Across the Great River (4 page)

“Oh, I do have one weakness. You can repay me by sending me postcards from wherever you go. For me, they are proof that beautiful places exist in this world. Look!” She pulls out a brown sack from a drawer. “They come by mail and it's like Christmas each time I receive one.”

I take the sack from her. “There's bunches of them!” I pour them out onto Mama's lap.

“See!” Anita continues, “they come from Dallas, El Paso and Austin. I even have one from Santa Fe, New Mexico. It's from a man who came to see me with a snake bite that was all swollen and infected. I cured him.”

“I cannot believe that there are such places,” gasps Mama.

Anita slaps her thigh. “I told you! Don Ramon brings them in the mail. He stops for a cup of coffee
and reads them to me. I have learned what all of them say from memory.”

“Such wonderous places!” I cry.

“Yes, Kata. I tell you, every Sunday night I go through them. It's like I'm visiting those places on a trip. Can you picture a miserable old woman like me walking down such streets?”

I looked up to see a dream-like haze cover Anita's face. But I cannot picture her dressed in a shabby skirt walking down such streets. Nor can I see myself doing so. I notice that the same distant glow that lights up Anita's face has also captured Mama's.

“If only Carlos could see these cards. He told me such places existed, but I doubted him. I called him a dreamer, but he only wanted us to better ourselves,” says Mama.

“Perhaps,” chuckles Anita.

“He heard that there are jobs that pay good wages. He said that there was free education for the little ones and I doubted it all.”

Anita pats Mama's shoulder. “Those are his dreams. A man's dreams are always different from a woman's because they think of themselves first, then they think of the needs of the family. The power of dreams is indeed great, but only as great as the person who dreams them.”

“Why do you know so much about dreams?” I ask, not making much sense out of her rattling on in such a way.

She rises, goes over to the closet and she pulls out a small book. “This is a dream book and it tells all about dreams and their outcome. I have studied it faithfully, because I feel it is part of every person alive.”

Mama takes the book from her hand. “Where did you get this?”

“Another person I cured sent it to me through the mail.” Anita takes the book from Mama. “It's from Mexico City. See, it has no words, just pictures. It is easy to understand, no?” She takes the book and puts it back in the closet. “Dreams are something one takes seriously.” She gathers the post cards and puts them back into their sack. “Tomorrow is another day filled with who knows what. Let's go to bed, now.” She straightens Mama's blanket, then tucks us in.

That night I toss and turn, unable to sleep. I lay awake thinking about those postcards. If such places exist, then it must be a very large world, much larger than I ever imagined. Mama called Papa a dreamer. Would he be foolish enough to risk sending us to jail for those places?

That night I dream of Papa, whose face is caught in a rain cloud. Tears stream down his face and he keeps yelling something, but I cannot make out what he says. My heart aches like a pin cushion stuck a thousand times over because I cannot help him and there's nothing I can do to find him.

Several days later Mama catches a ride into town with Don Juan. She waves goodbye from the cab of the Model-T as it rambles slowly onward.

All day I wait for her to return.

“Kata! You will never finish the chores if you do not stop searching the road.”

“Yes, Anita. Why isn't she back?” I look toward the setting sun.

“She will be, soon enough. Don Juan will return by nightfall and there's still plenty of daylight left.
Perhaps he had some extra marketing to do.”

I do not believe her answer, but I go back to my chores with my fingers crossed and every now and then I glance up the road.

After supper Anita hums a tune. I can tell by her peeking looks out the window that she is getting worried. “My goodness, I hope that old truck has not overheated again. Don Juan knows nothing about trucks. He just points them down the road.”

I clean the tin plates with water from the well, then set them upside down to dry. I sigh, realizing it is time for bed and still Mama has not returned.

Anita does not turn out the lantern and I am thankful, for it will serve as a guide for Mama. As tired as I am, I fight sleep. I glance at Anita, who sits on her cot and stares at the door. She is worried because usually by this hour every night she is snoring. Sleep finally overtakes me.

The rattling of the pans wakes me and I sit up and search the room, but Mama is not there. Her cot has not been touched. Anita looks my way. “She'll be back today. I can feel it in my old bones. Come! Have some breakfast, for there's a long work day ahead.”

I step to the porch and wash my face in the round tub, then glare at the road leading to town. The empty ache inside my belly will not accept her tardiness. I hang the paper thin towel back on the nail and go inside to eat. A big appetite will please old Anita.

“Has Pablito eaten?” I ask.

“Yes, long ago.”

As I eat scrambled eggs and corn tortillas I hear only the sounds of my teeth grinding. I cannot bear the silence any longer. “Anita,” I ask, “what will become of us if Mama does not come back?”

Anita turns and then chuckles softly, “I told you she will come back.”

“But, what if she doesn't, just like Papa?”

“You must have faith, little one.”

I shove my plate away and bury my head in my arms. “What is faith, Anita? I need my Mama and my Papa!” I wail, not caring if she sees me cry.

After I cry awhile, I feel her hand on my head. “Faith is power, little one. Do not worry, for she will return. Besides, you and Pablito are welcome to live here with me, if she does not come back.”

I seize her hand. “What do you mean, if she does not come back?” I gasp.

Anita takes both my hands in hers, “She will come back, girl. I tell you and you must believe in what I say!”

“Anita, you … mean that… we can stay here with you? We can live here? Oh, Anita. I always thought you were a bad person, but you're not and I have gone out of my way to make it hard on you.”

She crushes me to her belly. “You are not the first person to think that, Kata. It's all right, for I am an ugly old woman set on having my way and helping others in my own way. I get lonely at times, but you and Pablito have eased my loneliness.”

“I'll be your friend, forever,” I vow as I kiss her hand.

She dries my tears with the corner of her apron and chuckles, “Forever is such a long, long time, Kata. But, you are welcome here forever.”

After lunch Anita sends me to water the garden. After an hour or so I glance up from my fork to see a stranger upon a horse turn into the gate. He slumps in the saddle as the horse moves along at a slow pace. I throw the bucket down and run into the house shouting, “Anita, someone comes!”

She hurries out to the porch and on seeing the man runs to his aid. She leads the horse to the house, then pulls the man off and lays him upon the porch. With her two thumbs she yanks back his eyelids and peers deeply into his eyes.

She makes a throaty clicking sound, then mutters, “I do not see what is wrong with him.” She quickly unties his clothes, checks his chest, his arms and his back. “Go inside, Kata, and bring me a blanket.”

She removes all his clothing and piles it on top of the man, covering his private parts. In one quick flick of the wrists, she spreads the blanket over him. “Water, Kata. Hurry!”

I race to the well and throw in the bucket. While I crank the bucket up, more stones fall into the deep well. I pay no attention. Instead, I race back to Anita with the pail full of water. I find Anita bending over him with her ear on his hairy chest.

“Kata, get my tray full of herbs.”

I do as she asks and set the tray down within her reach. “What's wrong with him?”

She glances up at me. “Yes, I believe it is time for you to start learning about herbs.” She winks, then lifts his right hand to spread his fingers wide. “Look, two small pricks that will start swelling. Perhaps, a
snake bite or a tarantula's bite. It doesn't matter, because the remedy is the same for both.”

“Why is he sleeping?” I ask, staring down at the man's open mouth.

Anita laughs and pats her stomach. “He probably thought he would die, so he got himself drunk. For men, death is painless that way. Watch, I'll give him a drop or two of this on his tongue and it'll snap him out of his sleep.”

As soon as the drops hit his tongue, the man jerks into a sitting position. “Que? What?” He realizes that he has no clothes on and yanks the blanket up to his chest.

“Don Paz, what is your problem?” drills Anita, who stands with her hands on her hips.

He lifts his hand to her nose. “Something bit me and I know not what. So, I came as quickly as I could.”

Anita roars and slaps him hard on the back. “You were too drunk to know what bit you, but I assure you that, with God's help, you will live one more day.”

“Gracias, Doña Anita,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I will make a paste to cover the bite and draw out any poison.”

“I will be in your debt, Doña Anita,” he sighs in relief.

“You are already in my debt, Don Paz,” declares Anita as she turns for the tray. “Kata, watch me as I make this paste.”

I stand close to her and watch as she takes a white powder and explains, “This is a fine ground wheat and this is squeezed root onion. I shall mix them together, then add this brown liquid which comes from a secret root of which you shall learn about later.”

The odor is unbearable, so I hold my nose and watch as she rubs the paste into the bites. Don Paz jumps, but she holds him still.

“Do not rub so hard, señora!” shouts Don Paz, who almost slaps Anita's hand.

“You are the one that needs to be slapped around very hard, Don Paz! Get dressed, then you may leave!” she commands. “We will go into the house to allow you some privacy.” She lifts her tray to her shoulder, then follows me into the house.

“Will he be all right?” I ask.

“He will be fine, Kata. My paste has never failed.”

Soon Don Paz knocks at the door. “Doña Anita, may I leave this bottle of whisky for you as payment?” he begs.

Anita goes out to the porch. “Many thanks, Don Paz, and go with God!” She smiles, then bows to him.

Don Paz backs off the porch clutching his hat and turns quickly to mount his horse. He wastes no time in galloping out of the gate.

That afternoon I am hoeing in the corn patch when I see dust rising from the road. I stand with the hoe in hand, blocking the sun from my eyes with the other hand. I see a vehicle that approaches slowly, so I drop everything and run to meet it.

“Mama! Welcome back!” I shout. I stop in front of her. “Oh, Mama! That is the most beautiful skirt I have ever seen.”

“Do you like it, Kata? I hated to spend the money, but in town one must look decent, especially when
looking for a job.” She holds the skirt out and circles around.

“You needed a new skirt, Mama.”

She falls on her knees to hug me. “I missed you, Katarina. I have a little present for you and for Pablito.”

“Pablito! Where are you?” I shout, glancing around.

Mama enters the house and greets Anita, who is preparing tacos and a drink for Don Juan. I follow at their heels, eager to hear the news.

“Anita,” says Mama, “we are back at last. With your blessing, I have found a job as a seamstress and Don Juan knows the lady for whom I am to work. It is good, no?”

“Ah, at long last Don Juan has the privilege of repaying his duties to mankind. It is just,” grins Anita.

Don Juan removes his hat and smiles, “I always try to help. You know that, dear Anita.”

“I know, Don Juan. It just takes you a long time to figure out how to be of help. That's all,” snaps Anita.

Mama turns to me, “Kata, go fetch Pablito.”

I turn and run outside. I run completely around the house and I do not see him, so I run back into the house. “I cannot find Pablito.”

“What!” gasps Mama. “Surely, he's around here some place.”

All of us hurry out the back door. Mama leads while I follow, but I glance back to see that Anita and Don Juan are stuck together in the door.

“Move man, or I shall clobber you!” shouts Anita.

“Be calm, Anita dear. The madder you get, the harder it is for me to slip through.”

“Pablito!” shouts Mama. “Baby, come to Mama!”

I hear him cry softly like a kitten, so I run to the outhouse, thinking he might be playing behind it. He is not there, so I turn and look toward the well. I see many stones lying loosely on the ground and then I notice a hole in the wall. It had not been there before. “Mama! Anita!” I shout. “Come, look!” I point to the well wall.

Anita runs over and sticks her head down into the well. “Pablito!” she calls.

Don Juan pulls her back. “Get away woman or you shall be down there!” With one great heave he moves her out of the way, then he climbs to the top of the rail to peer down into the well. “Yes, I see something, but I need my flashlight from the truck.”

“I'll get it, Don Juan.” I tear across the garden, leaping rows of plants. When I return, I am breathless. “Here.”

Don Juan hangs onto the rope with one hand, then flicks on the light with the other. Again I hear a small cry that seems to echo from within the well.

“My baby, my baby!” screams Mama.

Anita grabs her and hugs her tightly. “Be calm. We shall get him up. Be thankful that since we can hear him cry, we know he is alive, and that I will be able to work with him.”