The Day of the Moon (27 page)

“How do you know all of this?” Samuel interrupted.

“I've made phone calls. That's all I've been doing while we waited for you.”

“Okay! Okay! I'll drive you to the station. We can get the tickets when we get there.”

“Let's go tomorrow.”

“That soon?”

“Our
mamá
has waited too many years. I don't want her to wait longer.”

The drive from Los Angeles to Mexicali began early the next day. It was a gray November morning and the long ride through the desert was monotonous. When they crossed the border at Calexico, Samuel headed for the train station, where he bought tickets for a Pullman coach. When it was time, Samuel walked Alondra and Ursula to the platform, where he helped them get on the coach and place their bags on racks above the seats. The two women were excited; neither had traveled on a train before. When the signal was given for visitors to leave the coach, he hugged and kissed them good-bye. Back on the platform, he stood beneath their window, smiling as the train surged forward. Ursula and Alondra returned his smile, waving at him until he disappeared from view.

The trip through the northern Mexican states took the two women across vast expanses of desert. Alondra spent hours gazing at the passing landscape, captivated by the changing light of the sun on the sand and cactus. She thought of her mother, and of Brígida's love letters, which she had packed along with her other things. But most of all she and Ursula talked. The older woman told of her memories of Isadora, Brígida, Celestino, Narcisa, and Jerónimo. Alondra was hungry to hear about the Rarámuri, their life in the caves, their language. Ursula told Alondra about her days as a baby and child.

Towns and cities drifted by as the train slid on its iron rails. Benjamín Hill. Guaymas. Hermosillo. Alondra also enjoyed the nights, when she fell into a trance induced by the soft clacking of the wheels and the swaying of the coach. During those nights she relived her childhood, when she played with Samuel and listened to Doña Brígida's tales of the family.

They arrived in Guadalajara at midnight. They were fatigued, yet Ursula was alert and evidently energized by being back in Mexico. From that point onward, Ursula became their voice to the surrounding strangers.

As soon as there was daylight, the two women made their way to the central bus station, where Ursula bought tickets to Zapopan. The station was already crowded, but they found a corner away from the stream of travelers, the screaming children, the squeaking carts, and the people shouting out good-byes. Some travelers carried not only bundles and suitcases, but small cages stuffed with chickens and ducks. Ursula grew happier with each hour.

Alondra was jerked out of her fatigued thoughts by the blast from the loudspeakers:

“¡Autobus número 31, destino a Zapopan! ¡Vámonos!”

“¿Señorita? Señorita, ¿está vacío?”

Alondra looked away from her window and saw a woman pointing to the seat behind her. Alondra nodded her head, and the woman took the place after pushing a cardboard box under the seat. Alondra craned her neck to look back at the woman, who smiled and began to chat with her and Ursula. Where were they from? What were they doing so far from home? Yes, she was a native of Zapopan and could give them necessary information.

Alondra stretched and looked back as the bus pulled onto the highway. Looking at the twin spires that dominated the skyline but were receding quickly, she plucked up enough courage to ask the woman behind her what they were.

“Señora, esas torres, ¿de qué son?”

“Es la catedral de Guadalajara, Señorita.”

Alondra knew that she or Ursula would have to ask the woman how to get around town once they arrived, but first she wanted to relax for a few minutes and look at the countryside. The trip, she knew, would take almost an hour. There would be time, she told herself, to get the information she needed.

“This is my grandmother, Ursula, and we're here looking for a hospital,” she said at last. “Its name is Sanatorio de San Juan. I wonder if you could tell me how to find it.”

“Zapopan isn't that big, Señorita. What is best for you to do is to go straight to the basilica; all our streets begin and end there. That hospital is a very large one, and you will see it immediately once you're in front of the church. It's located on the highway that goes out to Tesistán. Don't worry. Just ask anyone, and they will point you in the right direction. Do you and your grandmother have a place to stay?”

Alondra had not taken the time to find out about hotels or boarding houses, confident that she would find something. It was
1965, after all (as she had pointed out to Ursula, who feared the worst); even Zapopan was sure to have a hotel. The woman passenger had a worried look as she waited for Alondra's answer.

“No, Señora, we don't.”

The woman rubbed her chin, thinking. “I would invite you to my home but I don't even have a sofa, much less a bed for the two of you. But I've got an idea. The nuns at the convent of El Refugio rent out rooms to young women like you.”

Ursula spun around, a look of irritation on her face. The woman turned her attention from Alondra to her. “Señora, a thousand apologies. When I said
young women,
you were, of course, also included. We were all young at one time or another, weren't we?”

Ursula did not respond, but looked at Alondra with annoyance. Alondra guessed at what was behind Ursula's anger.

“
Abuela,
I have to speak for myself sooner or later,” she whispered. “You should be glad that I can speak pretty good
español.”

“You can't. You sound like a
pocha.”

As the bus pulled into the terminal station, the passengers got to their feet, taking their possessions, pressing to get out of the vehicle. Once on the pavement, the woman pointed in the direction of the basilica.

“Just follow this street until you reach those towers. Do you see, over there?” A chubby finger pointed out the cathedral spires. As the woman began to walk away, she stopped abruptly and turned to Alondra.

“Señorita, it occurs to me that the hospital you're looking for is for the insane. Are you sure that you have the correct name? We have another hospital, you know, for other afflictions.”

“Yes, Señora, I'm sure.
Muchas gracias.”

As the two women made their way on the cobblestone street, Alondra felt that she was leaving her time and entering a world of the past.

When Ursula yanked vigorously on the rope at the convent's entrance, a deep bell rang, startling Ursula from her revery. The two waited for a few minutes, looking through the grates at a patio filled with potted geraniums and carnations. It was silent. Only the chirping of caged birds and the gurgle of a fountain reached them. Alondra pulled on the cord again, and this time a nun ran to the gate. She was young, and it appeared that she had been washing dishes; her arms and hands were smeared with soapsuds.

“Buenas tardes.”

“Buenas tardes, Señorita.”
The sister's stare seemed to reflect surprise at the presence of the two women.

“I understand that your convent sometimes rents rooms to—”

“Please come in.”

The nun turned several times to look at Alondra and Ursula as they made their way through a courtyard, across an arched cloister, and into a small, dark office. When she opened the door, she smiled for the first time, indicating with her hand that they should sit. Alondra obeyed and took an oversized wooden chair, its seat and back covered in hard, worn leather. Ursula rested in a similar seat. They were alone. Not even the birds or the fountain could be heard through the thick adobe walls. All they could see of the garden were the clustered fronds of a palm tree that leaned against the latticed window. Most of the room's walls were taken up by shelves loaded with books. They seemed to be old manuscripts; most of them were bound in faded leather, and from where she was sitting, she could make out that some of the titles had worn away.

“Buenas tardes, Señorita.”

Neither Alondra nor Ursula had heard the sister enter the room, and they were startled by her sudden presence. Like school-girls, they responded with one voice:

“Buenas tardes, Madre.”

Alondra felt a sharp jab of apprehension for the first time since leaving Los Angeles. During that instant, she wondered if Samuel had been right—that all of this might be a mistake.

The woman was dressed in a coarse brown habit that hung to the floor, and her head was covered by a wimple and black veil, highlighting the transparent skin of her face. The sister appeared to be in her mid-forties. Her eyes were bright and deeply set, her nose was beaked, and her thin lips curved slightly downward.
She looks like a bird,
thought Alondra.

“I understand you need a room?”

“Yes,
Madre.”

“Where are you from? You're not from these parts, I see.”

“No, I'm not from this area. But my grandmother, Ursula, is from Chihuahua. I'm from Los Angeles, and I'm visiting Zapopan, hoping to find someone.”

The nun's eyebrows shot upward. She held that expression steadily as she looked at Alondra.

“I'm here looking for a person who is interned in Sanatorio de San Juan de Dios.”

“A relative?”

“Yes. My mother.”

The nun motioned for Alondra and Ursula to return to their seats, then she took another chair. Her face softened as she reflected. She looked out the window for several minutes, making them uneasy. At last she turned back to look at Alondra.

“I'm sorry, Señorita, I've been rude. My name is Sister Consuelo, and I'm presently the superior of this community. Your grandmother's name is Doña Ursula. May I ask your name?”

“Alondra Santiago.”

“Well, Alondra, let's talk for a few moments. You and your grandmother are welcome here, and you can depend on a room to live in while you go about your project. Although our guests do not live inside the convent itself, we have a few rooms on the other side of the courtyard which most visitors find comfortable. We have a dining room for you, small but adequate, in which you can take your meals. You will have to share a bathroom, and you will get fresh towels and soap every day.”

Alondra smiled, turning to look at Ursula whose expression showed that she, too, was pleased. She mouthed silently:
Doña
Ursula.

“There are a few rules that must be kept. First, we ask you to attend morning mass with the community. The celebration begins at seven-thirty; after that, your breakfast will be ready. The sisters chant Matins at seven. You're welcome to join us at that time, though you don't have an obligation to do so.

“The most important rule of our convent is this one: Our gates are opened at eight in the morning, and locked at eight at night. During those hours, our guests can come and go as they wish. However, anyone not indoors by the time the door is closed will have to sleep elsewhere.”

Sister Consuelo looked at Alondra steadily; she was now smiling.

“Yes,
Madre.
How much should we give as a deposit? I'm not sure how many days we're going to be here.”

The nun rose to her feet and stood gazing down at Alondra. “I don't deal with that part of our household. Sister Sarita—she let you in—is in charge of our guests. She'll tell you how much the room will cost you and when you should pay.” Sister Consuelo turned to Ursula and gave her an equally bright smile.

“How long has your mother been a patient?”

Alondra's eyes widened, and she turned to Ursula for help. It struck her that she couldn't answer the question.

“Since 1939,” Ursula said.

The nun's eyebrows arched, and she pursed her lips. “You mustn't be disappointed if you cannot find information regarding your mother. The place is notorious for its secrecy.”

“Secrecy?”

Sister Consuelo sighed. “It's an asylum for the rich, and most of the patients are interned in silence—even concealment. Some of the families involved are ashamed that such a thing as insanity has struck them. I must confess to you that I've never been able to
understand it. However, people are strange, and they feel that madness is the same as disgrace, or even scandal.”

Alondra moved away from Sister Consuelo and went over to the window. From that point, she could see the fountain and the caged birds. The doubts Alondra had experienced minutes before melted away. She turned back to look at the nun.

“Where should we begin?”

“Do you know anyone of influence in Zapopan?”

“We know only you.”

The nun smiled wryly, and her small eyes brightened. She plunged her hands under the long scapular draped over the front of her habit and furrowed her forehead.

“Doctor Silvestre Lozano, the director, is a patron of this convent and has often assisted us when we've needed help. He's a kind man. He's been head of the asylum only briefly—not more than two years. Give me time to approach him regarding your mother. I believe that would save you time and, hopefully, disappointment.”

“Gracias, Madre.
While we're waiting, I think it would be a good idea to see the place. Where is the hospital?”

“Very close.
Everything
is close in Zapopan. If you take a wrong turn, all you have to do is to return to the basilica and start all over again.” Sister Consuelo was smiling, but Alondra thought she detected a sudden glimmer of pity in her eyes.

“Those stricken with madness are sometimes better off left alone, Alondra. It might be more prudent to leave things as they are.”

“What if someone has been put away for another reason, not for insanity?”

“Then all the more reason not to intrude. If a person has been put in that asylum unjustly, it means that there are powerful people behind it. Anyone, especially a foreigner, unknowing of the ways of this place, might well keep a distance.”