Part 19 (1/2)
”My tia said that she had also heard stories like the one about your grandfather.”
”You see, everyone believes the story except for my little brother.”
”But that it happened in this place, El Rancho Capote?” Don Celestino asked.
”No, only that there used to be a ranchito by that name, but with time, more and more people left and then they changed the name to El Rancho De La Paz. For that reason, we couldn't find it.”
”And these people who left, did she say the Indians took them?”
”No, those ones, the gringos came and took.” The driver glanced into the rearview mirror. ”You know, to go work on the other side.”
The grove ended and the dirt road turned to caliche. They could feel the rocks and pebbles ricocheting off the rusted cha.s.sis, at times. .h.i.tting just below their feet. Don Fidencio placed both hands on the dashboard to keep from b.u.mping against the door every time the driver jerked the car this way or that way to avoid a pothole. He slowed down some when they came across a large pen with a pair of sheepdogs keeping a vigilant watch over a flock of goats. Up the same road, a lone coyote trotted out of the brush and across the way, ducking under a barbwire fence into a cleared field, and then pausing to look over its shoulder at the old man in the pa.s.senger seat.
The road ended at the edge of a scorched field that stretched out as far as they could see. To the right a pair of tractor tires formed arches on either side of the dirt road leading toward a dozen or so cinder-block houses. As soon as they crossed into the ranchito, a small pack of dogs of various sizes and mixed breeds rushed toward the taxi. A mangy chow barked at Don Fidencio's door, causing him to reach for his aluminum cane until he realized the window was rolled halfway up.
At the first lot, a skinny woman was hanging her laundry across a clothesline to one side of the house. She stayed looking at the idling taxi, a clothespin dangling from the corner of her mouth.
”Buenos dias,” the driver called out.
The woman responded to his greeting with a half nod.
He waited to see if she would approach the car or at least call the dogs off, but she stayed put. The clothespin s.h.i.+fted slightly, as if she might be gnawing on its end.
”What a good day to be was.h.i.+ng clothes, no?” The driver pointed up at the clear sky. ”There's a good breeze. Already I can see the sun will dry your clothes very fast, maybe not even half an hour.”
”You want her to wash your socks?” Don Fidencio said.
”I was only trying to be pleasant.”
”Be pleasant some other time,” the old man said. ”For now just ask her if this is the right place.”
The driver turned back toward the woman. ”These gentlemen and the lady are looking for El Rancho De La Paz.”
The clothespin bobbed slightly, which he took to mean yes. yes. A black goat was now sniffing about the basket of wet clothes. A black goat was now sniffing about the basket of wet clothes.
”The one that used to be El Rancho Capote?” he called out.
The woman only stared back and, without turning, kicked the goat just as it started chewing the edge of her wicker basket.
”Ask her if there's a family by the name of Rosales.”
The driver did, and the woman c.o.c.ked her head back while using the tip of her clothespin to point somewhere down the road. He waved to her before easing off the brake and coasting away. Most of the remaining cinder-block houses were single-story, each with its own fenced-in lot. After a while the dogs fell back and quieted. At the end of the dirt road, they came upon a two-story house with a corrugated metal roof that was roughly thatched over with dried-out palm fronds. A cypress with a trunk more than half the width of the house filled most of the lot. In its sprawling shadow rested a small gray truck with a rusted-out bed and a front grille guard made of metal pipes. Lying beneath the engine, a German shepherd mix raised its head from the cool dirt and let out the first of many aimless barks. A woman wearing a black skirt and a washed-out Six Flags T-s.h.i.+rt was picking chiles near the front gate.
”Excuse me,” said the driver, ”these people have come from the United States and are looking for El Rancho De La Paz.”
”This is it here,” the woman said, clutching the chiles in her ap.r.o.n. ”What are they looking for?”
”Just to see it,” the driver answered. ”They say their family came from here.”
She stayed where she was and ducked so she could peer into the front and back seats. ”From which family, there are only a few of us that stayed?”
”Rosales,” the driver replied. ”They say they come from the Rosales family.”
”I used to be Rosales many years ago, but I became Rosales de Gomez, by my husband.” She stretched her neck as she stood back up. ”Only he was one of them that left.”
”Can they speak to you?”
”Maybe it would be better if they talked with my grandmother,” the woman said. ”Let me go see if she can come outside.”
They waited for the woman to call off the dog before they opened the doors. After being in the taxi so long, Don Fidencio took a while to unbend his legs and get to his feet.
”Feo!” the woman called out. ”Feo, come here!”
On its stiff and bowed legs, the dog finally lumbered over to where she stood. Since the animal had no collar, she grabbed it by the scruff.
”He bites?” the old man asked.
”Not anymore.” She pried open the dog's mouth so he could see the gaps between its missing teeth. ”Those days have pa.s.sed.”
The old man wasn't so convinced and kept his distance.
”Don't be afraid,” the woman said, then took his unsteady hand in hers and together they stroked the dog's head and back. ”You see?” The dog sat with one leg curled under and sticking out between the other three legs, and then after a while it let itself drop to the ground and lay in the dirt.
Socorro and Don Celestino sat under the tree on a wooden bench while Don Fidencio sat on a kitchen chair with its front legs wrapped with duct tape. Isidro had stayed in the taxi, where he was now resting. With most of the clouds having drifted, the large tree provided enough shade for them to sit comfortably. The old man gazed at the ma.s.sive trunk and its horizontal roots that stretched outward from the base like the hoof of some prehistoric creature that had come back to roam the earth.
”But last night you said you would call in the morning,” Don Celestino said, continuing their hushed conversation from the car.
”If it was so important, you should've called her.”
”She's your mother. She's not related to me, remember?”
”Yes, I know,” she answered, though not as hushed.
There was more they both wanted to say, but just then the screen door opened and the woman came out, guiding her grandmother by the arm. The two women shuffled forward in halting steps, as if the grandmother were dragging a heavy load and having to gather her strength between each stride. At first her milky eyes stayed pointed downward, until the left one began drifting over to one side and then up toward the thick branches of the tree. Her silver hair was parted in the middle, and in the back formed into one long braid that reached her waist. The flowery housedress fit loose around her body but stretched out for her sagging arms.
Her granddaughter helped her to sit down in the one remaining chair and then find the first waiting hand. ”Socorro De La Pena,” her guest said. ”Thank you for coming outside to meet us.”
”How rare it is for people to come visit our home.” The old woman glanced over her shoulder, unaware that she was looking at the tree.
”And your name?” Socorro asked.
”I have been here so long and raised so many children that everyone calls me Mama Nene.” She seemed to want to say more but stopped so she could reach out for a cobweb she had noticed hanging in front of her and then did it again, several more times, gently plucking at each thread of the web, before her granddaughter could take hold of her hand and bring it back down so she could continue greeting her guests.
Don Fidencio looked over at his brother, who was staring back at him. He could already imagine what he would be saying in the taxi, that the whole trip had been a waste of his time, all this way so they could meet an old blind woman who didn't make any sense, especially when there was a building full of them back where they had started the trip.
”We just stopped by to see the ranchito and meet some people,” Don Celestino said, ”before we have to head back.”
”Why rush off so fast, after all the effort it must have taken for you to get here?” the old woman replied, shaking his hand. ”Besides, Carmen says that you're a Rosales, like us.”
”Yes, Celestino Rosales.” He patted her hand before making room for his brother. ”This was something we all wanted to do, to come and visit where our family came from.”