Читать книгу Trini - Estella Portillo Trambley - Страница 12
ОглавлениеTrini had been sleeping next to an open window. She stretched, her body feeling the sunrise as the first light lent its pinks to darkness. The smell of night still clung to the breath of green things. She opened her eyes to notice that the leaves of the palos verdes outside the window were more than a shadow now. In half dream and half wakefulness, Trini heard the sharp and rhythmic sweep of an ax. Does Tonio ever sleep? He was already cutting wood in the yard. She did not like getting up so early to fix the morning meal, but if she lingered any longer, Tonio would come in and tease her. She leaned over Lupita’s petate and shook her little sister. “Wake up!”
Lupita turned a tousled head and opened one eye. “It’s night.”
“Be quiet. You want him to catch us sleeping when he comes in with the milk?”
Lupita turned her back on Trini again and mumbled, “Tonio, Tonio, always complaining about Tonio.”
Trini turned her sister over with some effort, shaking her again. Lupita fluttered an eyelid and attempted to sit up, only to fall back on the petate with her back to Trini again. “I can’t wake up.”
Trini slapped the humped buttocks. Now Lupita sat up with a start, rubbing her eyes. “You’re mean.” The eyes closed again as she held out a hand. “Gimme . . .”
“Get your own clothes.” Trini was drawing an hilpa over her head. Lupita waited, humped, eyes closed, hands grasping at empty air.
“Bueno, you baby.” An hilpa landed on Lupita’s face. With eyes still closed, Lupita drew it over her head.
Trini made her way to the kitchen door. She opened the door slightly to see if Tonio were in sight. Her nostrils caught the smell of dew-wet earth and grass. Light glistened on tiny raindrops riding the veins of giant leaves on a tree just outside the door. The world was sensitized in a clean half darkness. No Tonio in sight. He must be milking Chula; good! She made her way to the pump. Lupita was behind her. Barefoot, the two girls walked into the yard. Trini felt the coolness of the early morning breeze as she pumped water into Lupita’s cupped hands. The little girl splashed her face and hair, water running down her neck and wetting her hilpa. She ran back into the house dripping wet as Trini put her head under the pump and let the water run cold against her skin and hair. Its shock chilled her for a second, then the water became a soothing, fresh touch. She ran back into the kitchen to find Lupita vigorously rubbing her face with a piece of bleached burlap. She handed it to Trini who rubbed her own face and hair, feeling the warm tingle of awakened blood.
She made a mental note of things. Put water on the stove for atole, heat the corn tortillas from the day before, and if there were leftover milk . . . a treat, pinole from Batopilas! Tonio had brought some the Monday after his paranda. Parandero! Trini felt resentment rising. Tonio and his weekends in town! Sabochi had never locked them up in the house for the weekends as Tonio did. Papá had gone to San Mateo to look for his sister. He would bring her back to take the place of their mother. Meanwhile, Tonio was in charge. Tonio in charge—he worked everybody to death! Then, on weekends, he was off with his drinking and his women. He doesn’t really care about us, concluded Trini. If only Sabochi would come back, or El Enano, to play with them. There was only Tonio. That Tonio!
After putting wood in the stove and setting water to boil, she remembered that the cannisters had to be washed. They had to be ready by the time Tonio finished milking Chula.
“Come on, slow poke, help me.”
“It’s Buti’s turn,” complained Lupita.
“You just mind. Forget Buti.”
“It’s not my turn. Wake Buti.”
Trini knew it was impossible to wake Buti. “You know that takes forever. You can have double pinole this morning if you help.”
Lupita followed Trini to where the cannisters were kept. Rinsed the day before, they now had to be scrubbed shining clean. The girls rolled them to the pump and scrubbed them until they shone, glinting in the sun. They left the cannisters out to dry and ran back into the house. The water was boiling. The kitchen was sunny and quiet. Papá was looking for Tía Pancha. In San Mateo there was snow in early spring. José Mario had talked about it when he left in late winter, promising to come back in late spring. Trini had never seen snow, for the sun shone the whole year round in Batopilas. The change of seasons came in colors, in harvests, and in winds. No Sabochi, no Papá, no El Enano, only Tonio. But then, she thought in all fairness, he makes us laugh.
Sometimes, Tonio would let Buti ride across the valley on his buckboard. She stirred the atole, wondering if Tonio would remember his promise, to take them to the river today. He had been full of jokes, and songs, and teasings all week. Now as he poured the milk he sang:
“En tus ojos tiembla mi destino. Y mi suerte en labios tan divinos…”
His voice was clear and strong, and Trini knew why he was singing. The weekend was at hand. Every Saturday morning he would leave, racing his wagon and shouting to Sarif, “Yuyuyuyuyuyu—ho!” He would return the same way, late Sunday night, hollering and singing his way across the valley. Sarif liked his singing, Tonio claimed, and he would do anything to keep his horse happy. Every Monday morning, he would grin sheepishly at Trini, eyes twinkling on a handsome face and exclaim, “I’m back.”
He was so silly. Probably feeling guilty for locking them up like that. Tonio came into the kitchen whistling the love song.
“Chinita, you kids ready to go?”
He hadn’t forgotten! He had been a slave driver all week. Every afternoon they had cleaned lentils and beans to store. They had dried chile and sacked it in the shed.
“Buti!” Tonio’s shout filled the kitchen.
“He’s asleep.”
“Not anymore, he’s not.” Tonio made his way into the next room and hustled Buti out of bed. They wrestled playfully on the petate. Buti’s muffled laughter rang out, “Hey, Tonio, awwwww, cut it out!” Tonio came into the kitchen pushing Buti in front of him. Buti’s tousled head looked up at Tonio with evident worship as he scratched his belly button, then rubbed his eyes.
“Go wash,” Tonio ordered.
“I don’t wanna.”
“Go!”
Buti reluctantly made his way to the pump as Trini poured the hot, steaming atole in bowls and set the warm tortillas on the table. Tonio was full of plans. “We’ll swim out to the grotto.” The grotto was hidden behind cascading waters about two miles down the river, close to the grazing grounds. It was a favorite place of Sabochi’s. Trini and Sabochi had swum out beyond the waterfall many times. Now Tonio was giving her orders to take food along, for he planned to stay until the sun went down. The children ate in silence, anticipating the coming excursion. After eating, Tonio went to saddle Sarif for deliveries while Trini and the little ones quickly tidied up the kitchen.
The rest of the morning hummed for Trini. The river! The sweep of river light, the murmurs, the silence, all were familiar, happy things to Trini. By noon, the day’s heat quivered on the ground, and the sound of Tonio’s wagon returning drew the children out into the yard. Trini stood watching from the doorway, catching the flash of Tonio’s smile in the sun.
“Ready!” His shout resounded in the hills.
“Yes, yes, yes!” Buti and Lupita scampered into the buckboard. Tonio jumped off to help Trini into the seat beside him. Then he turned the buckboard around and coursed the path that led to the east hill.
“I can swim all the way out to the rocks!” boasted Buti, his eyes gleaming, his body squirming on the wagon floor. Lupita was leaning her head out on the side of the wagon as she shouted, “Hear the river! Hear the river!”
Yes, Trini could hear the singing currents. Halfway into the valley the rumble of the wagon melted into the distant roar of a waterfall. Her hand clutched the edge of the seat. Tonio was racing Sarif as usual, Buti and Lupita screaming their delight.
“What’s the matter, chinita?” Tonio asked Trini. She felt his eyes on her. “You’re so quiet.”
“Do I have to shout like a child?” Her voice mustered a little dignity, but she felt the warmth of blood rushing to her face. He grinned, then let out a howl, “Yaaaaaaa!”
There he goes again, thought Trini, he’s a coyote. The howl bounced from hill to hill. He was teasing again, so she calmly and deliberately raised her chin and looked out toward a valley that lay deep and wide in greens. They were on a road made by goat tracks, and the sound of water clung in the air. The edge of the river had broken the land; a quiet streamlet had pushed the land to reach the river again. Next came the hill washed clean by flows of water pouring from secret recesses and, beyond that, a small waterfall hiding the grotto.
Tonio stopped by the streamlet’s edge; the children scrambled off the wagon, running off to play and splash in the water. Trini waited primly for Tonio to help her down. She gave him her hand, but he grabbed her by the waist and swung her around.
“Put me down, Tonio!”
“OK, OK . . .”
Her feet were on the ground again. Feeling somewhat embarrassed, she ran off to join the others at the water’s edge where Buti and Lupita had already peeled off their clothes and were busy watching bees among the rose laurels that lined the water’s edge.
“Don’t go out too far,” warned Trini. “The current’s strong.”
She sat down under a palo verde to watch. Tonio was behind her.
“Going in, chinita?”
“In a little bit . . .”
“I’ll take them out,” Tonio offered as he took off his shirt. He waded the long curve of the stream where it met the river, then motioned the children to follow him. She watched him dive into the deeper water then come up for air as the children made their way to him.
“Come on, Trini . . .” Tonio’s voice was like an echo, teasing.
“I’ll sit here for a while.”
Her voice sounded tight. From that distance, she could not see Tonio’s grin, but she knew that he was grinning and why. I hate him, she fumed. He knew that she was too shy to undress before him. Somehow she could no longer be as free and open as Buti and Lupita. Tonio did not press. He dove into the river water again, and the children followed. Soon they had disappeared around the curve of the hill. She would go into the water when she was good and ready. She would do it privately and alone. The aloneness was nice. She looked up at tree branches that swayed a message—No more, Sabochi; no more, Sabochi. Her throat closed, and she felt the coming tears. No, I’m not going to cry, she told herself.
She found a secluded spot among the laurels and took off the hilpa. Then she went into the water. The sun played its flame on slow ripples dimpled in light. Soft and gentle, the water carried Trini with the pull of the current. The flow of water from the hill filled her with excitement. The thought of a departed Sabochi left her, and she became part of rushing rhythms that wildly filled the splendid, shadowy silence. Far off she heard Tonio and the children laughing and shouting. They had probably reached the grotto, and soon they would start back. She floated in the silence and gave up the thought of joining the others. . . .
That evening after supper, when Buti and Lupita had been put to bed, Trini sat on the porch steps and listened to Tonio sing his love song as he looked up at the stars through the shadows of treetops: “En tus ojos tiembla mi destino, y mi suerte en labios tan divinos . . .” Tomorrow he would leave for his usual weekend to Batopilas.
“You’re going to lock us up again?”
“For your safety. You have a big yard to play in.”
“You’re mean; Sabochi would never lock us up.”
“What would he do?”
“Stay with us.”
“You don’t want me around.”
“Not if you make us work, but we could go to Sabochi’s cave.”
“That’s not a good time; I need girls, music, beer!”
“You’re a terrible person!”
“You think so?”
Silence, then the song again. She questioned, “You mean that?”
“From the heart.”
“Your destiny trembles in a woman’s eyes?”
“Why not?”
“I’m not going to talk to you any more, Tonio.”
“Look at the stars, chinita! Don’t be so serious.” He began to sing again, “My fortune is a lady’s lips . . .”
Why didn’t he stop! She felt lonely for José Mario and the silences they had shared together. Papá, Papá—soon, soon, he would return. She called out “good night” to Tonio and went into the house wondering if Tonio ever made sense. As she undressed for bed, she remembered Sabochi with the gentle eyes. These feelings she had for her old friend were new, almost frightening. Her thoughts returned to Tonio and his wild insanity.
* * *
“He doesn’t come any more, Trini.”
Buti was sad, looking up at a bare fig tree. They had been locked up in the yard again, and Tonio had taken off for the weekend. Inwardly Trini sensed the reason for El Enano’s disappearance. They were growing up, and life was no longer a mere design of colors and dreams like the rainbow rocks. The dreams of waiting for Sabochi, of the coming of Sabochi, the dreaming of Sabochi were anticipations that filled her life. She had little hope that El Enano would return. Tonio had brought a brusqueness with him, a tie to small realities that filled the day. Sabochi was far away. El Enano? Where was he?
All she could say was, “We’re growing up.”
But Buti still stared at the rainbow rocks, waiting. Trini realized that she, too, was waiting.
“Maybe if we all close our eyes and wish real hard,” Lupita suggested, screwing up her eyes. Why not? thought Trini. Sometimes wishing hard enough . . . She closed her eyes and wished for the coming of El Enano. There was only silence and a locked gate, and the feeling of something lost. The rainbow rocks gleamed, but their little friend failed to materialize. Buti came up with an answer to cut the sadness in the air. “He’s living up in Sabochi’s cave. He’s so busy eating up all my cacahuates and piñones, he doesn’t want to come any more.”
“He’s not a pig like you,” Lupita accused. Buti pulled her by the ankle, and she fell off the rock where she was sitting.
“Stop that, you two.” Trini scolded, then offered, “We can watch for Papá.”
“Papá, Papá, Papá,” screamed the children. Then they scurried off to look for Buti’s turtle. Trini gazed at horizons, a world moving without feeling, without thought except the murmur of life sounds. She looked up in the direction of Sabochi’s cave on the south hill. It all came back so clearly, so hungrily, the last time he had returned. . . .
It had been after the finding of Mamá’s bultito. She remembered Sabochi waving at them from his cave, standing tall, the wind blowing his long hair. She had run to the end of the yard fence and waved frantically back. Buti and Lupita had danced about with glee. Sabochi had come back! That had been the last time before the death of his father, before he had had to leave the valley for good. Trini ached to see Sabochi before his cave again. There was no one. She closed her eyes and reenvisioned that last time, that last time still joyous to her senses. He had come back from the great river, and, from his cave, he had made his way down into the valley. Lupita had pointed toward the turn on the hill, where Sabochi was coming down the path; then his figure disappeared behind the turn to reappear on the floor of the valley. The children waited at the fence. Now the figure was following the path leading to the house. Sabochi’s tall figure walked in irrevocable sureness, the brown of his body gleaming with a splendor. His muscular movements of descent into the valley danced on his lithe body covered only by a tilma. All along the valley the shouts of the children echoed, “Sabochi! Sabochi!” He began a slow run that gained speed as he came nearer, a rope around one shoulder. Once he had reached the fence, the noose of the rope was thrown around the pole close to the fig tree, then laden with fruit.
“Keeee—keeeee, Sabochi,” Buti chanted. “Keeeee!”
“Keeee—keeeee, Buti!” the answer came from behind the tree.
Trini and the children watched him climb over the fence with a dancer’s grace, stepping on the high tree trunk and then swinging himself down to a lower limb. A drop to the ground and Sabochi sat down under the fig tree.
“It’s hot today, eh, pollos?”
They had fallen on him in joyous welcome. Buti rolled on the grass with Sabochi until the Indian sat the boy on his chest.
“Ah, you are big, Buti.”
Lupita clasped her arms around Sabochi’s neck and would not let go. He rubbed his chin against her hair from side to side. Both children claimed him in happy laughter.
“That’s enough, Buti, Lupita.” Trini’s happiness rang in her voice as she sat next to them. Sabochi sat up, reaching for her hand, then he drew her to him until her head was on his chest.
“Ay, pollitos, I have missed you.”
They were all silent, melting into a oneness like the sound of a leaf sea. After a while Sabochi assumed a serious tone to ask them, “Have you gone to the river to bathe?” He lay back on the grass and looked from one face to another. “Your faces are dirty.”
“We wash every morning,” protested Trini.
“Tomorrow we go to the river.”
Trini could see that Sabochi was hot and tired. “I’ll get you some tea.” She ran into the kitchen for a bule, soon flying out with it in her hand, headed for the pump where she kept mint tea in a jarro wrapped in wet hilachas to keep it cool. Tea spilled from the bule as Trini hurried back with a full bowl which she handed to Sabochi.
“Dios te bendiga, chinita.”
“Amen.”
He drank the tea quickly and eagerly, a few drops trickling from the side of his mouth, falling on his broad chest. When he finished, he lay back on the grass again and closed his eyes. “You were expecting me?”
Trini sat down beside him and in a breathless voice assured, “For days and days and days. The first thing, the first thing, every morning I—I look to your cave . . .”
“It’s good to be home.”
It was good to have him there, to have him close his eyes and lie still, aware of their presence. She had so much to tell him, but she wanted the restful silence by his side. She reached for his hand and opened up his fingers one by one. His eyes were still closed. Even the children were quietly looking on. She had to share the good things.
“We have a new friend.” There was a soft excitement in Trini’s voice. The heads of the children went up and down vigorously.
“A visitor?” Sabochi opened one eye.
“Un enano, un enano,” the children informed him excitedly.
“He just appeared from the rainbow rocks like magic.”
Sabochi sat up with interest and looked toward the rainbow rocks. “He comes often?”
Trini nodded. “When we are lonely, and that is often, he comes to play in the afternoon. He can’t speak. He found Mamá’s bultito.”
A glimmer of light came into Sabochi’s face. He shaped the word with his lips, “Matilda.” The feeling fell gently among them, and Trini understood the rush of light in Sabochi’s face, for Matilda had meant much to the young Indian. Trini wanted the reasons for his feelings. She recalled, “She was special to you.”
“Very special.” Sabochi had caught the distance of the light and was looking back to a time with Matilda. The story was in his eyes. Trini did not disturb his memories. Matilda had found a very young Sabochi half-dead from a fall and had nursed him back to health. He had been suspicious of mestizos at first. Indians had little faith in white men and less in those Indians who had mixed with the white men. Sabochi’s real name was Ambrosio, but when he had referred to José Mario’s family as chaboches, the Indian name for mestizos, Matilda had fondly renamed him “Sabochi.” The name Sabochi stuck, and so did his closeness to the family. For a moment Trini felt uneasy. Sabochi coming alive at the mere mention of her mamá’s name. Was that love? She disturbed his memories.
“You loved her.”
“Always. I became Sabochi because of her. I am part of you because of her. I have tried to be your ‘mother’ because of her . . .”
Trini could see that he was treading on memories again. She breathed deeply through half-opened lips. Her thoughts were about Matilda too. I miss you so. I miss you so. But you’re with me, aren’t you? Like earth and sun, never to be lost. Sabochi had not seen Mamá’s bultito. “You want to see the bultito?”
Words came out softly, floods of memory in his eyes, “Matilda’s bultito!” He looked off toward the house as if expecting Matilda to appear at any moment. Trini ran into the house and brought out the bultito, placing it in his hands with great care. He opened the little blue bundle, laying out the cloth gently on his lap and picking up and touching each metal piece. Matilda was very real, far beyond my realness, thought Trini, far beyond his own realness. Such were the histories of the heart. Sabochi broke the spell. He tied up the bundle slowly and handed it back to Trini, then jumped up and looked at the laden fig tree, exclaiming solemnly, “Mmmmmmm—figs! Get the ladder, Buti.”
“Me too, me too, me too!” Lupita was jumping up and down.
“You too,” agreed Sabochi, laughing.
Buti ran around the side of the house with Lupita following at his heels. Trini went to the kitchen for a bowl. In the quiet of the kitchen, she paused to sort out her feelings. In her hand was the bultito. It was hers now. José Mario had given it to her. Sabochi loved Matilda. Feelings mixed and pulled in opposite directions, love, envy, loss, all one in her special loneliness. From the kitchen, through the window, she watched Sabochi take the ladder from Buti and Lupita, out of breath from lugging it across the yard. By the time Trini came out with a tazón for the figs, Sabochi was high and hidden among the branches pregnant with the sweetness of the earth. The figs were falling rapidly to the ground. Buti was eating them as fast as he gathered them.
“He’s eating them all,” complained Lupita.
“Stop now,” scolded Trini. “You have to wash them first.”
“In here.” Trini had placed the tazón in front of him. Buti didn’t argue. He obediently started to put them in the tazón. After a while Sabochi’s voice fell from among the leaves. “¡Basta!”
They all agreed; they had more than enough.
Enough—enough. Memories were not enough. Trini felt the old restlessness rising. She didn’t want to wait for El Enano anymore. She didn’t want to be locked up in the yard for the whole of a weekend. She needed someone other than her brother and sister. She watched the children lying on their stomach watching the turtle snugly hidden in his shell. She looked out towards Sabochi’s cave—empty, empty, empty. She slid down from the rocks and went into the house. The front room was shaded and cool. From the cupboard she took out the bultito and opened it. Little silver happenings, evoking mysteries! Mamá’s gone. Sabochi’s gone. Memories of spun silver, leaf sea, figs, and the magic of Sabochi. So long ago! Or was it that time stretched out in her impatience?
She picked up a piece of a mirror and looked at her reflection, eyes somber, a trace of womanliness in the shape of mouth. Still a child’s face, a face wanting so many things unhad.
