The Butterfly’s Daughter (2 page)

Then the gods called out again, “Who will light the world?” Again the gods were silent. Only Little Nana, the smallest and humblest of the gods, stepped forward. She was ugly and covered with sores. “Little Nana,” they said to her. “If you sacrifice yourself, your wretched body will be transformed into the glorious sun and you will bring light and warmth to the people of the world till the end of
time.” Little Nana did not want to die, but she thought of the light she would bring and stood at the precipice of the inferno.

The gods commanded her, “Jump now into the flames!”

Little Nana closed her eyes and bravely jumped into the heart of the fire. The red flames shot high into the heavens; Little Nana rode a fiery path to the sky and was transformed into the resplendent new sun.

Then the gods saw that the world had no color. They called out to the gods, “Who will bring life to the world?”

Xochiquetzal, the goddess of all things beautiful, called out, “I will do it!”

The gods loved Xochiquetzal and cried, “But you will die!”

“No, I will not die,” the goddess replied. “I will fly into the sun and when I fall back to the earth I will transform into new life. I will be the mother of all to come.”

It was as she said. Xochiquetzal gave herself the plumed wings of a butterfly and flew high into the heavens to be filled with light. When she fell back to the earth she was transformed into flowers and butterflies of every color.

Since then, every year when days grow short and a cold wind blows, the butterflies fly from all points north to the Sacred Circle in memory of the goddesses who stood at the precipice and bravely jumped, sacrificing themselves to bring light and life to the world.

“So,
querida,
do you understand that in every life there is death and rebirth? Life cannot be renewed without sacrifice. Now I ask you, my daughter,
mi preciosa
. My young goddess. Will you bring light to the world?”

Each fall, millions of delicate orange and black butterflies fly more than two thousand miles from the United States and Canada to overwinter in the mountains of central Mexico. The annual migration of the monarch is a phenomenal story—a miracle of instinct and survival.

E
speranza Avila had told the story so many times over the years that it was accepted as truth—even by herself. She'd meant only to blanket her granddaughter's frightening loss, not to mislead her. She saw the story she'd created as a safe, happy cocoon for her to grow up in.

But in the end, she'd created a lie. Now she was caught in her own trap of deception. The only way out was to tell Luz the truth, no matter how painful that truth might be.

Esperanza counted the strokes as she brushed her long, white hair in front of the bureau mirror. Morning light fell in a broken pattern across her room. Her gaze fell upon an old sepia-toned photograph of herself and her second husband, Hector Avila. She paused her brushing as she gazed at his brilliant smile, his hair that waved like the ocean he loved, and his eyes that were as impossibly blue.

Hector Avila had been the love of her life, taken too soon from her. When she was a younger woman her raven hair flowed down
her back to swirl around her hips. Hector had loved her hair, whispered to her how it was like a waterfall at night that captured the reflection of the stars. He used to wind her hair in his hands, wrap himself up in it when they made love. Even after all these years, closing her eyes, she could remember the feel of his skin, and her hair like silk pressed against her body.

Opening her eyes again, she saw that her long hair was no longer the lustrous skein that Hector had relished. So many seasons had passed since those halcyon days, so many joys, and so much sadness. Her hair was a blizzard of snow falling around her shoulders. She pressed the brush to her heart as it tightened. Where did the time go?

Suddenly the room felt like it was tilting. Esperanza closed her eyes and grasped the bureau for balance. She was tired, she told herself. She didn't sleep well the night before. Ever since she'd received that phone call from her daughter Maria, old memories and worries had plagued her. They spilled over to her dreams, haunting her, and lingered after the pale light of dawn awakened her.

Her troubled gaze traveled across the other photographs on her bureau, resting on a small silver frame that held the treasured photograph of her daughter Mariposa, aglow with happiness. In her arms she carried her baby. Luz couldn't have been six months old but already her pale eyes shone as bright as the sun. Tears filled Esperanza's eyes as her heart pumped with love for this child, who'd been a gift to her in her later years, after Mariposa had vanished.

“Hector,” she said aloud. “I need your wisdom, now more than ever. I could bear this hardship alone. But Luz . . . she is twenty-one, no longer a child. Still, I can't endure to see her hurt. I've told Luz so many stories about her mother. But now
this
! What words
can I say to make her understand this truth?” She shook her head with grief. “How will she not hate me?”

She finished gathering her long locks in fingers that were gnarled from age and hard work. While she methodically wound the hair like a skein of wool, her mind reviewed her plan to tell Luz the truth about her mother. She needed uninterrupted time and a safe place to tell her granddaughter the story from beginning to end.

Her hands trembled as she finished pinning the thick braid of hair securely at the base of her head. Taking a steadying breath, she opened her drawer and pulled out the amber plastic medicine bottle she kept hidden behind socks and underwear. She didn't tell Luz about the pills that kept her heart from skipping its beat. Luz already had to worry about too many things for a girl her age. There was a fine line between being responsible and being burdened.

That thought strengthened Esperanza's resolve. She pried open the bottle and shook out the last pink tablet into her palm, then sighed. She needed to get the expensive prescription refilled. How would she pay for it after today? She placed the pill on her tongue and washed it down with a glass of water. Tomorrow she'd worry about that. Today her course was clear.

With great care Esperanza applied smudges of rouge to her cheeks and dabbed on some lipstick. The ruby color added fullness to her thinning lips. She cast a final, assessing glance in the mirror. There were times when she looked at her reflection that she caught a peek at the girl she once was, trapped deep inside of her, barely visible behind the wrinkles and sunken cheeks. That young girl shone bright in her eyes this morning, excited for the task ahead.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, she put on her tennis shoes, then slipped down to her knees. Usually she'd pull out her rosary for her morning prayers, but today she reached her arm under her mattress all the way to her shoulder and began groping. The mattress was heavy and Esperanza panted with the effort. At last, her fingers clutched the small leather pouch and pulled it out.

She sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor, catching her breath, and then gingerly opened the worn, hand-sewn purse that had traveled with her from her small village in Mexico all the way to Milwaukee so many years before. Her fingertip traced the image of a butterfly etched into the golden leather. Without hesitating further, she opened it and pulled out a thick wad of bills. She counted the dollars in her lap, smoothing each bill. Her ruby lips spread into a satisfied grin.

She had enough.

Esperanza put on her black trench coat and slipped a triangle of red silk scarf over her head, a gift from Luz. Before leaving, she made sure the coffee machine was turned off and the iron was unplugged, then made a fervent sign of the cross in front of the framed portrait of La Virgen de Guadalupe in the front hall. With a puff, she extinguished the candle and pulled the door closed behind her.

A north wind hit her face and she tugged the collar of her coat higher around her neck. Fall came early in Wisconsin and spring took its time. She made her way down the stairs to the cracked cement sidewalk.

“You off?”

Esperanza turned toward the throaty voice of her neighbor, Yolanda Rodriguez. She was dressed for the weather in a thick black sweater and gloves as she raked leaves from her tiny front
yard. Yolanda stood with her head cocked and her dark eyes gleaming, like a crow at the fence line.

“Yes,” Esperanza called back with conviction as she walked closer to the chain-link fence that divided their front yards.

At the sound of her voice, two small black-and-white mixed-breed dogs rushed to the fence, barking wildly. Yolanda hushed them, then paused to lean on the rake. “This is a good thing you're doing,” she said, nodding her head for emphasis. “Luz is not a little girl anymore. She should know.”

“She will know soon.”

“You should have told Luz the truth long ago. I told you so!”

Esperanza held her tongue but felt her heart squeeze in anxiety.

“You still planning on driving to San Antonio?” Yolanda's voice was filled with doubt.

“Yes.”

Yolanda shook her head doubtfully. “I still think you should fly. It's faster. Not so much trouble. Not so dangerous.”

“It's better this way. And I did it before, don't forget. I have it all planned. It will take only three days to drive to San Antonio. It's perfect, don't you see? That will give Luz and me enough time to talk, where it is quiet and safe.”

Yolanda snorted. “And Luz won't be able to bolt like Mariposa.”

Esperanza frowned and looked off into the biting wind. She thought how sharp words could sting when they held the truth. “Perhaps. I must go now.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, no, that's kind of you. I want to do this on my own.”

Yolanda caught a note in her voice and reached out to gently pat Esperanza's shoulder in commiseration. “It's a good plan. I will say a prayer to the Virgencita that it will succeed.
¡Buena suerte!
”
she said with a farewell wave, then returned to her raking, muttering curses under her breath at the gust of wind that brought a fresh torrent of leaves to her yard.

Esperanza hurried to the street corner to catch the bus she saw cruising up the block. She found a seat and looked out the window at the familiar scenery of bungalow houses, brown brick buildings, and fast-food restaurants. There were so many people, she thought. In cars, on foot, in the windows—all strangers and all with their hands rammed into pockets and their faces set in hard frowns. Her mind flitted back to the small village in the mountains where she'd grown up. Everything was green and she knew everyone's name. Esperanza shivered and tightened her coat. Even after all these years she couldn't get used to these cold northern winters. No coat was warm enough. She longed for the warmer climate and the simple tranquillity of her home.

Stepping off the bus, she felt the chill of the winds off Lake Michigan clear to her bones. It took her a minute to get her bearings. She consulted the small piece of paper on which she'd written the directions, then began to walk. After a few blocks, she sighed with relief at seeing the enormous sign:
NICE USED CARS
.

It wasn't much of a car lot. It was an old filling station surrounded by a long line of wire tethered between buildings, affixed with colored plastic flags flapping in the breeze. Beneath was a small collection of random cars, some with new coats of paint that didn't do a good job of covering rust. The salesman didn't see her walk onto the lot at first. She knew the moment he spotted her, though, because he instinctively fixed his tie.

“Are you in the right place, dear?”

“I'm where I need to be,” she replied. “Are you going to show me some cars or do I have to look myself?”

The salesman was a short, beady-eyed man in an ill-fitting suit. He smiled and led her to a midsize sedan. After looking at the sticker, Esperanza shook her head. “Oh no, I can't afford this car. Please, something more . . .” She didn't want to say
cheap.
What was the better word in English? “Affordable.”

“I can do that,” he replied cheerfully, though his smile was more forced now.

He led her to the far side of the lot, where the prices dropped significantly. She peered into the windows of a Ford Taurus.

“That's a nice car there. You've got good taste.”

“I don't know anything about cars.”

“May I ask why you're looking for a car now?”

She looked at the man as though he was addled. “I need one!” she said, then turned to move down the line of cars.

“Are you really here to buy, ma'am? Or just kicking tires.”

Esperanza didn't know what he meant by that, so she didn't reply. She walked down the first line of sad-looking cars, feeling her heart drop into her shoes. Each looked worse than the next. When she turned to the second row she saw the car she'd come for.

The battered orange Volkswagen was very much like the one that her first husband, Luis, had found abandoned on the side of the road. He'd spent hours repairing it, then he'd taught her how to drive along dusty roads as she ground the gears.

“You like that one?” the persistent man asked as he approached again. “I dunno. Maybe you shouldn't be looking at a manual transmission.”

“No,” she said, feeling as though fate had just smiled on her. “This is the one.”