The Day of the Moon (21 page)

“But … what does Alondra have to do with—”

“Silence! You are
never again
to question your elders. If you do it one more time, Samuel, you will surely bring down a curse on yourself. One's ancestors are everything in this life and you have been blessed with a good family. You must never again refuse to hear the important things about those who came before you.”

“I don't understand. Why can't I be with Alondra? All we do is—”

“It is not for you to ask for reasons! You must obey and that is all!”

The old woman had risen to her feet. She pointed the silver-handled cane in her hand at Samuel. Her voice was not loud, but it was steady, powerful. As she stood, she seemed to grow taller, longer, leaner; she almost reached the ceiling, he thought. He was stunned into silence.

“Because you have been so disrespectful to the story of your ancestors, you will have to hear it once again, from the beginning. And when I am finished, you will have to repeat it to me, word for word.”

The old woman banged her cane on the hardwood floor. After a few seconds, she returned to the high-backed chair and seated herself. She placed her elbows on the armrests as she motioned to Alondra to go on dusting the table. Doña Brígida slowly passed her tongue over her withered upper lip and began again her demented version of the Betancourt family history.

Later that afternoon, Ursula went to the kitchen to prepare dinner and found Alondra standing by the pantry. Her back was to Ursula, and she saw that the girl was patting flour over her face and arms. Rushing to her, Ursula took her by the shoulders and turned her around.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to have white skin like Samuel.”

Ursula took the sack of flour from Alondra's hands and pulled her to her, embracing the girl. She fought a knot of tears trapped in her throat. Not knowing what to say, Ursula tried to wipe off the flour with a wet cloth, but it was little use because Alondra was nearly covered with the powdery dust.

“You look like a cookie. You need a bath.”

In the bathroom, Ursula undressed Alondra and helped her into the tub, which was filling with warm water. Slowly, she rubbed
soap into the girl's skin, then poured water over her head and shoulders. She did this several times before speaking.

“Alondra, the color of your skin is beautiful. Look at how it glistens. It is brown like so many beautiful things that we love. It is the color of wood and of the beans that give us chocolate. It has the tones of herbs and plants that heal us.”

That night, Ursula had already turned out the lights and was sitting up in bed trying to pray, but she was distracted thinking about what had happened that afternoon. Alondra was on a cot near her grandmother's; she, too was thinking of Doña Brígida.

Alondra and Ursula shared the service porch of the house as a bedroom. One side of the room was used as a laundry. Large wicker baskets filled with the day's ironing took up one of the corners. Next to an ironing board stood a washing machine; its ringer was used as a hook for dust rags and aprons. Behind this was a storage closet for brooms, buckets and mops. Alondra's and Ursula's cots took up the other part of the porch, which was screened in on all four sides. A door led out to the back yard. There was a full moon that night and its light filtered through the screens, flooding the room, casting silvery tones on Ursula's hair.

“Abuela,
Doña Brígida was acting
loca
today.”

“Niña,
you know that's the way she is sometimes.”

“I know, but today she said a lot about good and bad blood.”

“Alondra, that's nothing new. You know Doña Brígida.”

“It was different today. She said that Samuel's mother was the good
hija
, and when she talked about the bad one, the she-goat, Doña Brígida looked straight at me.”

“¡Ah! La cabra tira hacia el monte.”

“What did you say,
Abuela?”

“It's an old saying, Alondra. The she-goat yearns for the mountain.”

Alondra sat up and leaned against the wall. She liked the times she could speak with her grandmother, especially at night when the light was turned off. The girl liked Ursula's way of speaking; it was full of words and sayings that captivated her.

“But,
Abuela,
what does that mean?”

Ursula looked over at the girl; she, too, enjoyed these moments. She liked Alondra's questions and curiosity and, most of all, she was fond of her manner of speaking: a tangle of English learned in school and Spanish spoken at home.

“It means that no matter what we look like, or what we tell others we are, we will always be pulled by what we really are. It means that what is inside of us is more powerful than what is outside.”

“The
cabra?”

“Sí.”

“Is the
cabra
inside of me?”

Ursula cocked her head as she peered at Alondra through the darkness. She was beginning to feel uneasy with the direction their conversation was taking. It bothered her that Doña Brígida was lately concentrating on the example of the two daughters. She thought again of Alondra with flour smeared on her face and arms. She reclined on the pillow, thinking, trying to understand the meaning of the two daughters in the old woman's mind. It was clear that it was Isadora, but why the two sides? Why had the memory of Isadora split into two persons somewhere inside of Doña Brígida? Did she think that Isadora had become bad when she loved Jerónimo and gave birth to Alondra? That could not be, because the old woman had loved her niece. Everyone knew that. Ursula shook her head, trying to unravel the tangled threads spiraling in her mind.

“Hija,
what is inside of me and you is special and different. We have our own spirit.”

“But the
cabra
sounds wicked.”

“Only if you want to think of it that way. Remember, it's better if a person doesn't pretend to be what she isn't. It's better to be yourself,
hija,
because sooner or later the truth will come out.”

“And the she-goat?”

“If that's what is in me, that's what is in me!”

Ursula's words were charged with finality. They announced the end of the conversation and she returned to her prayers. Alondra slid back under the covers, but her eyes were open. She was watching Ursula, right arm lifted in mid-air tracing the sign of the cross in different directions. She closed her eyes, expecting the sound of her grandmother's whispered prayers to lull her to sleep.

“¡Abuela!”

“
Niña
, go to sleep! Can't you see that I'm praying?”

“What are ancestors?”

Ursula sighed deeply, letting her breath filter slowly through her teeth. She turned toward Alondra, squinting as she peered at the girl. “Ancestors are family, people who live before our time. They are the
abuelas
and
abuelos
who gave life to our mothers and fathers.”

“Are there bad ancestors?”

Ursula's back snapped forward and she sat erect, ears straining as she listened to what Alondra was saying. She felt a pang of worry at what Doña Brígida might have told the girl about her Rarámuri side. The old woman's mind strayed more and more each day. Recently, her spells had brought out a different side, a meanness that had not been there in the past.

“Why do you ask?”

“Doña Brígida said that Samuel was blessed with good ancestors. Better than the ones who hatched me.”

Ursula pressed her back against the pillow as she shook her head. Then she scratched her head and rubbed her eyes, thinking of what to say to the girl.

“Doña Brígida's spirit has lost its way and her words are messages that it is sending. It is searching for help because she no longer remembers the truth. You were not hatched. You were conceived in moonlight and born in the light of the rising sun. You do have good ancestors. Don't forget what I've told you about the Rarámuri. Our history is long and so is our memory. We have known the secrets of dreams and healing from the beginning of time. We know the arts of carving stone and of dancing. We speak
the language of Tata Hakuli and Tata Peyote. Know also that your ancestors are the people who run with the wind. They are the distance runners.”

“Tell me more,
Abuela.”

Ursula smiled because she heard sleepiness overcoming Alondra's voice. She went on speaking, transported to the sierra and to the kitchens of Casa Miraflores where Rarámuri, Hicholes, Mexicas, Zapotecas and Chichimecas worked together, exchanging beliefs and legends.

“Your ancestors, Alondra, walked the floors of deserts and jungles, climbed the heights of the
barranca,
prayed to the gods of the north countless cycles before Samuel's ancestors came to these parts of the world.”

“Tell me about my father.”

“Your father was El Rarámuri, the distance runner who was swifter than the wind. His speed was so great that even the fastest deer could not match him.”

“Tell me about my mother.”

“Your mother was Xipe Totec, the one who did not die but was reborn instead.”

“Tell me …”

Alondra's voice trailed and Ursula knew that she had fallen asleep. Rising, Ursula went to the child, fluffed her pillow, and tucked the blanket around her feet.

The following afternoon Doña Brígida, propped rigidly into her chair, went on with her narrative. “Our roots are in Spain, from where our ancestors came to Mexico. The first patriarch of the family was Don Reynaldo Betancourt. His son was Humberto, and
his
son was Horacio. He was the father of Fortunato and he of Gonzalo, who had ten sons, of which only one survived. His name was Calisto. Your great-grandfather, Samuel.”

The boy cringed. At the thought of reciting the list of names, he began to feel sick.

“The son of Don Calisto was Don Flavio, your grandfather and the father of your mother. God did not bless him with a son but with two daughters: one good, one bad. You, Samuel, are the son of the good daughter.”

Doña Brígida's monotonous voice droned on as she recited names and details to the children. They wondered how she could repeat the same words in exactly the same order each time. She never skipped a name. Suddenly, the old woman stopped talking to gaze out the window. The children thought that she was finished so they began to rise from their seats when Doña Brígida's face snapped back in their direction.

“I'm not finished with my story. Get back to your places! Your grandmother, Velia Carmelita, was a beautiful woman … She was like a statue in a temple.”

Doña Brígida's voice had dropped to a whisper. The children strained to hear what she was saying because it was something different. “Velia Carmelita's skin had the texture of olives in the autumn sun. Her smile was like dawn descending onto the plain,
filling it with light. Her lips were soft and her breath was like perfume. Her breasts were high and firm.”

Samuel shot a look at Alondra. He pursed his lips into a round circle and he stuck his hands under his shirt, puffing them out like a woman's breasts. Alondra stopped dusting the table and moved closer.

“My brother didn't deserve her.”

Just at that moment, Ursula came into the parlor. “Doña Brígida, it's past the dinner hour. Don Flavio is in the dining room waiting for you and Samuel.”

Ursula stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. The expression on her face betrayed her concern when she saw that the children appeared to be oddly captivated by whatever Doña Brígida was saying. Alondra, rag in hand, headed towards the kitchen. When Doña Brígida, followed by Samuel, disappeared into the corridor, Ursula stopped Alondra, shaking her head.

“Virgen del Cobre,
I don't know what's happening to her.”

“Abuela,
she was talking about Samuel's grandmother.”

Her curiosity aroused, Ursula pursed her lips and took Alondra by the arm. She guided the girl into the kitchen.

“What did she say?”

“Funny things.”

“Like what?”

“Well, she said that the lady's face was like a statue and that her skin was like olives.”

“Like olives?”

“Sí.
And that her things were hard.”

“Things? What things?”

Alondra pecked at her blouse with her fingers, lifting it to simulate breasts. She mischievously looked at Ursula.

“Ah! What is happening? Doña Brígida said that Doña Velia Carmelita's breasts were
hard
?”

“Sí.”

“Did Samuel hear her say that?”

“Sí.”

“¡Santísima Virgen del Cobre!”

Four o'clock could not come too soon for Samuel and Alondra the next day. When the children walked into the room, they saw that Doña Brígida had not yet arrived. They looked at one another.

“Maybe she's not coming.”

Samuel whispered what he was thinking. His great aunt had never missed a session, but this could be the first time.

“Maybe she's too sad.”

“Sad? How do you know?”

“Ursula told me that Doña Brígida hardly ate today. Just a tortilla with some
frijoles.”

Samuel ran around the room giggling and pretending to be an old woman. He held one hand on an invisible cane and the other on his bent back. He bowed and wiggled his legs, tottering from chair to sofa. He pretended feeble groans, mocking Doña Brígida.

“Mi hermano Flavio tuvo dos hijas, una buena y la otra mala.”

He mimicked his
Tía Grande
in Spanish, then repeated himself in English. “My brother Flavio had two daughters …” He was going through his antics with his back to the parlor entrance; Alondra was facing it. The boy was red-faced and laughing, but when he looked at Alondra, he realized that her eyes were riveted on a spot somewhere behind him. Wondering why he had not heard the thump of her walking stick, Samuel turned slowly to face Doña Brígida.