Erased Faces (38 page)

“Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has turned on the seat belt light as we begin our descent into Los Angeles. Please be sure that your tray tables are stowed and that your seat backs are in their upright positions.” The flight attendant's nasalized voice sounded out, alerting the passengers of their arrival. Adriana sat up and was able to see the outskirts of the city, but she had time, so she put her journal on her lap to make her last entry.

Last night I had a dream. I dreamed that I was surrounded by
mujeres
whose faces were erased by masks. One of them was Juana, who came close to me and whispered beautiful words. She reminded me of our last conversation, when she told me that I was her other self. She spoke of when we had slept in the jungle, when we had recalled our other lives among the first
patrones,
our losses, our discoveries
.

In my dream, Juana and I sat apart from the others, remembering Orlando Flores, Chan K'in, and all the other
mujeres
and
hombres
who are still masked, still fighting, still dying. She told me that until she and I meet again in our next life, she will always be with me when I show my photographs, while I speak to others about
la gente
in Lacandona, about the atrocities in Acteal and in all the other places of misery. She asked me to be the lips through which their silenced voices could speak
.

Then the dream unfolded into another dream, one that had been in my memory. In it I ran, frightened and terrified because I was pursued by dogs. It was the jungle dream in which I felt that others surrounded me and I was powerless to discern their identities. This time, when I stopped and began searching for what I had lost, Juana appeared
.

My dream ended when she put her arms around me and told me never to forget her or the
mujeres
who have chosen to erase their faces with a mask—not out of fear, not out of shame, but inspired rather by dignity and the courage to show the way to other
mujeres.

Adriana closed the journal and tucked it into the backpack placed under her seat. She felt serene; she understood her mission. She touched Juana's bracelet as she looked out the window. This time the massive sprawl of Los Angeles met her gaze. To her left she made out the half-moon curve of Redondo Beach and, stretching her neck to look out the window across the aisle, her eyes caught the eastern regions of the city.

The craft began its descent and landed smoothly, moving until it came to a halt. When they were given clearance, the passengers stood to deplane. Adriana had her bag ready when the door was opened. She and everyone else marched through the tunnel leading to the terminal. Still pensive, still rerunning the details of her dream, she waited for immigration to clear her.

“Hmm! You've been away a long time.”

“Yes.”

“Doing what?”

“I'm a photographer. I've been on assignment in Mexico.”

“I see. Welcome home.”

“Thank you.”

Adriana trudged along with the other passengers to clear customs. The wait was long. Passengers from other flights had been put on the same inspection line. While she waited, her mind returned to her dream. She wondered why her mother had not come to her with the other women. Adriana would have liked that very much. She would have told her that the rage was gone, that although she still did not understand why she had chosen to leave, Adriana wanted her to know that she realized now that she must have had a compelling reason.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder; it was her turn to approach the counter.

“Anything to declare?”

“No.”

“Meat? Seeds? Food?”

“No.”

“Okay! Welcome home!”

Adriana picked up her gear, placed it on her back, made her way up the ramp, down the escalator, then out the door of Tom Bradley Terminal. She blinked at the unexpected sunlight, but her vision cleared as she looked up at the new Controllers' Tower. To its side she saw the sky-high restaurant, now being remodeled. The street in front of the terminal was congested with shuttle buses and taxis. Cars streamed in and out of the parking structure, causing snarls, honking horns as they cut off and passed one another. Adriana looked around, feeling like a foreigner in her own town, a stranger among her own people. She took a deep breath, adjusted the bag on her back, and disappeared into the crowd.

La canción del colibrí

The Day of the Moon

El Día de la Luna

En busca de Bernabé

Erased Faces

In Search of Bernabé

Left Alive

The Memories of Ana Calderón

Song of the Hummingbird

Graciela Limón
is the critically-acclaimed and award-winning author of
Left Alive
(2005),
Erased Faces
(2001),
The Day of the Moon
(1999),
Song of the Hummingbird
(1996),
The Memories of Ana Calderón
(1994), and
In Search of Bernabé
(1993), the recipient of an American Book Award. Limón is Professor Emeritus of Loyola Mary-mount University in Los Angeles, where she served as a professor of U.S. Latina/o Literature.