The Butterfly’s Daughter (37 page)

“It's a nice place,” Luz said politely.

“Thank you,” Mariposa answered, pleased because it sounded like she meant it. She watched Luz walk straight to the aquariums and look inside.

“You still have cats,” Luz said. “Ours all pupated and the butterflies flew off weeks ago.”

“If these fellows hurry, they'll catch up. Mami taught me how to raise butterflies. She must have taught you, too?”

Luz absently nodded and turned from the aquariums without another comment. Mariposa wondered if Luz was holding back from sharing with her any of her life with Abuela, as a kind of punishment. Or maybe she was like so many young women her age and didn't care for caterpillars or butterflies or nature in general. Girls seemed to be interested only in shoes and clothing and the antics of starlets.

“You see the black one,” Mariposa said, walking to one aquarium. She pointed out a black chrysalis to Luz. “This one should emerge tomorrow.”

“I know,” Luz said succinctly. “I've seen that lots of times with Abuela.”

Luz was shutting her out, not allowing her to take Abuela's place in her heart. Mariposa said, “Abuela once told me something that I keep close, like a talisman. She used to say, ‘Just when the caterpillar thought she was at her darkest moment, she became a butterfly.' Every time I see a butterfly emerge, I'm reminded I've been given a second chance. It gives me hope that even someone who has messed up as badly as I have can start over.”

“But we're not butterflies, are we?” Luz lashed out. “We're people.”

Mariposa drew back. “Yes,” she said tightly, nodding. “Of course.”

“You can't make it all sound so simple. So easy,” Luz said angrily. “A butterfly flies off and it's no big deal. That's her nature. But you were my mother. You left me when I needed you. I thought you were dead!”

Mariposa cringed, waiting for the deluge of angry words to hit, knowing Luz had to say them.

Tears glistened in Luz's eyes. “That's
not
okay,” she said heatedly. “You had a mother. I didn't! I needed you. And now you're back. Why should I care? How can I trust that you won't run off again? How can you make up all that time?” She shook her head, tightening her arms across her chest. “Maybe it's too late to start over.”

Mariposa took a breath, knowing this was an important moment. “I refer to butterflies a lot because it's hard for me to express myself. I identify with them and sometimes”—she shrugged—“it helps. What I was trying to say, in the only way I know how, is that when the butterfly emerges from the chrysalis, it's continuing in a new shape and form. So maybe we're not starting over. Maybe for us, it's enough to start fresh.”

Mariposa turned and went to her galley kitchen to pour coffee. She knew she had to give them both a moment to regain their equilibrium. Luz's emotions were like tinder; the smallest spark could set her off.

“Please, won't you sit down?” Mariposa asked, pulling out a chair.

Luz walked over and reluctantly sat at the small table. Mariposa served mugs of steaming coffee, amused to watch Luz pour liberal amounts of cream into hers, as Abuela used to do.

“Cake?” Mariposa asked. “I made it this morning.”

“Yes, please.”

Mariposa served two generous slices of the cake, and with the hostess duties done, she spread her napkin on her lap and searched for a polite opening that was general and not an emotional hot button. Luz sat across from her, staring at the cake. They were each being tentative.

Mariposa picked up her fork. “Did you have any trouble finding the place?”

“No,” Luz replied, picking up her fork as well. “Your directions were excellent. It's a beautiful building.”

“The condos upstairs are beautiful, not tiny like mine. But I'm happy to have this place. It suits me.” Mariposa tasted the cake, relieved that it was moist and not too sweet.

“You're the caretaker, you said?”

“That's right.”

Luz ate a forkful of cake. “This is delicious,” she said, making an effort.

“Thank you,” Mariposa replied, grateful. “And your young man? Sully? Where is he?”

“He went to tour the Alamo.” Luz smiled, recalling how excited
Sully was about touring it. “He said he couldn't go home without seeing it. Margaret went with him.”

“Who's Margaret?”

“She's the woman I'm traveling to Mexico with.”

Mariposa put down her fork. “Excuse me? Did you say you're going to Mexico?”

Luz's eyes widened and she looked like she was sorry she'd brought the subject up. She put down her fork and dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “Maybe. I'm not sure. It depends.”

“Depends on what, might I ask?”

There was a brief silence.

Mariposa said, “I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry.”

Luz lifted her gaze and Mariposa found herself pinned by her scrutiny. “It depends,” Luz said evenly, “on whether I'm going to Angangueo.”

“
Angangueo?
”

“Yes.” Luz set her napkin on the table and sat straight in her chair. “Abuela's last wish was to go home again,” Luz told her.

Mariposa went very still.

“She wanted to come here to San Antonio first, like I told you. But after here, she intended for us to drive on to her village. I think she knew she was getting old and she wanted to see her family again. And she wanted me to meet the people I knew only from the stories she told and the photographs in her album. I don't think Abuela wanted me to be alone when she . . . when she died.”

Mariposa saw tears shining in Luz's eyes and her heart tightened. “Oh, Luz . . .”

“But she died before we could go. I think . . .” Luz tightened her lips to still their trembling. “This morning Sully told me that Abuela meant for me to come here to meet you. But she also meant
for us to go on together to the Sacred Circle with her ashes. And I think he's right. It's about more than just me and you,” Luz said belligerently. “It's about
tradition.
”

Mariposa could only look at the strong, determined young woman and think what a wonderful job her mother had done raising her. Better than she could have done. Luz had just opened up a door wider than Mariposa ever could have.

Mariposa knew her silence was misinterpreted, because she saw a flash of disappointment in Luz's eyes. “You don't have to go,” Luz said crossly. “I'll ask Tía Maria.”

Mariposa was surprised by the spark of jealousy she felt at even the suggestion that her sister accompany Luz to the Sacred Circle. Luz was
her
daughter.
She
should be the one to take her.

“Oh, Luz,” she said. “You speak of the tradition in our family for a mother to bring her daughter to the mountains at the brink of womanhood.”

Luz nodded.

“There is a long history to this tradition.”

“I know the myth about Xochiquetzal.”

“Well, yes. That is the Aztec myth. All children learn about Xochiquetzal, the goddess of love, pleasure, and beauty. She lives in a flower garden on a mountaintop, high above the heavens.”

“The place all good soldiers go.”

Mariposa laughed. “You know
that
story, do you?”

“I know a lot of stories. But I didn't learn that one from Abuela.”

“But, Luz, our tradition has deeper roots than that. We are Purépecha, a people as ancient and proud as the Aztecs. But today, the old customs are dying out. In Mexico, when a young girl turns fifteen,
quince años,
a great party is thrown to introduce her to the world as a young woman.”

“It's like a sweet-sixteen party. Mexican girls do it here, too. I know all this,” Luz said impatiently.

Mariposa continued. “The dusty, rocky land of Michoacán is a land of hard-won farms, of goats and sheep, adobe and wood, fire and fish, bees and butterflies. There, the myths of the ancient gods—the gods of the sun, the sky, mother earth, death, rain, and fertility—still resonate in our souls.

“Luz, I have been gone for more than fifteen years. I was not there for your
quinceañera.
I failed you in every way possible and I know that you would have preferred to make this journey with Abuela. Even Tía Maria.”

Luz averted her gaze.

“But, for all that, I am your mother.”

Luz's gaze darted back up to meet Mariposa's expectantly.

“It would be my duty, my honor, and my privilege to take you on this journey. Will you allow me to accompany you?
¿Por favor?
”

Luz turned her head to look at the aquariums. The chrysalis was black and inside, the imago was waiting to emerge. “Maybe not start over,” Luz said, turning back to Mariposa. Her smile was tentative but held a hint of hope. “Maybe just a fresh start.”

Migrating monarchs spend much of their time gliding to conserve energy and reduce wear and tear on their wings. Like hawks, they soar by catching thermal after thermal, rising to high altitudes. When they begin arriving in the vicinity of the overwintering sites, they are seen as a high-flying, butterfly-filled sky.

L
uz stood beside El Toro, holding the box of Abuela's ashes and looking at the road buzzing with traffic outside their motel. She was about to embark on her trip to Mexico. She was filled with apprehension at what awaited her on this next leg of her adventure. She'd learned from the first that nothing on this journey went as planned. Rather, it was a series of unexpected experiences. She looked at the box of ashes and smiled. Abuela would have loved it. Each stop was a new story.

“I still think this is crazy!” Margaret exclaimed. She tossed the final bag into El Toro's cramped trunk, then turned to Mariposa. “Come on, you're her mother. You know better than to let us drive across Mexico in this heap of tin.”

Mariposa's lips pursed as she shared a commiserating glance with Luz. “You're talking to the wrong mother.”

Luz opened the door of the driver's side and tapped the roof
of the car. “Stop complaining. Get in! We're making a run for the border!”

The weather was clear but slightly overcast, perfect for traveling. El Toro was filled with gas, the oil was checked, the tires were full, and there was plenty of water to drink. Sully had gone over the car before he returned to Milwaukee, and though he still suggested that they rent a four-wheel drive, he'd declared the Bug sound.

Once Mariposa had offered to go along on the trip, all the pieces came together. Mariposa had driven the trip to Michoacán many times, though not always to see the family. Luz wasn't naive. She knew that a drug cartel infested the thick forests of that state in Mexico.

Tía Maria chose to stay behind. “Oh, honey, I'm too out of shape to make that climb,” she'd told Luz when she asked her to come along. “It's nine thousand feet up. I wouldn't be able to take a step without losing my breath. Besides, I've been there before. I don't need to go again. And there's no way I'm squeezing into the backseat of that little car!”

It turned out to be a blessing in disguise, because Maria gleefully agreed to take care of Serena. The last Luz saw of the Chihuahua, she was nestled against Maria's ample bosom while being fed a bite of kibble.

Luz watched Margaret climb into the backseat. For all her worries about El Toro, Margaret was a good sport. Luz was lucky to have found a friend so conscientious and someone who had her back. It shocked her to realize that Margaret was in fact closer in age to Mariposa than she was to Luz. They seemed worlds apart in experience, and Luz wondered how they'd get along. Margaret was very protective of Luz and Mariposa showed early signs of resenting the interference.

Next Mariposa settled into the passenger seat. In the forty-eight hours since they'd decided to make this trip together, they'd been exceedingly polite and spoken of little else but preparations for the journey. There was a lot to do and they were relieved to have a focus for all the pent-up energy bubbling under the surface. Luz was uneasy about where their conversations might lead in the upcoming days of close travel. They'd hit some bumpy spots and ruts, for sure. But, she thought with a sigh, there was no use wasting time worrying or whining about that now. She'd made up her mind and her path lay ahead. She only needed the courage to follow it.

“Okay, Abuela,” she said aloud. “I'm taking you home.” She handed the box of Abuela's ashes to Margaret in the backseat. Mariposa watched the transfer with reverence. When she turned back to the front she caught Luz's gaze and smiled. They both knew they were thinking of Abuela.

They talked about inconsequential things as they traveled from San Antonio through the lush Hill Country suburbs, past rolling farmland to a stretch of arid and scrubby soil. Three hours later they arrived in the small border town of McAllen, the final stop before they entered Mexico. The town was as Luz expected: a motley collection of storefronts with large signs where they could stop to eat, buy sundries, change dollars into pesos, and insure the Bug.

They decided to split up the tasks to save time and meet at the car in an hour. Margaret went to exchange dollars for pesos while Mariposa searched for maps. Luz tucked her purse securely under her arm and went to insure the car. There were two men waiting in line ahead of her. The man at the counter was Hispanic and wore a large white cowboy hat. Behind him was a familiar-looking tall man in a brown shirt and jeans. The back of his neck was
sunburned under a worn field hat. He turned his head to check out the printed instructions pinned on the wall.

“Billy!” she called out.

Billy McCall turned around and, seeing her, a slow grin of recognition eased across his face. He laughed and shook his head in disbelief.