The Day of the Moon (26 page)

Ursula was ironing a sheet when Alondra asked her to join her. She disconnected the iron and followed Alondra into the kitchen, and together they sat down at the table.

“¿Qué pasa?”

“Look at this picture,
Abuela.
Have you seen it before?”

Ursula squinted as she tried to focus on the photograph, but it was not until she held it at arm's length that she recognized it. She smiled, remembering the time when she had first seen it.

“Sí.
This is Doña Brígida and Don Flavio when they were children.”

“And
la india?
Who is she?”

Ursula put the picture on the table and clasped her hands on her lap. She squinted as she pursed her lips.

“Doña Brígida told me that it was her mother.”

“¿Qué?
Her
mamá?
But this is an
india, Abuela.
I thought they were white people.”

“Sí.
I thought that too, but I believe that she was telling the truth. She said it to me many times; every time I dusted the picture. She told me that her
mamá
was an
india
from the tribes of Jalisco.”

Alondra shook her head and rolled her eyes. She took the picture and looked at it again for a while, turning it toward the window for better light.

“I look like her.”

Ursula tensed, and her fingers pressed against one another, leaving yellow blotches on the back of her hands. The moment she had feared had come. It was staring at her, telling her that she must tell Alondra the truth. Her mouth suddenly grew dry, and she tried to scrape saliva from the roof of her mouth with her tongue so that she could speak. She stared at the tabletop, wondering where to begin.

Both women were quiet for a long while; dripping water from the leaky faucet splashed against the sink. Ursula's face was set in concentration, and she seemed to be listening to something far away. Alondra sat looking at her, noticing how the overhead lamp cast deep furrows in her face, as if it had been carved from brown wood, or cast in hardened earth. Her hair, still thick, had grown nearly white, and her braids were like tight, gray ropes.

“I found this paper up there in the closet, too.”

Ursula breathed a sigh of relief when Alondra interrupted. Anything would be easy to deal with in comparison with the photograph, because Ursula had long ago seen that Alondra did indeed look like her Indian great-grandmother.

Alondra spread the invoice on the table, smoothing the creases out of it with the palm of her hand. She paused, waiting for Ursula to read it, but then remembered that her grandmother did not know how to read or write.

“It says that Isadora Betancourt is in a hospital of some kind.”

“¿Qué?”
Ursula whipped forward to the edge of the chair. She put both hands on the paper as if wanting to
feel
what was written on it.

“Sí, Abuela.
Right here it says her name, the place of the hospital, and down here is the date.”

“A long time ago?”

“No, just a few weeks ago. Look. Don Flavio was still alive.”

“What is the name of the hospital?”

“Sanatorio San Juan.”

Ursula shut her eyes and slipped back in the chair, trying to find support for her body. She had never doubted that Isadora was alive, but to know that she had been in an asylum for so many years made her heart shrivel. It took Ursula a few seconds to bring together what had happened during those sad days that ended with Isadora's disappearance. She now knew that when Don Flavio had vanished with the driver, it was to condemn Isadora to live in a tomb.

“Abuela,
are you okay? You look sick.”

“I'm okay.”

“Why do you think the old
loco
kept it a secret? It was his daughter, and he pretended she was dead. And what about Samuel? He thinks she's dead, but she's not. Look, it says so right here. What sickness could anybody have that would make a father hide it?”

Ursula struggled to control the ringing in her ears. She held her breath until she was able to gather the courage she needed. She prayed silently. Alondra and Samuel had been cheated of their mother, and Isadora had been deprived of them, and of a lifetime of freedom. Her heart ached to think of Isadora's years of imprisonment, and she felt ashamed for having played a part in the web of deceit spun by Don Flavio.

“Hija.
Listen to me. This sanitarium is not a hospital. It's a place for those sick up here.” Ursula put an index finger to her temple and made a circular, churning motion. She waited for Alondra to say something.

“Samuel's
mamá
is a
loca?”

“No! Now I know that Don Flavio put her there in punishment.”

“For what?”

“For loving El Rarámuri
.”

Alondra stared at Ursula, momentarily stunned, putting memories and stories together. She did not take her eyes from those of Ursula. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.

“
El Rarámuri! You've told me he was my father.”

“Sí.”

“Isadora loved him?”

“Sí.”

“What happened to him?”

“Don Flavio had him killed.”

“And he imprisoned Isadora in the
sanatorio?”

“Sí.”

Alondra stood, walked over to the sink and stared out the window. Night was overtaking the streets and rooftops; more rain had begun to fall. She turned to face Ursula, struggling to silence the roar that grew inside her head. She stared at her grandmother for minutes that seemed endless while she relived her childhood of loneliness and doubts.

“She was my
mamá?”

“Sí.”

“And Samuel is my brother?”

“Sí.”

“Don Flavio was my
Abuelo?”

“Sí.”

“Doña Brígida was my
Tía Grande?”

“Sí.”

“And you—who are you?”

“Niña,
here in my heart, I'm your
abuela,
but in truth, I am the same to you as was Doña Brígida your
Tía Grande.
”

Ursula had long imagined Alondra's rage for having the truth concealed from her. Inwardly she had grieved for this day, because Alondra's love meant everything to her. She did not understand when Alondra came, knelt next to her and put her head on her lap. Ursula responded by embracing her; she felt that the young woman's body was serene.

“Niña,
do you forgive me for not telling you the truth?”

“You did tell me the truth. El Rarámuri was my
papá
and, as you said, my
mamá
was she who did not die, even though her skin had been torn from her. What you left out was what the old
loco
did to his own daughter, and that was because even you didn't know the truth.”

Ursula was astounded. She had not expected this, but she was happy beyond words. She took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes.

“What are we going to do,
hija?”

“First, we're going to tell Samuel that he's my brother. Then we'll go to Mexico to get our
mamá.”

While Alondra waited for Samuel's arrival, she pondered Don Flavio's motives. No matter how many times or the ways she tried, she found his rancor incomprehensible. Alondra asked herself why her grandfather had murdered her father: Was it because he was an Indian? Don Flavio's own mother had been a native of the tribes of Jalisco. Did he so detest that part of himself which was inhabited by his mother's spirit? And Isadora? What about her?

The loneliness that Alondra had felt as a child returned, more intense, deeper. Restlessness possessed her. She spent nights packing and unpacking the suitcase she intended to take in search of her mother. She stared into mirrors, trying to see Isadora's features, traces of Brígida and Velia Carmelita. But what she saw was the brown face of Don Flavio's mother.

Days passed before Samuel arrived in Los Angeles. Alondra and Ursula met him at their front door, hugged and kissed him, then headed straight to the kitchen, where Alondra served coffee. Alondra hardly took her eyes off Samuel's face as Ursula told him their mother's story: her wedding and Samuel's birth; her abandonment by his father, Eloy; her love for Jeronimo, El Rarámuri
;
Alondra's birth and her father's murder; the disappearance of their mother; their self-exile to Los Angeles.

Samuel listened in utter silence, holding his face in cupped hands, elbows balanced on the table. His eyes were nearly shut; now and then a lid fluttered. His lips were compressed into a tight line, giving him a mask-like appearance. Alondra saw that he clenched and unclenched his jaw as he swallowed; the muscles in his neck were taut. As Ursula spoke, he sometimes passed a hand over the certificate that verified Isadora's whereabouts.

When Ursula finished, he looked at her for a long time, his face expressionless. His memory dipped back to the vague shadows of a cave, and a brown man with long hair who showed him plants, birds, and insects. Samuel called up images of arched and colon-naded corridors, of a stable and of a golden-haired woman who stroked his forehead. Loud noises and shouts of servants running around, disoriented, calling for a doctor, for hot water, for bandages, echoed first dimly, then with more focus in Samuel's recollection.

He moved his head from one side to the other, listening to a voice only he could hear.

“You don't believe me, Samuel?”

He held his hands clasped tightly, and he hunched over, nearly hiding his face. He shook his head, pulled on an earlobe, licked his lips, but even after minutes had passed, he appeared unable to speak.

“You don't believe me?”

“Ursula, why didn't you at least tell Alondra? She's been a grown-up for a long time. Why now?”

“I was afraid.”

“Afraid? Of what?”

“Don Flavio.”

“Abuelo
had been so weak for a long time. What could he have done to you?”

Ursula was unable to deny the truth of what Samuel hurled at her. Still, an inexplicable dread had gripped her, convincing her that Don Flavio, even as he faded more with each day, still somehow had possessed the power to destroy Alondra. Ursula did not answer.

Samuel shook his head again, then sighed with exasperation. Nearly forgotten impressions of his mother, the feeling of her hands on his face, tormented him. He wanted to believe that his mother still lived, but he could not.

“She's not alive.”

“¿Por qué no?”

“Too many years have passed, Alondra. Who could stand so much misery?”

“Prisoners last longer in penitentiaries.”

“Maybe, but I can't believe that she's still alive.”

Ursula at last spoke up. “What about this paper? Don't you think it proves that she's alive?”

“No. I think that it's a fake certificate. The old man was being taken in by someone down there, someone who made a lot of money off him over the years. Even if she is alive, have you thought that she might be better left alone? Leave things as they are, Alondra. Marry, have kids, make your own family.”

Alondra stared at Samuel, and her eyes clouded. Her body tensed as she pressed her fists on the table.

“I can't do anything until I'm sure of what happened to her. I'm going to search for her.”

“What will you do if you do find her?”

“I … I'll bring her back here to live with us!”

“I'm going with Alondra,” Ursula broke in. The determination in her face and body made her seem less old, less frail as she pressed her hand on the table.

“¡Ay, Vieja!
You're too old for these—”

“Who's too old? Samuel,
¿por qué?
What makes you think she's not alive?”

“I don't know
what
to think anymore! How do you think I feel after hearing what I've just been told? My father is a deadbeat; my grandfather is a murderer; my mother is in a loony bin—and you ask me what I
think!
”

“Why don't you add the part about me?”

Samuel's flushed face whipped around to look at Alondra. He opened his mouth several times, but words would not come out. Finally, he was able to say, “Alondra, I've always thought of you as my sister. I've always loved you that way. What Ursula has just said doesn't add or take from my feelings for you. I don't have to be told that you're my sister. I've always known it in here.” He stopped speaking abruptly, but he went on patting his chest with one hand, deeply moved.

“Still, I wouldn't go if I were you,” he continued doggedly. “It's too risky. Mexico is not easy on strangers.”

“Ursula and I can make it. Right,
Abuela?”

“Sí.”

Samuel got to his feet and began walking around the kitchen as Alondra went on speaking.

“I need money. Please lend it to me. I'll pay it back as soon as we return.”

“It's not the money.”

“Then, what's the reason?”

“I already said: It's dangerous, Alondra.”

“Come with us.”

“I can't leave my family.”

“Then lend me the money, and I'll find our
mamá.”

Samuel halted mid-step and stared at Alondra as if he had just seen her. He nibbled on his upper lip nervously.

“Our
mamá
.” He returned to the chair and sat on its edge, bouncing his legs up and down on his toes.

“Okay. Let me find out how much a plane ticket costs to the closest airport to Zapopan. I think it's Guadalajara.”

“A plane?” Ursula's small eyes rounded, and her lips beaked.
“¡Nunca!
I'm afraid of those machines made by the devil!”

Alondra shrugged her shoulders, reached over the table and patted Ursula's hands. “We can take the train. I already checked it out. It leaves out of Mexicali. From there, it'll take us to Guadalajara. When we make it to that city, we can take a bus to Zapopan.”