Part 19 (2/2)
”And you are right about the effort to get here,” Don Fidencio said as he took his turn shaking her hand, ”but I knew we would find it.”
”You traveled a far distance, then?” Mama Nene was still holding on to his hand with both of hers.
”Yes, for me, very far,” he answered. ”I am not so young anymore to be traveling these long distances. You know how it is, getting on and off these buses, never stopping long enough to rest.”
”Then you should sit for a while, no?” she offered. ”When Carmen told me there were some people by the name of Rosales, I said to her, 'Since when has a Rosales come this far to visit us?'”
”And to think that at first these two wanted to stay and not come. 'But how can we, Fidencio? Look how far it is, and then at your age!' As if I were already dying. I had to lower my head like a calf they wanted to drag away from its mother. And this I told them from the beginning, that we needed to go, no matter what, that it was important, that I had made a promise to come back. If they'd let me, I would have walked all the way here. In my life I've walked farther than most people will ever know.”
Mama Nene reached out for her granddaughter's hand. ”Did you hear him?”
”Yes, what a journey to make, and so far.”
”More than two days on the bus,” Don Celestino added. ”There was no direct service from Matamoros, so then we had to go part of the way on one bus, and without papers because the office was closed, and then stay in a hotel because there were no buses until later that night.”
”No, the name, the name.” The old woman turned back toward her granddaughter. ”I thought you said you were listening?”
”I heard him,” Carmen said. ”How funny, no?”
”And why funny? You say it like it was just another name, another Rosales.”
The granddaughter rubbed her shoulders and smiled at their guests. ”These people only stopped by to say h.e.l.lo.”
”Of all the places they could have stopped to say h.e.l.lo, and then with such sacrifice to get here?” she answered. ”You think I would not recognize the name Fidencio Rosales?”
”Yes, but you are confusing the man with someone else. Remember that the one they took was many, many years ago?”
”Then why did he come back? For what?”
”That was our grandfather, the one you want to remember,” Don Celestino tried to explain. ”We came to see the place where he was from.”
”We never stopped from hoping, always waiting for this day,” the old woman said, her voice quivering as if she might not be able to continue. ”My father, he always told us that the boy would come back.”
”We can leave if this is going to upset her.” Socorro was standing near the granddaughter. ”We didn't know this would happen.”
”She gets confused, but then it usually pa.s.ses.”
”I know who you are.” The old woman groped about until Don Fidencio again offered her his hand. ”I know, I know.”
”No, senora,” Don Celestino said. ”The boy you are thinking of was our grandfather. My brother was named after him. There are two Fidencios, you understand? The one who went away, and my brother, who is the grandson of that boy. Two different Fidencios, the old one and the young one.”
The old woman nodded and smiled but without looking in the direction of the person speaking. ”My father was also named after you. That was why he never lost the hope that the uncle he had heard so much about would one day escape and return to this place.”
”Forgive her,” the granddaughter said. ”Sometimes I have trouble changing her mind.”
”And you, talking to them like if I wasn't here!” She brushed her granddaughter's hands away from her shoulder. ”I know what I'm saying.”
Don Celestino stood up first and signaled to his brother that it was time to leave. Socorro grabbed her purse from the back of the chair where it had been hanging.
”We waited,” the old woman mumbled. ”That I do know, that we waited.”
Don Fidencio looked at her for a moment. It did seem such a far distance to travel only to now turn around and head back. They'd been rus.h.i.+ng for the last four days. Rus.h.i.+ng to leave the nursing home, rus.h.i.+ng to pick up the girl, rus.h.i.+ng to cross the bridge, rus.h.i.+ng to the pharmacy, rus.h.i.+ng to the bus station, rus.h.i.+ng to get ready in the morning, rus.h.i.+ng to find this place. What would it hurt to stay for a while longer and visit? She was still holding his hand.
”How nice to arrive somewhere and know people have been waiting for you,” he said.
”We knew that with time you would find your way back. I remember they used to talk about how smart a boy you were.”
Don Celestino motioned to his brother, trying to get his attention, but the old man ignored him altogether.
”So many years since the afternoon they took me from my home. It was difficult, a long journey back to this place. But I needed to return before it was too late.”
”My grandfather was Magarito, your younger brother - the one they were able to hide when the Indians came. His son was my father. I remember at the end of every day he would look in that direction, to the north.” She paused to point off into the distance. ”One day I asked my father why, 'Why always that way?' and he told me it was an old habit, from watching his own father do the same thing. He would stand there and wait until it was dark and he could see no more.”
”Yes, of course, my little brother. At least he was able to escape.” He glanced over at Don Celestino, who was sitting again since it appeared they weren't leaving anytime soon. ”But how many were there that died the day they took me from the circus?”
”You mean to say the festival for the harvest?”
”There was a bear, I remember,” Don Fidencio said. ”A black one they kept on a rope and that did tricks, made the people laugh.”
”A stranger, a foreigner that n.o.body had seen before or knew from where he came, some said he was a Russian and others said he was French, but it was on the last day that he showed up. My grandfather said he spoke another tongue n.o.body had heard, and the only way he knew for how to communicate was to pa.s.s around his dirty hat. He had brought the animals, but it was for the festival.” The old woman tilted her head down toward her dress and held a piece of frayed fabric between her thumb and forefinger.
”And the others?” Don Fidencio asked.
”They tore off the top of tio Osvaldo's head, and when he was still alive, I heard, but from other people, not from my grandfather. There were some things he would not talk about.”
”Of what he saw?”
”That, and that your mother had hidden him in the hay that the stranger had brought for the animals. He always felt bad that she'd had time to do this for him and not for you. Maybe both of you would have been safe.”
”She did what she could, my mother. She held on to her children the best that she could. I never blamed her or my brother for how things turned out. There was nothing more they could have done.”
The old woman smiled. ”But tell me, why did it take you so long?”
He looked over to Don Celestino for some idea of how to answer, but his brother only raised his eyebrows, the same as the old woman.
”No, if someone should have felt bad, it was me. I was the one who saw the Indians when they were far away, but for some reason I stayed with my mouth shut. I watched them getting closer and closer until it was too late, and then they took us away. A cousin of my father had moved to the other side, and he was the one who took me in. As far as we knew, n.o.body had survived the tragedy that day.” He paused to shake his head for emphasis, then realized the old woman wouldn't know either way. ”And by the time I was old enough to come back, I had already married and made a life for myself. But I never stopped telling the story to my family, to my children, to my grandchildren. Even then I kept wanting to come back, but the years, they got away from me.”
The old woman half smiled and made as if she were gazing toward the sky. ”Still, late or early, I give thanks to G.o.d that He brought you all this way.”
Don Celestino stood up and held his hand out for Socorro. ”I wish we could stay longer, but we only came for a short visit.”
”All this way and so quickly you want to leave again?” the old woman said. ”I was thinking you would stay the rest of the day, maybe even spend the night. We have room for all of you. Tell them, Carmen. Take them and show them where they can rest after coming so far.” She turned to one side and then the other, as if unsure where she'd left her granddaughter.
Socorro was helping the old man to his feet. ”We would stay longer, but now after four days we need to go back.”
”And how can you compare your four days to how long ago it was that they took the boy away from here?” The old woman shook her head.
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