could kiss the ground here! Gracias a Dios, we got away, Rosa!”
She sighed, “I just wish there was a way we could talk to Mamá and the boys. Make sure they are all right.”
“Mamá made her choice,” I reminded her, “and the boys will be okay.” Despite Tito, they seemed to thrive, running wild in their bare feet, climbing trees, catching lizards, and caring for the goats and chickens. I knew José missed his school friends, but he didn’t miss school itself. As for little Ricardo, he did cry himself to sleep some nights calling out for Papá, and that made my heart heavy.
But Rosa’s voice lifted my spirits as she said with conviction, “So after the mercado, we’ll find Mundo, and then we will head for el norte.”
A plan, I thought, as my mind turned to Manuel.
Shortly after, when we got to the trucks where they had set up camp for the night, I finally saw him. He was just beyond the fire, listening to two men duel with their guitars. His dark eyes flashed as they darted from one musician’s hands to the other. The mass of hair on his forehead danced about as his head swayed to the beat. It was the first time I had gotten a chance to really look at him without worrying about his eyes meeting mine. To all appearances, I was listening to the music as well. And in a way I was, for the battling guitars seemed to be keeping pace with the fluttering in both my heart and stomach. Between the two, I could barely catch my breath. Oh, mi corazón.
It still amazed me that he had risked so much to stay with us. He could easily have been deported by the authorities at the train, yet he stayed. Why? Was it for me? I wasn’t pretty like Rosa. My face was plain, my nose wide, though Rosa often told me my face lit up when I talked and my eyes danced with light. She said I was pretty in my own lively way. Once she made me try it in front of a mirror, but I ended up giggling and looked more like a wrinkled fig. I never believed her. I figured she was just trying to be nice. But was it possible that Manuel saw something? Or was it just brotherly affection after all?
We hadn’t had a chance to speak since Lupe gave me the book. There were always so many people around, and I couldn’t imagine bringing it up in company. It would have to wait until later, when we were on our way, whenever that would be—and if he was going with us. I supposed we would discuss all that after the mercado. Count our money, discuss our options. But I couldn’t help wondering—how far would he travel with us? After all, he was looking for his brother in a place called Temecula, and we were looking for Papá or Dolores, wherever that might be. At what point would we have to say goodbye? No sooner did this thought enter my mind, then the music stopped— and it seemed, so did my heart.
Math Problem #2
Two trucks leave for Oaxaca. One breaks down in Tehuantepec, 250 km from Oaxaca at 12 noon.
