Amigoland (29 page)

“You want her to wash your socks?” Don Fidencio said.

“I was only trying to be pleasant.”

“Be pleasant some other time,” the old man said. “For now just ask her if this is the right place.”

The driver turned back toward the woman. “These gentlemen and the lady are looking for El Rancho De La Paz.”

The clothespin bobbed slightly, which he took to mean
yes.
A black goat was now sniffing about the basket of wet clothes.

“The one that used to be El Rancho Capote?” he called out.

The woman only stared back and, without turning, kicked the goat just as it started chewing the edge of her wicker basket.

“Ask her if there’s a family by the name of Rosales.”

The driver did, and the woman cocked her head back while using the tip of her clothespin to point somewhere down the road.
He waved to her before easing off the brake and coasting away. Most of the remaining cinder-block houses were single-story,
each with its own fenced-in lot. After a while the dogs fell back and quieted. At the end of the dirt road, they came upon
a two-story house with a corrugated metal roof that was roughly thatched over with dried-out palm fronds. A cypress with a
trunk more than half the width of the house filled most of the lot. In its sprawling shadow rested a small gray truck with
a rusted-out bed and a front grille guard made of metal pipes. Lying beneath the engine, a German shepherd mix raised its
head from the cool dirt and let out the first of many aimless barks. A woman wearing a black skirt and a washed-out Six Flags
T-shirt was picking chiles near the front gate.

“Excuse me,” said the driver, “these people have come from the United States and are looking for El Rancho De La Paz.”

“This is it here,” the woman said, clutching the chiles in her apron. “What are they looking for?”

“Just to see it,” the driver answered. “They say their family came from here.”

She stayed where she was and ducked so she could peer into the front and back seats. “From which family, there are only a
few of us that stayed?”

“Rosales,” the driver replied. “They say they come from the Rosales family.”

“I used to be Rosales many years ago, but I became Rosales de Gomez, by my husband.” She stretched her neck as she stood back
up. “Only he was one of them that left.”

“Can they speak to you?”

“Maybe it would be better if they talked with my grandmother,” the woman said. “Let me go see if she can come outside.”

They waited for the woman to call off the dog before they opened the doors. After being in the taxi so long, Don Fidencio
took a while to unbend his legs and get to his feet.

“Feo!” the woman called out. “Feo, come here!”

On its stiff and bowed legs, the dog finally lumbered over to where she stood. Since the animal had no collar, she grabbed
it by the scruff.

“He bites?” the old man asked.

“Not anymore.” She pried open the dog’s mouth so he could see the gaps between its missing teeth. “Those days have passed.”

The old man wasn’t so convinced and kept his distance.

“Don’t be afraid,” the woman said, then took his unsteady hand in hers and together they stroked the dog’s head and back.
“You see?” The dog sat with one leg curled under and sticking out between the other three legs, and then after a while it
let itself drop to the ground and lay in the dirt.

Socorro and Don Celestino sat under the tree on a wooden bench while Don Fidencio sat on a kitchen chair with its front legs
wrapped with duct tape. Isidro had stayed in the taxi, where he was now resting. With most of the clouds having drifted, the
large tree provided enough shade for them to sit comfortably. The old man gazed at the massive trunk and its horizontal roots
that stretched outward from the base like the hoof of some prehistoric creature that had come back to roam the earth.

“But last night you said you would call in the morning,” Don Celestino said, continuing their hushed conversation from the
car.

“If it was so important, you should’ve called her.”

“She’s your mother. She’s not related to me, remember?”

“Yes, I know,” she answered, though not as hushed.

There was more they both wanted to say, but just then the screen door opened and the woman came out, guiding her grandmother
by the arm. The two women shuffled forward in halting steps, as if the grandmother were dragging a heavy load and having to
gather her strength between each stride. At first her milky eyes stayed pointed downward, until the left one began drifting
over to one side and then up toward the thick branches of the tree. Her silver hair was parted in the middle, and in the back
formed into one long braid that reached her waist. The flowery housedress fit loose around her body but stretched out for
her sagging arms.

Her granddaughter helped her to sit down in the one remaining chair and then find the first waiting hand. “Socorro De La Peña,”
her guest said. “Thank you for coming outside to meet us.”

“How rare it is for people to come visit our home.” The old woman glanced over her shoulder, unaware that she was looking
at the tree.

“And your name?” Socorro asked.

“I have been here so long and raised so many children that everyone calls me Mamá Nene.” She seemed to want to say more but
stopped so she could reach out for a cobweb she had noticed hanging in front of her and then did it again, several more times,
gently plucking at each thread of the web, before her granddaughter could take hold of her hand and bring it back down so
she could continue greeting her guests.

Don Fidencio looked over at his brother, who was staring back at him. He could already imagine what he would be saying in
the taxi, that the whole trip had been a waste of his time, all this way so they could meet an old blind woman who didn’t
make any sense, especially when there was a building full of them back where they had started the trip.

“We just stopped by to see the ranchito and meet some people,” Don Celestino said, “before we have to head back.”

“Why rush off so fast, after all the effort it must have taken for you to get here?” the old woman replied, shaking his hand.
“Besides, Carmen says that you’re a Rosales, like us.”

“Yes, Celestino Rosales.” He patted her hand before making room for his brother. “This was something we all wanted to do,
to come and visit where our family came from.”

“And you are right about the effort to get here,” Don Fidencio said as he took his turn shaking her hand, “but I knew we would
find it.”

“You traveled a far distance, then?” Mamá Nene was still holding on to his hand with both of hers.

“Yes, for me, very far,” he answered. “I am not so young anymore to be traveling these long distances. You know how it is,
getting on and off these buses, never stopping long enough to rest.”

“Then you should sit for a while, no?” she offered. “When Carmen told me there were some people by the name of Rosales, I
said to her, ‘Since when has a Rosales come this far to visit us?’”

“And to think that at first these two wanted to stay and not come. ‘But how can we, Fidencio? Look how far it is, and then
at your age!’ As if I were already dying. I had to lower my head like a calf they wanted to drag away from its mother. And
this I told them from the beginning, that we needed to go, no matter what, that it was important, that I had made a promise
to come back. If they’d let me, I would have walked all the way here. In my life I’ve walked farther than most people will
ever know.”

Mamá Nene reached out for her granddaughter’s hand. “Did you hear him?”

“Yes, what a journey to make, and so far.”

“More than two days on the bus,” Don Celestino added. “There was no direct service from Matamoros, so then we had to go part
of the way on one bus, and without papers because the office was closed, and then stay in a hotel because there were no buses
until later that night.”

“No, the name, the name.” The old woman turned back toward her granddaughter. “I thought you said you were listening?”

“I heard him,” Carmen said. “How funny, no?”

“And why funny? You say it like it was just another name, another Rosales.”

The granddaughter rubbed her shoulders and smiled at their guests. “These people only stopped by to say hello.”

“Of all the places they could have stopped to say hello, and then with such sacrifice to get here?” she answered. “You think
I would not recognize the name Fidencio Rosales?”

“Yes, but you are confusing the man with someone else. Remember that the one they took was many, many years ago?”

“Then why did he come back? For what?”

“That was our grandfather, the one you want to remember,” Don Celestino tried to explain. “We came to see the place where
he was from.”

“We never stopped from hoping, always waiting for this day,” the old woman said, her voice quivering as if she might not be
able to continue. “My father, he always told us that the boy would come back.”

“We can leave if this is going to upset her.” Socorro was standing near the granddaughter. “We didn’t know this would happen.”

“She gets confused, but then it usually passes.”

“I know who you are.” The old woman groped about until Don Fidencio again offered her his hand. “I know, I know.”

“No, señora,” Don Celestino said. “The boy you are thinking of was our grandfather. My brother was named after him. There
are two Fidencios, you understand? The one who went away, and my brother, who is the grandson of that boy. Two different Fidencios,
the old one and the young one.”

The old woman nodded and smiled but without looking in the direction of the person speaking. “My father was also named after
you. That was why he never lost the hope that the uncle he had heard so much about would one day escape and return to this
place.”

“Forgive her,” the granddaughter said. “Sometimes I have trouble changing her mind.”

“And you, talking to them like if I wasn’t here!” She brushed her granddaughter’s hands away from her shoulder. “I know what
I’m saying.”

Don Celestino stood up first and signaled to his brother that it was time to leave. Socorro grabbed her purse from the back
of the chair where it had been hanging.

“We waited,” the old woman mumbled. “That I do know, that we waited.”

Don Fidencio looked at her for a moment. It did seem such a far distance to travel only to now turn around and head back.
They’d been rushing for the last four days. Rushing to leave the nursing home, rushing to pick up the girl, rushing to cross
the bridge, rushing to the pharmacy, rushing to the bus station, rushing to get ready in the morning, rushing to find this
place. What would it hurt to stay for a while longer and visit? She was still holding his hand.

“How nice to arrive somewhere and know people have been waiting for you,” he said.

“We knew that with time you would find your way back. I remember they used to talk about how smart a boy you were.”

Don Celestino motioned to his brother, trying to get his attention, but the old man ignored him altogether.

“So many years since the afternoon they took me from my home. It was difficult, a long journey back to this place. But I needed
to return before it was too late.”

“My grandfather was Magarito, your younger brother — the one they were able to hide when the Indians came. His son was my
father. I remember at the end of every day he would look in that direction, to the north.” She paused to point off into the
distance. “One day I asked my father why, ‘Why always that way?’ and he told me it was an old habit, from watching his own
father do the same thing. He would stand there and wait until it was dark and he could see no more.”

“Yes, of course, my little brother. At least he was able to escape.” He glanced over at Don Celestino, who was sitting again
since it appeared they weren’t leaving anytime soon. “But how many were there that died the day they took me from the circus?”

“You mean to say the festival for the harvest?”

“There was a bear, I remember,” Don Fidencio said. “A black one they kept on a rope and that did tricks, made the people laugh.”

“A stranger, a foreigner that nobody had seen before or knew from where he came, some said he was a Russian and others said
he was French, but it was on the last day that he showed up. My grandfather said he spoke another tongue nobody had heard,
and the only way he knew for how to communicate was to pass around his dirty hat. He had brought the animals, but it was for
the festival.” The old woman tilted her head down toward her dress and held a piece of frayed fabric between her thumb and
forefinger.

“And the others?” Don Fidencio asked.

“They tore off the top of tío Osvaldo’s head, and when he was still alive, I heard, but from other people, not from my grandfather.
There were some things he would not talk about.”

“Of what he saw?”

“That, and that your mother had hidden him in the hay that the stranger had brought for the animals. He always felt bad that
she’d had time to do this for him and not for you. Maybe both of you would have been safe.”

“She did what she could, my mother. She held on to her children the best that she could. I never blamed her or my brother
for how things turned out. There was nothing more they could have done.”

The old woman smiled. “But tell me, why did it take you so long?”

He looked over to Don Celestino for some idea of how to answer, but his brother only raised his eyebrows, the same as the
old woman.

“No, if someone should have felt bad, it was me. I was the one who saw the Indians when they were far away, but for some reason
I stayed with my mouth shut. I watched them getting closer and closer until it was too late, and then they took us away. A
cousin of my father had moved to the other side, and he was the one who took me in. As far as we knew, nobody had survived
the tragedy that day.” He paused to shake his head for emphasis, then realized the old woman wouldn’t know either way. “And
by the time I was old enough to come back, I had already married and made a life for myself. But I never stopped telling the
story to my family, to my children, to my grandchildren. Even then I kept wanting to come back, but the years, they got away
from me.”