Summer of the Mariposas

We splashed around in that cold, clear water like river nymphs, born to swim and bathe till the end of days. It was a magical time, full of dreaminess and charm, a time to watch the mariposas emerge out of their cocoons, gather their courage, and take flight while we floated faceup in the water. And that’s exactly what we were doing the morning the body of a dead man drifted into our swimming haven.

“Don’t you see? There’s a reason we found him instead of the border patrol. He came looking for us because he knew we could help him. It’s not a coincidence that he’s from the same place as Papá.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. “You’re not making any sense.”

Juanita continued passionately. “Don’t you get it? We were meant to find him, so we could go see our abuelita in Mexico again. It was fate that brought him to us.”

Yes. If I could have anything, I’d have Papá come back into our lives and take care of us. I wanted him to stop touring, get a real job, and be home every day like he used to be when we were young. I wanted Mamá to stop working and worrying all the time. It’s not like I wanted her to tuck us in at night and sing us a lullaby in Spanish like she used to. We were too old for that now. No. I just wanted to be a family again.

“You were chosen for the goodness in your heart,” she explained. […] “Your sister was right when she said finding the body of the drowned man was not an accident.”

She took my hand once again, her touch still deathly cold. Standing beside the hackberry shrubs with hundreds of empty desiccated cocoons still clinging to their branches and a carpet of butterfly corpses under her feet, La Llorona did not look anything like a malevolent specter. She looked more like a tired, heavily burdened woman.

“This is about all of you: your sisters, your parents, even your abuela,” La Llorona continued. “You must travel to the other side, into the land of your ancestors, to find each other again.”

“Who would’ve thought this guy had abandoned his family?” she asked, joining our conversation. “He looked so happy in the picture. I thought for sure they’d be waiting for him.”

“Nothing’s ever the way it seems, is it? I mean look at Papá,” Juanita whispered at no one in particular. She sounded distant, sad.

As apprehension spread into every pore of my being, I did the one thing I could to quiet the guilt in my mind. I turned the radio on. But even with the sound of loud music reverberating through the car, I could still hear my conscience nagging at me. You could have stopped this, all of it, it whispered. This is more your fault than anyone else’s. You’re the eldest. You should have known better.

My heart suddenly ached for her, and I wondered if this sadness, this pain that seemed to overwhelm La Llorona, was what Mamá felt after Papá had left, when she went to bed at night and cried alone in the dark. Did she miss having a family then? Was it the family and not Papá she had mourned? Had we misjudged her sorrow?

From now on, I would look over my shoulder at every turn. I would make sure I knew who or what was lurking around me, waiting to harm us when we least expected it. For many people in this world were not who they claimed to be, and evil dwelled where you least expected it. It had certainly been that way with Cecilia, the beautiful butterfly who had turned out to be a poisonous wasp.

“What Cecilia has beset upon you is just the beginning. You must save the ear pendant’s remaining gifts. Use them sensibly, for there is so much more to life than nightmares and demons in the dark. In order to go home, to be truly happy again, you must face the worst enemy of all, the monster that lives among you.”

There were so many of them joining in the dance that soon they moved as one. Their bodies became a collective, a tapestry of wing and wind that fluttered with life, transforming into the figure of a young woman with dark hair and dark eyes. She was dressed in a shimmering tunic of gold and green jade. She looked like an Aztec goddess, but her face was that of a Mexican girl, the face of our many friends and cousins, a teenager, like us.

With two lechuzas at their backs, they busted out of the barn as if their heels were on fire, never once looking back. Had they abandoned their hermanitas?

I looked at the barn doors noisily slapping back and forth with the force of the storm, and I couldn’t help but feel powerless. The twins’ desertion shattered any hope I had left of defeating the malevolent witches. And for the first time on our journey, I wanted to cry.

It felt weird, preparing for what might happen to us in the night. I felt like we were in a different world, a magical realm, where everything was larger than life. Did I think we could really kill the mythical chupacabras? Normally, I would have said not on your life, especially since we weren’t even sure if he was a vampire. […] Besides, there was something about being in those ruins in the Mexican countryside that made anything possible, because that night I believed in us—cinco hermanitas, five little sisters, together forever. No matter what.

“Odilia is right. We’re the Garza girls, cinco hermanitas, five little sisters under the protection of the goddess,” she said, holding the stake in front of her with both hands and anchoring the sharp point of it on the ground.

“That’s right,” I said. I looked down at Pita, who was clutching her ankle, wincing. “Remember what I told you? La Llorona said we must remain noble and kind. We should grant mercy when it is asked of us.”

“You mean he doesn’t love us anymore?” Pita asked.

“Would you? If you had us for daughters?” Delia asked Pita, looking at her sisters resentfully.

That’s when I realized the evil of what the lechuzas said about us. We had been bad, yes, but was what Papá did our fault? “Yes, I would still love us,” I said, angry with myself for not realizing the twins had been blaming themselves for Papá’s absence all this time. “The way I see it, we didn’t fail Papá, he failed us. He’s the adult here.”

“Sometimes, men leave, for whatever reason,” Abuelita continued. “Nothing you did or could have done differently would have changed that. So I want you to stop blaming yourselves or your Mamá for the choices your father has made. Instead, I want you to continue taking care of each other the way you’ve been doing so far. I’m so proud of you for standing up for your hermanitas against those evil creatures. I’m sure having to do that has taught you how important it is to stick together and love one another more than anything else in the world.”

“Your father is like the sun, splendid to behold, but he must descend and let darkness rule for a time.”

I don’t get it,” Pita said.

The virgen stepped down from her throne and touched Pita’s face. “Without night there would be no rest, no room for growth. It is just the way things are,” Tonantzin explained in a serene voice.

[…]

“I know you don’t understand what is happening with your family,” Tonantzin said gently. “But you will, when the time comes. A new dawn is approaching, but you are very clever, very brave. You will not be blinded by his light.”

“Tenochtitlan,” Abuelita said, looking in wonder at the great city looming over the swampy lake. “The Aztecs decided to build it here, on the lake, when they saw the sign—an eagle sitting on a cactus, eating a snake. It was the center of a great empire, the home of our ancestors.”

I watched Ixtali row and row, taking us away from the city. “Why are we so far from home?” I asked.

“This is the goddess’s gift to you,” she said. “A vision, to always remember who you are, where you came from, as you develop a better future.”

Then, just as reluctantly as the last leaf of autumn falls off a desiccated branch, Juanita’s hand slackened and fell away from mine. She walked away from me, leaving me alone with my anger and resentment. Papá’s arrival had done what Cecilia and her Evil Trinity could not accomplish. His empty promises broke the code of the cinco hermanitas. We were five little sisters, together no more—cinco hermanitas torn completely apart.

“We’re not tortas you can take out of the oven and set aside to cool off while you dillydally with a whole other life. Families are supposed to be important, and that’s one thing you never did: Make us important. And now you want to take away the only real parent we’ve ever had? Well, it’s not going to happen. We’re not going to let you get rid of Mamá.”

“You have done well, my daughter. Your migration through the voyage of pain and sorrow has been hard, but you are at the end of your journey. The Ancients have waited a long time for you to emerge, to spread your wings, to take flight. And now, they are ready for you to come home.”

“Only the sun is the alone in the sky,” the Virgen’s voice answered me from beyond the shadows of night. I couldn’t see anything, but I could feel her presence all around me. “I am with you every day. I am the moon, the stars, the sky. I am the river. I am the morning sigh. Remember mi Mariposa pequeña. You are one of many. You are one of us.”

At her words, a swarm of butterflies fluttered out of the hackberry shrubs and flitted around me, dusting me with delight.

In Aaron, Mamá had found a strong heart, and she’d attached herself to the offered hands slowly, cautiously, making sure he was the right man with whom to start a new life. But when she’d emerged from the safety of her cocoon, Mamá was happier and more radiant than we’d ever seen her. In our eyes, she was reborn into beauty—celestial, divine. And we couldn’t be happier for her.