Made in the U.S.A. (24 page)

“Mama Sim always leaves her front light on in case somebody needs her. And with a family the size of ours, someone always needs her.”

The porch light, a bare bulb hanging just above the steps, exposed a wooden swing and three plastic lawn chairs as well as several coffee cans holding plants beginning to wither in the unrelenting late summer Oklahoma heat.

When Fate and Juan helped Lutie from her backseat bed, Draco leapt out and made a beeline for a different kind of bed—a patch of colorful zinnias, where she squatted to do her job.

The front door was opened by a small elderly woman in a blue nightgown, her hair half-covered by toilet tissue wound around her head, held in place by a bonnet of sheer pink net.

“Who’s out there?” she called with curiosity, but without a trace of fear.

“It’s me, Mama Sim,” Juan answered. “It’s Juan.”

The elderly woman, interrupted while saying her rosary, used it to make the sign of the cross, then kissed the beads in her hand.

“Come up here. Let me see your face in the light.”

Juan took the stairs slowly, helping Lutie, who groaned with every step she took, as Mama Sim moved eagerly toward the edge of the porch to meet them.

“Oh, my sweet baby is back,” she said as she reached for him, placing her hands on either side of his face, then kissed his cheek. “I’ve prayed for the day,” she said, “when you’d show up on this porch. And here you are—not in the light of day, but the middle of the night. Sometimes I believe the Lord plays harmless little games with us so He won’t get bored.”

“I got some people with me,” Juan said as he and Fate succeeded in lifting Lutie to the top step.

“Yes, I see that.”

“They’re kids, Mama. Brother and sister. He’s Fate; she’s Lutie. But she’s hurt, maybe real bad. Can you call Doc Adams? Get him to coming over and taking care for her? He always come, day or night.”

“Honey, Doc died six, seven years ago. A great loss to all of us. We got another boy here now, calls himself a doctor, but he looks to be fifteen, he doesn’t make house calls, he’s only in the office three days a week, and his home phone number is unlisted. But I hear he’s a hell of a golfer.”

“Hector patched her up in Vegas, but now she got fever.”

“Doc Hector,” Mama Sim said, clearly pleased by his memory. “Well, she’s had the best of the best. Now she’ll have to settle for second best, I guess.”

“Who’s that?” Fate asked.

“Me, sweetheart. That’s me. Now you two get her in here while I heat a pan of
sopa.
Just made it tonight. But don’t you dare let that mangy-looking creature in my house,” she said, gesturing toward Draco. “I can forgive that beast for what she’s done to my zinnias, but I can’t abide having her in my home. You hear?”

Without waiting for an answer, she disappeared into the house, and not more than a few seconds passed before they heard pots, pans, and dishes banging around in the kitchen.

Fate and Juan guided Lutie across the porch to the front door. Fate could feel the heat of her body against him, even through her clothing, but he wasn’t prepared for the heat he felt when she settled her face on his shoulder.

“She’s burning up, Juan,” he said, hearing the panic in his own voice.

“I know. But Mama Sim, she know what to do. Trust me.”

Juan used his foot to prop open the screen door so they could get through without losing their grip on Lutie.

“She doesn’t weigh more than a
colibrí
,” Juan said.

“
Colibrí
. Does that mean feather?”

“No,
colibrí
is a bird. Looks like a thumb. Claps its wings too fast to count.”

“Hummingbird.”

“Yes!” Juan said with misplaced pride, since it was Fate who had translated the word, but Juan was beginning to feel that they were a language team.

“And they
flap
their wings, not clap.”

“How do you know, Professor? Maybe they
clap
because no other bird can
flap
fast as they can. Watch out for table behind you.”

Mama Sim stepped into the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a fresh apron tied around her nightgown. “You say her name is Lutie?”

“Lutie McFee. And I’m her brother, Fate.”

“Well, you’re both welcome in my house, Mr. Fate McFee. My name is Simona Rosales Anahi Citalalli Guadalupe Salazar Vargas, but everyone calls me Mama Sim. I hope you will, too.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will. ’Cause I don’t think I’ll be able to remember all your other names.”

“Fine. Now, while the kitchen stove is doing its job, I’ll have a look at your sister.”

“I think she’s pretty sick.”

“Looks like you’re probably right.”

They followed Mama Sim into a room that was mostly bright yellow: the bedspread, wallpaper, decorative pillows, curtains, rug, and lamp shades. All yellow.

Mama Sim turned back the covers so Juan and Fate could position Lutie on the bed. As the old woman brushed the girl’s hair away from her face, she said, “Now. Suppose you tell me what happened to this child. The whole story.”

Fate had dozed off on the couch in the living room when a woman in green pajamas and white tennis shoes came through the front door without knocking.

“Hi. Who are you?” she asked with either anger or suspicion. He couldn’t tell which.

“Fate McFee.”

“Whose car is that parked out front?”

“Juan’s.”

“Juan who?”

“Juan Vargas.”

“Our Juan Vargas?” she said, her voice rising a decibel.

“I guess so.”

“Where is he?”

“Back in that bedroom.” He gestured toward a closed door just down the hall.

“Where’s Mama Sim?”

“She’s in the bedroom, too.”

“Well, is he hurt or drunk or both?”

“No. He’s helping take care of my sister.”

“What’s wrong with her? Your sister.”

“She got beat up.”

“Was it Juan? Is he the one beat her?”

“No! He’s trying to help her.”

“Honey, I hate to tell you this, but if Juan is involved in any way, you’re in for a terrible disappointment.”

“Why do you say that?”

“’Cause Juan spreads disappointment like a cat sheds hair.”

“He’s never disappointed me.”

“He will.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Ah, to be young again when everything is possible.” She ruffled his hair. “You’re a cutie,” she said, then started for the bedroom. “I’ll see if I can help Mama.”

“Ma’am, is she your grandmother?”

“Yes.”

“Then Juan is . . .”

“My little brother.”

“Oh.”

“Well, I might as well play my part to get this prodigal son scene over with. Anyone tell you where to sleep?”

“No.”

“Right up these stairs.” She opened a door, turned on a light switch, and said, “You’ll find some blankets folded on top of a cedar chest, but I doubt you’ll need them. No bathroom up there; it’s down here at the end of the hall.”

“I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

“And if you’re hungry, I smell Mama’s avocado soup on the stove.”

“Ma’am . . .”

“I’m Esmerelda, Essie for short. Don’t get excited if you hear us yelling. A good chance this homecoming is gonna go haywire. Most things do when Juan’s around.” She smiled at Fate, ran a finger down his cheek, and said, “Good night.”

“Night, Essie. And thanks.”

Ten minutes later, Fate was asleep in the upstairs bedroom, Juan was pacing the living room after being banished by Mama Sim, and the women were trying to wrestle Lutie out of her clothing despite the good cussing they were getting for their trouble.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

F
ATE HAD AWAKENED
in the middle of the night; the clock on the dresser said 3:18. But since the room seemed so little used, he didn’t know if he could trust the clock, obviously manufactured in an earlier era. When he looked out a window near the bed, he figured the time must be pretty accurate because of the position of the moon.

He was surprised to find that someone had removed his shoes and socks and slipped off his jeans, all without waking him, then folded his clothes neatly on a chair near the bed. He pulled on his jeans, then headed down the stairs in the dark to Lutie’s room, where a night-light burned.

He found her asleep, the flesh on her cheeks and forehead cool to his touch. Mama Sim was snoring softly in a rocking chair near the bed until Fate stepped on a creaky board in the old wooden floor.

“She’s better,” Mama Sim whispered. “Can you tell?”

Fate nodded as his eyes filled with tears.

“Let’s go to the kitchen so we won’t wake her.”

“When did her fever break?” he asked as he took a seat at the kitchen table.

“After Essie and I got her in a cool tub of water. She didn’t like it, but we managed. She’s got a lot of fight in her for such a little thing. And a mouth that would outdo any sailor I’ve ever known.” Mama snickered. “I’m not likely to forget our two-on-one skirmish.” She held out her arm, which had been raked by Lutie’s nails and the outline of what appeared to be the girl’s teeth—at least the ones she still had.

“But she was out of her head, so I didn’t take any of it to heart. And while we had her in the tub, after she calmed down a bit, we washed her wounds. By the time we dried her and got her back in bed, she let us re-dress her injuries without a word, took her medication, and she’s been asleep ever since. One or more of the kicks she took bruised her bladder or kidneys. It’ll clear up in a few days, most likely. Not much to do about her ribs or her finger. Time will heal those.”

“What about her face?”

“Well, she’s not going to be happy about the scars. Looks like Doc Hector had to put in twenty-five, thirty-five stitches to close that deep cut on her cheek. Her lip? I don’t think that’s gonna be noticeable in a few weeks. Hector managed to close that cut with no more than a half-dozen stitches. He does good work, but he had a real mess to deal with. Now, that front tooth she lost, the dentist here, Dr. Slice, can replace that as soon as her lip heals.”

“What about the concussion?”

“Hard to say how much of her confusion is caused by the concussion and how much is due to all the medicines she took for the trip. But I’m going to start weaning her off the drugs tomorrow. I’ll feel better, though, when the circus gets back in a few days, ’cause one of the jugglers used to be a nurse and he’ll—”

“When? When will the circus be here?” Fate asked.

“Raynoldo, my son, called this morning, said he thought they’d be back in two or three weeks.”

Fate’s excitement was too great to be confined to a kitchen chair. As he jumped up, he said, “Does Juan know?”

“Now, you sit. Let me fix you a bowl of soup. I’ve raised enough boys to know you’re hungry even in the middle of the night.”

“Okay, but I want to see Juan. Be the first to tell him about the circus coming back. He’ll be so glad.”

“Juan knows already. I told him.” Mama pressed Fate back into his chair, then took a seat opposite him. “Fate, I think there’s some things you don’t know about Juan. But I guess now’s the time for you to hear them. Okay?”

“Okay,” Fate said with reluctance in his voice. He had a strong feeling that whatever he was about to hear wasn’t going to be good.

“Juan’s mama and daddy, Gabriela and Raynoldo, were divorced when he was just a baby. Gabriela took him and the older kids back to her people in Mexico. I don’t suppose Juan spoke a word of English until he was twelve, thirteen when he ran away and came back here to his papa. Raynoldo.

“Now, Ray is a good man, but demanding. Very demanding. Especially when it comes to performing. You see, Ray was probably the best aerialist in North America when he was younger.

“So he started working with Juan; and because Juan was his son, he wanted . . . no, he demanded the boy to be even better than he was. And Juan didn’t disappoint his papa. Juan took to that wire just like a baby to his mama’s breast. The wire, the danger, the applause. See, it was in his blood, Fate. The blood of his grandfather, his father, and now him. The son.

“By the time he was seventeen, he was
the
great aerialist, even better than his papa. But all that fame, the praise, the press, the girls. Oh, my God, the girls! They were crazy for him. But somehow, I guess it wasn’t enough. And that’s when the trouble started.”

“What happened?”

“I was still on the road back then, and I think we were in Arizona. Kingman. Anyway, Juan took Ray’s pickup and drove to Las Vegas to see this fancy show called a circus, but it’s not a real circus. Not one animal in the whole show.”

“Cirque du Soleil?”

“Yes! And after that, it was all Juan could talk about. Cirque this; Cirque that. Breakfast, dinner, supper. He even went to cathedral to ask God’s help. Can you believe? Praying to be in a circus when you’re already in one of the best in the world?

“But his papa would never consent, would never give his blessing to allow Juan to leave. See, Fate, to us, this is not just
a
circus, but
the
circus. The circus of our family.”

“Your tribe.”

“That’s right. We’ve been here, here with this circus, for sixty years. I first performed with a hoop when I was just a little girl. Then I was a tumbler; after that, a clown. But the first time I climbed on the back of a horse, the deal was done. I performed with horses for over twenty years. Still be doing it, too, but for a beautiful little pinto I named Princess. And she was, too. A real princess.

“Spirited, bold, brave. More dare than brains, I suppose. One night in Toledo she tried a jump. Broke one of her legs and one of mine. I bawled for a month. But that was the end for both of us. I cried so hard they had the doc give me a shot. Slept for three days.”

Mama Sim got up from the table then, ladled soup into a bright red bowl, and put it in front of Fate. She handed him a soup spoon and a stack of warm tortillas.

“Now. See if you don’t like that, huh?”

After the first taste, Fate grinned.

“See what I say?” Mama asked. “Won first place ribbon at the fair with my avocado
sopa
. Three times. Beat out last year by the mayor’s wife. No doubt she cheated.